Raoul usually would have left the opera house at an earlier hour on a day like this. There had been no show tonight, and he had really only stopped by to speak to Christine. But Christine had been constantly busy with one thing or another all day. Raoul had tried to catch her again and again, and again and again he had been told she was onstage rehearsing now, or meeting with the costume department, or doing something dreadfully important.

She was a diva now, and therefore always busy. He was happy about the former, but the latter not so much. They'd reunited months ago now. Just as her career had really started going. And he had thought then that now that they were together, things could only go smoothly. He would take her out to dinner occasionally and to fancy events, and they would talk about their past and maybe about their future, and sooner or later he'd work up the courage to tell her how he felt.

That hadn't happened.

The first part, yes. They went to dinners and to events. Sometimes they reminisced too, though only briefly. But every time he tried to steer the conversation in a more serious direction, something would come up. Either one of them would be called away, or Christine would change the subject, or…well, something. It never seemed to work out.

But tonight, he had hopes. Even though Christine hadn't spoken to him all day. You see, he had received a letter. In a politely cursive hand it told him to wait for Christine in Box Five at the end of the day and she would come up and talk to him. And it was signed with Christine's name…although the hand was not quite the way Raoul remembered Christine's handwriting looking. But these things changed over the years.

So as the workers filtered out of the opera house and the last moments of rehearsal came to a close, Raoul headed up to Box Five. It was not too far from his usual box and thus easy to find.

As he opened up the door to the box, which was unlocked, he felt a prickling on the back of his neck. He glanced behind him. No, no one was there. The chorus director was still on stage talking to a couple singers, visible over the far wall of the box, but no one was in the hall behind him right now. No one was watching him.

He felt like he was trespassing as he stepped into the box, but surely Christine would not have told him to come if it were not allowed. And if it were against the opera house's rules and Christine still wanted him to do it, all the more reason—he liked the idea of joining her in a misdeed, for some reason. When they were children they used to play pranks on her father and on his own family often enough, generally Christine's ideas executed with his help. Even when they were caught it was a delicious feeling to be her cohort. But since his reunion with Christine everything between them had been perfectly proper.

He closed the door to the box and wandered to the balcony. The chorus director was winding up his conversation. Soon they might douse the candles in the chandelier, but there were lights on the walls, here and there. If he had to wait for her in the dark, he would, but he didn't relish the thought.

(Although, meeting her in the dark…that had a certain appeal.)

He had never been in this box before. Of course he didn't sample all the boxes in the opera house on a regular basis. The de Chagny family had a box reserved for them, and that was the only one he ever used to actually attend a show. It was a good box, too, with an excellent view. He was satisfied with it, and cared little about the other boxes. But this one had rumors about it. People said it was haunted.

He'd asked Christine about it once, casually. "Those rumors about Box Five—is it really reserved for a ghost?"

Christine had evaded that question too. She rarely answered any questions from him these days.

There was a noise behind him. Raoul turned—Christine?—but no, it was the shape of a man's body, a long, dark coat covering a tall back. Whoever it was had snuck in almost as quietly as Raoul, and now he was closing the door.

Raoul felt vaguely miffed at someone intruding on the box he now half considered to be his, but forced the affront away. After all, the door had been left unlocked. This person was no more a trespasser than he.

Then the man turned, and Raoul saw that half his face was covered in a white mask.

Odd—he didn't think any of the current shows involved masks. But perhaps he had lost track and there was a role involving one that he had forgotten.

"I'm sorry," he said, stepping away from the balcony. "I didn't mean to intrude. I'll just be going…"

He stepped towards the door (Christine would have to see him later, whatever it was, or perhaps he could sneak back if the man left) but the man stepped in his way.

Close up, there was something off about the man. He was wearing an amused sort of expression, for one, but more than that it was his lower lip. It was oddly shaped, too full and a little twisted. Raoul had heard some men say they liked women with full lips but even for a woman a lip like that was more than one might expect.

The man said, "How can you be intruding when you received an invitation?"

Raoul backed away, relaxing slightly. "Oh. You know Christine."

"Yes. I am Erik."

"Oh. I'm Raoul." Christine had never mentioned anyone named Erik to Raoul before, but she never gave names to her fellow performers in any of her anecdotes except when she was talking about Meg or Carlotta, or occasionally La Sorelli, because of the connection to Raoul's family.

He offered his hand. "It's nice to meet you."

Erik was wearing black gloves of leather. For a moment Raoul gripped one, long fingered and firm, and then Erik's grip slid up his hand to grip his wrist instead.

Raoul smiled stiffly and tried to pull his hand away. Erik didn't let go. Instead, he easily twisted Raoul's wrist behind his back, forcing Raoul to gasp at the unnatural angle.

"What the hell!" He kicked back at Erik, now standing behind him, trying to hit legs. Something impacted one of his knees and he stumbled. Erik's other hand, the one that wasn't holding his wrist, shoved him down into a kneel on one of the chairs, facing the back of the chair, facing the back of the box.

The opera house had gone silent. There had to be no one left onstage—not that anyone would be able to see what was going on up here anyhow…

Erik took hold of his other wrist and, while he tried to squirm away, brought the wrists together. For a moment Erik held both wrists in one bony hand as he rummaged around in his coat for something. Raoul craned his neck to see him bring out a roll of twine.

Cursing, Raoul kicked back again and tried to free his wrists. But Erik ignored him completely, held his wrists still and wrapped two layers of twine around before tying a knot so tight that with every jerk as it was pulled closed Raoul winced in pain.

Then he let go. Raoul scrambled off the chair and shouldered his way out of the aisle, putting a couple feet between them. He bent his knees, trying to get into a fighting stance. Not much use with his hands tied behind his back, but at least he wouldn't give the man another chance to take his knees out so easily.

"Who the hell are you?" he demanded.

Erik grinned. He looked at Raoul with a certain fierce satisfaction that had been absent on his face earlier. The look of a predator. "I told you. My name's Erik. I'm a friend of Christine's."

For a brief moment Raoul felt a surge of doubt. Had Christine set him up, sent him here to be robbed or kidnapped for ransom? His family could afford it, that was true.

But no, she wouldn't. She was distant lately, but there was a difference between distant and treacherous.

Erik said, "I teach her music, and I listen to her talk." He stepped closer to Raoul and Raoul resisted the urge to step back. It would weaken his stance and if he actually tried to run he didn't doubt Erik could catch up before he got anywhere with people. "She tells me about her troubles. About you, sometimes."

"What does she say about me?" Raoul said instinctively, before shaking his head and scowling. Not the priority right now. Even if he wondered if Erik was telling the truth, and if so, what she might have said. This Erik was clearly dangerous and unconventional. What kind of relationship could such a man have with a woman like Christine?

Erik sighed. He leaned against the arm of one of the seats. "You know the kind of things women say. It's all very typical. What I want to know is what you have to say about her."

"My relationship with Christine is none of your concern," Raoul said. Now he did step back, carefully easing one foot backwards and then the other without lifting them off the floor. "Leave me be. I do not wish to speak to a man who speaks his piece with violence."

Erik just shook his head.

That was all the warning he gave before lunging at Raoul, his attack quick this time, an actual tackle rather than a slow manipulation of limbs. He slammed Raoul against the wall—not the balcony wall, thank God—and at some point he must have made a loop out of the twine because he slipped a noose of it over Raoul's neck, pulling it tight, pulling, pulling…

Raoul bucked at his grip. And then the pressure was released, the noose loosening. Raoul coughed. But Erik was at his feet with more twine, binding his legs together, and by the time Raoul was ready to do something about it, it was too late. He'd been tied up very nicely, and even if he thought he could outrun Erik it was now too late.

And Erik was grinning again. "So tell me, what do you think about Christine?"

"I don't believe you're friends with her. She's never mentioned you."

"That shouldn't matter to you—though in fact I asked her to keep me a secret. I'm not the social type." His grin had faded but now he was smirking. An understatement, then.

"Christine doesn't make friends with people who are violent." She had disapproved of violence for as long as Raoul had known her. It was one reason she had always liked him: According to her (when they were children, at least) he was the least violent boy she knew. "What's your real connection to her?"

Erik sighed. He cracked his knuckles. "Monsieur, you are not the one asking questions right now. That would be me."

Raoul pressed his body against the wall. With his legs tied, if he even tried to shuffle away he'd probably fall flat on his face. "I don't know what your business is with Christine, but I'm not going to tell you anything."

Christine received the note from Madame Giry just before she left the opera house. Very late—she had been staying after rehearsal later and later these days, as a diva's work was never done. That and she had perhaps lingered a bit longer than she had planned. She had only seen Raoul very briefly today but he had said something about meeting up with her that evening, as though they had made plans—well, it had been confusing but she had expected him to show up at her room at some point. That had not happened. It was disappointing, but perhaps for the best. She had tried of late not to show Raoul too much favor. Common sense told her an affair with a Vicomte could only end badly. Despite his apparent innocence, he was no longer the boy she had known in Sweden, and she was not sure she could trust him, even if it pained her to keep him at an arm's length.

She wished she could discuss such worries with Raoul. Alas, it was impossible. She barely dared to speak about them with Meg. She told Erik about them instead. While he rarely appreciated hearing about her affection for others, especially men, she thought it might make him worry less about Raoul's intentions toward her to see that she was on guard already. And she needed to at least talk to someone.

The note tonight was from Erik, although he still signed it as "O.G.", probably out of habit. It told her to go to Box Five immediately. Even though she'd been just about to head out, and she was already wearing her coat and everything. Doubtless he had planned it this way. Erik rarely cared if he caused her inconvenience. Sometimes she thought he even relished it as a way to force her to prove he was her priority, prove that she was still loyal to her Angel even now that she had achieved worldly success.

With a sigh, she went back to her room, took off her coat, and then headed out to Box Five. What could he even want this time of night? It was a bit late for a singing lesson. Besides, he rarely called her out to Box Five unless he wanted her to watch opera with him rather than performing. He said it was to give her a more experienced palate and she pretended she didn't know it was because he was in one of his moods—irritable, frustrated, lonely.

The door was unlocked when she reached Box Five. She opened it and stepped in. The box was still lit, although most of the theater was now dark, and many of the seats were covered in shadow.

"Erik?" she called out, seeing no one there. Surely he wouldn't have summoned her only to fail to show up himself.

A sound came from the front of the box, near the balcony. It was not Erik's voice that she could tell, clear and echoing and full. More of a strangled grunt, much too undignified for Erik.

She hesitated at the door. "Erik?" More grunting.

She couldn't stay here. Erik had told her to come and no doubt whomever was here, she was supposed to meet. She didn't like to defy him.

Slowly, she walked down to the front of the box.

The sound was coming from a man seated in the front row, and the reason for the grunting quickly became clear—he was tied and gagged, and obviously uncomfortable. His clothes were rumpled and he was trussed with thin, splintery twine from his ankles to his torso. The gag was a crumpled handkerchief. Cheap stuff, all of it, but a more expensive looking black ribbon tied an envelope to the front pocket of his crumpled coat.

The man's face was bruised and that, combined with the oddity of such a sight, made it take Christine a moment to realize it was Raoul.

Her eyes met his. He looked dazed, but his eyes widened and he nodded, pointing his chin at the ropes tying his arms back. His left eye was just above where the bruise was just beginning to blossom, and it looked a little squinty.

Erik's work. There could be no doubt of that. But why would he choose to attack Erik now of all times?

She sat down on the seat next to Raoul's and touched his cheek, the bruised one. Then she untied the envelope from his front pocket. Helping Raoul would have to wait—Erik had called her here for a reason and she couldn't risk his getting angry at her undoing his work if it wasn't what he wanted. Clearly he was angry enough already.

"Dear Christine,

"I have of late listened to your worries about Monsieur le Vicomte de Chagny with great concern. Your caution is admirable. However, my own observations of the vicomte led me to believe him an honorable man and infatuated with you, not the worst choice of lover if lover you must have. Since in such cases it is wise to exercise prudence, I interrogated him as to his intentions. He refused to say anything, believing me to be a threat to you. Impudent, but very resilient, and I was glad to see that he wanted to protect you, even when I had the upper hand.

"It is your choice, of course, whether to interpret his protective nature as love for you or bravado. You know him better than I. However, based on our conversation and my previous observations, I think most of your fears are unfounded, and he is more faithful than you believe. So I have left him here for you as a present. Do with him as you wish.

"Sincerely yours,

"O.G."

She folded the letter and placed it back in the envelope. She had miscalculated—telling Erik anything about Raoul, even the reasons she was avoiding him, had not been safe. She shouldn't have mentioned Raoul at all. She should have rejected him outright, not even keeping him as a friend, from the first time he showed up at the Opera Populaire.

Too late now, though.

Carefully she pried Raoul's mouth open as far as she could—he was trying to cooperate but finding it difficult—and pulled the gag out. Immediately Raoul went into a fit of coughing and blinking, doubled over in his seat.

She dropped the gag on the floor. "I see you met Erik."

"I didn't tell him anything." Raoul was hoarse. "What does he want with you? What is he to you?"

"He is the opera ghost. We are…acquainted." Now was not the time to label Raoul's interrogator as her own confidant and close friend. "I am sorry he has hurt you. You may have heard he causes accidents around here sometimes, but he is not usually this violent."

"Christine, you are in danger…"

"I am fine." She nudged his shoulder and he turned so she could untie the knots on his back. The twine hurt her fingers, but she didn't have a knife with her and it was obvious the tightness of the bindings hurt Raoul far more than her.

The first loop came away, and she moved onto his wrists after casting the string on the ground next to the gag. "Why didn't you tell him anything?"

"He is a madman."

"Temperamental." Her nails slipped and dug into his skin. This knot was the tightest she had seen yet. "You didn't need to protect me. Not if it got you hurt."

"I'm not hurt," Raoul protested.

Christine raised her eyebrows.

"Anyways, it doesn't matter. I don't care if I get hurt for you. I would die for you."

It was the most dramatic thing Raoul had said to her since their reunion. The tone was familiar though; when they were children he used to make declarations like this all the time.

True love or bravado? Probably both. He was an idiot but he meant it—as this incident had demonstrated, he would die for her easily. It was one of the most frightening things about him.

And if Christine was being honest with herself, the weight of that devotion made her hesitate as much as her earlier fears that he would use her. If she took his love she would be responsible for him, for keeping him safe and making sure she didn't damage his far too fragile heart. She was older now, and love seemed more complex, more serious than it had when she was young.

Raoul said, "Christine?"

She had paused in untying him. "This knot is too hard. We might need to go to my room and get a knife." She only had a letter opener there, but it would be better than nothing.

"All right. Can you get my legs, though? You can hardly carry me."

Christine nodded. She knelt and went to work on his ankles. The knots here were much less tight, either because Erik had been less careful or Raoul had not pulled at them as much. Either way, she had the bottom knot undone in minutes.

"If you meet Erik again," she said, "tell him I won't be pleased if he hurts you again."

"And he'll listen to that?" Raoul's tone was highly skeptical.

"Maybe. At any rate, do as he wants. Defying him is pointless."

"Who is he?" Raoul's voice trembled. "Is he…is he your lover, Christine? I did not think you had one."

His eyes were wide and vulnerable. Christine stood. Leaning over, she gently pressed a kiss to his bruised cheek. "I do have a lover, Raoul. It's you."

Raoul gaped.

It was a reckless thing to say. She would probably regret it later—as a diva and as Erik's pupil, she shouldn't get involved with an innocent like Raoul. It would be more trouble than it was worth. There would be rumors, and Raoul's family would disapprove, and Erik would probably have a different opinion on Raoul every day, and she would have to constantly run interference. But she couldn't leave Raoul hanging any longer. Not after tonight.

She knelt again and began to work on untying his knees. And Raoul sat perfectly still, unable to form a response but at least allowing her to do her work. Later, she would have to tell him more about Erik, warn him to be more careful. But for now she would let him absorb her softer words, and hope they would wipe this evening's pain away.

AN: This was literally written for the prompt "unbind me", on a list where this was supposed to be about one character freeing another. Depending on how you look at it, this is a fic about Christine freeing Raoul from very literal bondage or Erik freeing Christine from her doubts about Raoul's love. Mostly the first. But like. Maybe a little the second? It also speaks to the part of me that likes writing Erik shipping R/C but only in the worst way possible.

Reviews are always appreciated.