Author's Note: Hi! I'm alive and I am healing well enough, however, when I say getting bit and surgery is the easiest part of the ordeal – I mean it. Other circumstances surrounding/caused by the incident have really taken a toll on me mentally in ways I cannot put a name to, which robbed me of my energy to write. So, if updates take me more than two weeks to get out, just bear with me.

(Yes, you all have been incredibly supportive and understanding – I just gotta say it since I don't like keeping you waiting when we had such a good routine.)

Since PMs seem to be working by the sheer volume of scam messages in my inbox: Readers, do you want responses Here or in the FFN Inbox?

Teen545: He's working on the Nerves! It's not an easy situation for him at all.

MarilynKC: No worries... well. I was worried in my overly dramatic ways("OMG! She hates it!"-shh, I have Erik-level issues here) but I get the situation and been in similar positions. I am glad you are well and doing better. Erik's confession would have been a long one, even if he condensed everything groups/categories of sins...or going down the 10 Commandments. Erik knows and appreciates what that place setting means, and maybe what comes in his -blurb- below gives you a sense of why he didn't - yet.

Raoul fans: (Like, you like him in the musical/book but not so much in this story, and I don't blame you...) When you read this, trust me. Just trust me. I know exactly what is going on with him, the whys of it all, and the foundations are laid out. I am trapped with a very specific Raoul Interpretation in mind that best suits the lead up to the Raoul we get in LND… which leads to this:

Petulance of Privilege

Beneath the opera, Erik's home never felt emptier than it did now. Every strained note he played was flat and hollow. Every line of text in a favorite book failed to register as his mind wandered back to Christine. He tried to distract himself from thoughts of her as he read the same five paragraphs several times over until he tossed the damned book aside where it landed on the neighboring sofa. Eyeing the tome and his discarded mask as it rested in Christine's usual seat, Erik slumped in his chair and exhaled a long, miserable sigh.

Erik's only respite that evening was when he lingered outside his brother's little home for a few hours. It was the first opportunity he'd had to consider accepting the invitation, yet he could not bring himself to knock. The day had been trying enough as it was, and to force himself into an awkward interaction…

How would such a thing begin?

What could he say?

How does one start a conversation? What would they even discuss?

While Erik acknowledged that he could begin a dialog as necessary, maintaining it without the awkwardness of it falling to the wayside because of some concept he failed to grasp was, unpleasant. Exuberance over a topic would end just as quickly as it came. Those moments where he tasted what normalcy was like and a connection was made disappeared in the realization that such a stint of mutual comradery was just that – brief and one-sided.

Socialization would drift away from him in bright candor, and he would again become the outsider looking in with a rain cloud pouring torrents over him, while everyone else was smiling in the sunlight. Why could he not understand unspoken nuances like everyone else?

Christine was the pinnacle of rare exceptions and the only one he was willing to let into his damaged world. She saw him and understood him the most. Although she had every reason to judge and cast him out like everyone else, she did not.

It was hard enough tobecome vulnerable to her, and it was a conscious effort to push through the horrid discomfort of doing that for her. When it cameto his siblings, the feeling was just as tenuous. What if they let him sit at that extra place setting only to realize what a horrible mistake it was to invite him? What if Liam's little wife with her rust-colored hair andlightly freckled cheeks turned her nose up at his presence, then banished further interaction?

Erik was not certain he could handle letting down his inner fortifications enough topush through his anxiety and try to form some relationship with his siblings just to have them realize it was a poor idea and then discard him. That would be wounding and perhaps one of the worst rejections he could ever suffer.

At least Erik had a respite from thinking about Christine in watching his brothers and the nameless wife interact while deducing bits of fragmented conversations by watching how their mouths formed certain words.

But Erik found no such relief in his home. He needed good music to drown out his thoughts, but what recordings he had for the gramophone were hardly suited to alleviate his mood, and his itch to play the music that would, did not want to come to his fingertips. So, he pried himself from his favorite chair and slunk upstairs. Unwilling to violate Christine's little sanctum in his home by sleeping in her bed to have her scent in his nostrils, Erik stole a pillow before drifting to his room, which he attempted to make theirs.

As he settled onto the new bed, he curled on his side, hugging her pillow to his chest with his face half buried in it, and stared at the empty space beside him.

~x ~x ~X~ x~ x~

Christine did not sleep much that night.

Meg, of course, tried to pry into why she was there, and thesinger only gave the vaguest and unsatisfying of answers – that she and Erik needed to do a bit of introspection on aspects of their bond relationship.

Distance makes the heart grow fonder, after all.

Despite her best friend's persistence for more information, Christine divulged nothing. How could she tell Meg any of this? No. Not with Erik's sordid past and her sudden recollection of parts of another life.

Silence would protect them all in this instance.

However, Christine's lack of sleep did not come from the sudden distance this incident caused between her and Meg.

She missed him.

The comfort of him beside her. The scent of his natural musk. The beat of his heart beneath her ear… Christine would lie in his embrace and have pure contentment that settled her restless spirit. While the cravat she swiped from his bureau smelled of him, it was not enough to put her at ease

Her thoughts would wander back to him and the differences between before and now, where she saw both versions of him and could appreciate how far he had come. Those endearing little idiosyncrasies of fleeting wisps of a smile or gestures of his fidgety hands went unnoticed before, and she cherished seeing these little details of him now.

Perhaps she would need to swipe his cloak next time and curl up with it to have his scent, imagining its weightwas him.

When morning came, Christine went to the Opera alone. The Girys had a much-needed day off, and she found a bit of peace as she opted to walk in the crisp air rather than take a cab. Paying a fare only made sense when there was a group of them, but for one? No. Far too expensive.

In reaching her usual entrance, she swallowed hard at the absence of a masked face to greet her, but that pit forming in her stomach vanished when she reached the rehearsal room. Erik was standing in his favorite corner, and she felt his gaze fall upon her by the strange tingle that plucked at her senses when she knew she had his attention.

Her lips twitched as she struggled against the instinctive smile that wanted to creep forth. Pursing them together and noting they were a bit chapped, Christine cast her eyes down and shuffled to her place.

~x ~x ~X~ x~ x~

"Monsieur Andre!" Raoul called to the Manager, several paces ahead of him in the corridor leading to the office.

The more bedraggled manager slowed his hastened pace, glancing up from the opened padfolio in his arm to look back at him. Confusion washed over his mustachioed face until the spark of recognition lit his eyes.

"I have it on good authority that you and Firmin are looking to hire new directors; specifically, a vocal director?"

"Hmm…yes, Monsieur," Andre murmured as he looked back to his documents and continued toward the office.

"I happen to know someone who would be ideal—" Raoul continued when he caught up.

A sigh escaped the Manager, and he snapped the padfolio shut as they reached the office door. "I'm afraid we have offered the position to someone. Now, if he should decline…"

"Offered it? To whom?"

"If he accepts, we shall make the necessary announcements."

"Andre…" Raoul pressed with a healthy dose of flattering warmth in his tone.

Andre shook his head as they reached the office door and dug the key out from his waistcoat pocket. "At the announcement, if there is one," he reiterated. "We should have his answer by late afternoon, tomorrow."

Raoul stood baffled in Andre's wake as the manager entered the office and went to his desk. His thoughts churned with a pit growing in his stomach as the back of his mind pressed forth the name that made his blood run cold. "It's Chantseur, isn't it?"

Andre only glanced up, dropping his padfolio onto a stack of documents on his desk before he settled into his chair.

"You can't be serious," Raoul said as he found himself coming to stand across from Andre. "At best, he is a fraud who has taken advantage of Christine. I have looked into the matter myself, and I can find no trace of that man even existing. I should think the lack of credentials would be a concern."

For a brown noser like Andre, the Vicomte was stunned to see the bored expression creasing his face. "Monsieur, whether he exists or not is hardly a concern of mine. He has produced an enchanting, albeit fiery little songbird in Mademoiselle Daaé, which has brought in more patrons."

"Who I'm sure would have concerns over this matter too."

"What matter is this that would be so concerning, Messieurs?" a feminine voice interjected.

The pair turned to the doorway where Raoul saw that Doctor from the other night and a familiar woman whose name briefly escaped him.

"Ah, Madame, Doctor," Andre greeted as he rose from his chair, brushing his hands down the front of his jacket in a faux show of neatening up rather than addressing his sweaty palms. "Come in, come in. I have the documents all ready for you."

"Monsieur Andre," the woman said with the wry smile of a seasoned socialite. "Are you trying to distract me from my question?"

"No, no, of course not Madame de Marais. I merely did not want to take any more of your time than necessary."

Ah yes, Vicomtesse de Marais. He never bothered getting to know her since he did not care for the bulk of the 'friends' his older sisters kept, or the flings Philippe often pursued. By the wedding band on her finger and the way her hand clutched the arm of the Doctor, Raoul was not surprised by her apparent need to marry a foreigner.

No matter.

"It would seem that the Management here thought it best to offer a director's position to a man with lacking qualifications," Raoul volunteered, certain that if the de Marais family were donors like his, they would share this concern.

The Vicomtesse's gaze flicked to him, then back to Andre, "Is that so?"

Andre paled, "While he may lack certain credentials in the conventional sense, I can assure you that this candidate is more than qualified for this position."

Raoul scoffed and Andre's eyes rolled.

"What are his qualifications then, Monsieur?" asked the Doctor.

"He is Mademoiselle Daaé's vocal tutor, and when he's instructed other understudies, they have shown marked improvement."

"By whose opinion?" Raoul challenged.

~x ~x ~X~ x~ x~

Rehearsals were…

Painful.

Not for any poorly sung notes or discordant, disorganized voices 'barreling through' practice – Erik paid it no attention – but for the distance between them. He wanted to touch her, to hold her, and move beyond this little separation she requested of him.

Of course, what stirred within him did not reflect in how he presented himself, nor would he compromise her in any way, but the ache of wanting to sweep her down below if only to read separate books on opposite ends of the chase would more than quell his desire for her company. Although he knew they were far from over, and struggled to take solace in that, Erik did not know what he was supposed to do now. Could he brush a finger against her shoulder? Kiss her temple? Wrap her into his embrace? Did he need to revert back to floating and fleeting touches again until she bid them welcome?

How many holes would tense fingers claw into his trouser pockets as he restrained himself from the interactions with her that had become so comfortable and second nature in the last few days?

Whenever their eyes met between scarce glances, hers lit up with a purse of her lips that marked her effort to repress the smile he knew was there for him.

But…did he know, or was it wishful thinking and idiotic hope?

Erik battled his lack of confidence in reading people by reminding himself that he knew her enough to know what he saw in her face now… or did he have it all wrong, again?

When the break came, Christine's approach reminded him of a scene found in many tales of a girl who fancied a boy at school. She wandered to him in a shy shuffle with the manuscript clutched to her chest until she stood an arms-length away. "Monsieur," she greeted with an air in her voice that Erik was not used to hearing.

"Mademoiselle," he was watching her every move with heightened nerves.

"I was wondering if… you would join me for lunch."

Every muscle turned rigid as her question was not spoken in sotto voce, but as plain as any other word spoken, which meant her question was heard by anyone without straining an ear as a few heads turned their way. He shifted his weight back to his heels but never looked away from her.

"I know it is rather bold of me to even ask…" she went on, and Erik closed his eyes to digest the inflection of her every syllable, "but I've grown fond of your company…and if scandal already follows us for doing nothing… I thought…" she artfully trailed off.

The minx, he thought, as he began to understand what she was doing for him.

You did not have to do this, he thought. When he opened his eyes to her 'timid' smile, though, her eyes were bright.

'I know,' they seemed to say back.

"Are you certain that this is something you want?" he managed to reply after a moment.

"I am."

Her sweet little words left him in a brief state of forgetting how to breathe, yet he managed to remain rooted in place. However, before he uttered an acceptance of her invitation, a winded little ballerina appeared at their side.

"Monsieur Chantseur, Monsieur Andre wants you in his office immediately!"

Erik shot the girl a look for the interruption. "What for?"

She shook her head and gulped for another breath. "He didn't say, but there are patrons in there with him!"

Erik and Christine shared a glance before taking leave of the rehearsal room.

It took a handful of minutes of wordless travel until they reached the office door and the flurry of voices within. It was the distinct sound of de Chagny's pretension as it bled through the solid wood that made Christine's hand catch his wrist when he reached for the brass knob. He looked back to see the color drained from her face.

"You have nothing to worry about from me," he assured.

Her grip did not release.

Erik turned to her fully. "Christine," he crooned her name like the song it was.

Her eyes flicked to him.

"Unless he puts a hand upon you, I shall remain a perfect gentleman. You have my word, Christine."

She shook her head, "It's… not just that…"

His brows furrowed beneath the mask as he waited for an explanation that never came.

"I don't know…"

"You do not need to accompany me inside. It is not as though they are expecting to see you."

Christine shook her head.

At a loss for her sudden mood shift with only an inkling as to its cause, Erik brought his finger to her chin, then lifted it without making any more contact than a graze. "Chin up, shoulders back…"

"…breathe," she finished with a weak smile.

The corners of his mouth twitched up, but his keen sense of hearing drew his attention to the door before he regarded her again. "I expect there will be a demand that I give them an answer now rather than later."

"My opinion hasn't changed," she said after taking a shaky breath, then straightened her posture.

Erik gave a nod and reached for the brass doorknob again. At his beloved's nod, they stepped into the office.

The heated discussion boiling within fell away into sharp silence upon their entry. A frazzled Andre stood at his desk with the Vicomte to one side and Doctor Mehri with his wife on the other. Although Erik had never seen the Vicomtesse before in a capacity that he would bother remembering, it was an easy assumption to make in the given circumstances.

The absence of Firmin, however, was unexpected.

"Ah, Monsieur Chantseur… and Mademoiselle Daaé – I was not expecting—" he cut himself off with a shake of his head. "It would appear that word of our intentions of hiring more directors has gotten out, and the Vicomte de Chagny is rather instant that we hire someone with more of a reputation. Doctor Mehri and Madame de Marais have also expressed some concerns over the lack of the usual credentials."

Erik's eyes locked on the daggered glare from de Chagny. He watched the boy's eyes slide to Christine and the rigid demeanor soften. Yes, even looking at Christine could weaken the strongest barriers when one was sick with love for her. With the Vicomte distracted by the enchantress at his side, Erik looked over to Christine's new patrons with a trickle of concern ebbing through him when he made eye contact with the Doctor, who was watching him with equal interest.

"Perhaps you can ease their trepidations over this matter as it appears that my explanation has done little to quell them," Andre continued and swiped a handkerchief over his brow.

"Your explanation…" Erik replied with a certain irony oozing forth as, if it were up to Andre, the job offer would have never occurred.

"Precisely."

"I see…" he began with a low chuckle. "It is rather amusing that I must defend a job offer for a position that I did not seek. Alas, do not fret. I am quite content with private tutoring of talented singers such as Mademoiselle Daaé rather than placating patrons in an opera where money and favors speak louder than skill."

"God in heaven," Andre groaned under his breath and sank into his chair.

Mehri's eyes remained trained on Erik's every move, which was almost more unnerving than the boy's.

"After all, I am sure Monsieur de Chagny has the perfect candidate in mind, considering he has been pressuring Mademoiselle Daaé to sack me in favor of someone of his choosing."

Andre pressed his back into his chair with renewed attention on the Vicomte.

"Is this true, Christine?" asked the Vicomtesse.

"Yes, Madame," Christine answered and shot a stony look toward de Chagny. "Although I have made it quite clear that I am very pleased with my current arrangement and harbor no wish for a change—"

"—In favor of someone who is not only skilled but highly regarded by his peers," de Chagny contested as he cut her off before she could finish the word. He looked Erik up and down with unfettered distaste. "One who doesn't have something to hide, nor would take advantage of innocence. He certainly would be better suited for the Director's role considering Chantseur's apparent lack of interest in it."

Erik clenched his jaw at the Vicomte's brazenness and the ease with which he spoke over Christine. However, there was a certain sense of gleeful delight that trickled within him in equal power to his temper by noticing the way the Vicomtesse looked at her husband.

"Quite the contrary," Erik countered without pause. "I have been inclined to accept the position should the offer still stand. However, I will not grovel or placate for it either."

"It's little wonder why you lack professional experience then," sneered the boy.

Erik gave a sinister grin, "If you wish to believe that, by all means, Monsieur."

The Vicomte advanced toward Erik, "What I wish to believe? How it is a wish when it is a fact, Monsieur?" Raoul asked with growing disdain.

Sensing Christine shifting her weight beside him, Erik slid an arm out to bar her from stepping too far forward and compromising his ability to step between her and any threat de Chagny may pose.

"I have had many instructors at the Paris Conservatory, Raoul," Christine snapped. "Credentialed and respected. Yet, none have been able to teach me as he has. I would not be standing here now if it were not for his efforts."

Mehri and his wife shared another look between them.

"Christine, there are others who would take you farther."

Although the tension within the confines of the office was climbing to new, stifling heights, the rapid ascent was stilled by Doctor Mehri as he stepped away from his wife. It caught Erik's attention first, which caused a ripple effect down to Christine, then Raoul, until all eyes were on Mehri as he drew out an expensive pen from the inner pocket of his fine navy jacket.

In an idle motion to a pair of documents on the mahogany surface, he asked Andre, "Are these it?"

The manager offered a wordless nod and opened it for him.

Curiosity won the Vicomte's attention as the boy drifted back toward the desk, not bothering to conceal his interest in the least.

"Perhaps, you would indulge me a moment, Andre," Mehri began as he scanned the agreement before him.

"By all means…" Andre muttered.

"The honorable thing to do is to keep your word. However, I would question impartiality. De Chagny's prospect would likely harbor a sense of obligation to him and his whim—"

"—Don't be absurd—"

Mehri ignored de Chagny, "—while Chantseur is likely to favor the Mademoiselle."

Erik's jaw flexed again, despite feeling Christine's hand brush across his barring arm before he lowered it from her and clasped his hands behind his back.

"For lack of other options, try them both and see who brings the best out of your singers," he bent over enough to sign one document, then the second one.

"And what is your part in this, Doctor?" asked Raoul, eying the donation agreements and the names on them. "A vested interest in Christine too, I see."

Erik's eyes narrowed while Christine's brows furrowed at the marked shift in tension. Her hand came to rest on his back, just below his shoulder blades and beyond the visual reach of the others.

Mehri stilled a moment, then straightened before a small tight smile came out with a single dark chuckle as he methodically put the cap back on his pen and returned it to his inner pocket. "Not everyone is as insatiable as your brother."

"That is rather crass of you, Doctor."

"Just as your insinuation of my intentions. Tell me, Monsieur…Vicomte to Vicomte," Mehri returned with a stern reminder that his marriage brought him to equal social rank. "If Mademoiselle Daaé accepted your suggested tutor, would it not incur a sense of debt? She declines your advances still, and then what? The tutor disappears?"

Christine's hand curled, pinching his jacket between straining fingers. It was enough to make Erik cast his gaze toward her to see her face as still and pale as chiseled marble with her eyes set towards the Doctor and the Vicomte.

"No. I only want the best for her above all else. That's all I ever wanted for her, to see her prosper and flourish as she deserves."

Christine's eyes glazed a little with a minuscule head shake before she sank back and closer to his side.

Erik unclasped his hands enough to graze her back too, out of sight of the others as he sought her eyes.

When she met his gaze, he saw the near-hollow distance he recalled seeing before, in New York.

I'm here, my love, he wanted to assure her.

A wispy smile graced her lips before she slid back more, though her hand never left his spine.

"I hardly see why that is a problem," Raoul pressed when Mehri gave no response, making Erik look back to the other men.

Mehri took a step back with an almost pitying look at the boy. His chest swelled as though he were going to add a further comment, but he held it before it was released when he turned to his wife with an outstretched hand.

A smile touched her lips as she took it and she slid to her husband's side, though she cast a look toward de Chagny. "It was my idea to sponsor Christine, Raoul," she spoke with disarming softness, though Erik sensed an undercurrent he could not name. "I enjoy good art and music, and it is always a shame when gifts are squandered to someone else's whim. I hope that changes," de Marais added with a nod toward Andre. "Good day to you all," she offered with a smile toward Christine before she took her leave on the Doctor's arm.

Raoul's attention snapped to them, a smoldering glare on Erik which left Christine feeling cold on the inside. She could not fathom why she had such a visceral response to him now when those nightmarish memories of that other life had Erik as the source of such strife. But there was more, she could feel it, although there was nothing that could explain why.

"Christine, if I could only have a moment—" he began.

"No," she managed, unable to focus on him without feeling sick.

"Christine—" he pressed, stepping toward her.

Erik slid to stand as an immovable barrier between them that granted her a moment's reprieve. It was safety, and Christine managed to relax her hand into an opened palm on Erik's back, although she felt how taught his muscles were. "She said 'no,'" Erik warned. "I suggest you listen."

"Enough," Andre snapped. "Monsieur de Chagny, I think it best that you leave."

Christine's hand clutched Erik's jacket again as she peaked around him enough to see Raoul whip back toward the manager.

"Now."

Raoul's posture went rigid before he stormed out without another word.

Christine sucked in a deep breath from the flood of relief as the stifling tension vanished with him. Releasing her hold on Erik's jacket, she rubbed his back before withdrawing and stepping to his side.

Andre was still in his chair looking drained from the whole ordeal. "I will be frank. Is there a relationship between you two?"

"One has developed," Erik admitted.

"Very recently," Christine added after a hard swallow.

Though she was about to elaborate, Andre raised a hand to silence her. "That is all I need to know," he muttered before sitting up and resting his elbows on the desk. "As tempting as it is to see who would produce the best results from the company… I am not inclined to take on the Vicomte's man either in light of your apparent discomfort with him, Mademoiselle.

"As for you, Monsieur Chantseur, if you do take the job, casting decisions will require Reyer's approval – particularly, any part regarding her," he said with a glance at Christine. "Furthermore, be mindful of the fact that Patrons keep this Opera House running, and your position here would require some interaction with them. Should you cost me any of them, make no mistake that I will sack you on the spot."

Erik inclined his head.

"Does that include Raoul?" asked Christine. "That would hardly be fair in the current circumstances."

Andre let out a long puff of air, "No, but if Comte Philippe rescinds, I can promise nothing."