(This work would not have been possible without the help and guidance of my amazing beta, PhantomSith. Love you lots, girl.)
They stared at each other for a long moment, an unnerving silence permeating the room as their initial shock slowly receded. They stood there, eyeing each other with uncertainty, and in Christine's case, no small amount of fear. It was so quiet that only their labored breathing could be heard.
"What are you doing here?" Erik asked, brow creased and eyes questioning, his tone hard and brittle toward this unknown stranger.
His voice cut into the silence so sharply, Christine couldn't stop the startle of surprise that rippled through her. As a result, the mug she was holding slipped from her fingers and tumbled to the floor, bouncing away on the soft carpet and leaving a trail of coffee as it went.
They both watched, mesmerized by something so inconsequential, as the mug came to a stop against a wall display. Almost in sync, their gazes snapped toward each other, Christine's eyes wide.
Erik's head lowered, his eyes closing slowly as he let out a deep sigh of annoyance.
If she's a thief, she's the worst one I've ever seen.
Without uttering a word, Erik retreated into the workroom, emerging a moment later with a few rags. He silently went to work cleaning up the mess, knowing Annette would not appreciate her store being left in a state of disarray, especially for such a ridiculous reason.
Christine looked on, somewhat dumbfounded by his actions because if she'd surprised him during a break-in, wouldn't he have already bolted by now? What burglar stays to clean up a mess?
"I…I didn't mean to alarm you. It's just…this is my store," she began, her voice shaking slightly as she tried to suppress her nerves. "Well…you know," Christine stammered, correcting herself, "it's…it's not my store. I don't own it or anything, but I do work here."
Christine's anxious babbling served to quickly deflate all the tension in the room as Erik stood up, stepping around her carefully to throw the wet rags in the trash.
Handing the mug to her, he replied tersely, "You're one of Annette's girls." Erik slowly tilted his head to the side, as if in question, but his blunt tone suggested he was making a statement of fact. "Do you always break in after the shop's closed?" he asked, one eyebrow raised in incredulity.
Oh, it's gonna be like that, is it? Christine thought and felt her hackles rising already. This was her shop. She worked here. Who the hell was this guy, a virtual stranger, and possible criminal, to take the moral high ground?
"Do you always lurk in doorways?" she shot back, hands on her hips and her voice laced with suspicion.
Feeling the heat of irritation flooding his body, Erik's voice lowered in response, "I work here. After hours."
Taken aback a bit by his retort, Christine wracked her brain for a moment, trying to remember if her boss had mentioned this before. Brows raising as the memory struck her, Christine timidly responded, "Oh yeah...that's right. Madame told me that she sometimes has someone here at night."
When she hugged herself, as if trying to ward off a non-existent chill, Erik recognized the defensive stance for what it was. She was trying to protect herself from awkward embarrassment.
Removing her winter hat and self-consciously straightening out her uncooperative bob of curls, she continued with a crooked smile, "I'm sorry for coming at you like that. It's just…being here at night all alone…I like it, but…it can be dangerous. My name is Christine…by the way."
His annoyance began to ebb away with her nervous chattering and was replaced by a bit of wry amusement at her genuine desire to apologize.
He decided he'd let her off the hook with a curt, "Erik," as he turned away and headed back towards the workroom.
All Christine could do for a moment was stand there, somewhat flabbergasted as he simply walked away without another word. She wondered what she was supposed to do next; stand there continuing to look foolish or follow him.
Watching Erik slip silently through the doorway, Christine narrowed her eyes and quickly hurried along after him. As she quietly closed the door behind her, she turned to see Erik pull up a stool, readying himself to work on something hidden under a cloth.
Looking around at the small workspace, she noticed the cubbies along the wall, each filled with an instrument that likely needed restoration or repair. The shelves were quite organized, each instrument carefully protected in its case or covered with a cloth. By contrast, the area on the other side of the room where it seemed he kept his tools, was a testament to controlled chaos. Those shelves, as well as the work table, were a jumbled mess of tools, tuning apparatuses, and cleaning supplies.
There was no rhyme or reason to the disorder. Then, Christine was startled to realize that, despite having worked at the store for a while now, she'd never really taken the time to look around this room apart from dropping off and collecting instruments for customers.
Like Erik, it was an interesting dichotomy of meticulous dysfunction.
She watched as he carefully pulled a corner of cloth away from a small section of what she thought was a violin. The rest of it was kept covered, she assumed to protect the instrument from the elements.
He began to clean the exposed area, gently removing the layers of built-up resin with delicate precision. He seemed so engrossed in his task, that she wondered if he'd forgotten she was even there. Still, Christine couldn't help but look on, mesmerized by the intensity in his eyes as he gazed tenderly at the minute expanse of worn wood.
She wasn't able to read much else in the rather closed-off expression on what little of Erik's face she could see…. that wasn't covered by the half-mask. It looked like something that might've been given to him by a doctor, but the mixture of flesh tone and its subdued features seemed to only make him stand out more.
Erik, back turned as he fiddled with the cloth, remarked woodenly, "You want to ask. I know you do."
Christine jerked back a bit, almost as if he'd slapped her. She was taken aback, not even aware that she'd been staring or that he'd noticed. Mortified that she'd done something so rude, even unintentionally, her face was aflame with embarrassment.
Not knowing what to say, she stuttered out, "I…I didn't—"
"Please don't patronize me by trying to deny it. Everyone wants to ask… but they never know what to say," Erik bit out, his hands tightly gripping the table and shoulders straining with barely contained hostility.
Christine hugged herself again, feeling a great need for the ground to open up so that she could disappear. She didn't want to ask because they'd only just met, and if his reaction was anything to go by, it was really none of her business.
Her heart raced as she tried to figure out how to respond in a way that wouldn't make things worse. She didn't want him to feel like he had to tell her anything if he didn't want to. After all, they didn't even know each other.
Taking a deep breath, she whispered, "You don't have to—"
Again, he cut her off before she could finish with a cold, "It was an accident. The mask protects my face. That's it. I'm not discussing it any further, so keep your questions to yourself, all right?"
Her throat suddenly grew very dry at his stilted response, and Christine took a deep inhale to calm herself. An uncomfortable silence had descended after Erik's revelation, leaving the room mired in thick tension.
Having decided that the best way out of this humiliating situation was through, she steered the conversation to something safe: his work. "So…um…the reason I come here so early is that the shop's peaceful and quiet like this. I just…kinda…enjoy the solitude. Is that why you're here too? To work on…that?" She timidly asked, gesturing toward the cloth-covered object on the table before him.
Erik remained quiet at first, head bowed in concentration as he diligently continued his work. She could sense his unease in the strained lines of his body and the quick, shallow breaths he was taking. Long minutes ticked by, her anxiety increasing as Christine was unsure what was going to happen next.
Eventually, Erik's breathing slowed as he gradually started to relax, his shoulders loosening as he allowed the pressure to slowly bleed from his frame.
Knowing that if he didn't say something, she'd likely continue needling him with small talk, he side-eyed her with, "It's a violin. I'm restoring it." Tipping his head to look up at her wearily, he shrugged his shoulders, continuing, "I get restless late at night sometimes. The work is a good distraction...especially with nobody around to bother me."
Christine raised an eyebrow as his tone shifted abruptly to something tinged with mild annoyance.
Now he makes with the sarcasm? Came the intrusive thought.
"Really?" she retorted saucily, raising her hand to her heart in mock offense. "Well…I apologize for intruding on your private sanctum, but when Madame said you worked after hours, I don't think she meant—" Christine abruptly broke off to look at her watch, "—five o'clock in the morning."
All she got from Erik in response was a noncommittal grunt.
"Well then," Christine replied saccharinely, pulling another stool over and plopping down on it unceremoniously. "I suppose we can both be insomniacs together."
Uttering a sigh of the long-suffering, Erik murmured, "Fine. Just... try not to touch anything, please."
"What...this mess? Are you serious?" she gnawed at him further, with a sarcastic little laugh. Getting a rise out of this mystery man was more fun than she'd had in a hell of a long time. "I'm surprised you can find anything in here at all."
Erik turned to her sharply with narrowed eyes and a raised brow. Did she just…?
"This is not a mess. It's a system," he threw back, voice tinged with a hint of frustration, struggling to conceal a crooked little grin so she would know there was no real heat behind his words.
Christine watched him work in silence for a little while, somewhat hypnotized by the lithe beauty of his hands, long fingers gracefully and fastidiously working away at the layers of resin. It was only when she noticed a stream of light peaking its way under the door frame, that she realized the sun had risen.
Checking her watch, she saw that it was already after six in the morning, and the store was due to open at seven.
"Hey…" she began, lightly touching his arm to get his attention.
Erik drew back abruptly, not expecting the contact. He stared at her intently for a moment, his eyes suddenly burning with mistrust.
Christine pulled her hand back quickly, cradling it to her chest as if his rejection had pained her.
Erik relaxed again, but this time stiffly retreated to return the violin to its case. She supposed he'd decided to end his work for the night. As he turned back to gather up his tools, all but ignoring her at this point, Christine just knew she didn't want to leave things with him on such a sour note.
"Erik…" She began tentatively. Without responding, he continued cleaning up. She could've given up at that point. Maybe should've. But something inside her just…couldn't walk away.
Gathering her courage, she forged on, "I've gotta open up the store soon, but you know, I've been back here so long with you that I forgot to get breakfast. I…uh…I know this great place right around the corner. They make the best 'everything' bagels. I'm just gonna pop out and pick some up. Would you… maybe… want to share them with me? I mean… I don't think you've eaten either, so… you must be hungry, too, right?"
Back turned to her as he was just finishing up putting the last of his tools away, Erik closed his eyes and looked up at the ceiling, breathing in deeply as conflicting sets of emotions were roiling through him.
One part of him really didn't want to deal with her, preferring not to subject another unwary soul to his abject misery.
Still, another part of him was intrigued by her candor and unflinching acceptance, despite her initial fear at first sight. He liked her bite. The fact she gave as good as she got. Most people shied away from him, terrified of incurring his wrath.
Christine was resilient, and he could tell she had built walls around her as thick as his own, though he'd yet to understand why.
Making a decision, he turned slowly back to her and replied evenly, "I guess so." He shuffled over to the doorway. "I'm at the top of the stairs," he added, slipping silently into the stairwell.
Knowing there was little point in trying to reply, Christine stole from the room and quickly made her way to the deli next door.
Within a few minutes, she was upstairs, standing at the door to Erik's apartment. She'd started second-guessing herself on the way back over, wondering if doing this was such a good idea. Erik seemed like he preferred keeping his own company, and she didn't want to seem overly pushy.
In the end, though, Christine reasoned that it was just breakfast. What could be the harm in something so innocent? If they never interacted again afterward, was it that big of a deal?
Squaring her shoulders, Christine took a deep breath and knocked sharply on the door.
There was no response at first, but she could hear shuffling sounds coming from within, so she continued to wait.
A few minutes more, and still, there was nothing. At this point, her nerves were starting to rattle, and she was getting worried.
No longer willing to wait, Christine swiftly opened the door…to reveal Erik comically puttering around what passed for his living room, but was really just a ratty couch. He had a sheaf of papers under one arm and what looked like an old magazine under the other. He looked up sharply at the sound of her entering the room, once again locking eyes with her, just as they did earlier in the evening.
The sense of deja vu at that moment was utterly disconcerting.
"You know," Christine laughed nervously. "We've got to stop meeting like this. It's getting to be ridiculous."
Throwing the magazine in the trash in a clear display of avoidance, Erik tersely replied, "Maybe if you knew how to knock..."
Rolling her eyes in exasperation and tossing the bag of food on the kitchen counter, the Formica cracking and peeling, Christine crossed her arms in defiance and spat back, "I did knock, you jerk. You're welcome for breakfast, by the way. Enjoy your damn bagels. I know I sure won't."
She turned abruptly to leave and made it halfway to the door before Erik finally managed to rouse himself from his shocked stupor. Wincing at his rudeness, he took a cautious step forward but faltered a moment with uncertainty.
"Wait!" He called to her, his hand outstretched as if reaching for her, but finding only emptiness. He sighed and whispered softly, "I'm sorry."
She was almost out the door when she stopped, back still turned to him. Her eyes were watering, and she blinked fiercely to keep the tears from falling. She simply was not going to give him the satisfaction. Turning around slowly, Christine faced him once again, this time forcing herself into a façade of composure.
She didn't know why Erik's attitude was affecting her so strongly. She barely knew him. She shouldn't feel so hurt by his callous demeanor, but still…she couldn't help the cold, desolate feeling that settled in her gut. It was all too familiar; a ghost from her past that she'd been trying very hard to forget.
Erik cleared his throat uncomfortably, not sure what else to say now that he'd managed to keep Christine from leaving. She was still standing in the doorway, looking wan and weary.
"I…I'm not used to being around…people," he began sincerely, some warmth returning to his voice once again.
Letting out the breath she was holding in a lengthy exhale, she gave him a long look and a silent nod of understanding. "I get it." She told him in earnest, walking back in and casting her eyes surreptitiously around the place as she made her way over to the couch.
To say the apartment was dilapidated was an understatement. The dingy walls and threadbare carpets were just what she was able to pick up on at first glance. But then, in this part of the city, you really couldn't expect much better. However, there was a solemness that pervaded the space, a seemingly perfect outer complement to Erik's inner turmoil.
She knew then that there was so much more to Erik than what he let on, but trying to figure him out would be like attempting to climb the tallest mountain in the world.
Good thing she could be just as stubborn and bull-headed as he was.
Plopping down on the couch and reaching for the bag, Christine pulled out a bagel and tore off a piece, taking a bite and uttering a low groan of happiness at the mouth-watering taste of all of her favorite herbs and spices.
Erik looked on, nonplussed, his heart beginning to pound. He watched intently as she chewed, eyes closed and savoring every bite. His intense gaze went unnoticed by her as she continued to enjoy her meal. He swallowed hard, feeling a sluggish bead of sweat roll down his forehead, irritating the skin beneath his mask.
The itchiness caused him to snap back to reality long enough to realize that he was staring at her like some kind of creep. With his stack of papers still now slightly crumpled in his grip, he brusquely turned away, walking into the bedroom to put them up and give himself a moment to breathe.
A few minutes later, he returned and sat gingerly at the other end of the couch, completely composed and acting as if nothing at all had happened. By now, Christine had pulled more bagels and small containers of cream cheese out of the bag, laying them out on the small coffee table for him to choose from.
Taking a long pull from her coffee cup and looking on as he picked through his options, Christine was not so oblivious that she failed to pick up on the slight tremor in his hand as he reached for one of the bagels.
He ate in silence, taking small bites, but his gaze was rooted firmly to the floor. He seemed…contrite and completely closed off.
I might have walls, she reasoned, but this guy has a damn fortress.
The awkwardness between them was becoming stifling. To try and ease the tension, she handed him a steaming cup. At first, he thought it was coffee and was immediately going to decline, as he disdained the overpowering scent. However, as she brought it over to him, his keen olfactory sense caught the sweet lingering aroma of chamomile.
Christine had brought him tea.
Taking the cup from her carefully, he gave a slight nod, murmuring, "Thank you." Erik took a languid sip of the brew, the light taste and soothing warmth of the beverage seeping into his core and allowing the tension to ease from his being.
She gave him a tiny smile in return and replied, "I figured you'd like the tea better. I mean…considering the state we left my poor, innocent coffee mug in downstairs."
Erik let out a small chuckle at her weak attempt at humor, though he understood the sentiment. He was finding that her dry wit was very much in line with his own view of the world.
She looked at him again, this time with a bit of trepidation, and continued, "You know…you didn't have to straighten up or anything. Not on my account. It's just bagels. No big deal."
He nodded again, still sipping from his tea, unwilling to say anything just yet.
Feeling some of the tension start to creep back in, Christine tamped it down by blurting out, "So!" She squeaked embarrassingly before clearing her throat, asking, "Umm…how did you come to meet Annette?"
Erik put his cup on the table, sitting back and staring beyond it towards something unseen. His gaze lingered on a spot near the door, and she could tell by his rigidness that he was contemplating whether or not to answer her.
Eventually, he turned to her and sighed. He still wondered if he wasn't making a huge mistake by allowing her to get through to even the surface level of his defenses, but he found himself answering anyway, "She was the ballet madame where I used to go to school. After the accident…she looked out for me when I needed a friend."
Christine blinked for a moment, not entirely sure she heard him right. "Did…did you go to LaGuardia? The…the school for the performing arts?"
Erik's brow raised in suspicion. "Yes," he replied, in sudden prudence.
What is she getting at? He wondered.
A gentle smile broke out across her face, lighting up her eyes just a bit. Erik's heart started racing again, and he had to force himself to look away because…
Stop it. You are not going to allow her in. Period.
"Small world. I used to go there, too. Madame was my dance teacher for a little while. I…well…I went through some things in my senior year, and like you said, she was a good friend when I needed someone."
Christine was starting to realize that the two of them had more in common than even she knew.
As the intensity of the moment began to lull, Christine made to start cleaning up their breakfast trash. Erik sank back into the couch cushions, now a little more relaxed after drinking the tea and having something substantial to eat. After only a few moments, though, he could feel the tell-tale signs that his body was starting to shut down.
The high of his medication was just starting to wear off. Fatigue was setting in – and fast – compounded by a long night of lost sleep. He'd melted into the couch by now, his eyes drooping, and he feared he might not be able to find the strength to pick himself back up.
He wasn't about to leave himself that vulnerable around her, though. No way in hell. That was just a bridge too far.
Mustering the last of his reserves, he managed to pick himself up off the couch, swaying as a wave of vertigo rushed through him so powerfully that he had to grab onto the armrest before he found himself in the unenviable position of face-planting on the floor.
Fortunately, Christine was too absorbed in tidying up to notice. At least…he hoped she was, please God.
Throwing the trash in the waste basket, she turned back to grab her purse, giving him another warm smile as he did his level best to appear neutral and unbothered.
"Well…I've got to get downstairs. Store's about to open," she said quietly, making her way toward the door in what he observed was the most unhurried means possible. It was like she was trying to draw out her leaving as long as she could. As if she wasn't ready to say goodbye.
Looking at her for a long moment, Erik had the lingering thought that maybe he wasn't ready either.
But he was faltering, and he absolutely needed her to go. Now.
Just as she was about to slip through the door, she again turned back for just a second, making Erik even more anxious that she left before it was too late.
"So…my lunch break is at noon. And I just thought…well…the bagel place makes a mean corned beef sandwich. You down?" she offered, a reserved but hopeful look in her eyes.
So tired now that he couldn't make anything more coherent come out of his mouth, Erik replied with a bland, "Okay."
In the next moment, she was gone, and every ounce of tension Erik held in his body evaporated. He just managed enough remaining energy to lock the door and drag himself back over to the couch, dropping down onto it and leaning his head back, closing his eyes, and taking a deep breath.
Just for a moment….