Haalllooooo! Thank you to Addmein for checking up on me. My job started yesterday after a horrid night's sleep, and it proved a very... frustrating and overwhelming day to say the least. So posting completely slipped my mind! As always, feel free to harass if I seem like I'm forgetting that day (or even if you just want it early). I can't seem to quite get in the groove of posting this time around.

But anyway! A lot of you are confused, and that's okay (well, no, it's not), but answers are coming-promise! But all in good time, so please, hang in there!

And now, without further ado... some pretty big happenings!

Onward!

It was dark; a thick, cloying blackness that pressed and clung to her lungs as she took each difficult breath. She was wandering through a maze, her hands reaching out before her as she stumbled through it, her only hope a small shaft of light in the distance. Her fingertips reached toward the sides and she gasped at the wet, sticky feeling, yanking her hand away once more.

She was also so completely alone.

"Papa?" she called, trying not to panic, even as she tripped, barely managing to catch herself against the fall that seemed even longer than was usual. The ground must be very far away. "Papa, please, I'm lost!"

She managed to get back to her feet, this time running toward the light and accepting that she would likely trip many more times before she reached it. Sickening sounds began behind her, choked groans that echoed in her ears, growing ever nearer. "Erik! Please, I need help!"

And suddenly, she was there.

While it had seemed almost bright compared to the utter obscurity of the maze, the room was rather shadowy now that she was close to it. An eerie sense of familiarity settled over her, and she knew with absolute certainty that she had to leave. It wasn't safe here, not now, not ever.

She turned, ready to bolt, but a figure appeared, a mask, black and menacing covering unknowable features as Death's hand clasped about her wrist. "Leaving so soon? There is work to be done."

She screamed, lurching backwards, shoving and clawing at the hand as she tried to free herself, only for the grip to tighten and for him to laugh at the impossibility of her escape…

"Christine!"

Christine couldn't seem to stop screaming, not at first, not until awareness slowly settled over her as she realized she was tangled in crisp white bedding, Erik leaning over her with concern in his eyes. He must have turned on the bedside lamp, for she could see plainly that he was holding her wrists firmly—an indecent position in any other circumstance. But as he recognized that she was no longer in the throes of her nightmare, he released her, his eyes straying to the open door connecting their bedrooms as he made to stand. "I shall leave you now; forgive my intrusion. You were crying out and I... I feared the worst."

She was so very tired of crying, but the dream was still echoing in her mind, and she decided she was even more distraught at the notion of once again weeping without the comfort of someone there to be with her. "Will you stay?" she choked out, her hand suddenly grasping at his shirtsleeves, urging him to sit back down on the bed. "Please? Just for a little while."

Papa had always done his best when she'd had bouts of upsets, his hugs tight and his pats soothing, but as she'd grown older she saw the hints of discomfort when she'd cried on his shoulder. That distress had turned to an aching sadness when her tears had stemmed from her mother's passing, his own falling freely as they'd held one another as they'd tried to accept she was gone.

Erik merely looked frightened. "Are you certain? I did not ask permission upon entering your room..."

His tone suggested he was goading her, trying to make her angry for his discourtesy rather than dissolve into a frail heap of overwrought nerves, but she could not indulge him. Not in this. "Please? It was so terrible..."

Erik sat tentatively, and though perhaps she should have asked first, she lay back against the pillows, holding his hand tightly in both of hers; an anchor in the midst of all the horror, all the terror she had known during the short time of their acquaintance. Had she changed since her days as a chorus girl? She supposed they weren't so very far away, yet she felt a lifetime had passed. She'd seen too much, too soon, and now...

She didn't want to think about now.

He was looking at her oddly, almost as if he was deciding something. Yet with her heart still beating too quickly, her breath still a little too short, she could not decipher Erik's thoughts.

"What was so very terrible, Christine?" His tone changed, this time almost melodious as he stared down at their connected hands, and she took what comfort he seemed to offer. His voice was rather lovely under normal circumstances, but now she realized he had a gift for persuasion if he continued to speak to her so softly, so coaxingly.

"He'd found me. And you and Papa weren't there to help me, no matter how I begged."

She watched his eyes, his strangely colorless eyes, wondering if he'd be mad if she asked about them. Could he see well enough with them? He seemed to, but she'd never seen anything like them before. "You should not have to beg for assistance, Christine. It is freely offered."

She smiled grimly, using her shoulder to brush away some of the wetness on her cheeks. "But it isn't free. You aren't here because you want to be, it's because it's your job. It's not that you... that you care about me, or what happens, it's that you'd probably get in trouble with your boss if anything happened."

Never had she seen Erik recoil from her, but this time he did so.

She tried to keep hold of his hand, but he lurched away from her, those eyes, filled with compassion only a moment ago, now filled with disbelief. "That is your opinion of me? That I hold you in such disregard? That I could be presented with any amount of money that would persuade me to vacate my home, abandon my music, to shadow a girl who simply had the misfortune of trespassing where she was not welcome?"

Christine nearly flinched, too shaken to find a proper retort—to explain further. Disbelief had given way to anger, and she only felt all the more confused.

"I didn't mean to insult you," she assured him quietly, not all prepared for this turn in the conversation. She should have kept silent on this particular matter, even though it was beginning to trouble her greatly. She was... fond of Erik. Was certain she would grow fonder still if he had been willing to spend more time with her in their little house. But perhaps that was the problem. For while she was growing to appreciate him and his company, the idea that he was not there of his own volition—that any marshal could have come for her if they'd been handed her case file—was an affront to her feelings.

"That is not the same as a redaction of the sentiment entirely." His eyes were narrowed, and she wished he would come back to sit with her, but she did not know how to ask. Not when he was clearly so upset with her.

"You could refute it," Christine reminded him, not wanting to lie and pretend that she did not worry about such things. Yet if she apologized, told him she did not mean it, maybe he would come back and he wouldn't be angry and she could hold his hand...

She groaned, fisting the bedding tightly and wishing that things could be different.

Erik was silent for a long while, and though her eyes were closed, she could feel his gaze upon her. Finally, he sighed. "What would you have of me, Christine? You complain of my distance when I offer you privacy and professionalism, yet I am certain my... affection would equally be unappreciated. So what would you have me do? Ask it and it is yours." She could not be sure that he had spoken that last part aloud, as it did not seem to come from him—more a caress against her ear than a spoken word from his place suddenly so far away, but it startled her enough to open her eyes and look at him.

What did she want from him?

She was being woefully unfair to him, always finding a reason to complain. And what made it worse, was that in that moment, she could not say for certain what it was she did want. It was easier to list what she did not. She did not want to be alone anymore. She did not want for him to be angry with her.

But what did that entail for their future?

She seemed to have insulted him by reminding him of his employment, but that had not been her intention. His commitment to his duty was admirable, but that did not translate to particular care for her person.

And she wasn't entirely sure why it mattered, yet it did.

Erik huffed out any angry breath and took a step backward, crossing his arms as he did so. "You were sullen and silent most of today. Why?"

Christine peered up at him. She could not deny her silence, for she supposed she had been unusually quiet, but her thoughts had been dark and dangerous things. And sullen? Perhaps. But she had felt more frightened than anything. But his assessment only proved that Erik was quick to make assumptions, though maybe she was equally at fault in that regard.

"I'm sorry," Christine answered at last. "I didn't mean for it to bother you," if it bothered him. He never was one for a tremendous amount of conversation, and she usually felt a little bit guilty for prattling. But if the reverse had him distressed, then perhaps he found some measure of enjoyment in her chatter. It was a nice thought.

Erik looked down sharply at the floor, his hands suddenly clutched into fists. "I did not say that it was a bother; it was an observation of your behavior. One that you could now take the time to explain."

Christine plucked absently at the duvet, moving to sit up slightly so she could look at him better. What was there to explain? Today had begun well enough—they were finally getting somewhere in terms of finding an accord between them, only for the danger surrounding her to make a painful and unwelcome appearance. This time almost naming him specifically. "Do you know..." she began, though she had to clear her throat in attempt to find her voice. Her throat still felt tight and a little itchy, and she would have liked a glass of water to soothe it before continuing their conversation, but was not about to ask Erik to fetch one. And during her nightmare she had kicked away her fuzzy socks, and it was best she not give him another view of her legs. It would only mean more embarrassment for her.

"What do I know?" He prompted again, his tone ever so slightly impatient.

She took a deep breath, and continued, realizing that it was best to simply speak of all of it and he could decide what was most important. It had worked that morning before... well, before the Phantom had happened. "Do you know how guilty I would feel if something happened to you because of me? That maybe he'd come and find me, and you being noble and brave would protect me, and I'd be left there... you'd be dead and I..." She raised a hand to her mouth, the words coming unthinkingly from her lips before she registered how selfish she had sounded. "I'm sorry," she repeated, this time more sincerely. "That was horrible of me."

Erik's head cocked slightly to the side. "Why? To admit that you would be... displeased by my injury?"

"No!" She quickly assured him, gladdened that he had taken it in such a way, but still feeling it necessary to clarify. "I was going to say that I would be all alone and not know what to do. I don't have Detective Nadir's number, I don't have much money left that wouldn't be traced as soon as I'd gotten it. But that's dreadful! You'd be dead and I'm worried about how I'd live!"

Erik straightened somewhat at that. "Christine," he placated, his tone softening. "Of course you would be concerned for your own wellbeing. That is only natural. While I... would be most... gratified to know that you would be saddened by my demise..." His voice trailed off, his expression questioning.

She was quick to give a nod of confirmation. "But that's just it," she blurted out, not meaning to cut him off, but needing to say it aloud. "I... care about you. And I thought we'd just be living somewhere hidden, but safe, and you were being kind and staying with me, but you wouldn't really be in any danger. But now, if something happens, you're going to be hurt because of me! Because this is your job and you do it very well!"

Christine couldn't be certain, but she almost thought his lips quirked slightly upward at that. She frowned. This was serious.

"You care about me? That I should live? You would prefer I stay with you than die?"

She blinked at him, her brow furrowing. What a stupid question—why would he even feel the need to ask it? "That's ridiculous. Of course I'd rather you be with me."

He looked slightly away from her. "You did not ask for me to stay and dine with you tonight." She couldn't be sure, but she thought she heard some measure of hurt in his voice, and she was torn between dismay and a flush of pleasure that her simple entreaties meant so much to him.

"I don't want to lose someone I care about again," she nearly whispered, the truth a painful one. "That's why I... I didn't get very close to anyone at home. They would offer and I was... polite, but I didn't really appreciate their efforts. Not when I kept thinking how in just a moment they could be gone. And I'd be left all alone again." She huffed out an angry breath, frustrated with herself. "And there I sound selfish again."

"No," Erik corrected. "You sound like someone who wishes to protect oneself. I see little shame in that." He might not, but she did. "However," he continued, his tone pointed. "I would prefer that you attempt to keep yourself from withdrawing so completely in the future. I find it to be an... unpleasant experience."

She smiled at that. "Okay," she promised, though her smile faded quickly. "But Erik… if I can ask it of you…"

He gave a slight nod of his head. "You may ask anything of me, and if it is in my power I shall see that it is done."

A heavy assurance, to be sure. She hoped he meant it. "I need to know…" her lips thinned and she tried again. "If you wouldn't mind telling me…"

Erik gave her an indulgent look. "Simply ask me, Christine."

She looked up at him then, his eyes soft and almost… affectionate. And the words came. "I need to know if you care about me because it's your job, or because you care for… me. Because you want to. Please, it's important."

She expected him to struggle, to huff and dissuade her from asking any such thing, but instead Erik was calm and sure as he looked at her. "I may state with absolute certainty that the only reason that I accepted this position was because I would see no harm come to you. That I considered what might be done, and I wanted you to be safe and undisturbed. That you were lonely and afraid, and I thought that perhaps, if you were as lovely a girl as you seemed, I may be able to alleviate both." He leaned in closer, his eyes so very sincere. "Because I care for you."

Her breath hitched at his confession, and before she realized she had done so, she had freed herself from the tangle of her sheets, and gone to him. His body was stiff and unresponsive as she wrapped her arms about his middle, pressing her face to his chest. Now that she was so close to him, she could not help but recognize yet again how tall he truly was. If not for his slim frame, he would most assuredly have dwarfed her completely. Instead she felt... safer. More secure. Even if it all was just an illusion.

"Thank you, Erik." she murmured softly. "For being honest with me." His hands were belated in resting upon her back, and had her ear not been pressed just so, she would have missed the way his body shuddered, his voice rather choked when next he spoke.

"You are touching me."

"Yes."

"Why?"

His hold on her, though tentative and almost apologetic, did not waver, so she did not allow her sudden worry at her welcome to gain much traction. "Because I wanted to. Because I care for you too and because when you're near I do feel less afraid. Less lonely. Do you mind very much?"

Erik was quiet for a moment, and she shifted slightly, only to stare up at his chin for he was holding his head carefully away from her. "No," he assured her, his voice a roughened rasp. "Though it is most unexpected."

A hug in general or just from a client?

Maybe it didn't matter so much, other than the first made her ache for him in sympathy. It had been a long while for her as well.

Although for some inexplicable reason, it was almost a comfort to know that perhaps she was different from his usual charges—that despite the close quarters of their living situations, he did not make it a habit of growing physically close with any other women he might have protected.

"How long do these hugs typically last?"

So soft was the action she was almost uncertain it occurred at all, but she thought that his thumb was suddenly moving, making small comforting circles across her shoulder blade. Christine sighed. "Until one of us pulls away." She peered up at him again, frowning slightly at a smudge under his chin. If she wasn't so sure it would displease him, she would reach up and clean it away for him. "When was the last hug you had?"

Erik swallowed thickly. "I cannot recall."

That was sad. Even if it was quite some time ago, Christine remembered it well. "Mine was Meg last Christmas. She'd learned to knit and made me a pair of socks. I don't think she did it quite right because they were a bit lumpy, and one had a foot bigger than the other, but I loved them."

"Would those be the fuzzy monstrosities?"

Christine followed his gaze towards the floor, unsure whether to be indignant on their behalf or embarrassed that she evidently liked to strew garments about the room. She was not typically a messy person, but other than their all too brief time in their little house, Erik would not have cause to know that. "Yes," she confirmed. "Though I've purchased a few pairs since." Heat grew in her cheeks as she defended her choices. "I like them."

Erik made no further comment.

He had made it a personal conviction to keep from plying Christine with outright falsehoods. But on this occasion, he had done so.

He knew perfectly well that his last embrace was beyond his recollection for there had been no such comforts in his life. Hands that tightened about him were for restraint, not affection, and it was only in the recesses of his own mind that he had wondered what other men shared with those close to them.

And Christine had now enlightened him.

It was odd at first. Just a press of another body against his own, warm and soft as he was not.

But as the surprise had waned, he could recognize the appeal to it, the way she fit just so, the way she must have trusted him enough to initiate it at all.

And a warmth spread through him, unfamiliar yet wonderful, and he wondered if it would be possible for him to never let her go.

That impulse alone kept him from clutching her to him, instead contented himself with small touches, hoping to prolong their inevitable parting.

She had demanded he confess his care for her, but as he held her, he knew it was too inadequate a word. He held her in high regard. He cherished her every smile, the pleasure of her company.

He loved her.

In whatever mad, thoroughly likely demented way that his soul could possibly love, he loved her.

And it frightened him.

For she may not return his sentiments—the probability of her doing so seemed impossibly low—but now there was also someone intent on seeing her harm. Not her own imaginings that he would seek to do so, but an actual someone. And Erik could not allow that to happen.

He had thought that fleeing was sufficient. He used credit cards only when necessary and under false identities. Yet still they had been discovered.

And he still had no notion as to who might be hunting them, only a feeling of dread and unease that settled low in his belly.

He had to make her safe, no matter the personal cost.

Because he loved her.

With great reluctance, he released her, feeling the loss most acutely when her arms fell away, and he watched her clamor back beneath the covers with pink cheeks and a sheepish smile. He had not been oblivious to her state of dress, but he hoped that perhaps someday she would not find his gaze upon her to be a humiliating experience.

He knew what it was like to be looked at with derision and horror. It was something he would not wish upon anyone, and especially not her.

Yet he doubted that from the most critical of perusals, she had no cause for concern. He saw her with nothing less than pure admiration.

He would rather converse with her more—coax her into speaking of her nightmares so that perhaps her sleep would be uninhibited by more, but instead he forced himself to reach into his pocket, pulling out a phone and searching through the contacts, his reluctance ever growing.

"Erik? Who are you calling?"

He almost hung up the moment it began to ring, but he refused to do so.

She had to be safe.

The man on the other end answered, his voice thick with sleep. "Hello?"

"Good evening, Detective Nadir. It seems I require your assistance."

Sooo... does Christine's withdrawal make sense now? She has a lot on her mind, and apparently her subconscious is taking it out on her. But if it leads to huuuuugsss... worth it, right?

And why in the world is he involving the Persian? Any ideas? He wouldn't... *gulp* turn himself in, would he?