Well, we're in a new year and whooo is starting out swimmingly by forgetting today was a posting day? It's meeee! So yup. Doing really well. But the good news is, this is one of the longest chapters thus far! That's something at least, right?

I hope all of you had a safe and wonderful New Year (I get funny looks when I explain how quiet mine tend to be. Not a big partier over here).

Anyway, onward!

XVIII

Sleep came easily that night.

Christine supposed one of the benefits of having an underground home was the absolute silence—the uninterrupted peace that allowed one to slumber endlessly, especially when there were no responsibilities or pressing engagements that made her mind overrule her body's exhaustion.

She had insisted that Erik show her how to utilize the bedside lamps, but after all appendages were tucked safely away, Boo cuddled up against her leg, she turned off the light and the entire room was engulfed in inky blackness.

She would have thought that nightmares would have plagued her—of confined spaces and too-still air, or perhaps shadowed kidnappers who dragged her away from her home—there was nothing but deep and restful sleep, aided by a bed that had no right being so comfortable.

And when she finally awoke, no notion as to what time it was beyond the low ache in her belly that insisted she was hungry, she found the tiny groove in the lamp that allowed it to function.

Only to find that her mother's quilt was carefully draped over her.

She fingered it gently, her brow furrowed. She knew she had asked for it, that Erik had seemed adamant that he wanted her to be comfortable here, but it meant that he had yet again gone to her apartment.

It meant that he had also been in her room while she slept.

Had he lingered? Had he watched her as she was so very vulnerable, completely ignorant to his continued presence?

She swallowed, grimacing at the thick, heavy feeling in her mouth as she made her way to the bathroom to brush her teeth. Erik had made a great show the night before of opening a fresh toothbrush before showing her precisely where it would be kept for only her use.

"Privacy," he had murmured as he watched her closely, almost as if waiting for her pronounced approval.

She had laughed incredulously before taking the proffered brush and waiting for him to vacate the room before beginning her nighttime ablutions, all the while wondering at the dichotomy of her captor. His actions were so vicious, so thoroughly wrong, yet often he approached her with childlike apprehension.

It made it terribly difficult to hate him.

Her stomach gave another gurgle of protest, and she remembered how little she'd eaten the night before. After he had revealed the expanse of his underground domain, she had meekly followed him back indoors. And while he had tried to ply her with food, all she had desired was to curl up in the bed and allow her mind to rest—to not think anymore of the strangeness of her circumstances or of the man who confused her so completely.

She eyed the tub once more, knowing she would need to bathe properly today, but she did not think she could wait to eat long enough to do so.

Did she dress? She had never liked putting on fresh clothes without first having showered, and it was probably unwise to go out in anything less than a full armament of daywear.

But as she left the bathroom and glanced at the wardrobe, her stomach clutching painfully as it reminded her yet again of its pitifully empty state, she decided that her need for food and tea was most pressing.

So she grabbed her mother's quilt and wrapped it about herself, determined to make her way to the kitchen and retreat back to the bedroom before she gathered her courage enough to bathe and dress.

But her desire for a quick trip to the kitchen was thwarted when Erik's voice greeted her as she shuffled from the bedroom. "Have you ever been to Africa?"

She blinked at him, turning to him as he sat comfortably in his chair, the book that she had read without his permission open across his lap.

"What?"

He closed it with a low thump. "To Africa. Have you ever travelled there?"

Her brow furrowed, and she pulled the quilt about her a little more firmly. "No. My parents came here before I was born and we never travelled outside the country. Why?" Her mouth grew dry as she realized he might be suggesting they relocate there. "I've never wanted to go to Africa either…"

He waved away her denial. "It is no matter. I only thought it might explain the extraordinary amount of hours you spend sleeping if you were infected with a sleeping sickness."

Christine flushed, not at all used to her sleeping habits being scrutinized. "Well, I'm sorry," she answered primly, "but I never asked you to wait for me to get up. If you had something you needed to do, then you should have done it."

Erik gave an odd grin, and she adjusted the quilt again uncomfortably. "I am gratified to receive your permission, for I have indeed accomplished many things while you slumbered."

She stared at him, not certain she wanted to puzzle out what he might have done now. So instead she glanced down at her much-loved covering, before mustering a quiet, "Thank you. For bringing me her quilt."

He inclined his head slightly, the smirk falling from his lips. "Of course. I want you to have everything you need to be comfortable here. If there is something more you require, then you must inform me."

She wanted to remind him that her freedom would be greatly appreciated, but already she was coming to realize that such blatant reminders of her unwillingness to be here did not result in anything positive from him.

So instead she wandered down the hallway, intent on uncovering tea things and maybe some sourdough bread for toast.

And butter.

And jam.

Or maybe peanut butter instead?

"Shall I take your silence to indicate you are angry, or do you merely prefer not to speak in the mornings?"

Christine hadn't expected him to follow her, but if he had been waiting for her to awaken—something that made her distinctly uncomfortable—it likely meant he wanted her company.

She frowned and continued to look through his cupboards. "Never really had anyone to talk to before."

Not for a long while at least.

He hummed at that and she glanced behind her and noted the way he leaned casually against the doorframe, watching her carefully.

"Is there something I may help you locate?"

"A tea kettle," came her mumbled, her head buried in the dark recess of a cupboard.

Only then to feel perfectly ridiculous as he moved closer to the stove and grabbed a sleek black kettle from a burner and held it down for her inspection. "Will this one be adequate?"

"Oh."

There was something soft about his eyes as he looked at her, and none of the harsh mockery she might have expected from him. "I have a fondness for tea myself and it seemed a terrible waste of energy to constantly be moving it from its rightful place on the stove for the sake of storing it out of sight."

She stood, adjusting the quilt that had fallen slightly to one side. "That makes sense. I guess I didn't notice it."

He smiled ever so slightly. "Shall I make you a cup?"

She cleared her throat, briefly wondering if she should decline in case he put something funny in it. But then she reasoned, if he had wanted to drug her again, it would likely happen regardless of whether or not she kept all her foodstuffs carefully away from him.

"Yes, please," she finally answered.

"And what did you desire to go with it? An omelet perhaps?"

While that did sound appealing, she wanted the immediacy of toast more than something more elegant.

"Do you have a toaster?"

He frowned at her and she thought he would argue, but eventually moved forward and touched a part of what appeared to be a perfectly normal backsplash and a toaster appeared from the very wall.

"Not a very nutritious breakfast, Christine."

She shrugged. "You're the one that bought all the sugary cereal," she reminded him before asking directions to the bread and proper accouterments, which he revealed with a weary sigh.

Christine watched her toast carefully, the unfamiliar device making her nervous that if she left it alone for any prolonged period, she'd set the bread aflame. She felt Erik's stare, which she resolutely ignored, deciding that she would face all of her uncertainty and rumpled emotions once breakfast was finished.

To her surprise when the water boiled, Erik hesitated, and he looked almost ashamed. "I am afraid that my… watchfulness did not produce an adequate example of your preferences for tea. If you would not mind providing some direction…"

Some of the heavy weight she had felt with the knowledge of all he had seen and witnessed seemed to lift, and she was able to produce a perfectly genuine smile. "Black tea, for starters, then a heaping teaspoon of brown sugar. And cream. But I'll have to tell you when to stop because the color has to be just right."

He obeyed with precise actions, constantly glancing toward her to ensure that he was doing it all to her exacting specification.

And despite everything, she found it rather sweet.

At which point she began to wonder if there was something fundamentally wrong with her that she could find anything sweet about her kidnapper.

After hers was properly brewed, sweetened, and creamed, Erik poured his own cup as she liberally spread peanut butter over her piece of toast followed by a thin layer of blackberry preserves.

Not her blueberry, but as she licked an errant smudge off her finger, quite good in its own right.

When next she glanced at Erik he hurriedly returned his gaze to his own cup of tea, and for some unknown reason she blushed.

"I'm… I'll be in the dining room."

He nodded, gesturing over his cup. "I shall join you in a moment."

It would have to be a quick moment, she decided. Because the moment she sat down and took a bite of her toast, she realized just how ravenous she was, and ate with enthusiasm. The tea however was still delightfully hot, and that at least required her to sip slowly and savor Erik's excellent choice in tea leaves.

She did not hear him come in, and she wasn't sure if that was a testament to his utterly silent movements or the crunchiness of her toast—perhaps a bit of both.

They sat in silence, each staring into their cups and taking slow and deliberate sips.

She hadn't expected Erik to be the one to broach conversation, usually it being her that could no longer stand the uncomfortable stillness as she began to prattle, so she knew something must be especially important.

"I had hoped… that is to say, if you amendable to the idea, it was my desire that we should venture to the music room today."

She stared at him. "The music room."

He nodded. "It is on the other side of the lake, you see. And while it had been tainted when all manner of miscreant searched for their supposed evidence, I can assure you that my traps have been reset and it has been cleaned thoroughly, so it should be all right."

She hesitated, not sure how to explain to him that it was not so much a question of where the room might be, but a lack of any wish to allow him to know that part of herself.

Singing, the act and the instruction, was deeply personal to her, and it seemed far too intimate at thing to share with a man who had betrayed her trust so completely.

"I don't know about that," she started, but Erik interrupted quickly.

"The boat is quite safe, I assure you. You will not get the least bit wet."

She was going to argue—to explain herself fully so there would be no doubt in his mind that she was unwilling to participate in anything musical with him.

But he was looking at her so earnestly, an all-encompassing hopefulness in his eyes, that she could not seem to force the words from her disobliging throat. "We could… at least look at the room," she relented, mentally chastising herself for being so cowardly.

But then he smiled at her, a true smile born of excitement and anticipation, and some secret part of her loved that expression and wanted to do anything she could to make it appear again in future.

"I'll have to change first though, and I'll need a bath so long as you…"

His smile faded but not entirely, and she felt stupid for even questioning him. But of course he pressed and she could not take it back now. "If I what?"

She smiled at him ruefully, hoping to temper the insult she was certain he would take from her need for reassurance. "If you promise not to intrude. You said that locks wouldn't do any good," she hurried to explain as he gaped at her, "and I just… would feel better if you promised to leave me be."

He groaned softly and any last remnant of his previous exuberance completely dissipated. "I never wanted you to feel that I… Erik… I… I would never take advantage of you, Christine. You have my word as a gentleman." He spoke so sincerely, as if the very notion of violating her privacy so crudely repulsed him, that she couldn't help but believe him.

"Thank you," she replied before taking her last sip of tea and rising from the table. "I'll be as quick as I can."

He nodded, now looking miserable and unhappy as he watched her leave the room. And against her better judgment, she found herself wondering if it would be so terrible to sing just one song for him, if only to stop him appearing so forlorn.

-X-

Christine had never had a bath like that. It took quite a bit of investigation to coax the taps into cooperation, but once successful she admired the way the water poured like a waterfall from the long wall beside the tub. The water was deliciously hot and regardless of her assurance to Erik that she would hurry, as soon as her body submerged in the soothing bath, she felt tense muscles loosen and her mind finally quiet as she luxuriated.

But once she remembered how worried he had been that she would harm herself, she hurried to wash her hair and scrub her skin, wanting to give him no cause for alarm. For while she wanted to believe he would keep his word, it was best not to tempt his rasher side into action. For that reason, she forced herself to vacate the warmth of the bath, stepping out into the cool air of the room and noticing with bemusement just how pink her skin had gotten.

There were all manner of feminine products lining the cupboard under the sink, ranging from lotions to cleansers to more personal items that made her cheeks burn as she pictured Erik buying them for her.

Christine quickly plaited her hair, and carefully wrapped in a towel, she returned to the bedroom in search of clothes. She had found a hamper in the bathroom which she had hesitantly placed the previous day's underthings, and she dearly hoped Erik would give her access to the washing machine so she could do her own laundry. The thought of him doing it was too mortifying for words.

She dressed warmly, their sojourn into the tunnels yesterday a confirmation that away from Erik's fireplaces the air was cold and damp. She searched for any type of hat to cover her wet hair, but eventually gave up, knowing she had taken too long already.

Erik was wearing his coat when she at least reentered the living room. He stood before the fireplace, staring into the flames, giving no indication that he had noticed her entrance.

Boo had taken up residence on the sofa, a black lump of limbs and ears as he positioned himself just so against the armrest.

"Are you sufficiently prepared?" he asked abruptly, causing her to jump at the unexpected sound.

"Yes," she answered, but instead of following him toward the bookcase, she walked quickly to the sofa and kissed Boo softly on the head. "Send out a search if I don't come back," she whispered.

He merely blinked languidly in reply.

"Perhaps I was mistaken in my jealousies. It seems he was my competition for your affection all along."

Christine glanced toward Erik, trying to determine if he was serious or not.

From the way his eyes were narrowed as he regarded the two of them, he was.

He had mentioned that his hasty abduction had stemmed from her conversation and prospective date with Joe, but to have him speak of it so plainly—for there to be no doubt that all of this horrid business was because he was jealous…

It only confirmed that while she felt a great deal for Erik, he was not a stable man. Well adjusted people did not behave like this because the girl they liked talked to another man.

And no matter how much his smiles made her heart flutter, there was no ignoring that.

She walked forward determinedly, coming as close to him as she dared. "Don't you dare. I've seen what you did the last time you felt threatened, and I will not let you do anything to Boo!"

And she ignored his chastened apology and his proffered arm, as well as his crestfallen sigh.

She followed him out into the darkness, waiting patiently for him to turn on the lights to the lake. Her annoyance was drowning out any fear she might have felt at the inky blackness surrounding her, but she was still surprised when Erik only lit the lantern and walked toward the boat.

"Where are the rest of the lights?" she questioned, still remaining by the doorway.

He glanced back at her, and sighed again. "Should we need to make a hasty retreat, I would prefer no one realize there is a more to my home than what they were already led to."

She had forgotten about the man who had called Erik friend. She had been so upset with him at the time—to have been willing to testify against a man while also claiming to care for him.

But now she was beginning to appreciate that maybe there was something more to his reasoning, now that she was well aware of what Erik was truly capable.

"Are you going to continue to stare or shall we continue our journey?"

She blinked, frowning at his tone. "You don't need to be so snippy," she responded crossly.

He sighed again and closed his eyes, and she rather thought he was trying to control his temper. For then he opened them and with as much sincerity as he could imbue, he tried his apology again. "I am not a patient man, Christine, especially not when I am… uncomfortable."

She laughed at that, somewhat incredulously. "Uncomfortable? As you have made me?"

He huffed out a tired breath and his shoulder slumped. "Frightened then. When Erik is… when I am frightened."

It seemed a very great thing for him to admit, the words coming out in stilted measure. "What were you frightened of?" she enquired gently, although she was fairly certain she already knew the answer.

But somehow she needed to have her suspicions confirmed.

He looked at her helplessly. "Of losing you before I even had a chance to try."

And how could she argue with that?

This time when he held out his hand to help her into the boat, she complied.

They rode in silence, the only sound the gentle lapping of the water around the paddle as Erik expertly steered them across the glassy water. And as she stared into the temperate liquid, its water thick and velvety as the paddle ever so smoothly ventured into its depths, she reached out her hand to touch it…

Only for Erik to pull it back firmly.

"One mustn't' wake the siren, Christine."

She blinked at him, not at all certain what he spoke of, but she made no attempt to touch the water again.

Were there things lurking in the depths?

She decided that if ever he left her alone out here she would throw a stone into the middle, and maybe then she would get a better feel for just how deep it truly was.

The last thing she needed was yet another thing to fear.

Eventually they came to the other side of the shore and Erik leapt from the craft gracefully before tying it quickly to a similar post. He held out his hand once more and she took it gratefully, hoping that she could be as lithe as he as she vacated the vessel.

Only to have her foot catch the lip of the boat.

And if Erik had not been so quick to steady her, she would have tumbled headfirst into the lake.

She stumbled back from the edge of the water, laughter born from mortification tumbling from her lips. "Why did you have to build your music room so far?"

Erik grunted before leaning forward and grasping the lantern from its hook on the bow of the boat.

"The acoustics demanded it. There was no room to fashion the rest of my home so I was forced to relocate the rest of it further inward." He eyed her closely. "Perhaps with time you will become more used to disembarkment."

She smiled grimly, as she usually did when he referenced the duration of her stay with him. "Perhaps."

Erik walked toward the stone wall, that at his touch suddenly wasn't as solid at it had first appeared. He entered through the opening and turned on the lights before lighting a few candles as well as the fireplace.

It was not what she expected.

The first thing to draw her eye was the impressive pipe organ that dominated the right side of the room. She had seen such things in churches, but to have one in a personal music room…

She was undeniably impressed.

"Did you build it?" she asked, walking closer to inspect the gleaming pipes and ivory keys.

He glanced behind him, stooped as he was as he coaxed a flame from the kindling to the larger pieces of wood. "Yes," he answered simply.

She didn't dare touch it, so she forced temptation away by looking at the rest of the room. There was another plush chair by the fire, and books and papers littered the space in a direct contrast from the neat and orderly way he kept the rest of his home.

Christine took a step nearer to one of the piles.

Compositions.

Seemingly hundreds of them.

She didn't try to read them, as surely they were too personal a thing. And if she was trying to teach him about the importance of privacy, invading his own would not serve as a helpful example.

Once the fire seemed satisfied to lick at the larger logs without Erik's continued assistance, he rose and turned toward her. "This is a very important room, Christine. Where something magical takes place. And I had hoped… that you would share in it with me."

There was an intensity in his eyes, the way they shone in the light of the fire, that sent a pang of nervousness through her—not unlike how he spoke of how alone they were just yesterday.

She swallowed, not at all certain how to respond.

And then she saw it.

It was sitting on the far side of the room, polished and beautiful.

A violin.

And a lump formed in her throat, her mind flooding with memories of her papa.

"I… I can't," she choked out.

Erik looked startled. "Cannot?" His eyes darkened. "Or will not?"

She swallowed thickly, trying to find the right words to explain. "Both I guess. I just…" she lightly touched the sheet music beside her, the black ink so crisp and clean against the cream parchment. "This is so personal to me. To be shared with… someone I trust. Someone I… love," she finished lamely.

Her papa, she wanted to add, but couldn't seem to force out the words.

Not when he was staring at her like that.

So full of hurt and resignation. "I see," he murmured.

And what made things worse was that she didn't know how to fix it—because she did not trust him, and she most certainly didn't love him.

How could you force such feelings to appear, even if you willed them into being?

But then suddenly, his vulnerability was gone.

He stood straighter, his expression calmed, and somehow that was even worse.

"Well then, perhaps we shall have to venture farther today than I thought."

She looked at him nervously. "Venture? Venture where? I thought we were coming here."

He grinned at her. "We were, but apparently now is not the time for music. Now is the time for you to see that Erik is worthy of your trust. And perhaps, in time, your love."

Dread filled her. "What do you mean?"

He went to the far wall and suddenly a doorway appeared. "We are going above, Christine. To learn the truth."

And suddenly the prospect of leaving the underground terrified her.

Sooo… Christine's starting to settle in with Erik, they've broached his music room (tainted by police! Perish the thought!), and it looks like next chapter we're going to find out what Erik meant by his trial…

Any last minute guesses? I'd love to hear your theories!