.

Dinner Spared

The Phantom of the Opera saved dinner.

How exactly he managed that was something that went over her head. Christine fancied herself a bit of a baker in a hobby that often served to calm her mind by just doing something rather than thinking to herself. A cook though? Hardly. While she could follow a recipe easily enough to acceptable accuracy — hence her desire to bake — cooking required a certain skill set that her creative mind lacked. Figuring out what ingredients might work together just never landed to delicious effect.

Erik, however, possessed flavor profiles in his head. Bastard.

All it took was a bit of rice and a jar of chicken broth they had in the cupboard. Risotto he called it, though a bit modified to accommodate the addition of the Tourte's filling. The creamy blend of chicken, mushrooms, bacon, and onion, seasoned with a generous dollop of Dijon, was the staple of a favorite comfort meal.

In the time it took for the rice to cook to even begin the Risotto, they shared in a strange interplay of domesticity. She began cleaning much of her baking mess while Erik freed the heart of the Tourte from its blackened coffin. The chicken was unforgivably dry and thus, granular on her tongue.

What struck her as odd, was Erik having her taste it and report its overcooked status.

"Wouldn't it be easier to try it yourself?" she had asked.

"No," Erik answered plainly and never looked up from the bowl holding the mixture. Instead, he began working on shredding every piece of chicken he found.

Stranger yet, once the rice finished its first boil, and Erik had the chicken thoroughly shredded, he tasted the filling, poultry included! There was a slight little nod to himself before he took it to the stove and began ladling broth into the rice while glancing between himself and his vacated place at the counter. What?

At first, Christine thought that maybe he simply did not like chicken. But then, to taste a spoonful with those shredded bits on it was outright confounding.

The Girys arrived later than usual, which was a blessing, as it allowed the pair to finish up the bulk of their chosen tasks. Christine was wiping down the countertop with a damp cloth when the front door opened with a bit of bustle between the two ladies.

"Oh!" Christine muttered under her breath, earning her Suitor's curious glance. Hastily wiping up the rest of the mess and tossing the cloth into the sink, Christine dashed from the kitchen to greet them.

"Christine, it smells wonderful in here!" called Meg.

"Ah, yes! Thank you!" Christine breathed as she reached them. "I cannot take all the credit; we have a guest."

"I see that," Annette remarked coolly as she eyed the beaded cloak and fedora on the coat rack.

"He was responding to a note I left for him," Christine rushed to justify. "I can explain more over—"

"He's here?" asked Meg, her feet drawing her toward the back of their small house as she unwound the scarf from her neck.

"Meg," Annette admonished and caught her daughter's hand. Once the ballerina was halted, the older woman took the lead to the kitchen with Meg and Christine at her heels.

"Have no concern, Madame. I will be on my way momentarily," spoke Erik as they crossed the threshold. He stood before the counter, serving the risotto onto three plates for them.

The absence of a fourth plate was concerning, "Surely you'll stay," Christine implored. "There would barely be a decent meal without your help."

Erik gave a small headshake before returning the pan and remaining risotto to the stovetop to keep warm.

Annette looked between Christine and the masked man who held her affections. While there were reservations she harbored about their relationship, there was an undeniable fact that the young brunette beside her was blossoming in the Phantom's presence. Swallowing down her apprehension, Annette looked over the aromatic meal that appeared rather inviting. "You made this, Monsieur?"

There was a pause before he turned to her in a fluid snap that she had difficulties getting her girls to achieve on the dance floor. He only made brief eye contact before answering, "Only the rice."

"I burned the Tourte I was making for dinner. Erik salvaged it."

Annette gave a nod, glancing between them again, and their mutual creation. "Just as it would be impolite for a guest to invite himself to dinner, it would be equally rude to deny the guest an opportunity to enjoy the meal he helped cook," her tone was genial as she spoke toward them, though she managed to maintain her usual coolness. "However, there is a requirement that must be met, in order to sit at my table."

Erik cocked his head to the side and did not deviate from Annette's discerning gaze.

Christine looked between Erik and the woman who became such a mother to her, steadfast and a force to be reckoned with. The way in which the austere Ballet Mistress always carried herself through life, with such immovable grace, was something of an inspiration. Annette Giry was just about as fearless as they came, however, and that knowledge pulled at Christine's rather raw sense of anxiety now.

What if Annette came to disapprove of Erik and his unexpected presence now?

Yes, they seemed to have some familiarity that stretched through the years, but that did not stop the sudden fear that welled within the pit of her stomach, irrational though it was. Erik had become such a pillar of Christine's world, that if the Girys did not approve of him, it would be a shattering experience.

"Since we are not at the opera, and we've no prying ears to concern ourselves with, I will be frank. Although I know you are both adults, and your fates are your own to manage, Christine is a daughter to me in every sense of the word. As such, I harbor concerns over her welfare and your intentions. This is especially the case when she has been spending some nights within your care."

"I fail to hear the question, only an inference, Madame," Erik spoke in an even tone, as nonchalant as the Madame's.

Annette's posture straightened as she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, graceful fingers rapping at the head of her cane. "Is she a conquest or a commitment to you?"

"She is a lifetime to me."

"Strong words for something so new."

Christine stepped forward to speak, but Annette stopped her with a sharp raise of her hand, though her eyes never left Erik's.

Erik did not break the gaze either, nor did he bristle under it. "I have loved her for longer than even she knows," he spoke firmly, and gave a slight head shake in emphasis of his next statement, "I have no intention of ever leaving her side, unless she demands that of me."

The younger women glanced between Annette and Erik, unsure of what exactly was transpiring between them. All they knew with certainty, was that the intensity of a strange showdown between them became so tangible that it could be plucked from the air. This was some deep-rooted thing that transcended mere description; an almost primal test to span the ages.

Erik held his ground against the scrutiny of Madame Giry's intense gaze, not shying away once.

"I love him," Christine uttered in a soft cadence, looking between all of those she held so dear in her life as each of them looked to her. "I cannot bear the thought of not having Erik in my life," her eyes settled on his completely.

Annette glanced between them, her features schooled and chilled, but that did little to hide the warmth behind her eyes. "And you Christine? You have seen his face? Does he treat you as a gentleman should treat a young lady?"

"I have, and he does. More than I could have ever imagined."

"And when you are alone?" Annette asked Christine, though she looked back at Erik.

"Nothing happens that she does not wish to transpire," he intoned stiffly.

"Hmm…" Annette hummed knowingly.

"He is as much a guard of my virtue as you are, Madame," Christine added, feeling emboldened as she climbed the small hill she chose to stand her ground on. Oh, she wanted to experience more with him and have his arms every night. "He has made it clear he has no want of compromising me. Though, you should know I intend to leave with him tonight and perhaps many more nights in the future."

Annette issued a slow nod and turned to her daughters. "There are many men who will say and feign such respect as a lure to gain a girl's trust, to make her believe she is the only one he could desire and commit to. Then, with her defenses lowered, she will give him what he sought, and he leaves without a glance back. Too many times I have seen this with the girls of the ballet, my dears," she smiled warmly with a mothering caress to Meg's cheek, then Christine's. "Even the most virtuous have fallen victim to a sly devil."

Christine's chest swelled as she went to speak, but Annette stopped her with a pat and squeeze on the shoulder.

"I had to make certain that Erik was no such man, Christine," Annette cast a glance and a small, warming smile toward Erik, who dipped his head to her. "I cannot bear to see that happen to you or Meg."

Erik's eyes briefly fell to the floor as the ladies took in a familial moment, feeling the stab of that old mistake of doing something he never expected to do to his love. Although it had nothing to do with the matter of a tryst for the sake of a tryst, it ate at him still for the cruelty that stemmed from a poor attempt to keep her from a life on the lam.

"Will you eat with us?"

He looked up at that beautiful face and hopeful smile, her brows slightly raised as she brushed her fingers over his bicep.

Oh…Christine. Sweet, wonderful, Christine. How could I have done that to you, my love?

Erik gave a small nod, and she beamed a brilliant smile before she went to the cupboard with a bounce in her step, collecting a fourth plate.

When they were settled at the table, Annette went about the ritual of giving grace over the prepared meal. Throughout the prayer, she watched as Erik stared intently at the small portion of risotto he had put on his plate. However, Christine could not fault him for the trespass when she kept her eyes open to steal glances.

The risotto was wonderful, with flavor that tickled the taste buds and satisfied appetites. The chicken was still prominent, but its horrid texture was downplayed by the tender rice that melted in her mouth. Christine never knew rice could be made so plump by broth and cream sauce. Many compliments were given to them both, and Erik gave slight nods of acknowledgment and a quiet word of thanks.

Dinner conversations flowed easily between the women, much of the topics stemming from their day at the Opera. A topic of priority was the events of yesterday, in dealing with Carlotta and then the impromptu lesson with Alison and Murphy. Others included Meg catching Christine up on the latest penny-dreadful, along with the current petty drama transpiring in the Corps du Ballet.

Throughout these topics, Erik remained quiet at her side, with much of his attention focused on the plate, still. He listened and occasionally contributed a thought to a topic here and there, but not much else. Instead, he poked at the risotto on his plate more than he consumed it, although the small portion did slowly diminish in volume.

Where Erik had been so vibrant before in nearly all their interactions, he was so withdrawn now, and Christine was not sure why. Even as the topic of Raoul intruding upon her life came up, he said little, unless a question to him was made. Though, as she briefed the Girys on her trials with him, Christine slid her hand into Erik's beneath the table.

While she knew Erik preferred the left on most things, there was a quiet perk to sitting on his right, as she did now. The mask might prevent her from seeing the expression on his face, but they could hold hands with their ability to consume their meals unhindered. It was a peculiar symmetry that was uniquely theirs. Weak hand to weak, or dominant to dominant. With their weaknesses joining, their vulnerabilities were shared and their strength sent to the world. When their strengths were joined, those vulnerabilities might be more apparent, but they had the power to stand together.

As their fingers intertwined and she captured Erik's glance, she wondered if he saw this unique facet between them as she did. Perhaps the realization was only hers, but she could almost imagine having a conversation with him about it later.

"I cannot believe he would act like that," Meg muttered, using a slice of fresh bread to mop up the remaining sauce and rice grains from her plate. "I could see it if you two were more involved, but even that is a bit of a stretch."

"It is more common than you think," Annette sighed. "Such behavior can be flattering for most, especially when a lady wants to be courted by someone such as him. Though, I imagine there is some bit of jealousy as well."

Erik's brow rose, yet he said nothing. There was a certain delight at the probable notion of the Vicomte's jealousy. No one had ever been jealous of him before, and the feeling was almost…invigorating.

Christine squeezed his hand, "It is hardly flattery when he treats me like some ignorant child."

There was a certain madness that came with falling madly in love with a woman, and it appeared that the slip in logical thinking was not confined to Erik when that sense of affection was unrequited. While he possessed an understanding of such a prospective mental state, he was not about to utter a word. Not at all. Not when it may risk granting the Vicomte more sympathy than Erik would prefer. So instead, he kept the bulk of these thoughts to himself and focused on the truth that Christine needed of him.

"You are not a child," Erik spoke quietly, though his voice still carried despite its softness. "If anything, he has demonstrated his own childish nature in response to such easily wounded pride." While he considered tacking on a backhanded flirtation, akin to 'he likens you to a child because he would not know how to handle a willful woman,' he thought better of it in the presence of the Girys.

Not that he had much more experience in such handling, but at least he was thoroughly entranced by her flame and had no intention of stifling it. He tried that once, hated the results, and found himself hopefully entranced further by her fire.

The bright smile Christine gave him, threatened to melt him into a content puddle of wax.

"There are a fair number of men who would sooner court a girl who is more diminutive and pliable to their whim, than a woman who would speak her mind and stand her ground," Annette observed as she buttered a bit of bread.

"How did you ever get Papa then?" teased Meg.

Annette issued a closed smile in the press of her lips. "There are some who appreciate a willful woman, or at least see the benefit of pursuing one, regardless of the possible burns it may inflict," she glanced to Erik by the end of her observations.

Erik remained quiet, picking at his meal a bit still, separating larger bits of chicken from the risotto.

"Papa was one of those?"

"Everyone has their preferences. I happened to be his," Annette offered with a small wink.

When their meal concluded, the Girys took over the clean-up, which allowed Christine to gather a few things before stepping out into the cold Parisian night on Erik's arm. He carried her small carpet bag, while she held the worn case that held her father's violin. It was in their solitude, and away from the others, that she felt him begin to relax beside her, but tension lingered in his bicep.

"Are you all right?"

Erik pulled his discerning gaze away, sweeping across their surroundings to look down to his left with a rising brow, meeting her concerned face.

"You were so quiet during dinner."

"What would you have had me say?"

Christine shrugged as they walked, "I don't know… something?"

Erik held her gaze a bit longer before resuming his watchful scanning. "Hardly a convincing argument, Christine."

"I… well…I guess I'm just used to us having such interesting conversations, so it's strange when you did not speak much during dinner – the seat of many great discussions."

Erik dipped his chin with a slight shake. "Perhaps for most, yes. But not for me."

They walked in silence for several paces, as Christine came to remember the vast differences between their lives, where nearly every meal was shared as a familial event. But what happened when your own mother rejected you? When the world rejected you?

"I'm sorry. I should have —"

Erik shifted from her side as he stepped ahead and turned to her, halting her words and their stride. "Why are you apologizing? You have done nothing wrong."

"I didn't consider… your… upbringing…"

"I fail to see the offense."

"It was inconsiderate of me."

"Do you believe my skin to be so thin, Christine?" Erik shook his head. The only way she could hurt him in any meaningful way, was if he became subject to her hate… or rejection, again. "I am not going to become upset with you for something so trivial, that you have little way of knowing."

They stared at each other for long moments, searching for whatever lay beneath the other's surface. Fatigue pulled their minds and eyes into long faces, and though their caring shone through that weariness, their resolve to their respective positions was equally apparent. The only salve to their predicament was in knowing the root of their current discourse stemmed from a place of caring.

Where Christine was overly apologetic for a minor infraction, Erik was not considerate of himself enough to feel the merest hint of dismay.

Christine bowed her head, tightening her grip on his arm as she struggled for words and to not give in to tears yet again. How did she become so dependent on him to keep her grounded in the span of a day? Two? The last forty-eight hours since he wept at her kind touch had become something of a blur.

Christine resumed her place at his side to continue walking under his keen gaze and whispered her plaguing realization, "This isn't going to be easy, is it? Us?"

Erik pulled his arm away from her hold to wrap it around her shoulders instead, his thick beaded cloak enclosing her in its warm shroud. "I imagine not, but I am wanting to learn."

"So am I," she nodded and leaned her head against his shoulder.

"Neither of us has had the day we wished, where we can revel in the moment. Instead, it has been trying and draining, and I am quite tired, so let us just enjoy each other's company."

"That sounds lovely," Christine agreed.

As the pair turned the corner that would take them off the Giry's street and toward the opera, Erik threw a pointed glance back to an alley in their wake. Tightening his arm around Christine, they made their way towards the quiet refuge of Erik's home.