Erik's gloved hands grasped hers, Christine placed one at her waist and held the other firmly.

"Do you see the box?" She asked. "Along with the 1, 2, 3, etc?"

He nodded, hands tight around hers.

"Very well, I'll go backwards first. One, two, three, begin."

Christine stepped backwards, and Erik's foot swiftly followed. She continued to count out loud as they slowly made their way across the room.

Erik managed surprisingly well, Christine noted as they waltzed slowly around the stage. He was hardly a star dancer but she suspected it was only a matter of a lack of practice.

"It's easier if you don't look at your feet." She advised at one moment, Erik nodded and locked his eyes at the space above her head. She heard him counting as well under his breath.

Christine's skillful guided his clumsy ones and soon he was dancing quite well. She pulled away after a few minutes and curtsied, Erik returned a short bow.

"Not so bad once you get the hang of it?" Christine said, "You really did quite well. I'm impressed."

"Who taught you to waltz so well?" Erik asked. "You do it as well as any noble. I have never seen you waltz before."

"My father taught me." Christine answered. "We used to dance all the time. I still do, sometimes, with The Girls." The Girls were all the ballet dancers, whom with Christine made a special point of being on good terms with all of them, as difficult as it was sometimes.

"No doubt so that they can impressive their lovers." Erik said dryly, giving an exasperated sigh.

"Hilarious." Christine shot right back. "Most are just curious. Though many love to imagine themselves as a lady in a ball I'm sure. But then, who wouldn't?"

"Forgive me for disagreeing. But I have no interests in picturing myself in a full gown and corset, dancing across the floor with an eligible gentlemen."

Christine choked trying to halt her laughter. "Allow me to clarify, what young women wouldn't like to imagine themselves in a ball." She grinned. "Dreams that I find rather nice, quite honestly." Christine lamented, setting a hand on her hip. "Though I've heard that while the dancing may be pleasant, they are very hot and the conversation is dull unless you happen to stumble upon a rare quick witted gentlemen or lady."

"And you have formed these opinions on your own experience." Erik said, she could practically see the quirked eyebrow beneath the mask.

"So I have heard." Christine again corrected.

"You have never been to a ball." Erik said slowly, as if to confirm the fact.

"No, I have not." Christine said, then shrugged. "No great loss, I'm sure. Now here-" She held out her hands. "We have talked long enough, let us try again."

Erik took her hands, and continued to count under his breath as they moved across the stage.

"Christine." He asked abruptly, and they danced.

"Hmm?"

"I wish to apologize again for neglecting to fetch the music for our lessons."

Christine smiled, "It is of no great importance. My voice will not vanish overnight." her head tilted to the side. "You seem greatly troubled by it. Might I ask why you forgot it?"

Erik hesitated, he misstepped, but Christine righted the dance quickly. "I have been composing an Opera." He admitted.

"Oh!" Christine laughed, but inside she felt a moment of panic. "That's wonderful."

"I have been writing for quite some time. Over a decade, I stopped work on it quite some time ago." Erik stared directly into hers. "I found a new muse recently."

Christine blinked, then grinned and looked down at their moving feet. "And so you were swept up in the music. Like you always were?"

"And missed the time." He finished.

"I see." Christine smiled. "It's not a great loss. After all, we are now having a dancing lesson."

"Whether that is a gain, small or not, is yet to be seen."

That made her laugh too. "You are doing well." She assured him. "And it is my own opinion that everyone must be able to, at the very least, waltz."

He didn't reply for a time, Christine focused on guiding him through the steps. Once or twice she thought she heard something. If they were found, it would be rather awkward to explain why she was escorted with a masked man.

"Would you?" He asked abruptly.

"Would I what?" Christine looked up.

"Like to go to a ball?"

"Hm." Christine smiled. "Well, yes. For the experience, strictly, of course."

"Perhaps I could arrange it." Erik said vaguely.

"Would you?" Christine let the smile on her face spread wider. "That would be wonderful."

They halted dancing again, Christine sighed and stared out at the empty theater. When was the last time she had been on stage like this?

When Papa-

Father had-

Christine's breath caught.

Screaming.

Blood spattered all over the ground.

A golden locket swinging on her chest as the roof fell in.

"Christine, go!" Her father pushed her away. "Get out."

"Papa! I won't leave you!"

"Christine!"

"Christine." Erik's hands on her shoulder gently shook her. "Christine, is something wrong?" The urgency in his voice startled her.

Christine blinked, slowly staring at the world around her. She grasped Erik's hands and pulled them into her own. "I am quite alright." She murmured. "I was just remembering."

"You seemed rather lost." Erik pulled one hand up to touch her face. "Are you-"

He froze.

In mere moments, he grasped Christine by the waist and pulled her under his protective dark cloak. There, pressed against his chest he moved into the shadows of the wings, Christine blinked at the sudden darkness, grasped Erik's firm arm around her waist with her hands, then struggled to see what was happening through the thick folds of his cloak.

"Come out ghost!" A slurred voice called out. "I know you're there, and that pretty ballet rat too."

Christine heard Erik curse quietly under his breath. In truth, she felt rather like swearing herself, Joseph Buquet was a menace, always drunk always making trouble. The only reason he was kept was because he was the only one brave enough to descend into the lower cellars and the farthest reaches of the Opera to do necessary work. He alone seemed unafraid of the Phantom.

Unfortunately that came with it's own set of problems for Erik.

"Come out, come out ghosty. Share the pretty rat will you? S'not fair to keep it to yourself" His rough and rather slurred voice echoed throughout the auditorium.

Erik's arm around her waist stiffened. Christine desperately hoped that eventually Buquet's drunken mind would become tired with hunting fleeting ghosts and leave. She grew rather tired with the view of the inside of Erik's cloak, gently she tugged it, implying that she wanted to see.

Erik shifted his cloak, carefully allowing her a view of the stage. Christine peered towards it carefully. There stood the drunken man, turning round the stage unsteadily.

She froze as well.

In Buquet's hand there was a large knife, Christine suddenly was fearful. Buquet was always bragging how he would catch the ghost one day, but she had never thought he would try to capture a ghost with a knife, of all things.

Which, of course, only made her more worried, because despite Erik's many skills, transparency was not one of them, and if he was hurt....

Her father's eyes losing their life and joy, blood trickling from his wound.

Christine closed her eyes and let out her breath slowly, but silently.

That won't happen here, she told herself, Erik is perfectly capable of defending himself. Instinctively, she reached into the pocket of her dress, only to realize she was still wearing her ballet skirt. She inwardly sighed.

Of all the days to leave her gun in her room.

Her heart was pounding, she noticed. Beating like a drum against her chest, fearful of what would happen if he found them, with Erik's chest right up against her back, she imagined that through the folds of fine cloth she could feel Erik's heart beating as fast.

"Christine." Erik's voice whispered quietly in her ear, causing Christine to start before settling in his grasp again. "If he sees us I want you to run, do you understand?"

Run? Of course, to her room to fetch her weapon and then all the way back, that was what she would do. She slowly nodded, as to not catch the attention of their enemy.

"Come on Phantom. Not man enough to fight?" Buquet goaded.

Is he mad?

"Even the dogs are braver than you."

Christine noted Erik's sudden intake of breath and felt a stream of fear go down her spine. Despite his continued silence, she felt that Buquet was having more of an effect on Erik than he knew.

Some part of her reached out for his unused hand, she found it beneath the cloak, clenched tighter than a sailors knot. Carefully she tapped it, it opened obligingly and she held his hand, carefully stroking his gloved palm with her thumb, trying to calm him, keep him rational.

Pay no mind to him. She thought, wishing she could somehow send them to Erik's complex and quick moving mind. He isn't worth your time.

Then finally. Finally! Joseph Boquet seemed to tire, gave one last suspicious glance, and wandered off the stage, muttering darkly about Opera Ghosts.

When his footsteps and echoing comments disappear, Christine gave out a long breath, relief filling her like sunlight on a summer day. "That was rather unexpected." She whispered, her hand slipping away from Erik's.

"He has been braver of late." Erik said, sounding rather like he was gritting his teeth. "Something needs to be done."

"He isn't worth your time." Christine said, turning to comfort him, before she realized that his arm around her waist was still keeping her pressed tightly to his back.

"He wastes far too much of it." Erik agreed, but not in the way she'd hoped.

Christine sighed, but didn't comment, she placed both her hands on his arm and gently pushed his arm away. To her dismay, it didn't budge.

"The man is more trouble than he's worth. He had better reign himself in-" Erik chuckled darkly. "There will be consequences."

Christine pursed her lips together, Buquet was perhaps one of the people she despised. It was hard trying to figure out whether she wanted Erik's full fury to be released on him or not.

"Perhaps we had best leave." Erik sighed.

"I can't go anywhere with your arm around me like this." Christine said, letting a little of her exasperation show through her voice. "Though I do appreciate the protection."

She twisted her head round to find him looking down at her, once again she stared into the black sockets of his mask. Once again, he stayed silent for an uncharacteristic amount of time.

"Apologies." He murmured, his arm slid from her waist slowly.

"It's hardly a sin with what happened." Christine waved a hand as she stepped away from him, her eyes glanced round for any signs of the drunk ghost hunter. "Don't worry about it."