A big thank you to lkov for reminding me to update today! I thought of it this morning and then... poof! A longer segment today, and one from a different perspective...

Onward!

iv

This was not the first time Erik questioned his own sanity. And, if he was truthful with himself, he doubted it would be the last. Of that he was certain. But as Christine took her place beside him in the vehicle, perhaps not without a bit of trepidation, but no outright fear, no cowering, no running...

He could not bring himself to change his mind and take her back.

Despite their most disastrous first meeting so recently, Erik had not been unaware of Christine's presence within his theatre. A proper manager knew all of his staff, even the most lowly—and most assuredly, any children that were allowed to roam the auditorium and potentially distract his musicians. He had not considered himself an integral part of the opera then, however, and his interventions had been minimal—the Opera Ghost simply satisfied to have a safe and private residence beneath the theatre, the productions of sufficient quality that, while imperfect, they were pleasantly tolerable.

And the little girl with her big eyes and bright smile was not hurting anything, so he tolerated her presence with all the magnanimity he could muster.

Perhaps even when he had heard the small Christine and her father entertaining some of the others with a duet, he considered her future potential. Her voice held the reedy quality that most children had yet to grow from, but she was worthy of notice, of his attention...

Except then there was an empty seat within the first violins, and the girl—barely a woman by that time—who had auditioned and been hired for the chorus was merely a shell. She managed the notes proficiently enough, but there was little joy, little enthusiasm that would make him believe she could achieve any semblance of true greatness.

That she could master his music.

On more than one occasion he had considered bringing her under his tutelage, that if he could coax her voice to fulfill all of the potential he had glimpsed as a child, it would be one of his greatest masterpieces.

But he thought he had more time to decide; until suddenly, he did not.

Killing Buquet had given him no great pleasure, but it proved an unfortunate necessity—one that he never had intended for Christine to witness. The man had served him on occasion, his drunkenness and lack of scruples allowing him to take the position, but also addling his greater brain functions when he threatened to extort Erik for far more than his petty assistance was worth.

Erik's role as the Phantom, of the Angel of Death, was one he tried to forget—that of the Opera Ghost was far more satisfying. People hired him for their petty reasons. Eventually he had made a point of refusing to know the reasons for his charge, as more often than not they were so trivial as to border on the absurd. A wife's lover, a sworn member of the mafia turning to the police… all things that could have been dealt with far more cleanly.

And he resented that life—working as a petty assassin, preying on his hurts and exploiting them so that a temporary inconvenience could be defeated. All of it sickened him, so he had set aside the Phantom and embraced the Opera Ghost. But that too was now no more.

Which left only Erik, U.S. Marshal and current protector of Christine.

She intrigued him, which was more than could be said for many women—enough for him to overcome his natural trepidation in order to risk interaction with her.

But perhaps even in this he wore a disguise.

He had overheard her once telling another chorus girl of an angel—one that her papa had assured her would come to guard and care for her if ever he should be absent. An Angel of Music. Erik had considered taking the role upon himself when he thought of tutoring her. It would be a fascinating venture, the perils of modernity making success so very unlikely. Fewer believed in the paranormal, and while a touch naïve—her very presence here with him a testament to that fact, as she did not think to question the man claiming to be the officer of the law—but she was not stupid. A challenge to be sure.

And if he was to succeed...

But here he sat beside her now, wearing one of his most elaborate disguises yet.

The mask was one of his most recent acquisitions, one that appeared to have held under Christine's perusal. It hid the absence of his nose, the deathly pallor of his skin. Made him seem... human.

Yet underneath he still felt as monstrous and unwanted as ever.

But perhaps that mattered just a little less when Christine was able to interact with him with so little effort on her part.

He glanced at her for a moment as she nibbled at her lip, her posture slightly tense.

So perhaps some effort was required on her part.

"Are you cold?"

She looked up at him in surprise before shaking her head. "No, just… just thinking."

Erik frowned. She did not need to think. He was here now. And unlike Buquet, who had been a loose end that required snipping, he would not do that to her. Not now. Not when she had stared at him with those wide, terrified eyes, and in that moment he had seen every bit the horror he had become. So many times he had assured himself that his actions were justified—that humanity had spurned and rejected him, and it was only natural that he cull some of their numbers in recompense.

But then she had looked at him, had seen him…

And he no longer wanted to be gazed at in such fear. Not when her own had affected him so profoundly, as strange as such an occurrence seemed to him.

He cast another look at her, maneuvering them to the highway out of the city, a part of him relaxing as he did so. He had shown his credentials and the falsified transfer order to the officer outside, and he had been surprised but almost glad of it.

"I worry about her. She seems… she seems very alone. Maybe a new life would be good for her."

Erik had left after that, promising himself that it would be, but not before covertly ensuring the officer would not follow, nor call in her absence for a while yet. It was merely an aerosol spray that caused sleep—he would not taint his abduction of Christine with another death; not unless it was strictly necessary.

And he most definitely had no intention of harming Christine, none at all. Yet he also had no intentions of spending even a day in prison, making all of this quite essential.

He knew that the police investigated the killings, that one detective was even beginning to make sense of certain connections. But to have a witness, especially one so close to his true dwelling…

"Would you care to voice these thoughts? I would like to allay your concerns if I am able."

She worried at her lip again, and Erik allowed her time to continue her thinking.

It would be a long drive before they breached the state border, but less before they passed through Nadir's jurisdiction—something he was most concerned about. He kept them going at a steady pace, suppressing his natural inclination to stray toward the left lanes and allow himself the luxury of more speed. But now was not the time to be pulled over. The license plates and his badge were counterfeit products—ones that would hold up to casual scrutiny, but a police check could prove rather ruinous. Erik had told Christine that it was imperative she leave behind her ID and any credit cards, claiming that she could easily be traced through their use.

She had grown increasingly apprehensive and obeyed him, tucking them into a canister full of what he learned were tea bags. Again he measured each of his words to be as truthful as possible. She assumed he meant that the murderous Phantom the detective had convinced her was plotting her demise would use such means to find her, but Erik was more concerned for when the police noted her disappearance and began a search of their own.

"I just..." she finally began, still looking out at the few cars also on the road. "Everything happened so fast. And I... it's all very strange."

Erik's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "Would you care to elaborate on what is strange?"

If she thought him so, his mask... he did not know what he would do.

Christine sighed, a heavy and troubled sound that did not suit her. "It might not have been the kind of life I'd always dreamed of, but it was mine and I was comfortable. I can't... even remotely picture what things will be like now. Will you be staying with me? Will I have a job? I don't have very many skills beyond what I was doing at the theatre."

Erik doubted that, but didn't press the issue. He was well aware that in a more traditional situation, the protected person would be required to find employment nearly immediately—the program was not for charity, after all. But Erik would decide how much he enjoyed her company before urging her to find a means of procuring her own pay. The prospect of having a companion, one that was clearly bound to him—for her own safety of course—was an interesting one. He was very interested in exploring it further.

But he was not prepared to share such musings with her, so instead he kept his answer carefully construed once more. "We will address the issue of employment when we have settled into our final destination. For now, we are simply traveling a sufficient distance," he did not elaborate as to why; she could draw her own conclusions, "before we will stop for what remains of the night. A hotel should provide any food that you require and then you will sleep. Is that adequate information?"

He had never been charged with comforting a bout of nervousness, and he hoped he had done it adequately. Her frown suggested he had not.

"Will we be... staying in the same room?"

Erik stiffened. He had not considered that. He was not even certain what a true marshal would do in such an instance. How would they offer protection if they were not there to do so? But as he looked at her, watching him so warily, her preference was obvious.

He tried not to be insulted.

"Adjoining rooms would be sufficient," he replied, his tone perhaps a bit curt. "But the door between shall be left ajar so I may hear if anything is amiss."

Mainly hear if the police stormed her room and he could plan their hasty retreat.

"Don't..." Christine began again, before shaking her head, her initial thought truncated. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to question you."

Erik considered the prospect of urging her to speak her mind, finally deciding that it was better to hear her thoughts so he could know what future challenges he faced. "I am charged with your protection, Christine. You may speak freely."

She smiled softly at that, and his reaction to such an expression was a strange one. He would ponder such a thing later.

"Don't the police usually have partners? Someone to help them?"

Erik returned his full attention to the road before him. Finding bits of the truth, that was the key. He was an excellent liar—had always needed to be. But when he had so rashly taken this venture, had decided to abandon the home he had so carefully constructed to go on the run with the woman beside him, he had resolved to be as truthful with her as possible. Within reason.

"I had a partner once," he answered, his words slow and careful. "But he... he took a different path. One that I had no interest in following."

Christine's eyes turned sympathetic. "He retired?"

Erik sighed, partially amused and almost wishing that such were true. "In a manner of speaking."

Nadir had not always been such a pious keeper of the law. The Daroga, Erik had called him in his youth, his tone showing irreverence for his Persian ancestry that would have lauded such a position. So full of hate and spite, they had made Erik callous. Both for the lives he took, and the master that had urged him to begin in the first place. Eventually Nadir had helped him to escape, but such a life was all that Erik had come to know.

The Angel of Death became the Phantom.

And he doubted that the Daroga would show him clemency once again.

Erik shook away such thoughts—they had no place here in this new life.

"I'm sorry, then. That you're stuck taking care of me all by yourself. I don't think I'd be very helpful if... something happened."

Erik smirked at her. "I would not ask it of you. Not when I am fully capable of seeing to both of our safeties unassisted."

Christine rolled her eyes, but she kept smiling, and he was glad to note she took no offense. The notion of her proving helpful in such a dire situation was nearly laughable. From what he had observed of her character, she was a sweetly tempered, quiet girl, that had matured into a reserved young woman. She was not an idle gossip, choosing instead to read a book during her breaks instead of engaging in such foolish talk with the other chorus girls. But that left her rather isolated; the little Giry girl one of the only ones to make more effort to engage her in conversation.

"You could teach me," she suggested. "I could learn to use your gun."

The laughter bubbled forth so quickly that it took Erik a moment to even realize that he was the source of it. It was not something to be found in his underground home, nor his childhood. He did not find it distasteful.

"I question your understanding of officers of the law if you think I could simply hand you my weapon to learn with."

She blushed. "Oh. You'd... you'd get in trouble?"

Not as such, but Erik did not relish the thought of her using one at all. She could so easily injure herself. If she requested to learn to use the Punjab Lasso, at most she could tangle herself, and he could offer ready assistance. Much safer all around.

"If you would truly like to learn a bit of defense, I shall find you a suitable weapon. Not a gun," he amended, seeing her brief excitement at the prospect. He could not allow her to apply for a permit—he could not leave a trail—and he would not allow her to ever be found in possession of one procured by more underhanded methods. While he was certain he could elude the police, he could not predict every contingency. And he most assuredly would not allow Christine to shoulder any blame for any of his actions. And that included being found with a gun with its serial number so carefully removed.

Christine was quiet for a moment, apparently weighing her opinion on his offer. "I just don't want to feel helpless," she murmured, her voice low. "When Officer Grady said about the man on the fire escape," Erik winced, still feeling a measure of mortification at having been noticed by such a lowly policeman, "I realized... if he'd come in, I wouldn't have been able to do anything to stop him. Run maybe, but that's it. And if he's a professional like they say, I probably wouldn't even have been given a chance to do that."

Erik swallowed, not at all liking the turn of her thoughts. He had gone to her, it was true, while he was still yet undecided as to his course of action. It was his initial inclination that had frightened him into such spontaneity.

For a brief moment, he had actually considered the ease in which he could have killed her.

But the realization that he could so think so of such an innocent creature, could actually have stood there noting how her self-imposed isolation would play to his favor...

He was sickened to the core, and instead he had concocted a new plan. One which would hopefully secure them both a satisfactory future.

"Do not discount the importance of fleeing from danger. Those who call it cowardly at least have the good fortune of being alive to do so. Ensure you have that same privilege."

Christine was silent again, but seemed to look more troubled than before. Erik sighed. "Was that the end of your questions?"

"How... how long do you think I'll be gone? I mean, how long will all of this take?"

Erik's lips formed a thin line. A difficult question, to be sure. Her absence bent more upon his whim than anything, as his meticulous nature made for his crimes to hold no physical evidence for the police to find. But the Daroga was clever—well, moderately clever—and Erik had yet to decide quite what he wanted from Christine.

"It is difficult to say," he finally answered, unable or perhaps a bit unwilling to give any clearer response. "There are so many factors."

Christine nodded, turning her attention once more out the window. Erik shifted slightly, unused to the desire to make conversation, but wishing to understand more of what bothered her. "Will you miss it terribly? The people? A... young man, perhaps?"

To his surprise, Christine released a sort of choking laugh. "Why do people assume that Raoul is my boyfriend?" She looked at him hastily. "Sorry, you couldn't have known about that." He most certainly did, and for the oddest reason it had troubled him greatly to see the young patron helping her. Comforting her. "Detective Nadir asked if I lived with this man from the theatre. I ran into him after... well... after finding the..." she looked at him pointedly and he gestured for her to continue. He would prefer she forget all about Buquet as well; there was no further need to mention him. Not when she most assuredly would not be testifying in the future. "We were friends once. I thought even... I thought even that maybe we'd be something more. When we were older, of course." She released a rueful kind of laugh. "He almost kissed me once." Erik's grip tightened on the steering wheel. "But that was years ago, and he doesn't even seem to remember me. Not until someone mentioned my name."

Erik kept his gaze resolutely forward. He had not spied on her as a girl—even he drew such lines as to refrain from stalking children, but he had been skulking about when Raoul had confessed to his brother his growing feelings for the then small Christine—that they had even almost kissed the day previously.

Philippe had been horrified, Christine a few years his junior, and advised him to cease coming to the opera house. "She's just a child still, Raoul! You leave her be until she's grown, and if she still likes you... well, you can pursue her then. But not a moment before! If her father saw..."

Raoul had flushed, his handsome face rather sheepish. Erik thought that he in turn rather hated him. "I wasn't going to do anything with her! She's my friend. And I don't... I don't think I'm ready for any of that stuff anyway."

Philippe sighed and placed his hand on his brother's shoulder. "Raoul, you're fifteen and things change. Sometimes quickly. And this isn't the girl to start experimenting with."

The boy's eyes narrowed in anger at Philippe's assessment, but eventually he nodded. "Okay, I'll leave her alone."

Philippe smiled with his approval. "Good. Maybe then you'll find a girl your own age."

Erik cared little for what Raoul did so long as he did not go about tainting young girls with his teenage hormones, but Christine now spoke of his absence with such sadness that he almost wished the boy had decided differently.

Almost.

But he did not. Not when that meant she was driving here with him, talking with him. The change was a welcome one.

But he did not like the look on her face, and since he was well aware that she would not be seeing the boy in quite some time, he felt able to offer a small measure of assurance. Her tone suggested that perhaps she shouldered unneeded blame for Raoul's abandonment, and there was one observation at least that he could share with her. "He seems a great deal older than you."

Christine glanced at him sharply, her eyes wide. "Not that much older. Only four years!"

He smiled at her indulgently. "Which by now seems but a trifle, yet I can assure you, the laws dictate that such interactions could have proven disastrous for your dear fellow should he have acted on them."

Christine sank back against the car seat, her mouth slightly open. "I… I'd never thought about it like that. No one ever said it might be inappropriate!"

Erik glanced at her meaningfully. "He had never tried to kiss you before."

Christine's cheeks turned pink and she did not quite meet his gaze. "I thought it was me… that I'd done something wrong and he didn't want to be my friend anymore."

"That is an absurd thought," Erik retorted unthinkingly, his tone allowing no room to conceal his firm belief in his own words. Christine did look at him then, and it was his turn to avoid looking at her. "You seem a charming woman, Christine Daaé. Only a fool would not appreciate your kisses."

He could feel that she continued to stare at him, and embarrassment crept over him for his imprudent tongue. He held no romantic delusions about the woman seated next to him. He was a monster, a creeping figure in black that did all sorts of terrible deeds—the stuff of nightmares. And she...

There was no point focusing on all of her perfections. Not when any such compliments from him would be so distasteful to her. He might have a mask, might be able to shield her from the most gruesome parts of his visage, but he knew how tainted he was inside. Even she must be able to sense it.

"I apologize," he said eventually. "That was unprofessional."

Christine was slow in her reply. "No, you... you don't need to apologize. No one has ever said anything like that to me before."

Erik was ready to grimace—of course, no one had been so foolish and forward in her presence—but he stole a quick glance at her only to see a soft smile playing about her lips.

She was... pleased?

Sooo... Ever think Erik and Christine would be having that particular conversation? And it does seem our killer and our marshal are one in the same... tsk tsk, Erik, impersonating an officer of the law is a serious business!

Everybody still with me?