Author's Note: This chapter pretty much sucks, I'm sorry... I just needed to get backstory and character introductions out of the way, so here both are in all their resplendent 'I'm-trying-to-write-a-book-in-a-month-and-am-currently-behind-schedule' glory.

Chapter Three

A few days later found Christine waiting alone and impatiently at a table set for six in the private back room of one of the most expensive, high-quality restaurants in town; she had told Brown not to bother going to all the trouble of arranging such a lavish place to meet with her new team members, but he had said that the expense meant little in the way of the success of the expedition. Furthermore, he had said, she needed to be able to feel comfortable with all of the members not only on a professional basis—which she was, after surveying their individual papers—but on a personal one as well, considering all the time they would be spending together in the field. She was excited about the prospect of getting to meet these four newcomers—four, because one of the members chosen, to her surprise and delight, was her colleague and dear friend Doctor Robert Flynn—and yet a little daunted by the fact that she would be playing hostess and supervisor to five men. She wished for a familiar female presence, disappointed that Meg had been unable to make the luncheon because of her work schedule.

She took to pacing after a while, a nervous habit she had picked up from her father when she was much smaller; she remembered him pacing, murmuring frantically to himself as he struggled to compose new music to play on his violin. He had been an amateur musician, and some of her earliest and fondest memories had been of him performing for money on the street corners in Stockholm—and, eventually, Paris—while she danced and sang.

From such humble beginnings as these Christine had come, and she reflected sadly how proud her Father would be if he could see her now. He had always told her that she would go far in whatever field she so chose; for much of her life, she had believed she would follow in her father's footsteps and become a musician just like him, yet she had fallen in love with the sciences in school, and had ultimately decided to become a botanist instead.

She had always known it wouldn't be easy, but she persisted, attending the University of Paris and then transferring for further study to Cambridge. Next, she travelled to London, landing her current job at the esteemed scientific pioneering firm Robertson & Brown. And all through her struggles her father had been there for her, supported her, even when she had decided to leave Paris, the city in which she had spent most of her childhood.

Her student loans now paid off by being employed with such a well-known company, thus enjoying a rather hearty salary, she was free to do as she pleased, yet she found that she couldn't tear herself away from the historic English charm and allure of London. She found Paris to have the same sort of aura, the same kindred spirit as her sister in England, yet having grown up there—and now, having lost her father there—she preferred the call of London over the mystic City of Lights.

Entrenched deep in the fog of memories past, she didn't notice that the door had been opened by one of the restaurant staff and the three men who filed in after him.

"Christine, my dear," said a familiar voice, and she looked up from her steady pacing to see the smiling, familiar face of Doctor Flynn. "Long time no see, eh?" he joked, as she had only seen him in the office a few hours previous.

"Oh, I apologize, I didn't hear you gentlemen come in." She smiled at the two strangers in turn, discreetly scrutinizing their features.

The first one was quite tall, though well-built, wearing a white, starched collared shirt, tie, and slacks: common business attire. His eyes were a warm, rich brown that reminded Christine of a well-brewed pot of coffee, and his hair was an even darker brown than his eyes, nearly black. He smiled warmly and extended a hand to her; his grasp was firm and even. "Simon," he introduced himself. "Simon Sterling." He spoke in a baritone, his voice as smooth and rich as his steady glance. Christine felt a little weak-kneed.

"It's wonderful to meet you, Mr. Sterling, I look forward to working with you." She turned to the next man, standing a little behind Simon and off to the left. "And you are…?"

"Oliver, Ms. Daaé, Oliver Reese." He shook her hand warmly. "And let me just take a minute to say how honored I am to be working with you; Bobbie was telling us so much about you."

"Bobbie?" she asked, puzzled.

Doctor Flynn gave a pained little cough. "Me…Oliver has taken to calling me…that…"

"I thought it fitting, if you don't mind me saying so," replied Oliver, clapping Flynn warmly on the shoulder.

Christine smiled in spite of herself; she knew how much it annoyed the good Doctor to be called anything other than his given name. And even though she had known Flynn for far longer than the other man, she found that she didn't quite have the heart to spoil his fun. Oliver was shorter than Simon, more slender, and there was a mischievous glint in his hazel eyes that she found she quite liked. His ginger hair fell into his eyes such that he was constantly brushing it away, and a light dusting of freckles added character to his smaller-than-average nose that seemed a little lost in the open warmth of his face.

She smiled again, reflecting with a chuckle that if the other two men were as attractive as Simon and Oliver, poor Raoul would be terribly jealous.

Conversation flowed easy enough between the three men that she supposed they had become acquainted in the waiting area. Showing herself into a seat—not at the head of the table, she didn't think she'd be able to bear that quite yet, she merely sat and watched the three men interact, waiting for the two missing members of her team. She hoped that they hadn't managed to get themselves lost, especially the American that had been chosen, oh, what was his name…

The four already in the room looked towards the door as it opened to admit who could only be the final two.

Christine stood up with a sigh she believed to be inaudible, but Oliver angled his head in her direction, a miniscule movement, barely noticeable. She smiled at him, nonchalant about the incident, yet feeling a strange need to justify her weariness to herself all the same; he'd been on her feet the whole morning, didn't a girl deserve a little rest every now and again?

"Hello," she said, hand slightly outstretched as she made her way over to the two newcomers still standing rather awkwardly in the foyer; she noted in annoyance that the other three merely stood there, watching. Honestly, didn't they have any sense of decency at all, why weren't they introducing themselves? At least Doctor Flynn, she knew, should have come over and offered introductions…

Her mental deliberations and annoyances were cut short when she suddenly realized that the other three were merely deferring to her as leader, allowing her first inspection…

A strange sense of power and authority the likes of which Christine had never experienced before flooded her veins, intoxicating her. Oh, she was going to enjoy this job very much…

"Hello," she said again, reaching the pair. "I'm Christine Daaé, it's nice to meet you." She shook their hands in turn.

"Allow me to offer introductions: I'm Thomas Daughty, assistant Head of Botanical Studies at University of California, Berkeley, and this, I've come to learn," he paused, resting a hand on the other man's shoulder, "is Jonathon Perdue; I'm not sure of his affiliations since I've only just met him not five minutes ago, but he seems like a nice enough fellow." He leaned close to Christine, dropping his voice conspiratorially, yet intending it to be still loud enough for all to hear clearly: "A bit on the quite side, though, you'll have to watch out: it's the quiet ones who cause all the trouble invariably." He winked at her before pulling away.

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind, Mr. Daughty," she replied lightly, yet looking instead at the object of his teasing. At very first glance, she had almost thought that Raoul had come along—despite her invitation, which he graciously declined, complaining about how much work had managed to pile up. However, this Jonathon looked so much like her fiancé it was uncanny and a little unnerving: pale blonde hair, green eyes, moustache…only a few tweaks to his facial features, the size of his nose, the shape of his eyes, and they could be brothers, perhaps even twins. He was, however, quite a bit shorter than Raoul—almost at her height, it seemed—so after realizing this she was only off balance for a few moments.

Daughty, by far and large, was quite plain in appearance; which is probably why his personality almost seemed to reach out and shake her quite hard by the shoulders in compensation, a surprising mental image that made her crack a small smile. He alone was the only one out of all the team members who wore spectacles—aside from the good Doctor, who, in any case, only used them for reading anyway. He looked to be in his late thirties, and had extremely dark hair that was streaked with gray and all sorts of other muted undertones that she supposed could only be natural; medium height and build, a rather plain face that whispered of classical features, yet not quite manifesting themselves fully. The only thing that caught her attention about his appearance was his cowboy hat and boots that he was sporting, seemingly straight out of a Western.

She made her way back to the table, waiting for the rest to finish introductions and come to seat themselves; she, however, remained standing.

"Gents," said Christine, simultaneously spotting a waiter coming to no doubt take their orders "it is my sincere privilege to be working with such an outstanding group as yourselves. Now, let's allow this fine man to take our orders for lunch, and we can finally get down to business."