A week went by with no word from Nadir. With each passing day Christine grew increasingly worried. The saying 'You never know what you've got until it's gone' replayed in her head, mocking her for her childishness. Had she discarded her pride and talked to him instead of being too ashamed to face him he might have told him that he was leaving, or she might have prevented him leaving at all...and now she didn't know when she would ever see him, if he was ok, or why he had left...
Sighing, she went back to mending the shirtsleeves in front of her. There was nothing she could do now but wait. Regretting her decisions, no matter how stupid they were, would not do anything to help the problem. Instead of worrying herself to death she took to praying fervently for bother Erik and Nadir that they would return safely— and soon, too. Nadir had promised her that she would find him, and she just had to trust him.
After waiting anxiously for a fortnight, Nadir returned. He surprised her by coming to the shop and pretending that he had torn a hole in the elbow of his suit, and Christine played along, wary of the watchful eye of Mr. Murray. She brought him to the back room when he said he was very particular about the type of thread she used.
Once they were alone, he wasted no time beating around the bush. "I didn't find him," he blurted.
Christine stared blankly at him, mouth slightly ajar.
"I looked in all of his hiding places—inquired about a masked man in almost every hotel in France—contacted some of my acquaintances in Persia—nothing."
She continued to gape at him. Her mind had stopped, and her mouth had frozen in its 'o' shape so even if she had been able to form any literate kind of thought she wouldn't have hardly been able to communicate it.
Struggling to regain her composure, she stuttered, "I-is he l-lost to us? Forever?"
Nadir studied her for a moment, his eyes pensively scanning the planes of her face. He seemed to be choosing his words very carefully. "No. I do not think so. There is something here—something that he cannot live without. And he will not rest until he has it. I am confident that he will be back."
Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. "What is it?" she demanded.
He started, and the look on his face proved that the meaning of the words he had spoken had just dawned on him. He had gone too far—said something he shouldn't have.
"Forgive me, Mademoiselle, but I really must leave you. Business calls me away."
"M. Kahn, please just explain to me what you meant—"
"I am truly sorry; I will tell you of any progress I make on recovering him—"
"Please, don't—!" but he had already left, slamming the door closed and that familiar tinkling bell sounded as the little shop shook with the force of the closing door.
She watched him go with increasing despair, and when she could no longer see his retreating form, she finally trudged into the back.
"Are you working back there?" Mr. Murray shouted, suspicion edging its way into his voice.
"Yes, sir," she replied dutifully. She took out her work and began sewing again, but her thoughts were far from her work.
What had Nadir's cryptic words meant? What was in Paris that was so important to Erik? And why was Nadir so adamant in not telling her? These unanswered questions occupied her thoughts as she worked for the next week. Each day was the same as the one before; she waited anxiously for word from Nadir in the workday and worried about Erik at night. She hoped that he might suddenly appear before her, dismiss all her worries with a few words that rationally explained his absence, and they would lapse into familiar companionship once more. But there was never an unexpected visit out of the blue, nor any information on where he might be. She was beginning to lose hope, to realize the inevitable truth that he was not coming back, that he was irretrievable. The thought would edge it's way into her brain and she would shove it out with a bombard of reassuring words—"He was safe—he knew how to take care of himself—he would be back soon—but as the unending days passed her forced naivety began to wane and she began to face the inevitable truth.
She wished she could go look for him herself, but there was no way Mr. Murray would let her off, and she knew from experience how hard it would be to find another job. So she was forced to sit back and wait.
One particular day was worse than the others were. She cut through her finger with fabric scissors and produced a nasty gash that wouldn't clot for half an hour. Mr. Murray was particularly severe and took no pity on her despite the large bandage that she wrapped around her ring finger, demanding that she take on part of her partner's workload in addition to her own. The heating system had finally broken after months of working only half the time, and she could feel herself getting sicker. Her nose ran, her head ached, and she was constantly freezing. Due to the addition of three more blouses, a skirt, and two waistcoats, she did not get out of the shop until very late. It was a Friday and the familiar bar crowds populated the streets, still drinking under the soft glow of the streetlamps. Their bottles were almost emptied and she could tell the men were itching for something to do.
They had never been this rowdy before. Setting down their drinks, they stood and closed in on her.
"Aye, what's a pretty little thing like yourself doing out here all alone, eh?"
"You don't got no man waiting for home do, missy?"
"How much you offering?"
The men stepped out of the shadows, eyes brightened and faces flushed with whiskey. They came from all sides. As Christine turned on the spot, arms protectively hugging herself, she realized she was trapped.
"Please," she begged, her voice raspy and not sounding like her own, "just let me go."
"Not until we have some fun first!"
"I'm not offering any services—"
A tall and burly man stepped forward from the throng of bodies pressed together around her. "Come with me," he whispered hoarsely.
"No, I told you I—" she muttered, trying to push through the crowd.
He reached forward and grabbed her arm roughly, and pulled her towards himself and started to force his way through the mob, catcalls and whistles following him in his wake. He smirked triumphantly at them, as he pulled effortlessly, despite her struggling and cries, back into the darkness, away from the glow of the streetlamps.
Once away from the horde, she lost all hope. She was no match compared to his strength. The cold barrier that closed off his heart would deflect any desperate pleas she made. Any attempts she made at trying to get away were made in vain and only made his hands rougher.
So all she could do was pray for release before it was too late.
As it turned out, the angels were watching out for her that night. Or, rather, a specific angel.
A different pair of hands gabbed her, pulling her back forcefully from the grasp of her captor. They pulled her away and towed her down the streets and to the safety of her apartment. Only once the door had closed did she dare look into her savior's face, but she need not look to know who it was.
A pair of blazing golden eyes met her stare as she raised her gaze to meet them. They burned right though her, filling her with a myriad of emotions, too many to name. They drew her towards their owner, and as she started to lean forward two hands pulled her close to her the body that possessed them. Her own hands wrapped themselves meekly around the thin frame that pressed itself against her. She opened her mouth to speak, but her lip trembled and the tumult of emotions that she had pent up for months freed themselves in a loud, shaky sob. Tears poured relentlessly from her eyes shaky breaths racked her body, and her hands clenched the back of the shirt she had attached herself to.
She allowed those two hands to guide her towards her bed, gently and comfortingly. They picked her up and placed her gently on top, pulling the threadbare covers up around her. She snuggled gratefully into the blankets as one of the hands returned to stroke her back comfortingly.
It was only a matter of seconds until she drifted off into sleep, aided by the rhythmic circles that those hands traced onto her back.
When she woke, Christine's eyes immediately shifted to the clock on her bedside table. Her heart filled with dread as she read the time. It was a quarter to nine—and she was supposed to be at work at eight. She bolted upright, swung her feet off the bed, and dressed as quickly as she could. There was no time for breakfast, so she ran through the kitchen and was almost out of the door when she caught sight of a noticeably large object on her couch.
Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be a person. Sleeping on her couch.
"Mon Dieu!" She screamed loudly, and ran into the kitchen, returning with a large knife, holding it protectively in front of her. Her loud shriek awakened the sleeping intruder, who now stood bemusedly before her.
"Oh," she said, flustered. "Erik."
He smirked and chucled warmly, the mellow sound filling the little room.
Her cheeks flushed and she lowered her eyes "I—I'm so sorry, I had forgotten everything about last night and I couldn't tell it was you, and I grabbed the closest kind of weapon I could find—" she spluttered, unable to form a coherent sentence.
"It's quite alright," he laughed. "That is an expected reaction for one who saw a stranger sleeping on their couch."
Her cheeks burned in embarrassment, and she quickly turned and hastened back to the kitchen to put away the knife, cursing herself as she did so. Why did she always make a fool of herself when in Erik's presence? She sighed heavily, remembering that she was already inexcusably late for work.
"I hate to be rude, especially after what you did, but I accidently slept in and now I'm terribly late for work. I must be going," she told him regretfully
He waved his hand dismissively. "Do not worry. I took care of it all. I had a word with your employer and he gave you a few days off."
Christine raised her eyebrows with disbelief. Mr. Murray, voluntarily give her time off? Erik must have made it a point to be particularly forbidding. She wondered what lengths he had gone to, but after brief consideration realized she would rather not know.
"Thank you," she said, and after a brief pause, continued, "I will get started on something for breakfast. I apologize, it might not be considered gourmet, but I'll do the best with what I have."
"I'm sure it will be nothing less than exquisite," Erik praised. "But do not feel obliged to make anything just for my sake."
"It will be no trouble," she assured him.
"Then at least allow me to help you," he protested, following her stubbornly into the kitchen. She knew any other attempts to get him to relax would be futile—and additionally she wanted to see the secrets behind his divine cooking—so she relented.
Upon entering the kitchenette, she immediately regretted this decision. Her kitchen was tiny, and poorly equipped. Erik showed no notice of this, however, and assumed the role of a head chef once he entered, curiously opening cabinets and inspecting their contents with keen eyes.
"Does crepes and fruit sound appealing to you?" he asked her.
She nodded fervently, and they set to work. She felt very inadequate while Erik instructed her on what to do while in her own kitchen, and corrected her mistakes—although he did so very gently, of course. He bustled about the tiny space with a purposed air, and everything he did attributed to the goal of achieving perfection. They didn't talk much while they were cooking, as both were concentrated on the preparation. He worked on the crepes themselves while she made the sauce and cut and arranged the fruit. Once they finished, Christine got out her best china and set the table for the two of them.
They both sat down and took their first bites, complimenting each other on the cooking. Erik had one obligatory forkful for her sake, but left the rest of the plate untouched, as he always did.
It felt so surreal—here she had been worrying about him going missing and not seeing him for two months, but now here he was, sitting sharing breakfast with her. She wanted to ask where he had gone, but did not want to be too nosey and intrusive and put him in a bad temper. Instead she decided to thank him for saving her the night before.
"Again, thank you for rescuing me last night. It seems you have secured the role of my guardian angel as well."
Erik smiled wryly. "You seem to have a knack for always getting yourself in trouble."
"And you seem to have a knack for always being there to protect me."
Erik looked as if he was going to reply to this, but seemed to think better of it and said nothing. They lapsed into silence once more.
Christine decided she would test her luck and inquire about his whereabouts recently.
"If you don't mind my asking…where have you been recently? You disappeared for a while, and I had thought you to be out of town until yesterday."
"Where have I been?" Erik asked indignantly. "You are the one who terminated all contact."
Christine ducked her head in shame. "I know, I just—I—it's a long story," she finished lamely.
Erik nodded slowly, leaning back in his chair. "I have nowhere to be," he said cryptically.
She sighed. This would certainly be a long discussion—with most likely an unfavorable outcome.
AN: Sorry if their are any grammatical errors-I had to rush through the editing a little to get this out today! thanks for R&R-ing :)