Christine huffed a little frustrated sigh and pushed some hair out of her face, irritated by it. It kept tickling her nose, and she rubbed her nose with her wrist, watching the pots and pans on the stove before her. Steam was filling up the room, and she was trying to keep everything under control.

She had been feeling a little homesick over the past few days, and so she had finally decided to go all-out and cook a Swedish meal for herself. And for Erik, of course, but he would never eat it. It was nice of him to have given her full reign in the kitchen. He usually stayed away completely while she was cooking, allowing her to fend for herself. She knew that he would cook for her if she asked, but…she wasn't quite ready for bread and fruit as her sole options. So it was better all around if she was simply able to prepare her own meals.

However, the food did not seem to be cooperating at the moment, and there were too many pots and too many pans that required her attention. Christine stirred this, fried that, and hurriedly tried to keep everything under check. The smell of the food was making her heart ache a little. It reminded her of Gustave. She wished that she had thought to bring him something traditional during his last days at the hospital…Instead he had had to be content with processed, awful hospital food.

With another small sigh, she pushed her hair back again and then lifted the lid off of a pan. She quickly gave a muffled yelp as a plume of black smoke wafted up from it. Coughing and waving it away, she looked over and saw that she had burned the contents of the pan. With a groan, she took the pan away and rinsed it out, knowing that there was nothing to be saved and knowing that there wasn't anything left to start over with.

Thankfully, Erik had been in a surprisingly-good mood that day, and so she shuffled over to the front room. He was on his laptop again, looking very focused.

"Hey—um, Erik?" she said quietly.

He looked up at her. "Christine," he said. "What is it you need?"

"Yeah, I really hate to ask you this…I'm so sorry, but I'm making wallenbergare, and I accidentally just burned my cream sauce. Would you mind…? I need more cream, but you're out. Please?"

"Of course." He stood. "I shall return soon."

Christine couldn't help but smile. "You're also almost out of eggs…if you want to just pick some up on the way."

He nodded, pulling his gloves on.

"I promise I won't burn the house down while you're gone," Christine said, laughing. Erik chuckled a little at her silly attempt at a joke, and then he was gone, out the door. Trying not to feel too pleased, she returned to the kitchen.

Ever since her inevitable and long-delayed realization that Erik was in love with her, she had had a mixture of feelings whenever she was around him. For the most part, she had felt supreme flattery. Why would a man so obviously talented care about her? Erik was turning out to be a genius in all aspects. Even though he was quiet for the most part, he was still able to answer any question she had…about anything. Why would such a virtuoso be interested in her? She wasn't the prettiest or the most talented or the nicest or the funniest girl in the world…She was just Christine. Yet for some reason that was what Erik wanted.

She also felt anxiety. Erik was a murderer. He had killed more people than she wanted to know. Even though he had stopped, that still didn't excuse all the bad things he had done before. She couldn't just brush aside all of that. It was something that would always be there, chewing at her…

Everything was ready now. She was just waiting for the cream. Carefully, she put lids over the food and set the temperature to low, wanting to keep it all warm until Erik returned with the things she needed. It was nice of him to get up from what he was doing to get a few things from the store for her. She would have done it herself, but…she didn't want to wander those tunnels by herself. They were scary enough with Erik as her guide.

She heard the door open, and she went out to see him, a smile creeping onto her lips without her even realizing it.

But it wasn't Erik—it was Mr. Khan again, and he smiled a little at her.

"Hello, Christine," he said. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," she said, feeling a little suspicious. "I don't want to be rude, but, um…Erik said—"

"What Erik doesn't know won't hurt him," Mr. Khan said comfortably, sitting down.

"But he knew last time," Christine said. "He knew you had been here…"

"That's fine," Mr. Khan said with a smile. "Why don't you sit down? We can talk for a few minutes while he's out. I saw him go. No harm done, Christine, I promise. I just want to check up on you."

Christine glanced over to the door and then over to the kitchen before nodding and carefully curling up in Erik's huge armchair across from Mr. Khan. She looked at him, wondering how he was nonchalant about standing up to Erik and blatantly going against the masked man's wishes.

"Well, I'm fine," Christine then said, breaking the silence. "Erik has been fine, too, I think. We're just…practicing and stuff. He took me up the other day and took me on a drive around the city."

"That's good," Mr. Khan murmured, looking at her closely. "Though you look a little pale, Christine."

"Yeah, I wouldn't be surprised," she said, shrugging. "I can't find a single mirror in this house, you know? It's kind of crazy and a little frustrating. I don't know what I look like ever!"

"Yes. Erik isn't too fond of mirrors." There was a pause, and then Mr. Khan suddenly asked, "Do you know a man named Raoul de Chagny?"

Christine started in surprise, and she nodded quickly. "We dated for a while."

"And…are you still with him?"

She resisted glaring. "Of course not," she said. "We had…problems. About my singing. He thought it was a waste of time, so I broke it off. And I wouldn't be here if I was still dating him. That would be wrong."

Mr. Khan rubbed the side of his head with two of his fingers. "He's been going around the Opera, asking for you," he said.

"Oh," Christine said simply, unsure of how she felt about this. Why would Raoul do that? It felt somewhat too coincidental to her: running into him at the bakery and then suddenly Mr. Khan asking about him.

"Well, I guess he's worried about you because of the fire," Mr. Khan said. "I've heard he's worried because he can't get a hold of you. It's natural."

"I just saw him the other day," she said, frowning a bit. "It was a big coincidence."

"Yes. Well. Maybe I could take you back up…and you could talk to him and tell him that you're still fine…"

Christine folded her arms resolutely. "You know that Erik wants me here. I'm not leaving him."

"You wouldn't be leaving him, Christine," Mr. Khan said, still in a gentle voice. "You shouldn't be here, and you know it."

"Erik needs me here," she said. "I need to be here with him right now—not upstairs talking to Raoul, who probably didn't even give me a second thought until he heard about the fire." And she knew that that probably wasn't even true.

"Christine," Mr. Khan sighed. "I don't think you get what you're saying. You're too young. You don't understand."

"What don't I understand?" Christine said, getting frustrated. "I'm here because Erik wants me here! He—he needs me here." She thought of the time he had insisted that they belonged here, in the Opera House…together. Erik needed her to be with him.

Mr. Khan said carefully, "Listen to me. Erik cannot be fixed. His mind is too far gone. You're going to sacrifice your whole life for someone who doesn't deserve it. I've known Erik for almost twenty years. He's not a man that anyone can be with."

"I don't even know what you're talking about," Christine said. "Erik is fine, isn't he? He's always been good to me! He's provided everything for me—done everything for me! He wants me to be with him!"

"You have no idea what you're saying!" Mr. Khan said, sounding tired and frustrated. "You don't know anything about Erik, Christine. He hasn't told you anything about himself, has he?"

"Well, not really," Christine admitted. "But I haven't asked…"

"I could tell you stories about him that would have you begging me to take you back up," Mr. Khan said. "Erik is not a man to be trusted or to become attached to. Everything he does is for his own selfish purposes. Why can't you see that? He doesn't love. He can't love, Christine."

"Why do you hate him so much?" Christine demanded, not even bothering with blushing, girlish modesty to shyly tell Mr. Khan that Erik didn't love her when they obviously both knew the truth—somehow, Mr. Khan had found out. "Did he do something to you?"

"I don't hate Erik," Mr. Khan said hurriedly. "No, I don't hate him. Our…friendship is…complicated, at best. But it's not even a friendship, in Erik's mind. He doesn't think that way. He's a bad man who's capable of so much, Christine, and that's what is difficult about this entire thing. You're only seeing the good that you think he's capable of—but he'll never fulfill it. He can never change. He is…what he is. And you're too young to be mixed up with him. I just wish that you'd open your eyes and see what it is you're doing."

"Stop talking to me like I'm stupid!" she said, nearly standing up. "I'm not! I know what I'm doing!"

"You don't!" Mr. Khan replied hotly. "You have no idea! You're going to throw your entire life away!"

Christine gave an angry grunt and crossed her legs, going defensive immediately. It made her upset that he was talking about Erik like this. Like Erik was some…damaged, delusional crazy person. No. He wasn't. He was just a genius, passionate man. So what if he didn't behave like…normal people? He had never hurt her. He had never come close to hurting her…Except that one time she had just met him and had asked for his help to find her Pappa. But that had been so long ago, and Erik hadn't even known her.

"I'm sorry," Mr. Khan suddenly said, rubbing his eyes. "I didn't mean to shout. This is difficult. It's hard to remind myself that you know nothing about him. I know that he's made himself seem like a decent man, but if you knew some of the things I know about him…" He looked at her carefully.

"Well, what things?" Christine asked at last, taking the bait. "I know that he's…killed people. But he doesn't do that anymore. He told me."

Mr. Khan looked sad suddenly. "Erik has an…addictive personality. He always needs something. When I first met him, it was drugs."

Christine felt herself seize up, and she stared at Mr. Khan in horror. Erik doing drugs? He had never seemed like that type of person—the people she had sometimes seen in the streets, with their twitchy hands and their glazed eyes.

"He must have been younger than you," Mr. Khan said, and it sounded like he was determined to tell this story but somehow depressed and upset that he had to. "He was in very deep. He was scrounging around the streets of Tehran, fighting and scheming for his next dose. I don't know where he was before that. He hasn't told me anything about his childhood or what had originally drawn him to Tehran—because he was born in France, you know."

"Erik's French?" Christine echoed. "I never knew…He never told me."

"There are a lot of things he hasn't told you," Mr. Khan said. "I tried for months to get him clean, but he was too hooked. I don't know who or where or how or why he started, but they obviously got him good. The only thing that stopped him was when he nearly killed himself while overdosing. Then he worked to get clean, and it wasn't pretty…You can probably just somewhat imagine what Erik would be like during a withdrawal stage. It took a long time, but eventually he was able to quit for good."

Christine pulled at a curl, feeling conflicted and confused. Why would Erik feel the need to do drugs? He had been young, yes, but…that didn't excuse it. She had never done drugs.

"Well—well, why did you want to get him clean at all?" Christine asked. "I mean, why did you even help him?"

"Because he's brilliant," Mr. Khan said, tapping the armrest a few times. "Completely brilliant. I worked for a special division of the government, and we'd been hearing rumors about him. Even while completely trashed, Erik was a genius. We just wanted to offer him…a job, really. That's all it was. But we couldn't have a drug addict working for us, so they assigned me to be his…er, caretaker, as it were. I don't know what we were thinking. Having someone like Erik working for us…"

"What did he do?" she asked.

"Bad things," Mr. Khan replied. "Things that normal people wouldn't do—things only Erik would do."

"Don't say that!" Christine said angrily, desperately. "You're—you're just like everyone else! You think that he's some kind of terrible, evil thing."

"He's not…but he's not a good man, either."

"You've given up on him," Christine said, feeling tears stinging her eyes. She blinked them away furiously. "But I know he can change, Mr. Khan. I've seen him. He wants to do good things, but he doesn't know how because he's spent his whole life doing bad things."

"He does bad things because he likes doing them," Mr. Khan said pleadingly. "I'm so sorry that you're caught up in the middle of this. But he's gotten into your head. You believe him because he makes you believe him. It's all a game to him. You have to see this."

Christine turned away from him abruptly, to signal the end of the conversation and to hide her shining eyes. "I think it's time for you to go now," she said forcefully. "Erik's going to be back soon."

There was a long pause, and then the furniture creaked a little as Mr. Khan stood. "I know it's hard to understand," he said quietly. "Erik is my friend, but I've learned the hard way where the line ends. Erik has no friends, no loyalties except to himself. Please, Christine. Try to understand this. I'm not saying this to try to insult Erik or upset you. I just want you to realize what you're doing to yourself…and to him." So saying, Mr. Khan left, the door clicking shut loudly behind him.

Christine paced and tugged on her curls, taking deep breaths to control oncoming tears. Of course it wasn't true! Mr. Khan was wrong—wrong about everything! She rubbed at her eyes and whimpered on a little sob as she heavily sat back down on the sofa, putting her face in her hands.

A short while later, the door opened, and Erik entered, a box in his arms. A rush of relief flooded her chest, and she leapt up and hurried over to him, grasping his cuff tightly.

"Have you burned down my kitchen, then?" Erik then asked, his usually-cold voice warm and a little teasing.

Christine said, "Erik, you wouldn't lie to me, would you?"

There was a pause, and then he said, "Erik would never lie to his Christine. Why would you ask that? Is something troubling you?" In that moment, she knew he knew, and he continued darkly, "Khan was here, wasn't he? Has he been filling your pretty head with gruesome tales?"

"I just want to know. I need to know, Erik. Have you really—you stopped…killing people. Right? You told me that you have."

Erik nodded. "For you, Christine."

Her heart, which had been constricted, loosened slightly. She then asked, "And it was a long time ago. Right?"

"I have told you before," he said. "That afternoon…when you gave me part of your soul. I could not hold something so pure and precious and then resume wallowing in carnage and blood. I would tarnish you."

His logic still didn't make any sense to her, but she sighed with relief and smiled.

"Thank you," she murmured. "That makes me…really happy, Erik."

There was a pause, and then Erik shifted his weight a little. "I have your requested items," he said. Christine pulled away, getting the hint that he might be a little uncomfortable by her proximity, and so she went to the kitchen, knowing that he was following her. He set the box down on the counter, and Christine pulled out the eggs and cream. She smiled at him.

"Thanks for this," she said. "Now I can finally finish!"

She took the cream and began to make her sauce again, but this time she noticed that Erik continued to watch her.

"You're still upset," Erik then said, somewhat slowly. "What has Khan told you?"

Christine glanced at him, quickly feeling a little unsure. "Nothing," she said unconvincingly.

"You should not lie to me," Erik said, his voice taking on a darker, more menacing tone that made her want to shudder.

Christine stared at the pot for a few long, silent moments, stirring slowly, methodically, and without really thinking about what she was doing. She finally looked back at him.

"Mr. Khan told me that…you did drugs," she said, her voice nearly a whisper.

His bottom lip tightened instantly, his chin clenched in displeasure. "Yes," he said. "It was many, many years ago. I was young…foolish…reckless."

"But you don't anymore, right?" she asked, needing confirmation yet again. "You haven't—I mean…not anymore? Not for a long time?"

"Of course not," he said sharply. "I am much smarter than I was twenty years ago."

Christine finished up her sauce, feeling relieved. Erik had stopped doing bad things. The things that had scared her most were now done, and Erik was on his way to becoming a better man…Right?

After dinner, Christine went back to the front room and sat down on the leather sofa, deep in thought. Erik loved her, and he had stopped doing all those things. Stopped killing people for her. She knew that she cared about him as well—she had just yelled at Mr. Khan for saying things about her masked teacher, but…Erik had done so many bad things in his life. If he had been any other man, he probably would have been locked in jail until he died. Was it crazy of her to care about him? Was she out of her mind?

Erik's long legs suddenly appeared, and he sat down across from her.

"I have been thinking about how much you enjoyed my trick," Erik said. "In the practice room, with the card…"

"Oh, yeah," she said, remembering. "That was really neat."

"Perhaps you wish to see more," he suggested, sounding a little anxious. "I have a great deal of them, and most are much more impressive."

"Oh—yeah!" she said again. "Yeah! I'd love to see!"

His eyes glowed brightly, and he pulled out a deck of cards and did amazing tricks that left her baffled.

"How did you do that?" she once asked, as he had just had her pull the card out from underneath the sofa. She handed it back over to him. "I mean, really! That was amazing! How did you do it?"

"Magic," he said simply, though there was a soft, teasing tone to his voice that she enjoyed.

While he was shuffling his cards across his long hands, Christine watched him with a small smile. Like this, she knew. She knew what could happen.

Carefully, she took a deep breath and said, "I want you to be a good man, Erik."

His fingers paused, and the cards came to a standstill. His yellow eyes swept up to hers, and there was instant tension in his jaw.

"I know you can be one," she pressed. "You've done…so much for me. So many good things. Mr. Khan told me things about you that scared me, but you're different now. I know you are."

There was a long moment of silence, and then he went back to shuffling, his head bent low, his hair falling over his ears.

"Perhaps I am not," he said, his voice soft. The cards leapt back and forth between his hands. "Perhaps I am the same man I have always been."

"No. I don't believe that. A bad man wouldn't have done what you've done for me."

To her shock, the couch behind her started talking. "Maybe that is because of your incandescent charms, my dear!"

Christine had swiveled around in her seat, staring at the couch. She glanced back to Erik suspiciously, but he was still shuffling, and his mouth was in a straight line, not having moved.

"Erik?" she said questioningly.

"Yes," said the end table by the couch. "You are the exception to our rules. You are an exception in itself."

"How are you doing that?" she asked again, scooting over to examine the table. "I mean…how? That's amazing! I actually thought they were talking to me!"

She looked back and, to her further surprise, Erik seemed to smile a little. "They are talking to you, my Christine."

She laughed. "Fine. Be that way and keep your secrets. But…" She slid back over across from him. "I mean what I said. I really do. I really don't believe that you're the same man you were those years ago. You just need to believe that, too." With great care and deliberate slowness, Christine reached over and gently grasped his hand. The cards quickly tumbled to the floor. "I don't know why you did the things you have, but you don't have to do them anymore. You can change. I—I know you can, Erik." She squeezed his fingers softly, her ring glinting softly in the light. "I believe in you."