Christine had been enthused when, upon hesitantly asking, he was able to provide directions to a locker room a few hallways down that she could bathe in. She found it with ease, and the place was dusty and untouched for the most part. Curtained showers were hidden towards the back behind the rows of lockers– meant for the performers and workers to store their belongings back then, she assumed– and she entered into one of the cleaner showers to test out the faucet. The pipes gurgled and shook a moment when she turned the knob, but sure enough, water began to blast out and into the small tiled space, forcing her to flatten herself against the wall to avoid the spray of the water.

The water didn't seem to be able to get very hot, and the pressure was unpredictable, but there was something so refreshing about being able to clean herself for the first time in weeks. She didn't even bother speculating on how Erik managed to get flowing water into this building; after all she'd seen and gone through, she simply accepted the miracle for what it was.

And her poor curls! Going so long without truly being able to clean herself beyond the occasional sponge-bath with river water had left her once-beautiful hair in a sorry state. She had no shampoo, but she did have a bar of goat-fat soap that she'd brought with her from home that she scrubbed into a lather to rub into her hair, teasing at the tangles that had gathered. She practically smothered her body in soap, scrubbing at her skin until it was raw and red, anything to get the dirt that seemed soaked into her skin gone. She spent a particularly long time running her fingernails beneath the faucet's spray, ridding herself of the specks of Papa's blood that she felt she would never be able to wipe away.

He would've liked this place, she thought. Had they not settled in Central City, she easily could have imagined him leading them to a theater such as this, carving it out into a space of his own. A little refuge of music. That familiar nauseousness began to roll in her stomach. He would never see this place, though. He was dead.

Christine shut off the faucet and pulled the curtain aside. Her bag and clothes she had set on a nearby bench, and with still-wet hands she rooted through her bag to withdraw one of the towels packed inside to dry herself off. Now that she no longer stood beneath the water's warmth, the chilliness of the outside world began to seep back into her bones. She patted herself dry as quickly as possible, teeth chattering until she was able to tug the thick sweater she'd chosen over her head and stick her legs through the thick pants. She scrunched her hair dry with the towel the best she could, before donning her shoes and leaving the locker room. From there she returned to the room she had slept in the night before, dropping off her backpack on the table. Perhaps she should have felt more protective over her belongings as she left them being in the room, more distrustful of him, even, but there was something about Erik that had her comfortable leaving them behind. She still didn't like him, still wasn't entirely sure he wasn't about to turn and kick her out on her ass, but he'd had every opportunity to kill or rob her of everything she had back at the house. He'd bested her in their fight before, she knew it likely wouldn't take much for him to render her incapacitated, but for whatever reason he had stuck by their deal to help her return to the house. From what she'd seen of him so far, he seemed to be a man of his word, at least.

It still didn't make her any less anxious as she followed the hallway back to the auditorium. To sing. He wanted her to sing. Her stomach was in knots as she pressed open the final door, weaving through red curtains and stepping downstage.

When she caught movement from the corner of her eye, she nearly jolted to find Erik, sitting before a piano by the corner. The instrument definitely hadn't been there before, so he must have pulled it out. His gaze met hers steadily, those amber eyes scanning her up and down momentarily before returning to the piano before him.

"From what you spoke before of your prior musical education," he began to say, "I assume that you've never experienced formal instruction in voice?"

She shifted on her feet. "Not unless you count choir as a kid, no." Images of elementary school choir concerts flashed in her mind. Judging from the look he gave her, he clearly did not believe it counted.

"What do you know of music theory? Singing techniques?"

She blanched.

"Can you read musical notation?"

"It's been a while, but… yeah." She'd been better when she was younger, but Papa had at least instilled that in her growing up. Even just the thought of their small lessons together made her heart ache. "I know my scales."

"Then let us begin with that."

The auditorium suddenly felt very, very big. Though she had agreed to this deal, now that he was actually making her sing in front of him, her stomach turned in knots. What if he thought she sucked? He didn't exactly seem like the calmest dude on earth. Would he relentlessly tear into her voice? After all she'd been through, if she sang for him only for him to tell her she was terrible… she might very well start crying in front of him.

She shifted anxiously from one foot to the other. "I'm really rusty," she warned.

He waved a hand dismissively, and did not say anything. Those amber eyes were waiting intently upon her.

And so she opened her mouth and sang.

…

Erik didn't keep her in the auditorium that long. After she finished with her scales (he had such an odd look in his eyes when she was done singing that she was half-tempted to ask if he was alright) he had her sing through some simple nursery rhymes to get a sense of her tone, before declaring that to be enough for the day. He'd played a small amount of the piano for her to sing alongside, and though it was nothing fancy, she had the sense from the simple notes that he had played that he was… quite good.

It only served to make her feel a little more aware of her own inadequacy.

After that, though, he left the room fairly quickly, leaving her to her own devices once more. They would likely take off the day after tomorrow, he had said, and so she was free to make use of the evening as she saw fit. She did not know where he went off to. She did not feel comfortable enough to ask. All she knew was when he hesitantly knocked on the door to his room around an hour later to see if she could perhaps borrow his kettle, he was nowhere to be seen.

And so she took her time exploring the theater in earnest, this time without any interruptions from masked assailants keen on kicking her out of the building, which was nice, at least. She didn't feel comfortable enough to explore the lobby at the front of the building in full with all of the fighting outside, and so she stuck to the auditorium and the backstage halls, snooping in the dressing rooms and practice rooms, finding the place where the department had stored most of their costumes. Had Erik gotten his mask here, she wondered? The dresses and headpieces sitting on the shelves and hangers were intricate, elaborate, and it was a little saddening to think they would never be used again, left here to rot until the theater presumably turned to dust.

Eventually she grew tired of exploring and returned to her room to eat some food. Soon, she thought, taking a bite into a sad granola bar. Soon she would be out of that damned city and headed back home. Without Papa.

Christine closed her eyes and exhaled.

…

The energy seemed… slightly off when Christine entered Erik's room the following morning. Again, he had a large map of the city laid out on the table, marked in places with red and blue markers, handwriting almost illegible against the paper in certain places. One of the areas, a suburb, had a large red circle drawn around it, with one line cutting straight through. It looked rather ominous.

Erik seemed hurried, moving to and fro at a quick pace, rooting through bookshelves and emptying bags of miscellaneous belongings to pry through their contents. She could not see his face to gauge his expression, but his body language was stiff and unyielding.

"Is everything alright?" she asked. He seemed to do a double take when she spoke, as though he hadn't noticed her there. He let out a sharp breath.

"No," he said. His voice was very brisk, and it made her shiver a little bit. Being around angry people always made her anxious. "I seem to have misplaced some of my firearms. I cannot find a great bit of my armory."

Her eyes were round. "You have an armory?"

Erik paused only a second to glance at her once more. "No one survives long in this city without one. A person without ammunition is a sitting duck." And he promptly dumped another bag.

How do you misplace an armory? She hesitantly moved over to the couch and sat down on it. She'd only come into the room to go over the day's plans, but now that she was here it almost would feel rude to leave, and he hadn't told her she wasn't welcome in the room. Besides, when she knocked, he'd said she was free to enter.

He did not say anything else as he continued to root through his overturned contents– knives and knuckle rings and granola bars, some papers and maps lying amidst it all. Behind the mask his eyes were hard and displeased; she got the sense that he had not, in fact, found what he was looking for.

Eventually he leaned back on his haunches, those long pale hands coming to rest on his knees. She watched as he blew out a rough exhale of air, before his gaze turned to meet her's. A hand reached up to smooth back his hair– composing himself.

"I have a hideout that is a bit of a venture from here that would have some of the supplies I need," he said, low. "Unfortunately it will add a few days to our journey. It is not near here– it's a safehouse on the edge of town, if you will."

Christine glanced down at her hands, fingers interwoven in her lap. His voice was… uncharacteristically hesitant, almost uncertain, as though he weren't entirely sure himself this was the route he wished to take. The air between them felt tense, as though there was another shoe that was about to drop.

"It is not a safe area. In fact, we will very likely come across combat if we go that route," he said.

She swallowed nervously. "How do you know it- it hasn't been looted out?"

A small gleam of humor entered those amber eyes. "Because it is far too difficult to find. And most people would not be stupid enough to try." A pause, and his head tilted, as though he were considering a possible exception to that rule. He then shrugged and continued. "As it is, you currently have two options. Either you can come with me to the safehouse, and we will briefly return back here before departing the city, or you can wait here while I leave to retrieve my things and return. I personally would not suggest the latter option, unless the idea of staying in this building by your lonesome for two or three days is appealing to you."

She thought about being cooped up in the theater, so big it was practically a maze with all of its small hallways and hidden entrances, all by herself, and she shivered.

"I'll go with you," she said.

"We leave in an hour, then," he replied.

That soon? She hadn't quite prepared herself to take off so quickly. She glanced down at her socks. She hadn't even put her boots on. He must've noticed the look on her face as he turned back to put away his dumped belongings back in their bags, for when he spoke again, his voice was slightly gentler.

"It is best we make use of the daylight while it remains. The weather today is the clearest it's been all week. Traveling in the sun will be more tolerable than in foul weather," he said.

Christine smoothed down the fabric of her pants before standing from the couch. "I'll… go get my things, then."

He did not respond as she left.

…

It was with a surprising sort of sadness that she stepped out the front doors of the theater for the last time. She hadn't stayed there very long, only a few days, but it felt as though eons had passed since she had first snuck her way in. Grief had an odd way of dilating time's passage, everything feeling so different since Papa had died, the waves of fear and uncertainty that'd she'd experienced stretching out the hours.

The fear and uncertainty definitely hadn't faded. The idea of heading back out into the depths of the city made her stomach turn with terror, but if there was one thing she was slowly coming to accept, it was that although she truly hadn't known him that long, and he still frightened her slightly, she was beginning to trust that he truly had no interest in harming her. They'd been forced in close quarters for a few days now, and he had yet to act towards her in a way that made her feel uncomfortable or unnerved… aside from his normal weirdness, that is.

It didn't mean she liked him, or that they weren't still total strangers, but call it a gut feeling, call it naivety, or whatever, she didn't feel he was still interested in shooting her in the face like he had been when they first met. Especially after their… singing lesson. That had to count for something, right?

She reflected on their small meeting together as they began their silent trek through the mostly-quiet streets, cutting through small buildings and doing their best to remain out of open sight. For as much as he intimidated her, their "lesson" had been more painless than she'd been expecting. It was clear he had tremendous knowledge when it came to musical technique, and with how velvety his own voice was she had to wonder if he himself had singing experience. Surely with a voice like that…

He was definitely older than her. Old enough to have been working or seeking a degree when the asteroid had hit. Had he been in college? Something like Juilliard, maybe? Had she been a braver person, she would have asked him. As it was, though, she didn't dare.

He'd been polite, though, in their lesson. The few critiques he had given out were constructive, and when she had adapted to them– things like adjusting her breathing, her posture– maybe it was her ears tricking her, but she did think she sounded better. She wondered, distantly, how many more lessons they would be able to hold before they split ways. Perhaps he would ask her to sing again once they reached his safehouse.

The crunch of something underfoot had her startled from her thoughts, pausing in her steps to peer at what she had broken beneath her foot. It looked like a… bone, she realized with a cold shiver. Some kind of leg bone, at least. They were in some old sort of department store, rusty patio chairs and abandoned, unsold yard equipment still left on the chairs and in the aisles. The place certainly looked mostly untouched, definitely not lived in. And yet, when she scanned the ground around them, she spotted more shards of white on the ground, shattered bone. She looked up to meet Erik's gaze, his eyes unreadable as they too trailed along the ground, lingering on the brown stain against the concrete floor.

"If it's any comfort," he said when her pallid face turned to peer about the rest of the space around them. "It's likely from an animal. People around here are more apt to bury their dead. And it is not fresh."

Christine glanced down at the crunched bone and nodded. He continued on walking, leaving her to catch up, yet while he didn't say anything, she could sense he seemed slightly more on high alert after that.

They spent the remainder of the afternoon ducking from building to building, creeping through burned husks of houses and dust-ridden restaurants. They took minimal breaks, excluding a short lunch to stave off the hunger for a little while longer. Erik did not speak at all the entire time, though she was no longer surprised by that… he was too busy eyeing every abandoned car that came across their path. Though he had no weapon drawn, his fingers would twitch toward his waistband at every odd noise, and she had the notion that he was quite the quick draw. She was glad he was on her side now.

Regardless, the day remained mostly quiet. Unlike their last venture out, there were no sounds of gunshots or yelling, and the longer they went without encountering any signs of other people, Christine's guard began to lower. The image of the crushed bones still lingered in her mind, but as the afternoon wore on without interruption, her fear began to seep away.

It was after the sun had begun its descent from the sky that their pace began to slow. Silently he glanced back at her, indicating his head towards what appeared to have once been a building's back entrance. The door was unlocked, and it swung open to reveal a dusty hallway, linoleum underfoot stained and dirtied from time. She followed him in through winding hallways that led into an open foyer, with red couches and coffee tables pushed up against a wall of glass that appeared to have been the main entrance. A small wooden desk sat near the wall, strings of keys on hooks hanging directly behind it. This place had either been full of apartments or was some sort of small hotel.

Erik didn't stop in the foyer, however, and proceeded to open up a wooden door. Behind it revealed a fleet of steps that seemed to ascend into the sky itself, the ceiling too far away to make out.

"Electricity isn't connected to this neighborhood anymore, leaving the elevator out of use," he said, voice echoing off the empty wall as he rose to the first step. "It's quite the walk up."

"How far up?" she replied, wary of her sore and exhausted muscles.

Erik glanced up. "About ten floors or so, I believe."

Christine balked, but didn't say a word as he began taking the stairs. She trailed after him, albeit at a much slower pace– her legs were quite shorter than his. They climbed the first several flights in pure silence, no sound other than the thump of shoes on the floor.

"So," Christine huffed as they passed a window. Outside, the sun blinked at them from behind buildings darkly silhouetted against the skyline. "Your… safehouse, you called it… it's in here, then?"

A brisk nod. She glanced at the cobwebs gathered in the corners, the dead bugs that crunched underfoot. She thought they passed a mummified mouse at one point.

"Can I ask you a question?" she said.

His gaze slid back to her warily, but he gave another dip of his head in allowance.

"Why… why do you have a safehouse? I don't mean to be rude… I'm just curious. Your theater seems big enough to hold everything you could ever have. And for a backup place for safety, this seems so close by."

That familiar silence settled back in as he seemed to take in her words, thinking. They passed by another window. The light in the stairwell was beginning to deplete with evening's arrival.

He did not look back towards her when he replied, but his voice was a low rumble. "I have many enemies. If the theater were to be found by them, it would not be the first time I was chased from my outpost. I've discovered it is best to keep a backup plan for if… when, that happens. This place is not meant to be a long-term residence, but merely a place to prevent myself from being left without supplies."

"Have you… been chased by them from your homes a lot, then?" she asked.

Those yellow eyes flickered back towards her, and she was a little shocked to see amusement glimmer within his gaze, a laugh barking out from him, sharp and cold.

"My dear," he said, his voice a low drawl that sent both warmth and chills to her stomach, "None of those places were ever something I would have called home."

She did not quite know what to respond to that with.

Eventually they surpassed another floor, and Christine was startled by how quickly he halted before the archway leading into the hallway, as though he had nearly missed it himself. There were no other sounds as they crept down its length, save for the whistle of wind against the walls and the creaking of wood underfoot. It wasn't at any of the lettered rooms that he stopped at, though, but instead a shabby maintenance closet tucked away towards the back end of the hall. He pushed open the door to reveal a dark room, dust and dirt stirred by their feet on ground that had long gone untouched. Christine sneezed and blinked, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dark. There were no windows in the small space. They clicked their flashlights on.

Towards the back of the room were a set of cabinets, tall and sweeping from the floor to the ceiling, shelves covered in a variety of cleaning supplies: stain removal sprays, old wet wipes and sponges. Erik ignored it all entirely as he instead reached overhead to one of the plastic ceiling panels that she had scarcely glanced at when they entered. He was tall, and even he had to reach on the tips of his toes to tug the panel from its place in the ceiling, setting it gently on the ground. Bizarrely, two small doors of wood were revealed in the space the panel had been, with one handle for each half. A padlock hung from the handles, and he deftly entered in the combination before pulling the doors open.

A slim stepladder descended from the ceiling. Erik didn't seem surprised by this– was already quite familiar with the bizarre way in which his… safehouse was hidden. It was only when he leaned forward to take a closer look at the stepladder's rungs that his eyes narrowed slightly.

"Is everything alright?" she asked.

Erik glanced at her as though he'd momentarily forgotten she were there. A hand reached out and he swiped a finger along the ladder step. "There are footprints in the dust on the ladder," he said. "I have not been here in months."

"You think someone else has been here?"

He straightened, not responding, and those bony hands wrapped around the railing before hoisting himself up the rungs. She waited for him to reach the top before she followed.

There were small solar powered lamps set around the immediate area when she rose from the ladder, illuminating the room softly. They revealed an apartment, to her surprise. Clean, minimalist in decor. The stylings of the walls and ceiling resembled much of the hallways outside of it, and bar its unconventional entrance, it looked, well, normal.

She wasn't sure what she'd expected of a safehouse of a man that had somehow wired a dumpster to be a secret entrance into a theater-turned-base, but it wasn't this.

Erik stalked ahead down the hall that lay directly before them, disappearing into three rooms for a few minutes at a time before resurfacing. She remained at her spot in the entranceway as he came up to her once again, his hand coming up to smooth back his hair.

"Nothing is amiss," he said. "The place is clean."

She squinted. "Clean as in 'clear of people,' or clean as in-"

"It looks like someone's dusted the entire apartment." He sounded rather angry about that, almost more so than she'd seen him angry yet. For a brief second she wanted to shrink away from him again. He wasn't angry at her, though, and instead he went towards the small kitchenette to their left, opening the cupboards to examine their contents as though double checking to see what all was amiss, before he returned to the door from which they'd entered.

"I am going to survey the building to ensure there are no intruders left nearby. I will be back soon," he said, and then he was gone.

Left by herself in the odd little apartment, Christine first went investigating through all the other rooms. There were two near-identical bedrooms, both with boxes piled up in the corners and on the surfaces, labeled with short abbreviated letters that she had a difficult time discerning. The messy handwriting looked similar to what she'd seen back at the theater. Unable to stop her nosiness, she lifted one of the lids to the boxes and peered inside. It was full of granola bars and bulletproof vests. She replaced the lid and returned to the hallway. The other room was simply a bathroom, plain and white with no segmented off bathing space, just a toilet, a sink, a showerhead protruding from the wall, and a drain on the floor.

Curiosity sated, she returned to the living room and dropped anchor onto the couch. She wished she had a watch to see what time it was. She could have continued reading her book, but she felt too exhausted to read, and yet not tired enough to sleep. Plus, she felt it might be a little rude for him to return to find her asleep, when he would likely wish to go over their plans for the next day with her before they retired for the night.

She wasn't sure how long she sat on that couch, simply sitting, before she went to the kitchenette and removed her bag to root through it for something to eat. She wasn't sure how long it would take him to scout out the building for any threats, but with how long it had taken them to originally climb those stairs, she had to imagine he would be gone for quite a while.

That was why she was slightly surprised to hear the thud of the small entrance doors closing shut, and the sound of heavy boots on wood.

"Hey!" she said. "I wasn't expecting you to be back so soon-"

But when she turned around, it was not Erik that had entered the room.

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