An emotionally trying day (talking a friend through a potential breakup, always how you want to spend your holidays!), but at least I remembered to update! So there's something. A few of you had worked this out already, and a few have pointed out that this story is turning out to be of a... more twisted nature than my previous offerings. I will not argue with you there! But I hope you haven't given up on our couple yet. We have a long way to go yet.

Onward!

v

Their journey was a silent one for the next few hours, and Erik was bemused to note that eventually Christine's head slumped against the window, her eyes closed and her breath even. She felt comfortable enough to sleep with him near? He both swelled with pride to know of it, while also most seriously questioning her judgment.

They crossed the state border just before midnight, and Erik pulled into the first hotel he could find that seemed comfortable enough. He stared at the sleeping Christine for a full three minutes, debating with himself. If he left her alone, she could run—perhaps she only feigned respite so she would no longer have to speak with him, and in her quiet she had uncovered the full truth. He could take her with him, of course, but it seemed... wrong to wake her.

He settled on locking the car doors behind him, knowing the alarm would alert him should she wake and attempt to leave.

The night manager was seated in an office in the back, and though Erik looked at the little signal bell with distaste, a long forefinger appeared and gave it a single tap. He nearly wanted to cringe at the harsh peel it released.

The woman of middling years had a thin smile and welcoming words for him, her eyes too tired to linger overmuch on the seams of his mask. "Two rooms. Adjoining. And is the kitchen still open?"

If she was surprised by his curt manner, she did not show him. But he supposed if she was a part of the service industry, she was used to dealing with much worse than succinct requests from guests.

"Not for hot meals, but sandwiches or cereal can be brought up to your room if you're hungry. Will that suffice?"

Not for himself, but he was not the one that needed to eat. He was not certain that Christine would either, but he would most assuredly not be starving her while she was with him, and he was not going to start on their very first night. She had shown a willingness to converse with him, but he would not begin to assume that she would voice all of her needs to him—not when their relationship was so very new and doubtless her trust was a fragile thing.

The woman produced two key cards after he had submitted his own credit card for her to scan. The name on it meant nothing to him, a chosen moniker simply from necessity, of which he had several similar conveniences. Once he had relied solely upon cash, but he found that to do so did not allow him all the luxuries blossoming technology had to offer. Why should he hire someone who could turn on him to go to the store when he could simply order the postman to deliver his chosen items to the safety of a P.O. Box?

Some of course required a permanent residence, and while comfortable to the extreme—Erik spared no expense in the construction of his underground home—he did have a few other leases. Just in case.

"Enjoy your stay Mr. Beaumont."

A slight incline of his head was his only reply.

When he opened his door, Christine startled awake, and he was grateful for the reprieve, not at all looking forward to being the one to wake her. Did not people resent those that did so?

"Are we stopping?"

Erik held up their keys. "I am not so heartless as to deprive you proper rest in a real bed. We'll continue on in the morning."

He wanted a few more states between himself and Nadir before he would begin searching for a suitable home for them. And hopefully, by then, he could learn more of Christine's preferences. Perhaps while not his primary goal, he would be... most gratified to know that she could be happy with him. Or maybe happiness was unrealistic. Satisfied? Content?

Erik suppressed a grimace. So long as she kept from crying, from screaming at him and recoiling with horror, that would be a greater success than any he'd had with any of the rest of the female populace.

Christine blinked at him sleepily. "That sounds nice."

He nodded and she opened her door, hopping down from the tall vehicle, nearly stumbling as she did so. Erik frowned. He would help her from now on, assuming she did not find his touch too repulsive. She stretched languidly as he opened the back of the SUV, pulling out her suitcase as well as his own. For holding all of her dearest possessions, as well as the rather startling variety of clothing she thought necessary to bring, her case was surprisingly light. His own was filled with masks and suits, money and weapons.

His suitcase was locked.

"I can carry mine," she insisted hurriedly when she noticed him walking toward the front lobby. He quelled her needless offer with a glance.

The hotel seemed nearly deserted by this time of night, and Erik glanced about in approval. The marble floors were clean and highly polished, the carpets clearly vacuumed quite recently. Christine looked at it all with a kind of awe, strange given the grandeur of her workplace.

The elevator took them up a full five floors before they traversed the long hallway to their respective rooms.

He opened Christine's door first. A large bed dominated the middle of the room, a crisp white duvet covering the bed, with a sign clearly indicating it was freshly laundered. Overall the room was adequate.

He deposited her suitcase on the waiting stand, and would allow her to rifle through it and determine what was needed for sleeping. He could not do everything for her, even if it felt a bit rude to leave her with such a task when she was clearly so exhausted.

"I have been informed that sandwiches and cereal will be provided if you call down to the kitchens." Christine's eyes brightened at that and Erik realized he had been starving her.

He frowned yet again. "You may... inform me if you grow hungry, or if you require the use of..." words failed him and instead he made a vague gesture toward the nearby bathroom. "There is no need for you to travel in discomfort."

Christine blushed and nodded, her eyes straying to the phone. "Don't you... I mean... are you just going to eat in your room?"

Erik gave a little shrug. "I will afford you as much privacy as possible given that this door shall remain ajar." He went to the adjoining passage, unlocked and opened her door, reaching for the ice bucket and repurposing it as a wedge so as to ensure the doorway's continued cooperation as a pass-through.

"Couldn't you..." Her cheeks flushed and she looked away from him. Erik's head tilted slightly to the side as he patiently waited for her to finish. She finally seemed to muster up her courage as she continued, "Couldn't you eat here instead?"

He looked at her in mild surprise. "Why?"

She fussed with the hem of her shirt, her attention still on the floor. "Because there's a man out there that wants to find me, and hurt me, and I feel better when I know you can see me."

The irony of her assessment was not lost to him, but an irrational feeling of pride overcame him to know that he made her feel safer just from his presence alone. It was a new one—people more likely to tremble at his company rather than ask him to dine with them—but he found that it pleased him greatly.

"I will stay with you, if you wish, but I would prefer not to eat." She gave him a worried glance, and he decided one small falsehood to protect his true face would not prove too dreadful. "My needs were sufficiently supplied for while you slept."

If she wondered why he had not offered her something, she made no comment of it, instead flipping through the supplied binder and finding the appropriate menu and number to call.

"Are you sure you won't have anything? Even some water?" she whispered to him, presumably while the line continued to ring in her ear. He had bottles of water in his suitcase—Erik was nothing if not prepared—but he inclined his head and her answering smile at his acquiescence was worth the redundancy. Strange girl, wanting to provide for him.

Her order placed, she rifled through her suitcase, pulling out an interesting conglomeration of garments, eying him now and again as she did so. "I'll just..." he waved her toward the bathroom door, returning to his own room to sort his own belongings. Unlike Christine's rather messily organized suitcase, his own was neatly folded, special compartments keeping everything separated into proper categories so nothing could possibly be lost or mislaid. He sighed and ran a finger over his mask. He would need to remove it at some point to ensure that the flesh beneath was not having an adverse reaction to the adhesive, but he loathed the very thought of it. She was comfortable with him like this, and though she seemed a sweet and caring girl, more generous than he would have previously imagined, he would not risk frightening her with a glimpse of his true face.

Or show her any of his black ones so similar to the one she had seen while he dealt with Buquet.

That one had been burned in his frustration, along with a handful of other black options. Those had been his favorites, the color imposing and trim, allowing him to bleed into the shadows and travel unnoticed by the other occupants of his theatre. But now he had only flesh colored options and some white as well, not all of them as elaborate as the one he currently wore, but also hopefully none that would spur Christine's memory should she ever catch sight of them.

He loosened his tie a little, but otherwise remained fully dressed. Perhaps he would change when she slept, would settle atop the bed to see if sleep would choose to take him this night—a rare thing, that seemed to be—but not a moment before. Presumably she would be in her own sleep clothes, and it would be... unseemly for them both to appear so at the same time.

He returned when he heard a knock upon the door, and he utilized the installed peep hole before opening it. A porter was clearly visible, his cart equally so. He required a cart to carry a sandwich and two waters?

Erik rolled his eyes before opening the door, highly aware of the knife within easy reach of his fingers should it prove to be any sort of trap. Erik did not allow him into the room—Christine may return at any moment, and he doubted she would be pleased for an unknown man to be waiting for her—but Erik placed a few dollars on the cart before he took the tray and the waters, shutting the door firmly behind him.

He heard a muffled, "Thank you," from beyond the heavy obstruction, but Erik was already striding toward the nearby table with his burdens.

He removed the silver cover from the plate and situated Christine's meal as nicely as he could. The sandwich did not appear wholly unappealing, but nor did he relish the thought of having to eat one himself. It was fortunate he was not hungry.

"Are they gone?" Christine asked, peeping out from the door of the bathroom, her eyes darting about for sign of anyone new.

"Yes," answered simply, holding his glass of ice water between his hands. He sighed, bemused, and released it. As if his touch needed to be any colder.

He glanced toward Christine as she drew closer, blinking at her strange attire. She must have been wearing a nightgown of some sort, but it was obscured by a thick sweater that nearly reached her knees, the rest of her legs covered by tall socks that had no business being as fuzzy as they appeared.

Thankfully her attention was so focused on the meal that she did not notice his staring, and he forced his gaze back to his water.

She took the seat across from him, taking a large bite of sandwich and munching with evident happiness.

And for some reason, his mouth grew dry to witness it. "Is it to your satisfaction?"

Her mouth so full she could only nod, though she did manage to smile at him still.

It was not that he found her attractive in that moment, he assured himself silently. Nor that he found her attire an endearing attempt at modesty and warmth in an otherwise unconventional situation.

But as he sipped at his water and continued to witness her joy at such a simple meal, he realized that this was the first time someone had willing shared in a meal with him in...

He stopped short of when the last occasion had been, shuddering slightly at his own stupidity at ever having agreed to it.

This was nothing like that.

This was simply a sweet girl that did not wish to be alone, who wanted nothing from him but his protection.

Not to exploit his mind and his skills for her own personal gain.

But Erik was unused to it all the same, and he grew uncomfortable by their silent repast, his gaze flickering to the sanctuary of his own bedroom more than once.

"You can go, if you want," Christine finally offered, fiddling with the remaining half of her sandwich. "I wouldn't want to keep you where you don't want to be, and you must be very tired. It was silly of me to ask you."

Erik took another swallow of cool water, considering.

He did not know what he expected life to be like on the run with her, but this was not it. Ever one for meticulous planning, all of this was so spontaneous and foolhardy that he hardly recognized it as a plan of his own making. And yet... as he watched her tear off little bits of bread before gathering her courage enough to look at him with what he assumed was meant to be a show of sincerity, he still could not regret it.

"You were a member of the stage, yes? What was your function?"

It felt ridiculous to ask it of her since he was well aware of her status in his theatre, but he must set aside his observations and actually make personal inquiries if she was to ever know how well he actually knew her. And suddenly that seemed of great importance.

Christine ate another bite, and he wondered why she required so long to answer. The question was a simple enough one, without revealing too many private details. Perhaps she disagreed.

Eventually she swallowed, and played with the crumbs on her plate, the rest of her sandwich temporarily forgotten. "I am a... was, a chorus girl. You know, one of the group that comes in for the bigger numbers?"

Erik was perfectly knowledgeable of such things, but he would not embarrass her by correcting her assumption that he was illiterate in the ways of musical theatre. "And you liked it?"

To her surprise, her face grew rather pinched. "It was... home. Being there. Singing there. It's what my papa had always wanted for me, and... that was what I had left of him. The last thing that we shared."

Erik opened his mouth to tell her that her answer was a foolish one—that a dead man most certainly could not share in anything any longer, and if she did not hold a proper passion for the stage any longer, she had no business conducting herself there.

It was good he had taken her, before they began to usher her up through the ranks, her presence there more sentimental than should be allowable.

But then he noted the tears shimmering in her eyes, and he realized he could say none of it. "Your father... he is deceased?"

She nodded, pushing away her plate. "He got mugged, and the man got scared. Shot him. They say... they told me he didn't suffer."

Erik frowned. Unless death had come in an instant, he did not agree with their assessment. It likely had been slow, with varying degrees of pain and suddenly a silent numbness that was almost welcome as it meant an end to torturous process of precious fluids oozing from the unnatural wound.

But Christine was crumpling inward, even Erik could see that. And suddenly he could understand why the coroner had lied to her. Nothing would be gained from offering her that truth other than to add to her heartache.

And while Erik typically valued truth—at least in regard to his own person—he supposed that others did not value reality over the protection of their own feelings.

"And your mother?"

He did not actually have an answer to that, and was genuinely curious as to why the little girl and the lonely violinist had no woman to join their fair twosome.

Christine wiped hurriedly at her eyes. "Breast cancer. She was so young, but it came anyway, before... well, before she really even realized she had it. I didn't know anyone could die that quickly. Not until... not until Papa."

Screenings. She would require early screenings from a proper professional. Erik stopped himself. Would she still be with him in ten years for him to ensure she would get them?

He regarded her once again, trying to be objective.

And all he could think was... yes.

An odd thing to be sure.

He could tire of her. He could find that she was cut from the same insipid cloth from so many other women, driving him mad with her foolishness. And yet... as he continued to watch her and finally urged Christine to pick up the sandwich and continue eating, he could not readily say he believed that he would find her so.

A pure soul. That is what she possessed. Pained to be sure, but no less beautiful.

Erik was almost jealous at the twisted and tainted thing in his own possession, now that he sat across from one so lovely.

"If you could select any place to be your new home," he asked her slowly, wondering if he would regret it once he heard her choice. "Where would you choose for it to be?"

Christine blinked, evidently not expecting his change in topic, though as her shoulders relaxed, he could not say that it was unwelcome. "Anywhere? In the whole world?"

Erik very nearly placed restrictions. It was perfectly feasible for them to leave the continent if she so desired, but it would grow more complicated to accomplish. And yet... he did so love a challenge. "Anywhere," he confirmed.

She was quiet for a moment, obviously giving a great deal of thought to it. He did not expect her answer.

"Somewhere with lots of water."

Erik blinked at her.

"That is all? A place with ample hydration?"

Christine gave him a small smile. "Oceans, lakes, rivers. That sort of thing." Her nose wrinkled. "Maybe someplace without any more snow."

Erik did not disagree on that point.

Clinging, troublesome stuff. He also did not appreciate the need to disguise his footprints whenever it felt it necessary to fall from the very skies as though a carefully planned invasion.

Which it very nearly was.

"But I don't really get a say, do I? In where we go, I mean." She looked terribly unhappy at the idea, and Erik felt a twinge of guilt at how everything in her life had changed so very quickly, and all without even a pretense at consideration for her own hopes and desires.

Not enough to do anything to rectify the situation, but in this at least, he could make an allowance.

"I promise you, Christine, when you are settled into your new life, there will be water in abundance."

And her smile alone was enough to make such a commitment well worth the giving.

Very strange, indeed.

Sooo... looks like Christine is getting a say in where they go next. And she's even inviting Erik into her room! Wasn't she ever warned about vampires? Er, marshals? Er... Opera Ghosts?