After Christine skillfully disappeared into the nearest passage she took a deep breath. After all, her return to stage went quite well, a full house celebrated her after the performance and many of her admirers returned to see her again. It was such a relief to now they still cared and were interested in her art. And maybe they wouldn't resent her disappearance and would attribute it to her family that she hadn't blend with them as usual.

Another deep breath.

Really, no one noticed that little slip in act two, nor did they realize how her voice wavered slightly in the last cadenza.

She closed her eyes and took another breath.

Buthedefinitelynoticedthem.

Not if he would stop adore her because of her mistakes but she wanted her performance to be as magnificent as it used to be, to prove to the illustrious audience that she hadn't abandoned her skills in those months they hadn't seen her.

NexttimeI'lldobetter.And he'd definitely understand.

No, he wouldn't.

And what was the most devastating that he didn't even need to be upset with her – it was more than enough to look into his eyes to learn his disapproval.

With one last sigh Christine pushed herself away from the cold stone wall and started for her dressing room, comforting herself with the thought that she'd see her little daughter again in mere minutes. IwonderhowErikgotalongwithher… Ifshe'dfallenasleepinthefirsttwominutesoftheoverturehedidn'thavemuchtodowithher.

And fortunately he already knew how to change her diapers – it wasn't without any complication to persuade him to it.

"I don't see what's wrong with changing it. It needs to be done," she said, taking the crying infant from her husband.

"I can't."

"But whyever not?" Christine cried out exasperatedly, hushing the wailing girl in her arms. He should have done the task lot earlier but seemingly, he didn't.

"She's a girl," he stated as if that basic knowledge went unnoticed by Christine.

"She is. And?"

"I won't undress her!" He barked, and taking a half-turn, he took a few steps aside as Christine placed the girl to the bed, preparing the necessities for the much needed task.

"I thought you're disgusted by the… mess," she said, and despite her earlier anger, she couldn't stifle the laugh that came to her lips from the look he had given her. "You're her father; you'd only help her to do what she can't just yet."

His eyes darted between her and the restless infant but he stood unmoving; and when Christine couldn't postpone it any longer and began to peel the layers of clothes from her daughter Erik finally gave in with a resigned sigh.

"Fine, show me what to do."

Hopefully he didn't have much trouble with her during tonight's performance, though.

Pushing the door open Christine entered the room to one of the strangest sight she'd ever seen: the floor was covered with Céline's little, painted cubes, her coverlet crumpled and littered with some more cubes and the bottom of the full-length mirror was grimy with tiny hand-shaped stains. Céline was sitting in front of it, adding some more stains with her open palms – and Erik was sitting right beside her.

"Céline," he said when the little girl tapped the glass again. Hearing her name she turned around – bracing herself on the mirror – and smiled at her father, then turned back to touch the begrimed mirror again.

"Céline," he repeated and the girl turned again, her eyes shining with the realization that it was indeed her name he said. When she returned to her reflection again, this time she reached to touch his father's face on the cold glass. After a moment of hesitation he revealed, "Father."

"Taa," Céline exclaimed happily and clapped her palms together, then lumped down to the floor and scrambled to sit on his father's crossed legs.

"I thought you hated mirrors," Christine said while addressing him about her presence and walking to him she sat on the carpet beside her family.

"I do." When Christine was still looking at him expectantly, he continued. "When I refused to come, she began to cry. When I tried to leave, she cried."

"And this?" Christine asked, lifting the white mask from the floor.

Erik looked at his wife as if the answer should have been obvious to her as well. "She cried."

His wife smiled at him omnisciently. "Erik, she's manipulating you."

"Nonsense! She is but a child," he said, taking away a cube that was halfway into his daughter's mouth and started to build a small castle for her to stop the flow of her tears.

"And she knows how to get what she wants," Christine retorted, watching how father and child played together now in complete understanding. Soon there was a tricky miniature building in front of them, consisting of mostly red and green cubes.

"Such an architect that you are," Christine smiled at her husband – in the same moment the now completely calm Céline pulled out the lowermost piece and the whole thing collapsed to the greatest happiness of the little girl.

"I think I've been just dismissed," he remarked dryly.

"Well, you have another assignment," Christine addressed him; Céline handed a sticky cell to her father again who presented her another ruinable house.

Basking in the peace of her family Christine was reluctant to speak again but it was also inevitable; the sooner she got his reprimanding words the better it was. "Erik, I'm sorry."

Before saying anything else he let out a deep sigh. "You met him again?" He asked without turning away from his daughter who meanwhile mimicked her father's buildings by constructing simple towers.

"No!" Christine cried out then sighed, continuing calmer than before. "I've ruined the last cadenza. And the third aria in act two as well. I'm sure you noticed."

Silence.

"Well… I didn't," he answered softly.

"Excuse me?"

"I didn't." When Christine did nothing but kept staring at him with wide eyes he added, "I haven't heard much from the whole performance."

"You weren't even listening?" She demanded; it took her five long minutes to calm herself before meeting him and now he dared to tell her he wasn't even listening?

"I tried."

"Then?"

"She prevented it." His sight met with her confused one but before revealing her the reason, he placed two bricks on top of each other to keep Céline occupied. "Do you have any idea how loud a child is during the overture? Had it not been the Phantom's box well before then, someone surely would have come in to find the source."

Christine tried to picture her husband while rocking a wailing infant in Box 5, the orchestra unseeingly playing in the background… It was impossible not to allow herself a smile.

"The stares lasted only for thirty seconds, though, until I found the perfect toy to silence her." Here he stopped and slowly raised his eyes to hers. "Sorry for your fan. You'll get another one."

"Well… but after that? There were still almost two hours left from the performance."

"Uh-hmm, yes," he answered mockingly, starting on a castle this time. "Soon se got tired from the fan. Considering that she can't walk yet she's rather fast, you know. But until I realized that fact I heard half of the intermezzo – Monsieur Reyer should pay more attention to the bassoon. He's been late quite a few times."

When the last tower collapsed, the little girl in front of them gave an adorable, huge yawn and scrambled to sit on her mothers lap, resting her head on her mother's chest. Christine hugged her daughter tightly, placing a little kiss on her forehead.

"So when I finally caught her she began to squirm and didn't rest until I brought her back here. And until I didn't give her some food."

"Impossible that she was able to eat at all. I fed her before I got to stage."

"Obviously, it wasn't enough. That was when the first act ended."

"You weren't here when I came in…"

"No. We went on for a search after her ball… which later I could barely catch during act two before it fell out of the box – fast as lightning gained a whole new meaning – and that fracture of minute was just enough for her to spill the whole bottle of water on her clothes. I brought her back here to change her attire." Stealing a glance at her Erik expected her to look disappointed or at least smiling at his clumsiness, but instead leaning closer Christine kissed first his cheek, then turning his head, his lips, too. She didn't seem upset, judging from the kiss she'd given him, he decided.

"I don't mind at all that you haven't heard that disaster. People didn't notice it, I think, but I need you to make me feel confident again," she said when she pulled back.

"She's rather tired," he suggested, looking at Céline who was almost asleep in her mother's arms.

"I hope so," Christine smiled and gave him another, meaningful kiss – her free hand's fingers slid through his hair easily; arriving home couldn't come fast enough after that, Erik thought.

It was Erik who rose from the floor first, pulling up Christine with their child afterwards. "Give her to me; I'll hold her until you change," he offered and in no time the little family was ready to leave for home.

It was only then that they'd been discovered, when Christine was closing the door to her dressing room while Erik was balancing in his arms Céline, who was relentlessly trying to get free from his hold.

"Christine, dear!"

At the familiar voice both Christine and Erik stopped in mid-motion; then Christine turned around to greet the approaching Madame Giry while Erik stood unmoving, his tense back to the two women. Céline was tirelessly squirming on his arms, and since there was no chance to disappear from the following scene, he grudgingly turned around as well. Madame Giry was holding a little knitted sweater in one of his hands, as if an explanation of her presence.

Erik regarded her coldly.

"Good evening, Erik," she said frigidly, looking up into his eyes with feigned calmness.

After a stunned, silent moment he answered her in a similar tone. "Madame." And it was as if his eyelids moved a little down, as if to greet her, but he said nothing else and turned his eyes to the restless little creature in his arms.

"You forgot this in my room," the woman said and handed Christine the small piece of clothing, which she took and tucked away in their satchel; all the while feeling the burning sight of his husband on her movements.

"Thank you," she murmured, shifting on her feet uneasily. "We, uhm… we were about to leave; you came just in time," she stuttered inelegantly, more and more nervous in the awkward silence. Erik never talked about Madame Giry and even when he did mention her once or twice it was with great reluctance. Undoubtedly, he was still holding against her how she showed the way to his lair years ago to his enemy and Christine longed to disappear before the disaster could unfold.

Meanwhile the boring little girl gave up her futile attempts to get her father walking and began to chew on the top button of his coat; he gently took it from her mouth and took her hand to keep her from further mischief. Something metallic glistened on one of his fingers, the older woman noticed.

"Céline, stop that."

Christine was right, Madame Giry thought. Erik really was the man she had described him to her, and from his current demeanor she was fully convinced about his abilities as a husband and father. The way he talked to his daughter, or how he held her tiny, damp fist in his much bigger palm; he was so much more than he had been forced to live for years under the opera house.

The Devil's Child…

Years ago Madame Giry wondered if it was the wisest thing to help him hide from the authorities as a little boy, after that tremendous year culminated in burning down the whole theater – but then a week later Christine came back to her with the announcement that she'd marry the Phantom in a few days. The ballet mistress couldn't have been more appalled. At first she didn't even believe it but after Christine's repeated assurance that it was indeed her choice, she accepted it. Of course, she wasn't present on the ceremony, nor did she saw Erik for years – truth be told, they almost never talked even before that horrible year.

From the beginning she was rather wary towards his relationship with the orphaned little Christine, but until his intentions didn't take a romantic turn towards his protégé she approved, though half-heartedly. Things changed, however, when it turned out that Erik took interest in the now grown up young woman, and Madame Giry didn't talk much with him after he flatly refused not to pursue Christine. The memory of her tortured conscience returned now with vivid details; the whole nights she'd spent awake thinking, whether it was for the better to allow Christine to spend more time in the presence of her Angel… In the end she had little voice in the matter, and now she was utterly grateful for fate that it played out as it did.

Briefly she closed her eyes against the threatening tears.

He had found his place.

"You have a wonderful little daughter, Erik," Madame Giry said at last and Erik snapped up his head immediately, looking sharply into the eyes of his interrogator.

"Yes," came his curt answer. There was a short pause before she spoke again.

"Next time Christine comes out for dinner, you could accompany her," she offered tentatively, swallowing anxiously when his whole posture stiffened at her proposal.

"No."

Christine began to fidget in the suddenly deeply disturbing silence, but before she had to step in to save the situation, Madame Giry spoke again.

"Or for tea."

Silence again.

In Erik's arms Céline started to jitter and relentlessly tugged at every button, pulling them with every ounce of her tiny strength in the hope of ripping any of them. Erik gently brushed her fingers aside.

"Perhaps," he answered bluntly to the woman, casting nothing more than a side glance at her.

Madame Giry let out some air that she was holding. She had no illusions, though; Erik would never consent anything out of politeness. And if he would indeed come, he certainly wouldn't have a nice talk with her over the tea, discussing the weather or something similarly irrelevant matter. But he agreed, although half-heartedly, and it was a start.

"Excellent," she concluded and allowed a small smile to form on her lips before turning back to the seemingly dumbfounded Christine. "Take care of you, dear."

"I will," Christine stammered, returning the brief kiss to her face. "You too."

"Good night," Madame Giry bid farewell to the little family, which Christine answered in words and Erik with the softest nod of his head.

After Madame's departure they stood still in the doorway for a long minute, neither of them finding the words to spoke first.

"She's been planning to ask you for months now," Christine said at last, starting to walk towards one of the side doors.

"Why is she so eager to have a murderer at her table?" Erik growled, still amazed that he almost agreed to visit her.

"She's curious," Christine answered nonchalantly. Andfeelsguilty.

"Who wouldn't," he muttered.

"Not at your face," Christine said gently and linked her arm with his. "I told her how a devoted father you are." She looked at their daughter fondly, who meanwhile had fallen asleep on her father's shoulder; Christine straightened the tiny hat on her head.

"Am I?"

"Of course." She gave a brief kiss to his lips. "And a devoted husband, too."

"She's never going to believe you."

"Oh, I think she already does."

"Knowing this I'm not going anywhere," he concluded stiffly.

"Of course not," she smiled.