For Gaby as promised. I hope it pleases.

It had already been two years as colleagues, morphing gradually into friends at the prestigious Ravenwood School of Fine Arts.

He was painfully aware of her from the start, and remembered clearly what she was wearing the day they met, (a navy and white belted dress paired with sensible navy pumps) as if it was yesterday.

She was slender and fine boned with a coloring of peach-gold, her skin glowing with health. Her small head was capped by dark blonde hair scraped into a no-nonsense bun, her mouth wearing a polite smile which ultimately failed to hide the look of perpetual harassment. (the standard look of college professors everywhere) She observed the world from wide-set eyes of the purist blue framed by a slim pair of black glasses. He mused that the professor could be stubborn at times. She had a very determined looking chin.

But for her eyes, some may have called her a bit plain. He would not be one of them.

When she was introduced at their first faculty meeting, she had regarded him in a fairly typical manner.

For a typical man.

Of which he was not.

His gaunt frame could definitely be classified as stringy- taller and thinner than anyone else he was privileged to know. (or not) Nothing much to look at, unless one enjoyed a masculine physique of skin and bones, topped with black hair which was not thick or lustrous. Thin and lank would more easily describe what sat on his head.

She was politely cordial as they were introduced, only a slight widening of the eyes giving her away at the presence of the unorthodox mask he wore. This peculiarity was paired with oddly colored eyes and the very direct way they observed her from his imposing height. He had hesitantly grasped her hand, mindful of how cold and dry his always were, and pumped hers once lightly, before letting go. He waited for her to mumble a few platitudes, much like his colleagues did before moving on to someone more prepossessing.

And friendlier.

To his great surprise, she did not.

She had carried on a conversation with him, apparently in no great hurry to move on to anyone else. Their talk at first was slightly awkward, and he was surprised yet again when it became stimulating, even amusing as they balanced coffee cups in one hand and small china plates of petite fours in the other. He'd had no intention of eating the sickly sweet pastry, but held the pink confections, ready to offer her more. She seemed to enjoy them.

He stood there, stiffly at first, as she questioned him on his time spent as conductor at several world class concert halls, his professorship in music theory, and his Ph.D and D.M.A. in music and music education. He found himself reluctantly (at first), quizzing her on her previous position as theatre director at the Kauffman Center for the Performing Arts, her new classes, and MFA degree in theatre and B. A. in theatre management. They would be thrown together often, collaborating on the shows the school performed throughout the year.

Christine Daae.

The woman he loved more than life itself.

"Erik? Hey, doc! You sleeping with your eyes open again?" she said laughing, and threw a balled up cocktail napkin at him.

He came back from his recollections with a jolt. "No, I was merely recalling our first meeting."

Christine held up her glass for a toast. "Yes. Two years ago I met the most remarkable man," she announced with a wicked gleam in her eye.

He sat up straighter, touching his glass to hers, secretly joyful that she found him remarkable in any way other than remarkably ugly. "He sounds like a paragon."

"Oh, yes. He is that. Professor Khan rings my chimes."

His disappointment had him tightening already thin lips, when she gave a soft chuckle.

"I meant you, Erik! The only man I know that can speak so sweetly through a musical instrument or wax philosophical on nearly any subject... including my own," she said dryly, and took a sip of her Cabernet. Christine glanced around the restaurant. "I invite my friend and colleague out for wine and a steak dinner at a posh restaurant, and he proceeds to ignore me for a trip down memory lane!"

Erik studied her briefly before dropping his eyes. "I am not ignoring you," his unsettled glance shifting to the room at large.

Christine caught his look. "I feel like an idiot, my friend," her manner contrite. "I was told they had cozy candlelit booths, not tiny tables squished so tightly together the couple next to us could eat off our plates," and she stared unabashedly at them as they in turn covertly eyed her dinner companion.

His gaze came back to rest on her again. "You are guilty of nothing more than listening to information that was obviously incorrect. You meant well and I appreciate that, but I have never been fond of dining in public. It is too much like feeding time at the zoo."

She glanced quickly around the room and had to agree with him as curious eyes cut away from their table and Erik, suddenly finding interest in their own dinners. She had hoped that this restaurant which was touted to have intimate seating, would be much easier for him to adjust to.

How wrong she had been.

She had asked him about his aversion to dining out not long after they met. "Why, Erik? You work in a college, for God's sake! You're surrounded by people. You stand in front of them nearly every single day. Their eyes on you every day. What makes it different with a knife and fork in your hand?"

He said nothing for a moment, having realized long ago that his affliction was easier to endure from the outside in. Actually living in his body was where the true fun began. "It's the weight of their stares and my inability to do anything about it- simply sit still and endure it, while they no doubt wonder why I was let inside in the first place," he said finally. "You have noticed, I'm sure, that the mask does not make eating as easy for me as it is for everyone else. I must remain in my seat and do nothing while they drag their curious eyes over what is seated in their midst. I suppose growing up surrounded by curious and spiteful children led me to detest curious and spiteful adults. I was a ward of the court at one time, Christine," he explained, never finding her curiosity distasteful. "I was remanded to an orphanage when I was nine years old after my mother was run over by a speeding drunk. As you well know, the words speeding and drunk have the capacity to change lives- or end them."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry," her brow wrinkling in a frown. "Your dad. Where was he in all of this?"

He shook his head. "I never knew him, but I'm sure he knew me, and that is why he took off. However, this is all ancient history. I was simply pointing out that some things never truly go away, but mealtimes three times a day for five years of bullying and name calling, tends to stick with you. Especially when the harassment became physical. I simply walked out one day and never looked back. I decided fending for myself was called for, and so I did." He stared at her...stared through her as he remembered his younger self scrabbling to stay alive.

"I scrounged for food just like the rest of the dark underbelly of any city does, and since I very rarely had any money, I stole what I needed. Living on the streets is not recommended, especially if one looks, er... different. There were two rival gangs operating in the neighborhood I called home... neither of which would have me, until one night I ended up in the emergency room after a vicious beating by a few members of one of the gangs. That's where I met and was treated by a young resident physician named Francis Maier, who turned out to be a godsend. He took me in and gave me a home and education, but more importantly, I was able to receive further instruction on the piano. My mother had taught me from the age of four, Christine. She would have me sit on a pile of books just so I could reach the keys," his voice soft with remembrance. "She kept us fed and a roof over our heads by giving piano lessons to those, children mostly, with no aptitude for it."

"Even at your young age, she must have noticed some well-spring of natural talent for music," Christine replied, observing his skeletal fingers which produced the most delicious sounds from nearly any musical instrument she could name. "You have genius coded into your DNA, my friend."

"Not that one can tell at first glance, eh, Christine?" hazarding another look around the room. "I believe Francis at first, saw me as an anomaly to pick apart and perhaps study, but it was my good fortune that he discovered that I was smarter than I looked. He was, however, a compassionate man- his curiosity gradually turned to affection. It was the only time that a sound thrashing proved to be beneficial.

"Forgive me- I seem to have strayed far from the point, haven't I? But eating in a restaurant still remains something I don't care for- it isn't the same as spending my days doing what I love, in the school where I have been, more or less accepted by my peers. I am a singular person, Christine, a misanthrope, if you will, but there's purpose when I teach- imparting to gifted students my knowledge and love of music. They need me to show them the intricacy and beauty inherent in every timbre, every dynamic- the very texture of every piece ever written by the masters. The fire that burns even as it soothes. They lose themselves in the pursuit of my dream, making it theirs and forgetting after a time that the man standing before them is simply a caricature of one."

Now looking at the other diners, she felt badly that she had forgotten his aversion to dining out. "I see you as a man, Erik, and my friend. None better, really. Even though you've been known to bite the heads off your fellow teachers from time to time," she teased.

He snorted in contempt. "Only when they deserve it." He looked up and sighed as he observed the heads ducking back to their plates. "Have you ever gone to a zoo at feeding time, Christine? Ever notice the crowds lining up to watch the spectacle of animals enjoying their meal? Their inquisitiveness and amusement? You never once looked at me like that, but I have seen it in others."

She heard the lingering hurt in his tone, which she would bet her new Cole Haan peep toes, that he didn't even realize was still there. "When I was little, we had a neighbor who was severely burned in a house fire. His face looked melted like...like candle wax, the lid of one eye pulled down in a disturbing way. One side of his mouth was stretched in a...a kind of permanent sneer, and because of it, he hid from everyone, not caring for the way they looked at him. I tried very hard to be different and not stare... be a little friendlier." Christine glanced up at him, struggling to justify her own culpability, "but it didn't always work. It wasn't just his face... his hands...his hands were affected too, with... with ridges of scar tissue. The eye is drawn to the atypical, Erik. As cold-hearted as it may sound, it's what makes humans...tick. I-I was scared of his face, to be honest. He was nice though, and I would sometimes go over and sit on his back porch with him."

"You didn't consider him a monstrosity by then?" the sneer in his voice barely concealed.

"I never considered him a monstrosity!" she returned heatedly. "Sometimes you are too quick to tar all of us with the same brush, and I don't deserve that from you," but she was mollified when he murmured an apology. "It was frightening to look at him, I will admit, his features pulled and stretched into something nature never intended," she dropped her eyes from another one of nature's extraordinary exceptions to the norm, sitting across from her, "but I would think... what if it was me? What if I had been disfigured like that? Or my parents? So I went over when I heard him out on the porch- alone, he was always alone, and we... would talk. For some time I never looked any higher than his chin. Afraid to. But gradually that changed, and after a while... a very long while, it was just his face."

"You are indeed one of a kind," and this time the sneer was completely absent.

She shrugged. "Not really. I gave him and myself a chance to adjust. That's all. And it was worth it."

Christine reached a hand out to his where it lay on the white tablecloth. Erik's fingers were elongated past what was normally pleasing, appearing bloodless and fragile, but she knew that to be a false assumption, for his hands were two of the most talented she had ever seen, the perfect tools for a pianist of great caliber. She had asked him once why he wasn't in a concert hall somewhere performing the music of Debussy or Berlioz... his own even, instead of teaching it.

"I can do more with my students' minds, instilling a love and dedication to music that I could never do in a music hall."

"Of course you can, professor," she had answered quietly. "You have a gift and wish to share it."

She gave his hand an affectionate squeeze, glancing once more at the surrounding diners, feeling like the lowest of friends. She had accepted Erik and the mask a long time ago; one could be as blank as the other, but once she got past his formidable defenses, there lived inside the damaged outer shell, a sensitive soul who only needed encouragement to open up a little. Others hadn't had the privilege, or simply never cared to find out for themselves.

"I'm only sorry that I put you through this. It was thoughtless of me, and you should have declined the invitation."

"I truly appreciate the offer, as it came from you, but sly glances and whispers never stimulate my appetite. I normally eat in a more private setting, as you well know."

"I do," she said quietly, mindful of their shared lunches in one or the others' offices- the relaxed and friendly meals in their homes, "and for my blatant disregard of that fact, allow me to give them a taste of their own medicine," and Christine proceeded to stare hard at the couple next to them, who were trying not to be noticed in their covert study of the man seated across from her.

Hastily they looked away, and she grinned in triumph. "See? They don't like having the same thing done to them, do they?" and she signaled to their waiter.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking my friend somewhere else to eat. How does scrambled eggs at my place sound?" as she glared one last time at the entire room.

"I have always enjoyed your scrambled eggs," his eyes burning like embers as he admired her obvious need to be his defender.

He didn't want her to defend him.

He wanted more than that.

So much more.

They strolled leisurely up her sidewalk, Christine's hand tucked companionably into the crook of his arm. The brief shower they'd had and the ragged edges of clouds, had given way to a clearer and cooler evening. The night air smelled wonderfully fresh and invigorating. It carried the scent of lilacs from somewhere, and she recalled the fragrant purple blooms Erik had presented her with from bushes in his backyard.

"It's lovely tonight, isn't it?" Christine observed.

"Yes, it is. I enjoy the nighttime. Its quiet and depth suit me much more than the sun ever did."

She squeezed his thin arm affectionately. "That's because you are a child of the darkness, professor."

"And I suppose that makes you a child of the light?" looking quizzically at her.

Christine fished out her keys and unlocked the door to her neat little house. "Mm, I wouldn't say that exactly, but more sun than moon. Hungry?"

For you, yes. "May I take a rain check on that?"

"I was to feed you, remember?" she protested, her mouth tilting up in a smile. "Unless of course, eggs just don't suit after I promised you steak."

He scoffed at that. "When have you ever known me to get excited over food?"

"Oh, I don't know. You seemed rather fond of my lemon tarts."

"Because you forced that second helping on me, Christine. But I really don't require you to, as you state it, feed me. I am quite capable of ingesting food on my own, and have done so for years."

"My, but aren't you the haughty one!" she laughed, inured to his predilection to jump on his high horse every so often. "Sure you can. but I don't mind fixing us something to eat, doc. It's the least I can do." She threw up a hand when he opened his mouth. "I heard you. Another time then," masking her disappointment and forcing a smile.

He had decided to cry off dinner, It was one thing to be in a restaurant with her, surrounded by people. Or in a school setting. Quite another to be alone with Christine, when lately, he simply longed to pull her close and worship her with his mouth, caress her smooth skin with his hands. Brand her as his very own.

Anymore, desire for her had a way of inserting itself into every nook and cranny of his life. It festered there, at times making it hard to breathe.

"Yes, another time. I really need to let you get some rest. After all, the school's most important donor is coming to see us tomorrow. You will want to be your very best."

"And you won't, Erik?" she teased.

"Why, my dear. I thought you knew!" He held his arms out from his sides for her inspection. "This is as good as it gets!"

She raised up on her toes and pecked the very edge of his jaw. "And I like it mighty fine."

The brush of her lips was a benediction to his touch deprived skin. "And you, my lady, are beyond silly," Erik declared lightly, even as he breathed a little faster. He stared into those eyes that reminded him of polished lapis lazuli. His mouth opened without his permission. "Christine...I would just like to say... I want you...to...to..."

He snapped his lips shut before they made a fool out of him, deathly afraid to continue and ruin the dream he had nursed for so long. For if nothing was denied, there was always hope.

"What, Erik?" she asked softly, a hint of something else in her gaze that confounded him for a moment.

So warm and tender. That look she had given him. He shook his head. No. It was the look a woman might give to her, say... dear friend. No more than that.

"Nothing," he said finally. Wistfully. "Nothing at all."

Her eyes remained steady on his, a slight frown marring her forehead, showing something other than contentment. "Well, good night then," and slipped inside her door, closing it quietly.

Erik turned and walked back to his car. He didn't know when he began to love her, for it seemed to be there from the very beginning. She had been kind to him...drawing him out of his self-imposed armor, if only a little. They had much in common. Both bookish, giving themselves over to their pursuit of knowledge instead of to another. He'd had no choice in the matter- resigned to spending his life alone, but he was quite sure there had been a significant other in her life at one point. How could there not be?

Christine was beautiful and vibrant, and for a woman of thirty-four, would have had relationships, even if nothing had come of them. As for Erik, the only liaisons he'd had by the age of thirty-six, were those where money changed hands out of a desperation to feel the touch and scent of a woman. But that very desperation had left him feeling even worse, like a beggar at the feet of normalcy, asking to be let in and experience what other men took as their just due. Why would he want some woman to pretend (and badly at that), that she loved him in an act that was bought and paid for by him?

He ended up hating himself for being weak and pathetic, and hadn't bothered with that sort of thing in a handful of years. Now, having a good time was spending it with Christine, preparing a simple meal at each others' residences over the weekend, or lively talk over a shared bottle of wine. Often they would spend a Saturday night on the couch in his study in front of a freshly kindled fire, each doing some essay grading work, and occasionally having a spirited discussion on whatever subjects took their fancy. And she was often there when he would find himself sliding into melancholia, affectionately teasing him out of it.

And of course he would be stealing glances at Christine's face, and when she caught him staring, he was glad for the light of warmth and friendship freely given and meant only for him. Although at some point, he would become restless, thoughts cartwheeling full tilt in his head, wondering what her lips would feel like against his, how pliant would her slim body be in his arms.

What she would feel like beneath him.

Just as he had felt tonight.

He quickly put a halt to his ludicrous notions. What he had was more than good enough.

Christine was his friend.

At least he had that.

The Persian caught up with Erik's long-legged stride as he hurried to his classroom. "Afraid they'll begin without you?" he puffed, out of breath. He needed to take up tennis again, and cut back on that one extra dessert here and there.

Nadir Khan was a strapping six footer, dark of complexion, with startling green eyes in his swarthy face. In direct contrast to his exotic looks, he wore, of all things, a pair of wrinkled khaki pants, well worn L.L Bean hiking boots, topped with a St. Louis Cardinals tee shirt, all barely pulled together with a brown sports coat.

"This class?" Erik's voice climbing in astonishment. "I think half of them wandered in off the street with no particular subject in mind, least of all anything with a melody line." He glanced down at Khan, who had taught philosophy at Ravenwood for fifteen years to Erik's twelve.

"A little overdressed today, aren't we?" critically eying the older man's laid back ensemble. "You traded your ten year old running shoes for ten year old boots. Very nice."

Nadir tipped a small packet of peanuts up to his mouth and emptied half the bag, chewing enthusiastically. "Yes, and they're comfortable as well. But tell me, Erik- overdressed compared to whom?" taking in his friend's usual uniform of black flannel trousers, gray shirt, black vest and tie, and black fitted jacket. Oh. Must not forget those shiny black Nunn Bush shoes. "You are always dressed like you are waiting for a funeral to break out somewhere."

"Shouldn't you be somewhere other than here?"

"Where? I only came in to collect some paperwork from my office. I have a chimp covering my classes for today so I might spend the afternoon in my quarters with not one, but two buxom ladies of my acquaintance."

"Oh? Not your usual orgy then?"

"I gave those up. I get much too light-headed with any number over two," he said sadly.

"A shame, Khan," in a bored tone which implied the opposite.

"Are you ready for the drinks and drivel after last class?"

The other man snorted. "Am I ever? I have nothing in common with small talk and toadying, as you well know."

"Yes, I am more than aware of that. You give a whole new meaning to small talk. Some of the faculty count themselves lucky most days to get a whole sentence out of you." They were nearly to Erik's classroom. "How is the lovely Ms. Daae? I noticed you are still taking separate vacations every year, and at the same time," Nadir scratched his head, "although I should say, you take yours whenever she does."

"And you are well aware of where I go every year."

"Is she?"

"She visits her family and I visit mine. I ask Christine how her visit home went, and she inquires nicely of Erik's. That's all there is to it, Khan."

Is she still putting up with you as often as three times a week?"

"She enjoys my cooking and witty conversation."

Nadir sniffed. "I have had both, and may I say that one is as anemic as the other?"

"Flatterer."

"What's next for you, Erik? Going to allow her to enjoy your body after the meal, or more arguing over which had more of an affect on Western culture- liturgical or secular music? I can't imagine how you are both awake at the end of such stimulating dialogue!"

He turned and stared at Nadir with gimlet eyes. "I believe I just heard an idiocy coming out of your mouth. One of many, I might add. There are zip to none who would enjoy sleeping with a corpse, least of all a beautiful woman like Christine, but be that as it may, it still remains none of your business."

"That would be a no then," Khan decided cheerfully. "You are the only one of my acquaintance who talks as if he has a board up his ass. Although you had better make your move soon, Erik before you are both too old to remember what goes where. She will not wait forever, you know."

"What makes you think she's waiting at all?" he returned shortly, stopping outside his classroom door. He could hear the murmur of voices inside.

"The way she looks at you," and with that cryptic remark, he sauntered away, humming an old Bee Gee's tune.

"He has smoked that hookah pipe one too many times," Erik muttered sourly, and caught some of the whispered conversation between Paige Jordan and a young woman he had never seen before.

"... okay, but once you get to know him, you'll eventually get used to it. And him. He's kinda cool," Paige said softly to the other girl, her eyes widening when she saw Professor Navarre watching them.

"Did you say something, Paige?" Erik asked, as she and the other girl looked up in surprise.

"Just telling Madison here a little about the class work. She's a transfer from Curtis in Philadelphia. That's Pennsylvania, sir."

"Yes, thank you all the same, Miss Jordan, but I do happen to be familiar with that state," he said wryly, noting the look which all new students gave him. When he first began teaching, it was disconcerting to feel like an object for study, but after years of it, he took it in stride for what it was. Their curiosity for one of their own standing outside the norm.

Way outside.

It was odd though. He never seemed to mind the stares when he was teaching, for he could tell when he had fired their attention. And it felt good.

He continued to mull over Khan's extraordinary words, viewing them from every side, every angle. Christine did not look at him in a certain way. Especially that way. "He has funny weed in that pipe," he muttered.

"Professor?" Paige inquired, the transfer standing beside her, wide eyed and gawking at this new and strange species of teacher. They expected an answer. "Simply wondering what's in that hookah pipe Professor Khan smokes."

"Why don't you just ask him?"

"Because I am more or less afraid of the answer," he replied somberly, and ushered them inside.

The only good thing about the meet and greet for the patron, was Christine being forced to attend as well. Perhaps he could get her all to himself in some quiet corner, and afterward casually invite her to join him at his house. He had recently recorded a concert at Carnegie Hall and wanted her to watch it with him.

He heard a light trill of laughter, and realized that someone had got there before him. He glanced to the corner as another sweet peal of laughter left her throat, and was surprised to see the back of a blonde haired man blocking Christine from his view. A man with wide shoulders and a trim waist wearing an expensive Armani suit. Intensely interested as to why they nearly had their heads together in an all too intimate way, he walked steadily over to their corner, curtly greeting his fellow professors as he went.

Nadir turned from Margaret Giry, their resident queen of the dance, and sidled up to Erik. "That handsome gentleman over there with Christine is Ravenwood's illustrious patron, Raoul de Chagny. The whole family is as rich as Croesus, getting wealthy selling overpriced sneakers to the masses from stores around the country. Tread lightly, friend...it seems they were acquainted long ago."

"You don't say," he uttered softly, never taking his eyes off of the competition.

"I don't know what I was expecting," pixie-like Meg said, gesturing to de Chagny with a tinkle of ice from the drink in her hand, "but it sure as hell wasn't that stud muffin."

"Waxing poetic again, are we, Margaret?" he smoothly intoned.

"No, Erik," she replied patiently. "Just getting some eye candy. I leave the poetry to you."

"Indeed," his amber eyes narrowing on a possible contender as he reached Christine and the Patron Saint of Ravenwood. She looked over de Chagny's shoulder, and broke into a wide grin. "Here is our resident genius now!"

The man turned, a polite smile on his face, which just as suddenly vanished when he looked up at the much taller man. "How do...do you d-do?"

Christine covered that little gaff with an introduction. "Raoul de Chagny, may I present Dr. Erik Navarre? Professor of music theory at Ravenwood, and an all round good guy."

"Pleased, I'm sure," Erik said rigidly, noting the other man's oh so handsome face.

Here was trouble.

"Raoul is an old acquaintance, Erik. We were councellors together at summer camp years ago and dated a few times. It's been ages though since we last met, and we're just catching up with each other."

Erik's heart plummeted to his shiny black shoes.

A bushel barrel of trouble.

"I told you to make your move a long time ago, didn't I? If you would have listened to Uncle Nadir, this would have been resolved already with you and Christine playing house with dividends in the boudoir, but no, you wouldn't-"

"Do be quiet, Khan. My stomach is seasick, and I have a whole section of timpani in my head," Erik growled weakly, squeezing his temples in a vain attempt to press out the pain. "I have no idea why I feel like something the cat sicked up, but I do, so whisper, if you please."

"Well, what have you eaten or drunk today?"

"Coffee and toast, which at the moment is intent to see the light of day again."

"Too much information, Erik." He leaned forward in the chair, and regarded his friend who had his long length stretched out on the couch. "This wouldn't have anything to do with that sinfully rich and handsome de Chagny fellow leaving the get-together yesterday with Christine in tow, would it?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Erik protested faintly. "Of course it doesn't! I-" He slapped a hand over his mouth, and rolled off the couch, stumbling toward the powder room in the back hall.

"Of course it doesn't," Nadir mimicked snidely. "You have it bad, my friend, and refuse to deal with your emotions where Christine is concerned.

"But the mind knows and your body suffers for it."

Five minutes later, Erik shuffled back to the living room and muttered through a scratchy throat, "Lock up on your way out."

"I will. Can I get you anything before I leave?"

Erik shook his head, already trudging to the stairs opposite the front door, his aching head and joints trying to out-do each other in garnering his attention. "A new body," he mumbled carefully on a wave of nausea.

How about a cup of mint tea for the old one?"

"No," his voice laced with disgust at the very thought of swallowing anything at the moment.

Rest well then," Nadir said cheerfully, his robust health having no patience with illness. How often had he been the invalid while Erik sailed easily through every cold season and flu outbreak. In fact, he would need to keep his distance from the sick man lest he catch what was going around. Yet in a burst of goodwill, he told himself that he needed to check back later that evening on his friend.

He wouldn't return until noon of the next day.

By eight o'clock, Christine was ready to call it an evening. Raoul had been fun, and pleasant enough company as they caught up with what they had been doing in the interim, but they were poles apart on what they each considered relevant. They had developed disparate interests, and she found herself yearning for another's company, one who would be settling down right about now with a good book.

She glanced at her watch again. "Listen, could you drop me off in the Menlo Park area?"

"Only if I can convince you to join me for dinner tomorrow," he replied, smiling hopefully. "Say...seven?"

Christine was ready to say no, when an image of a tight lipped and disapproving Erik observing Raoul and she, swam to the forefront of her mind. Perhaps she could use this reconnection to her advantage, and found herself agreeing. "Don't see why not," and scribbled out her address on a piece of paper from her purse. He was as good as his word, pulling up to the curb in front of Erik's house. It was a large Tudor she had always admired, in a neighborhood of old, carefully preserved homes sitting on one acre lots.

Erik had bought the house for a song when he first began teaching, and lovingly renovated it over the years when time and money became available. It sat well back from the quiet street beneath century old white oaks, and over the years had become a comfortable and cozy home he'd made for himself. It was his fortress when the world became a little too much to bear. On the bright side, they had prepared many a meal in its sprawling kitchen and enjoyed warm summer evenings on the patio behind the house.

Raoul sat back in his seat and glanced at her curiously, having noticed the name Navarre on the mailbox. He gestured to the house. "What's up with the mask?"

"A deformity since birth. It's quite severe, but Erik never let that stop him. He has managed to publish some of his music and carve out a good life for himself," she found herself saying in his defense.

Raoul wondered at that tone of veneration she used whenever she talked about the man, and found himself envying the professor. Which made no sense.

"Erik influences his students to treat music as an expression of self and not merely as an occupation. He's a fine teacher and amazing once you get to know him."

"You really admire him, don't you?" he said with a faint smile.

She smiled back. "Is it that obvious?"

"Yes, ma'am. It is. Out of all of your colleagues, his was the name that popped up most frequently. Which leads me to ask if it's anything else?"

Christine chose not to answer him, and put her hand on the door handle of the silver Lexus. Raoul was out of his seat and around to her side in ten seconds.

"How will you get home?"

"Erik will take me," holding onto his hand for a second. "This has been great seeing you again, Raoul," she said softly. "Until tomorrow, then," and began digging for her key to the back door.

"Shall I walk you there?"

She shook her head. "I'm perfectly safe. It's a very peaceful neighborhood...most are elderly."

"Your professor should feel right at home then," he sniped.

"He's only a few years older than you," she informed him. "Erik is forty-one."

"Add another ten to that and I'll believe you," he muttered. "He's a little staid for you, don't you think, Chris?"

"No, I do not. You don't know him like I do. Erik is... lots of fun."

"Whatever," he answered dismissively, staring at the house. "There don't seem to be many lights on...just the one to the right of the door. Sure he's home?"

"That's the study. He often naps on the couch in there. He probably never woke up to turn on any others," she stated with conviction.

"Naps often, does he?"

Christine shrugged. "He doesn't always sleep well at night. Sometimes he has insomnia."

"Oh?" de Chagny answered with just the right amount of innuendo.

"Good night, Raoul," she said firmly, refusing to be baited. It was none of his business where she slept. Or with whom, for that matter, she thought wistfully.

She followed the sidewalk around to the back of the house, disappearing from view. Raoul turned and got back in his car, wondering idly, just how often Christine made use of that key.

She didn't even bother to knock, being told by Erik long ago that she was always welcome, day or night. She kicked off her shoes just inside the door, and switched on the main light in the kitchen, glancing around as she did so. Neat and tidy as it usually was.

"Erik?" she called, going to the cellar door and opening it, knowing he often puttered about in his small workshop down there.

Pitch black.

Christine closed the door and walked further into the house, hearing only the humming of the fridge and the tick of the wall clock beside the Welsh dresser Erik had lovingly restored. She passed through the large dining room filled with more antiques, and toward the study tucked away to the right of the front stairs. She opened the door and peeked in, surprised to find it empty. The gleaming piano in the far corner was empty as well, and so was the comfortable old couch where they had spent many an evening. Her brow furrowed in a slight frown, having already checked to see if his car was in the garage. (it was) She sat down in a chair and decided to make herself comfortable until he reappeared. It was possible he was taking a shower, but after sitting quietly for twenty minutes, she became restless and got to her feet. This wasn't like him.

"Erik?" she called again, going back to the front hall, deciding to hang propriety and check for him upstairs. Christine felt for the wall switch at the top of the stairs and flicked it on, relieved to finally see where she was going. Feeling a strange need to be quiet, she tiptoed down the hallway, glad that he had once given her a tour of the house shortly after they met.

She paused outside of his room, the door wide open. Muttering under her breath about busybodies and do-gooders, she stepped inside the room, the feeble light allowing her to see the bed, which did indeed appear to be occupied. It wasn't like Erik to retire this early. Actively worried now, she approached the bed and put a tentative hand on his shoulder. He was above the covers, and she could feel the heat radiating off of him even as he shivered with cold chills. Quickly, she switched on the bedside lamp and looked closely at her friend.

Her unmasked friend.

The face he kept hidden from the world was bared to her, and aside from her extreme discomfort at the sight, Christine realized she was never meant to see it. She was the interloper here; nonetheless, she took a couple of deep breaths, and placed a hand on his forehead, trailing it down his neck, the skin feeling hot and tight. She placed her palm back on his forehead, and startled when he moaned his relief at the coolness of it.

He swam up from the murky pit where things crawled and slithered. He was burning up...being seared alive, and would give anything for a drink of water. A foul taste lingered in his dry mouth, and he poked his tongue around, trying to wet his chapped lips.

"Water," he gasped, and Christine went into the adjoining bathroom and filled a glass. Coming back quickly, she slipped her arm behind Erik's head and gently lifted him up.

"Here. Take little sips," as he attempted to gulp down the entire glass. "Slowly, now."

He began to cough, and she set the glass down, briskly rubbing his skinny back, thinking that her friend had finally succumbed to the flu going round. For years, Erik remained disgustingly healthy while the rest of the school staff picked up every circulating bug known to mankind, and became housebound until well again. She herself had been the cranky recipient of surprisingly tender care from him, by way of chicken noodle soup and herbal teas. He would sit and watch over her, often bunking on her couch until the worst was over and she was on the mend.

"Christine?" he rasped, his beautiful voice sounding scratchy and hoarse. "How... you get in?"

"The key you gave me, dear. Remember?" her eyes drawn again and again to a face without definite form, only stark angles and skin stretched far too tightly over the sharp blades of his cheekbones. He had no nose.

She wanted to cry for him. She wanted to cry for her reaction to it.

"No, doan remember," and leaned his throbbing head against her shoulder. "Am I dying?" he muttered.

Her arm tightened around him, offering him another few sips of cool water. To someone like Erik who had been healthy as a horse for years, being ill would feel close to fatal. "You are certainly not dying; your build-up of antibodies has finally run out. You, my friend, have the flu. Where are your pajamas? I'll get them for you, and help you get undressed. You need under the covers, not on top of them," she said easily, beginning to feel more comfortable with his naked face. She felt a little unsettled. But after all, hadn't this very same countenance gazed upon her countless times with only the thinness of silicone between them? This face had always been there in front of her.

The very thought of the woman he adored treating him like someone old and infirm, did not sit well with Erik. He was not the average everyday needy sick man. He was a scrawny and ugly, needy sick man... not attractive on his best day, let alone an ill one. "I can do it," he wheezed, wishing he could just crawl away and die, as his nothing nose worked itself up into a gargantuan sneeze. "I'll call you when I'm feeling better," his fingers pressing to his face.

His face.

Not the mask.

His face.

"Leave now," he choked, his breath coming in pants, the awfulness of the moment brought home to him by the presence of his mask on the nightstand where he had tossed it earlier.

"Nonsense. I'm going to get you some aspirin. Where's your pajamas, Erik?" she asked him again in her Iron Maiden voice. "I'm not leaving, so get used to it."

"You most certainly...are... going home. I don't require a nursemaid, so... on your way." He never raised his face from a splayed hand which shook, instead speaking through his fingers as he reached for the mask and held it to his wreck of a face.

"No, sir," she said stubbornly, "you need someone to take care of you. You're all alone here. I can get you some ginger ale or...or a cup of tea. And I'll make you some soup. My mom's recipe."

"If you hold any affection for me, Christine, any at all, you will immediately take yourself out of here. I didn't invite you," he railed weakly, wanting her gone. He was horrified by what she had seen.

"You stayed with me when I was sick. Remember? I didn't even think of throwing you out," Christine replied, hurt.

He was dying and she wanted to argue with him. "Leave now," a cough exploding from his mouth. "Go... home. Khan will see to me when he returns."

"I can't," she answered sullenly. "Raoul dropped me off, and I thought you'd give me a ride home."

"Take my car. You know where the keys are."

He was sick. Of course he was, and to lash out at him was cruel, but she had always thought that even if they never moved on to more in their relationship, they would still have each other to lean on. The truth of it was... Erik didn't trust her. He didn't trust anyone really, but she always prided herself on being one of the very select few that came the closest. "You'd rather have Nadir care for you? Why, he can barely take care of himself, let alone his sick friend!"

"I prefer him to you," he said hoarsely, and realized far too late how badly that sounded, but he was too sick to correct himself now.

She opened her mouth to argue with him, and decided it was useless. He didn't want her here.

Not a bit.

"Very well," Christine returned stiffly. "If you don't want my help, I'll leave you to it. You've made yourself perfectly clear I'm not needed." She turned at the door. "I hope you feel better soon, Erik."

Aside from the pounding of his head, and the ghastly feeling of exposure, he felt a niggle of unease that he had lost his friend. He promised himself that if he lived through this, he would make it up to her. But really, he had no desire to see her do drudge work for him. Or have her watch him staggering to the bathroom clutching his stomach, or observe him cleaning the mucous from his nothing nose which dripped steadily like a leaky spigot. How degrading that she should see him at his worst, his face stripped bare and sicker than he'd ever been. He would have no chance at all compared to the blonde Adonis.

He didn't even know if he wanted one now.

Perhaps the congestion would overcome him and shut down the works for good.

In this frame of mind, he waited for the Persian to come back.

And waited.

"How many times must I tell you that I am sorry?" Nadir grumbled. "If your lady fair was willing to care for you, you should have let her! I'm sure that women live for that sort of thing."

"I am in love with Christine, not considering her as a nanny, you ass! Besides... she saw the face of the dead man she befriended two years ago," he said dismally, "and that must have been a shock! I know it was for me."

"What is it you want me to do, Erik?"

"She wanted to put me into pajamas. Can you imagine that, Khan?" his astonishment undimmed. "But at this stage, I really do need a change of clothes. As I'm not going anywhere, it might as well be nightwear," and pointed out the drawer where his pajamas were kept. Nadir, mumbling imprecations beneath his breath, did as he was bid, reluctantly aiding the sick man to undress and get into his night things. Erik's skin crawled with even more heat as he was manhandled into them.

When he pointed out the indignity of having someone undress him, a tetchy Nadir exhorted, "Seen it all before, Erik. You have the same equipment as I do, so stop your venting at me!" He wrestled his friend under the blankets, and yanked them up to his bony chin. "There! What else is it you require of me?"

"Aspirin a-and some ginger ale," he said petulantly. He was sorry now...very sorry that he had sent his little angel of mercy away. Her hand had felt so good on his forehead.

Khan nodded wearily, and left his patient to doze, and went downstairs to get him some ginger ale over ice.

He could only hope Erik would bounce back quickly before he collapsed.

All told, Erik remained in bed for that one night and well into the afternoon of the next day, with Khan taking up nursing duties when he finally managed to remember his sick friend. Erik, not used to feeling so helpless, insisted on becoming ambulatory. Sort of. He was cranky and demanding, intent on running Kahn's poor legs off, and Nadir promised himself that he would shove that little bell Erik rang throughout the day down his scrawny throat if he didn't stop.

It was hell.

As grumpy as his friend could get on a good day, sick, he was worse than a spoiled ten year old child. Not that Khan knew what a ten year old child was like with the flu, but he was quite certain Erik was one. To wit-

"The mask remains on. I certainly don't need to have you fainting on me because you can't take no for my answer. It. stays. on."

Or-

"Canned soup, Khan? Christine was going to fix me homemade. Erik has had enough. A little less salt would be better, wouldn't you agree? Either way, any more of it, and I shall faint!"

And-

"The sheets feel scratchy. I'd like to sit in the chair for a while, if you don't mind. Help me up."

"Please," said a disgruntled Nadir.

"Please what?"

"You forgot to say please, Erik."

"I need to go downstairs sometime today. I never finished my grading, and I am weary of this bed. This room. And you're not looking all that good yourself at the moment," he was nice enough to inform a frazzled Persian. "I need a change of scenery, and you are being much too difficult.

"Can I bother you for a tall glass of ice water? My throat is parched."

He was not a nursemaid. Friendship did not require one to wait upon and humor an impossibly self-centered grouch, and he nearly started to cry when Erik called him difficult. Nadir wasn't worried about the element of risk a disagreeable Erik presented, for he had put up with his ill-humors for years.

After all, how much damage could they inflict on each other?

So when Christine returned Erik's car along with a large fruit basket, Khan was ready to happily smother his ex-friend and plead insanity. He opened the door to her and she had to admit that a run-ragged Nadir, was a whole new side to the man.

"How is he?" she asked coolly.

"See for yourself," he said wearily, waving a hand. "He's in the study ensconced on the couch, wrapped in that afaghan you made for him. He insisted that it was the only thing he wished to wrap himself in, and made me trudge back upstairs to get it."

"Erik said that? I didn't even know he used it! He didn't seem too impressed when I gave it to him last Christmas." Christine shrugged. "Listen, I can't stay long. Raoul is waiting for me." She clutched the fruit basket to her chest. "I can't believe he's up and about already."

"Well, he's still a little weak, but he's turned the corner for the better. Very sick people don't usually talk their way through the flu! He wobbled his way downstairs a few hours ago, with my help, I might add, and hasn't moved since! Erik has worn himself out, pretending he's not sick, so he feels no urge to get well, but damn it, I'm making him!"

"Now, now. Now, now," she murmured comfortingly. "You know what they say about healthy people who finally catch ill."

"No, I am afraid I do not," he snapped.

"Why, they make the very worst patients!"

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to stay with him for a while? He's been fretting non-stop about you. What happened yesterday?"

"Oh, nothing much. He simply told me to hit the road. I wasn't wanted or needed."

"Are we talking about Erik Navarre? There will never be a day he doesn't want or need you, Christine."

"Nice try, Professor Khan. I'm going in and say a quick hello and an even quicker goodbye."

"He's the very devil. There's broth which he refuses to eat- said yours would have been much better. He's only interested in tea and ginger ale. I can't coax him to eat. Beg him, is more like it!"

She had to admit that she'd been skeptical about a middle-aged bachelor taking care of another, especially when one of them was her middle-aged bachelor, and she told the Persian how surprised she was to have been proven wrong.

Nadir's laugh was a wonky cackle. "I want him better, Christine, so I can get the hell out of here! He is obstinate and bad-tempered."

"He's a dear sweet man most of the time."

"Do not let him fool you. He is only like that with you. The rest of the time he is anti-social and thoroughly disagreeable."

"Nonsense."

"He is a grump! Only spend some time with him and you will see."

"I can think of one other with the same problem," she said quietly.

"Huh? What was that?"

"Nothing," Christine soothed. "Nothing at all. Just let me go in and say a quick hello, all right?"

"Be my guest. Maybe after he has seen you, his mood will lighten."

She approached his study on tiptoe. If he was asleep, she could at least use that as an excuse for leaving without saying goodbye. Not that he would turn puppy dog eyes on her. More like a raptor's... unblinking and unfailingly watchful. It had taken a long time to get used to his direct way of observing her, as he observed everyone. As though waiting for someone to slip up and attack him for being different from them.

He was awake.

Erik turned and looked fretfully at her. "Christine!" the sick man croaked. "Sit and keep me company." He got a good look at his beloved, observed the liquid shine in her eyes. "Forgive me for... for...for-"

"How are you feeling?"

"Much better," as another cough exploded out of his mouth.

"Yes, I can see that. What are you doing out of bed?"

"Recuperating," he wheezed.

Her heart had gone out to him as he lay on the couch, huddled beneath the purple and cream afaghan she crocheted for him. He appeared frail and breakable, and she watched helplessly as he coughed and choked, dismayed to see him so ill.

Christine poured Erik some water from the carafe on the small table and handed it to him. "I brought your car back," she said when the coughing had subsided. "And a fruit basket," stating the obvious as she had plunked the large basket of fruit topped with a bright red bow, down on the coffee table in front of him. "Fruit is good for you, you know."

"Yes. Thank you. But explain how you will get home now?"

"Well, the thing is... Raoul followed me here. He's going to take me home so I can get ready."

His suspicion radar went up. "Where are you going?"

"I have a dinner date."

He tilted his head at her, wondering how she could stand to look at him with his mussed and greasy hair (what there was of it), and red-rimmed watery eyes. "With who?" trying his best to sound interested instead of territorial.

Which he was.

Interested and territorial.

"Well, with Raoul, of course. He invited me to dinner yesterday and I accepted," she replied, trying for nonchalant.

And failing.

"You seem to have become quite close in a few short hours," sounding forbidding, or would have if only he hadn't sneezed, and turned from her to lift the mask and take care of business.

"Raoul is a friend, Erik. There's nothing wrong with enjoying an old friend's company, is there? I would be more than accepting of someone from your past."

"There is no one from my past. I left them all there."

She stood up just as Khan rapped knuckles lightly on the door. "Am I interrupting?"

"No, Nadir. You are not. I was just leaving," she said stiffly. She turned to Erik and her gaze softened. "Feel better soon."

Erik waved a hand at her. "Don't bother yourself any longer with the state of my health, Christine. Enjoy your dinner," he managed to sneer, before laying his head back and closing his eyes.

"I intend to," she answered, even as she felt a small twinge of guilt. But he had refused her help and she was free to come and go as she pleased. Christine gave Nadir a pained smile and muttered, "Good luck."

Erik listened forlornly to the sound of her fading footsteps, unhappily contemplating her and de Chagny sitting cozily in some fancy restaurant while he wallowed in misery.

Opening his eyes, he stared intensely at Khan.

"He can't have her."