In the darkness, Christine sat up quickly, her eyes snapping open. She inhaled a small gasp.

"Ghost," she said suddenly. Clumsily, she reached over to the nightstand and touched the cool vase, feeling her way up to the bouquet of flowers. Erik had given them to her not three hours ago. She had taken them with a very heated blush and a wide grin.

"Thank you," she had said, trying not to giggle or jump up and down in excitement. "What are these for?"

"Women enjoy flowers, do they not?" he had said as a noncommittal response. She had put them on the nightstand by Erik's large bed later that night, shoving his scary sculpture under the bed once again, as she had done every night since her arrival. The sweet scent of the flowers had wafted around the room, and Christine ran a finger over the soft petals. The flowers were red.

Pushing the sheets off of her, she clumsily climbed out of the bed, tripping a little as her foot got caught in the bedspread, but she recovered and made her way over to the light switch, flipping it on and pulling on a dressing gown to cover her nightgown. She liked the nightgowns, she decided. They made her feel…girly. And she hadn't felt like that very often, usually too stressed or worried to give thought to that kind of thing.

Christine ensured one last time that the sash was tied before pulling open the door and stepping out into the room, looking for Erik. The front room was empty and so was the kitchen. Guessing that he had gone out for a while, Christine huffed in frustration and plopped down heavily onto the sofa, staring at his large armchair. She had put together the pieces at last. It had taken her awhile, but it came, eventually, as it always did. Christine pushed her fingers into her eyes, giving an angry grunt. Sometimes she felt so stupid. The answer was always right there in front of her, but she never seemed to be able to figure it out until it was too late. She had never thought of herself as dull before. She had done well in high school, even going so far as to take a couple advanced literature and history classes. She had never failed a class. Christine chewed on a fingernail absentmindedly. Maybe she just lacked common sense.

With a little snort of amusement, she shook her head. It was apparently so, as she was still here, comfortably living with a murderer and ex-drug-addict and…who knew what else. But Erik had somehow seemed touched by her proclamation of faith in him the other night. He had genuinely seemed touched. She knew he was not a bad man through and through. He just needed a little…guidance, maybe. As far as she knew, he hadn't ever really had someone like that—a girlfriend (she giggled a little at the thought) or even a friend. Mr. Khan had said that Erik didn't think like that, that he had no loyalties to anyone but himself and that he was a selfish, cruel, unstable man. But Christine felt, deep in her stomach, that maybe if she just tried to nudge him in the right direction…maybe he could be the man she needed him to be. He was already doing such a good job caring for her. A bad man wouldn't get her eggs and cream at a moment's notice. A bad man wouldn't give up his bedroom and bathroom for her. A bad man wouldn't buy her a whole new wardrobe and other necessities. So…Erik wasn't…a bad man. He was just a little misguided and confused. Maybe. Hopefully.

As she sat there, thinking, she suddenly heard a small, muffled noise, and she looked over, putting a hand over her heart to try to still it. There were never any noises in the house except when made by her or Erik. So that meant that Erik was in the house or…someone else. Christine scowled. If it was Mr. Khan again, she made a vow to turn him out right away. She didn't need him slandering Erik even more. She was having a tough enough time getting past everything else.

Carefully, she crept over to the source of the noise. It was coming from near the piano, and she looked around curiously before spotting the mysterious door that never seemed to open. She tiptoed over and pressed her ear against it. Was Mr. Khan snooping around in there? How did he get in?

But…no. After a moment, she realized that it was Erik—talking. His voice was too soft and muffled by the door for her to make out any long sentences, but she heard snippets and random words.

"…you can…our…Perhaps…should…out…"

Christine strained to hear more. She couldn't hear anyone else, and by the way Erik would pause for a period of time gave her the impression that he was talking to someone on the phone. She wondered who and why. But given the fact that she was probably hearing every fifth or sixth word Erik said, she knew that she wouldn't find out. With a silent sigh, she went back to the bedroom, knowing she would have to wait until the next day.

The next morning, she ventured out into the front room to find Erik on his laptop again, a few of his fingers pressed into his hairline, giving him a look of concentration.

"I know your secret," she said in a sing-song voice, sitting down across from him. He glanced up at her, and she was shocked to see that he appeared a little haggard. His eyes were tired, and his mouth was pulling downward.

"Hey—are you okay?" she asked softly.

"Yes," he said quickly. "Yes, I am fine. 'Okay.' I am."

"All right," she said. "You just look a little beat. Sorry."

Erik shut the laptop suddenly and set it off to the side, leaning forward a little and pressing his fingertips to his hairline once again.

"What is my secret?" he then said.

"Oh, yeah," she said, quickly remembering why she was there. "I know it! Okay, on the opening night of Figaro, someone had left flowers for me in the dressing room. I didn't know who they were from, but a girl said they were from the Ghost." Christine couldn't help but grin a little. "You're the Ghost, aren't you?"

Erik chuckled a little, and he looked back up at her, smoothing his hair down. "I seem to have a wide array of names and identities, do I not?"

Christine laughed. "I think that I like Erik best, though."

He paused and tilted his head ever-so-slightly, looking at her a little curiously. "Yes," he said softly. "Perhaps Erik is best for you…most suited to you."

"Heh." She gave an awkward half-laugh, and then she said, "So what does your Ghost job entail?"

He spread his hands out in front of him. "A variety of things," he said. "I usually make small adjustments to the orchestrations…something hardly anyone notices, but it is infinitely beneficial to the overall production. Occasionally I will modify set arrangements or costumes if need be. It is an all-inclusive position, one that only benefits the Opera House."

Christine hesitated, unsure if she wanted to say it, but then she said it anyway: "That girl told me that someone had been killed by the Ghost…"

"I merely gave him a very good fright," Erik said, sounding casual about the fact that he had killed someone else. "Apparently he already had a heart condition, and he was so frightened by my silly tricks that he suffered a heart attack later that night."

"Oh, wow," Christine said quietly. "That's…awful. That poor guy."

"Why would you say that?" Erik said. "You did not know him. Perhaps he was a criminal." He didn't sound upset or angry—he sounded genuinely interested in her answer.

"I'm not happy that someone died, Erik," she said. "It's awful when people die."

"Some people are an anathema. Some people deserve to die."

She gaped for a moment. "No one deserves that," she then said. "And…and even if they do, I don't think that it should be decided by another person. I try not to judge someone because they do bad things. I do bad things, too."

Erik laughed outright. "You, my dear, most certainly do not."

"I do," she insisted. "So are you—going to kill me too or something? Do I deserve to die?"

His humor vanished instantly, and he sprang up from his seat. "Why would you say something like that?" he snarled. "You will never speak like that again. How dare you even think that…" He forced himself to trail off, and he sucked in a deep breath, his thin chest expanding. "You are safer here than anywhere else," he then said. "Do not ever doubt that."

"I don't," she said, hurriedly and quietly. "I don't, Erik. I was just…never mind. Never mind what I said."

There was a long silence, and Erik watched her, as if studying and analyzing her. It made her feel uncomfortable and squirmy, and she looked around the room, anywhere but at him.

After a while, Erik leaned back and said, "Perhaps you would enjoy another drive this evening."

She quickly perked up at that suggestion. "Yes," she said hurriedly. "Yeah, I would love that."

The next few hours consisted of another voice lesson, and Christine felt herself relax slightly as she sang. There seemed to be no problems in the music—the music was always there for her, to comfort and to care. Maybe Erik felt that, too.

They walked up to the surface in silence, Christine clutching his cuff like she did last time. She kept close to him, wondering how he could see where he was going. She thought that maybe it wasn't that he could see, but that he knew the way so well that he didn't need any light. Still…it was a little scary to be walking around, completely blind. It was always so dim in his house. She had never thought she would miss sunlight coming in through the windows as much as she did.

It was dusk when they finally emerged, and Christine inhaled deeply, letting the sweet summer air fill her up. It was a very warm night, and she looked around, letting herself smile as she saw the orange glow of the city streets as they soaked up the last bit of the fading sun. Streetlamps were beginning to flicker on, and the deep shadows cast by the buildings created a dramatic and impressive visual.

Erik ushered her into the awaiting car, glancing around suspiciously, and Christine slid in without comment, though she felt disappointment. She wondered if maybe in a few days they could actually walk around instead of sequester themselves in a dark car. Her body felt the need for some type of refreshing exercise. She had spent the majority of her summer indoors, and she wanted to go out and enjoy the sunshine and warm air.

Christine looked out into the streets. They passed by a huge park, and Christine could see a mother and father with two children. The father was carrying a small girl on his shoulders, and the mother was holding the other little girl's hand. For a brief moment, Christine wondered what it would have been like if her parents had had any other children. Things would have turned out so differently.

"What is it that occupies your thoughts?" Erik asked quietly, and Christine turned to find him watching her, his eyes glowing. She smiled weakly.

"My dad," she said honestly. "I miss him still. A lot."

"Yes. There has not been enough time for the pain to pass." She noticed his hand carefully sliding over the seat, as if he was hoping she wouldn't see. His thin fingers lightly touched the edges of hers. He made no comment, nor did she. Did he want her to ignore it, pretend like it wasn't happening? Did he want her to smile and signal that it was okay? Did he want her to turn her hand over for further invitation? And…was she okay with it, really? He wasn't touching much. It was like he was afraid of fully holding her hand and contented himself with a careful touch of her fingers.

He continued, "You have learned to stand without him, and soon the grief will lessen."

They watched each other for a moment. The cool air conditioning was blowing the hair around her face, and a small stray curl blew over and tickled her nose. She reached up to brush it away, and she saw that Erik's fingers curled slightly, as if he was hurt and thought she had pulled away. Quickly, she tucked her curl behind her ear and then put her fingers carefully over his without another thought. His eyes swept up to hers again. It was a silent moment.

"Have you ever…lost anyone?" she asked.

Erik looked down at her hand, and his eyes were lost in the shadows for a moment. She took the opportunity of his distraction to study his mask quickly. She still hadn't plucked up enough courage to ask him about it again.

"Once," he said, continuing to watch her hand. "A very long time ago."

"Can I ask who it was?" she said. She could feel the thinness of his hand through the glove.

To her astonishment, it looked like the question flustered him. He suddenly pulled his hand away and pushed them down into his lap.

"It was…" he said, looking out of the window. "It was the female…the woman…who gave birth to me."

She frowned in confusion. "Your mother?"

"No! Yes—no. No." He glanced over at her quickly. "No. She was not my…mother. She was simply the woman who carried me for nine months and then…delivered me."

Christine was more confused than ever. "Like…a birth mother? Were you raised by someone other than your biological mother? Because that's okay, Erik." She reached over to try to comfort him with a touch, and he flinched. She pulled her hand back to herself quickly.

"No!" he said again, and he stretched his hand out but paused, as if uncertain of where to put it on her. His hand hung in the air between them, a silent invitation and a silent plea. He was waiting for her to respond—she knew he wouldn't go any further without her consent. Knowing it would be too cruel to let his request go ignored, she carefully put her up as well, and their fingertips touched. They sat there for a few more silent moments. She was trying to control her breathing and emotions. So much had happened so quickly.

"The woman…who gave birth to me was not my mother," Erik said at last. "I was housed, clothed, and fed by her, but she was not my mother. I had no mother."

Christine didn't understand at all what he was saying, but she could sense that maybe now wasn't the right time to press him for details or clarifying facts.

"I'm really sorry, Erik," she murmured, scooting closer to him. "That's sad. Moms are wonderful. My mom was."

The car continued to drive, and Christine glanced at Erik a few times before slowly, carefully, and deliberately turning her hand and sliding her fingers between his. She could feel him tense instantly, but he did not pull or push her away. He merely sat there, staring out of the window.

"Is this okay?" she asked, not wanting to make him uncomfortable.

"Fine," he said, his voice sounding a little strangled. "Fine. It's fine."

For a long time, they rode in silence, both of them looking out the window. After a while, Christine noticed that they were making circles around the same three or four blocks, and she got the impression that Erik was reluctant to instruct the driver to go back to the Opera House. The thought made her blush a little with pleasure. She and Erik hadn't had much physical contact, but the way he always reacted made her wonder what kind of experience he had with this sort of affection. She had been very tactile with Raoul, and he had never expressed annoyance at her touches.

But Erik was…Erik. He was a new realm, an entirely new world to her, and she would have to go very slow and learn by experience and caution. She didn't want to pressure him or make him uncomfortable. He wasn't a man to be pushed too far, and although she knew that he wouldn't hurt her, she didn't want to create unnecessary contention.

Still, holding her hand was probably a very, very big leap for Erik, and she was pleased. Lightly, she stroked the back of his thin glove with her thumb, and his hand jerked slightly, but he did not pull away.

It was very dark now, and she could sense that it was late in the evening. Her eyes were beginning to become heavy, and she watched the buildings roll by the window with blurry, tired vision. Erik hadn't said anything since his insistent assurance that she was 'fine,' merely staring silently out of the window as well.

However, after she couldn't muffle a long yawn, he looked back to her.

"You are tired. I have kept you out too long."

"No, it's fine," she said sleepily, feeling pleasantly-drowsy in the cool car. "I'm good."

"We will have many more evenings like this," he said, and it almost sounded like he was insisting on it.

"Okay," she muttered, feeling too dull and sleep addled to say anything else.

He instructed the driver to take them back to the Opera House, and Christine blinked slowly at the passing street lights and darkened windows of the various shops and buildings. When they got closer to the Opera House, Erik said quietly,

"Perhaps when the damage is fully repaired you would not object to…visiting Erik…often. You will come for lessons…and I will show you more magic."

"That sounds nice," she said, smiling at the thought.

"Yes. That way—that way you will not be distracted. You will not forget your poor Erik."

She couldn't help but giggle a little. "What are you talking about?"

"When you make your debut, you will be adored by the world. Other men will see your divine talent and will try to take you from me, and I will be alone, without my Christine to sing for me."

They stopped outside the Opera House at last, and Christine laughed again, some of her sleepiness adding to her amusement. "Erik, you're silly sometimes, you know that? Of course I'd never forget about you! You got me where I am today. I'm not going to just run off with some hot guy."

In the dim lights of the Opera House, she could see him clenching his chin grimly.

"We should hope not," he said, and he opened the door that led down to his underground home.

Once there, Christine spent a moment rubbing at her eyes, adjusting to the sudden and abrupt change in lighting. Erik's lights were very bright to compensate for the fact that there was no sunlight.

She looked over at Erik sitting at the piano, feeling a warm sensation of pleasant nerves fill her stomach. The car ride tonight had been revealing and tender. She knew that she cared about him. A lot. She felt as if they had reached a level of more understanding than before, even though parts of him were still a huge, unsolved mystery.

Her stomach suddenly clenched up at the thought, and she stared at him, all traces of sleepiness instantly gone. Now that they were so close…the mask needed to come off. Christine examined it carefully. No matter what was under there, she knew it would still be the man she had come to care about without seeing his face. This would be another building block of their fragile trust. Even if he hid scars, she wanted to see now more than ever. The timing felt perfect. Their emotions were exposed and raw, and their delicate bond seemed ready for a test. He would be angry, of course, but once he saw that she didn't care what he hid, he would come to know that she was ready for another step. Erik might be too unsure to do so himself, unsure if she was prepared, but…she was.

She approached him, trying not to betray herself. Her hands were shaking slightly, and so she clasped them together. Christine kept her eyes on him, careful to note the ties of his mask beneath his black hair. If she just pulled up…it shouldn't be too hard. Hopefully it wouldn't catch on his nose. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt him by taking it off.

When she was by him, she hesitated. Erik had warned her about touching his mask. But…that had been months ago, when they weren't close, when they didn't have this special connection. Christine didn't want to spend any more time with him looking at a mask. Their relationship deserved a real face. She felt that they were at this point. This was now necessary, and Erik would have to realize that if he wanted her to continue visiting him—if he wanted them to become closer.

He turned to look at her as she stepped into the small alcove, and she smiled at him.

"Is there something you require?" he asked. "I was under the impression that you were tired."

"Just coming to say goodnight," she invented stupidly. "I had…a really nice time tonight. Thank you."

"Yes. Yes, you enjoyed yourself in my company. And you touched me."

"I did," she agreed. "You said it was okay."

"I said that," he said, looking back to his music. "No one touches me…but you did."

"Can I touch you again?" she asked. "I just want maybe like a half-hug goodnight. You don't have to stand up."

He was silent for a moment, and then he nodded.

She stepped closer to him and carefully leaned over to give him an awkward, clumsy, horribly-uncomfortable hug. He didn't raise his arms to hug her back, but she was fine with that. She could hear him exhale softly, and she took a deep breath.

When she drew back, her hands came up to catch the sides of his mask, and she gave one almighty yank upward. It slid off jerkily and was surprisingly-light. She heard him gasp in what sounded like pain—the mask must have clipped him while she pulled it off. Christine held it tightly and looked.

He tried to cover it with his hands, but it was too late.

She saw.