Disclaimer: Phantom of the Opera belongs to Leroux.

Note: This is very very different from my normal type of stories. I felt like doing something lighter, though this story is still sad. It is a Leroux-filler; it takes place right after the Masquerade when Erik comes to take Christine down to his home and Raoul spies on her in her dressing room.

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Simplicity

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"Fate links thee to me for ever and a day!"

His angel's voice surrounded me, and I once again followed. Oh, I tried to refuse him! But as always, it is a futile attempt. My heart belonged to my dear, loving Raoul. But Erik...he owned my mind, soul, and voice...and they obeyed him without question.

He stoped singing, and my head instantly cleared of the feeling of ecstasy his voice put me in. I turned to him, not quite sure of what I was going to say. But before anything could be said between us, he turned from my mirror and walked down the path to the cellars.

"Erik..."

"Come Christine. We will talk once we are sure we wont be overheard."

"Overheard? But...who will hear us by my dressing room? There is no one there!"

He turned and looked at me sharply, his yellow eyes searching me as if thought I was lying.

"No one, my dear?" he inquired with an air of sarcasm,"Really, you must think better of my intellect than that!"

With that he turned sharply and continued walking. I bit my lip and furrowed my brow. Whatever could he be angry about? I decided to not further test his anger and quickly followed after him.

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That boy! That worthless Viscount was in her room! I didn't know if she invited him or not. Maybe she had planned for him to protect her from me.

Protect her! From me!

Did she not realize that I was nothing but a stupid beast when it comes to her? She had me wrapped around her perfect, slender finger...I would do whatever she asked of me!

Hurt her indeed! I would sooner cut out my own heart than raise a hand against her. And yet, she had that boy waiting in her room.

Tightening my hold on the torch I was holding, I tried to calm my temper. There was still the chance that she didn't invite him. He may have insisted, or maybe forced his way in. She might not have known that he was in there. I sighed and turned around to speak to her.

She ran into me with a gasp, and I caught her around her waist to keep her from falling. I regretted this, however, when her voice hitched in her throat and her small body stiffened. I released her and looked away before I could see the disgust in her eyes from being touched by my wretched hand.

"Forgive me," I moaned before tuning back on our path and continuing on our way to my house.

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We finally reached his house. The trip had been uneventful since he caught me in the tunnels. I regret my reaction now. His cold skeletal hands had shocked me, even though I had felt them before. But when he turned from me, I saw such deep sorrow and self loathing in his gaze that I could feel my own eyes burning with tears. This poor, wretched man! I wish that I had the strength to love him, but I know that I never will.

He brought me into his sitting room and made some of his Russian tea. He handed me a cup, making sure to avoid touching my hands. I thanked him for it before sipping from it quietly. He didn't drink any, for he would have to remove his mask, but he poured himself a cup anyway.

We sat in silence with our tea for some time before he sat his cup on the small table beside his chair.

"You looked lovely tonight, Christine."

My heart surely stopped at those words. Had he seen me with Raoul? I decide to avoid the subject if I could.

"Thank you, Erik. I don't really enjoy such large crowds, however. I much prefer a setting like this. Tea, between friends."

I was sure I saw a flicker of delight in his yellow eyes at the mention of us being friends, but it had quickly vanished.

"What about conversations between friends in private boxes?" he asked bitterly.

My hold on my cup tightened and I bit my lip.

"No response, my dear? Did you think I wouldn't know?"

"Erik..."

"Don't lie to me. Don't answer at all, for the answer will either be a lie or something I don't wish to hear."

I lowered my head and looked at my cup. At length he sighed and stood up.

"A song before you retire for the night, Christine?"

I smiled at this, I always enjoy singing for him. He moved to his organ and glanced at me. I moved to stand beside him and I placed my hand on his shoulder. He flinched away at first, but then relaxed. He played the opening notes to The Queen of the Night aria.

And I sang.

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Who could have thought that such perfection could exist? That very simple happiness, of her singing with her hand on my shoulder! Mine!

I could feel the soft warmth of her hand through my suit and cloak. What a wonderful feeling, the trusting hand of another human on your own shoulder!

I could have lived and died happily if my life had never changed from that moment. Me sitting at my organ playing, with my darling little Christine singing in her heavenly voice, while standing next to me. Me! Me of all the men she could stand by!

I reluctantly brought the song to an end. I expected her to turn quickly from me, but she didn't. If the idea hadn't been so completely mad, I would have believed that she didn't want to leave that simple happiness any more than I did.

"Oh Erik..." I heard her sigh.

"What is it, my dear?"

She seemed startled by my response. Perhaps I wasn't supposed to hear her.

Her little hand didn't leave my shoulder even when I turned towards her. She smiled, but only a little, before bowing her head and muttering, "Goodnight, Erik."

It was only then that her hand left me. I don't know how long I sat there just thinking, for a few hours at the least, but the warmth her hand left on my shoulder and her sweet smell stayed with me until I drifted off to sleep.

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I awoke the next morning to the sound of a violin. I smiled as I realized that Erik was playing a Swedish folk song I sang with my poor father when I was younger.

I stretched and got out of bed, not wanting to spend the rest of my time in Erik's home asleep. I put on the thick velvet robe Erik had bought me after I mentioned it being far too cold the first time I was here, and walked into the sitting room.

There was a plate of pastries and a pot of tea waiting for me. I noticed there was only one cup and frowned. Why didn't Erik ever dine with me? He always prepared the finest meals, yet he never ate them!

With this in mind, I went to Erik's room where he was still playing his music and knocked on his door. There was a pause before the door opened.

"Is something the matter, my dear?"

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I was a little surprised to see Christine. Usually she would eat breakfast and read for a while before seeking my company, if she did so at all.

'She must be desperate to get back to that boy,' I thought sadly.

"Erik, wont you join me for breakfast? I don't want to eat alone...and it seems silly that you bring me down here and hardly see me!"

My heart must have stopped at those words! My dear, little Christine wanted my company! She wanted me to eat with her! No one had ever wanted to eat with me! Not my mother, not even the Daroga...they never asked because they knew I would have to...

My heart fell. How could I have forgotten? It takes a mouth to eat, and I would have to remove my mask to get anything to my mouth.

"No thank you, my dear. I'm not hungry. Enjoy your meal, then maybe I will read to you or we can sing."

She gave me an exasperated look, "Then wont you come sit and talk with me? If you just don't want my company, then please say so..."

"Of course I want your company!" I replied quickly, "I will come and join you in a moment.."

She smiled before going back to the sitting room.

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Erik didn't eat anything, but he did come sit with me. We talked about small things of no importance: the weather, books he read recently, Operas that might be performed in the future, and songs he was currently composing. I could tell how happy he was at having a simple conversation with someone, and the fact that he was happy made me happy as well. This poor man deserved to have small pleasures like small talk over tea just as everyone else did.

After I had finished eating, he led me to his library to read to me.

"What story would you like, Christine?"

"Tell me the story of the nightingale...the one that loved the rose..."

"You like that story Christine?" he asked. Something in his voice sounded strange to me, though I had no idea what it was.

"Yes, it is a good story. The rose was so brave to go against Allah and love the nightingale."

Erik nodded, "Yes. It took a great deal of bravery, but the love was a beautiful thing!"

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I knew Christine was naive and innocent. It is one of the many things I find endearing about her. I knew she would never understand that in my mind, she was the rose and I was the nightingale. I prayed every day to a God I hardly believed in that she would find the courage of that rose. It was with this futile hope that I continued to tell her the story.

And so I told her the story of the nightingale that loved the white rose, even though Allah forbade it. The nightingale returned everyday to sing to the rose, but the rose refused to open. One day, the rose found the courage to love the nightingale in return, despite Allah's wishes, and the white rose bloomed into a red one. It was a great beauty that Allah never wished the world to see.

When I finished the story, I looked down at Christine, who was sitting at my feet. She turned to me and I saw that she had a content smile on her face.

"It is such a beautiful story, Erik."

I only nodded in return, disappointed that the meaning of me telling her the story had yet again escaped her.

"I should take you back to the Opera before you are missed Christine."

"Yes, I suppose I must," she replied.

And with that, we headed back to the surface.

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When we reached the dressing room, I turned to Erik to bid him farewell. I wanted to tell him that I understood his story, that I wanted to find the strength of the rose, but I couldn't find the words.

Oh how I wanted to love him! I wanted to give him the simple happinesses that life offered. He deserved to have a wife to talk to and have tea with. He needed someone to be there to talk about trivial things in life. And oh, how I wanted to be that someone!

But I lacked the very simple courage needed to love this man even half as much as he loved me.

I hadn't noticed that I had been staring at him, or that I had begun to cry, until he spoke.

"What is it Christine? Please, do not cry! I can not bear it!"

"Oh Erik!" I sobbed.

"What is it, my dear?" he sounded very worried.

I didn't answer, but I instead fell into his thin chest and cried.

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I didn't know how to react, so I tried awkwardly to put my arms around her. It was the first time I had embraced anyone, and it would have been wonderful if I hadn't been so worried about the weeping angel I held.

"Please, tell Erik what is bothering you," I tried again. I was terribly worried for her. What could have happened to change her mood so drastically?

"I..I can't say!" she choked out, "And that is the problem, I have no words to tell you what I want to!"

I sighed, "My dear Christine, I will always be there for you whenever you need me, and you can tell me absolutely anything. I will never turn from you or betray you in any way, do you understand?"

She nodded, but her crying didn't stop. If anything, she started crying harder.

I opened my mouth to ask her if I had done something wrong, but a knock on the door stopped me.

"Christine, is that you? Are you ok?" came a voice from the other side.

It was the boy.

Christine looked fearfully at the door, and then at me. Her blue eyes were still full of tears, and her small body was shaking with the violence of her sobs. I didn't want to leave her in this state, but we both knew I couldn't stay.

"I must leave for now, my dear, but I am never far."

She nodded, and I turned back to the mirror.