A/N: Fondest greetings to you all… Welcome to the next adventures of Erik and Christine, written by your loveable author, Bondaged Vampiresa. This is my third phic, ALW 2004 based (but influences from Kay's Phantom), a continuation taking place two years after the events at the Opera Garnier (name taken from Phantom, not ALW). Here's a quick note about the chapters: The titles will be taken directly from lines from Phantom, kind of as a foil to the use of ALW lyrics as my chapter titles for Joys of the Flesh (my second phic, Kay-based). This is an E/C phic (as always), but unlike It's Over, it is completely fop-... I mean…Raoul-friendly. I know, I know…I'm surprised myself.

P.S: As always, reviews are greatly appreciated. To any loyal reviewers who have followed me from It's Over, I am eternally grateful for your support. Also, on another note, the phic I just mentioned is nearing 400 reviews (although it is completed). If you have read it but did not submit a review, please do so. I know it sounds strange, but I like the number 400, so it would be wonderful if It's Over actually reached that many. Thank you!

Memory- all alone in the moonlight,
I can smile at the old days.
I was beautiful then…
I remember the time I knew what happiness was.
Let the memory live again.

Memory, Andrew Lloyd Webber's Cats

MY SPIRIT LONGS

If it was raining, she did not notice.

Instead, she waited in reserved silence, her eyes sweeping across the creek that dipped and twirled beneath the bridge on which she stood. The last of the sun's rays peeked over the horizon, throwing long, scarlet shadows over her ashen face. The sky, tempestuous yet strangely tranquil in its sublime indifference, seemed to swim and whirl across an ocean of shifting winds. A sigh escaped her lips, and her gaze turned upward towards the heavens. A single, small opening appeared lazily in the now blackened clouds.

She began to hum to herself without realizing it, a chillingly familiar tune of long ago…

The breeze began to pick up, swirling around her head and picking up strands of her deep brunette hair. Its deep moaning sounded like a voice whispering in her ear, and she sighed. Sinking to her knees, she began to unlace her small, simple black shoes, placing them carefully off to the side of the narrow cobblestone road. Using the light cast from the distant silhouette of Lyons, she made her way down to the banks of the trickling stream.

She watched as the subtle glow was reflected off the dark brook, showering her in glimmering pinpricks of light. Tiny leaves and sticks floated past her with sinuous apathy, and she dipped the very tips of her toes into the creek. The water was colder than she expected, and she withdrew her foot in surprise. Smiling at her own cowardice, she returned to the stream, stepping onto one of the larger stones that stuck out of the glasslike water.

She hopped from one rock to another, now laughing to herself out loud. The sound was beautiful…the giggle of mirth escaping the lips of an angel. For a moment she forgot about the poignant, cheerless thoughts that had crossed her mind only minutes before…

"Christine!"

She paused in the middle of the brook, glancing over her shoulder at the approaching horse. A carriage followed not far behind, a small lantern swinging heavily from side to side. Raoul de Chagny stopped by the side of the creek, clutching another oil lamp in his hand, and he slid gracefully off the side of his stallion. He held the lantern above his head, his face a mirror of irritated relief. "Christine…" His feet were planted in the thick brown mud that lined the stream, but he made no move to come closer. "Come on, Christine," he called to her in exasperation. "You could break your neck out there!"

Christine sighed and jumped onto the nearest stone. She paused, glancing at Raoul, then stepped down into the icy water. The chilliness caused the hair on the back of her neck to stand on end, but she continued to wade towards him, reaching her hand out to him. She felt the waves of liquid ice push against her trembling legs, but she ignored their persistence.

Raoul grasped her by the arm and entwined his fingers with hers, pulling her up to the top of the bank with ease. Quickly he removed his jacked and flung it over her, rubbing the sleeves in an attempt to keep her warm. He closed his hands over her cheeks, running his thumbs over her skin. "What were you thinking?" he asked firmly, leading her up the bank with his hand behind her back. "You said you were merely taking a walk on the grounds…and you promised to be back before the sun set." He spread his free arm out to the darkened sky. "You're a little late, Christine."

After picking up her shoes that lay neglected on the side of the street, Raoul opened the door to the carriage, holding the oil lamp up over her head to guide her step. She turned back to him, a small smile lingering on her rosy lips. "I'm sorry to have frightened you, dear," she said softly, placing a light kiss on his cheek. "It won't happen again."

Nodding, he closed the buggy door, staring into her eyes. "I know it won't. You must try to remember that you're a Vicomtess now, Christine. There are certain things that are expected, and other things that…aren't." He sighed good-naturedly. "Midnight strolls along a brook unaccompanied would be deemed 'inappropriate' by higher society." She nodded guiltily, eyes cast towards the ground. A sigh escaped him, and he picked up her hand in his own, pressing his lips to her fingers. "To hell with higher society, Christine…I just don't want anything to happen to you." She smiled vaguely, and he trailed his fingers idly over the back of her hand. "I'll see you when we get home."

Christine watched his retreating back as he headed for his horse, the smile slowly melting from her face like wax from a candlestick. She leaned her head against the back of the seat, turning her eyes to the dark sapphire sky. The moon appeared in the small hole that floated aimlessly above her, and she watched as it was slowly encompassed by shadows.

As the last half disappeared into the darkness, Christine was struck by how much it resembled a mask…

"Are you coming to bed, Christine?"

She started from her wandering thoughts, blinking in surprise. Taking one last glance at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, she pulled off her lace shawl and draped it over the back of the door before stepping into the darkness of her bedroom. Raoul sat on the edge of the bed, shirtless, and he looked up at her with a wide, boyish smile on his face. "I was beginning to think you fell asleep in there, my dear…" He stood from his seat, picking up her hands in his own with an affectionate tenderness. As he held her at arm's length, his gentle eyes trailing over her face, he brought her fingers up to his lips and kissed her delicately on the knuckles. "I thank God everyday for you, Christine," he murmured.

Christine smiled softly, cheeks darkening into an endearing blush. "You spoil me, Raoul."

"And I enjoy every minute of it…" he whispered into her ear, moving his mouth to the base of her jaw line. He placed light kisses down the side of her neck, pulling her closer to him with gentle eagerness. "You are so beautiful, Christine…like an angel from heaven…"

She froze in the middle of his embrace, shocked into silence as he encircled her in his arms. Raoul felt her small frame tense, and he released her, holding her by the arms and staring at her with a mixture of curiosity and concern. Christine put on a weak, ghost of a smile and placed her hand against his cheek. "I'm a little tired, Raoul…perhaps we could pick up where we left off tomorrow?" She caught the fleeting look of disappointment as it crossed his face, and she rested her chin on her chest, avoiding his eyes with determined remorse.

He dropped his arms to his sides, nodding vigorously. "Of course…the trip to Mons must have tired you. Look at you…" Raoul tilted her face up with gentle fingers. "…You look exhausted; you're practically trembling." He took her by the arm and helped her into the bed, pulling the covers down to the foot of the mattress and placing a kiss on her forehead. There was something different about his touch then, something Christine could not name but simply sense… A moment later it was gone, and she watched with dawning shame as his shadowy outline climbed beneath the blankets beside her.

"Good night, dear Raoul," she whispered so quietly that she doubted he could hear her. He made no response, and within a few moments, she heard his heavy, rhythmic breaths fill the air around them. His back was to her, and she turned to look out the window, her head coming to rest on the soft downy feathers of her pillow. The moon stared back at her with taunting unconcern. 'Damn you,' she thought to herself, gazing at the floating silver orb with unfounded frustration and resentment. 'Must you always haunt me…?'

A tear slipped from the corner of her eye as she drifted to sleep, the tiny drop of water suspended on her lashes.

It did not fall.

Raoul had come to find that there was a distinct difference in the atmospheres of Lyons and Paris. He could not decide which he preferred: the languid ease of Lyons, with its relaxing breath of cool simplicity; or the rich warmth of the heart of France, it's center for art and physical love…his hometown of Paris. As he made his way down the streets of Lyons, he found himself leaning towards this new city, the place he had brought Christine a few weeks after their marriage. He pulled her a bit closer to him, and she smiled up at him warmly. A young man in a top hat passed them, his eyes lingering on Christine's perfect form, and Raoul laughed to himself. There was not a man in Lyons who had not felt a pang of jealousy towards the young Vicomte, with his exquisite new wife…

"May I ask what is so amusing, Raoul?"

He glanced down at her, the grin on his face unwavering. "Nothing…nothing at all, my dear. Just thinking of a joke Philippe told me once…" He watched her turn her large chocolate eyes back to the sidewalk ahead of them, and with silent awe, Raoul reflected on the fact that even after two years, she still managed to take his breath away with her beauty.

Christine fanned herself with a gloved hand, feeling slightly faint in the warmth of summer. This damned heat was going to be the death of her… She smiled inwardly, imagining Raoul's reaction if she were to voice such profanities. There were many things of which her husband was left unaware… The corners of her lips turned downward at the depth of those words. She turned her face from the sun, a wide shadow encompassing her face. At least her skin would not burn… She fingered the large-brimmed hat atop her head with a mixture of annoyance and gratitude. Raoul had presented her with at least fifteen of these hats, in every color imaginable, only a few days after they arrived in Lyons. 'They're all the rage in Paris, darling,' he had said in response to her initial reluctance. 'Humor me…please?'

And that had been the end of the discussion.

Now, Christine found herself at least a little thankful for his exhausting yet somewhat endearing persistence. She placed one hand over her tightly corseted stomach, fanning herself with even more vivacity. What she wouldn't do for just one cloud to grace the brilliant cerulean sky… They passed a small music shop, and Christine paused for a moment outside the window. The older gentleman behind the counter saw her staring and smiled genially at her, eyes twinkling behind small golden eyeglasses, but she took no notice. Her eyes lingered on an elegant rosewood violin, faultless in its design, beautiful in its eloquence…

In the back of her mind, she heard the distant, bittersweet sound of a bow against its strings, playing a tune not lost to her memory…

"Would you like to go in, Christine?"

She turned her eyes to Raoul sharply. "No," she said poignantly, and he was taken aback by her sudden brusqueness. "No, I have no interest in that store. Music no longer amuses me…it's childish, really." Turning around, she started back down the street, Raoul taking quickened steps in order to catch up with her long, determined strides.

"Wandering child, so lost…"

Christine hurried her pace, trying to get as far away from the shop as possible. She heard Raoul's voice vaguely in the background, but she ignored his confused and angry pleas.

"So helpless…"

"Christine…?"

She pressed her fingers to her temple, squeezing her eyes shut. A dull pounding had begun to throb relentlessly against her head, like the steady, rhythmic beating of a drum.

"Yearning for my…"

"Christine!"

She turned to face him, eyes wide. Raoul took her by the arms and held her up, her lips parted slightly. "Christine, what happened?" She shook her head, clutching her face with her hands. "Answer me!"

His face began to darken with shadows, his voice growing dim against the approaching darkness as the sun's relentless rays beat down upon her. The impending blackness crept into the corners of her sight, and she felt her knees give way beneath her…

Despite the unbearable heat, Christine suddenly felt very cold, like an icy breath had caressed the very essence of her soul.

"Physically, there's nothing wrong with her, Vicomte. She's a healthy young woman, no conditions with her heart, no weakness of the muscles, no unnatural deficiencies…"

"No baby? She's not…pregnant?"

Raoul could tell the doctor had not missed the note of hopefulness in his voice. The short, balding man frowned and shook his head. "No, I'm sorry Monsieur…she is not pregnant." Raoul nodded, turning to look at Christine as she lay sleeping in their bed. He felt a hand clasp his shoulder, and he turned to find the doctor standing beside him, also staring down at the beautiful creature before them. "Do no worry, Vicomte. You have only been married for two years. Plenty of husbands have had to wait a while for an heir." He placed a tall black hat on top of his hairless head. "You are not alone in your plight."

"Then what is wrong with her, doctor? Women do not just faint on the streets in Paris…I assume it is the same here." The little man before him glanced at Christine before responding.

"Perhaps she was overheated, Monsieur. It was a hot day, and we as men do not know the tribulations of a corset…my wife has often complained of its lack of comfort." He picked up his cane from its place beside the door and turned back to Raoul. "But my wife has been known to exaggerate. Perhaps she is not the best person to ask." Raoul smiled weakly.

"But doctor…" The man raised his eyebrows, acknowledging him. "Could this have been something besides a physical malady? Maybe it had to do with some sort of psychological…?"

The doctor's frown deepened, considering. "It is possible…is she under much stress?" Raoul opened his mouth to answer, but he shut it after a moment, unsure of how to respond. "If so, a vacation might do her well… Does she have any friends with whom she could stay for a weekend? Catch up on old times, forget about the here and the now…?"

Raoul nodded slowly. "Would I need to go with her?"

Shaking his head vigorously, the doctor pulled on his coat and scarf. "No, Monsieur…I would advise against it." He stepped through the doorway without another word.

Glancing out the window, Raoul watched as the doctor climbed into his carriage. He pulled a chair up to the side of Christine's bed and ran his hand over her smooth, pale cheek absently. By his reaction, Raoul assumed the doctor had thought that perhaps he was the cause of Christine's stress, if that was indeed the problem… No matter, he thought distractedly, waving the suppositions aside. He would follow the doctor's instructions despite what the assumed causes were… Raoul rubbed his hand across his narrow chin, sighing inwardly.

Christine would get away from high society, and she would come back refreshed, energetic, and…just as she had been when they had been children. Raoul closed his eyes, remembering those summers in her father's house by the sea. How vivacious and spirited she had been in those days…always full of life, overflowing with innocent joy. Christine moaned in her sleep, and Raoul's eyes snapped open. She turned her face away from him, lips drawn shut tightly, and he realized: He had married a memory. The old Christine was gone, and in her place was a quiet ghost of the girl with whom he had fallen in love.

Perhaps a vacation would bring her back…

He stood from his seat and left the room.

Finding a way to get in touch with the Giry's had been a challenge in and of itself; luckily, Raoul had kept in touch with enough of his colleagues in Paris to abstract the necessary information. They were, of course, still living in the same city…Raoul had never doubted that. An old friend informed him that the Giry's were living in the outskirts of Paris, occupying a house that had belonged to the Madame's uncle, now deceased.

He had been surprised at the difficulty he found in physically addressing Christine's guardian…he had not actually held a conversation with either Meg or her mother more than twice during his visits to the Opera Garnier. But the real shock had come in the speed in which Madame Giry's reply had arrived back at the de Chagny manor.

When he found the small manila envelope atop the stack of mail not three days after sending his request, Raoul had stared at the letter in mute astonishment for a moment, hardly believing his eyes. Quickly he took the note into his study and shut the door.

He had not informed Christine of his intentions…half of him wanted to present Christine with a pleasant surprise, and the other half assumed she would reject his purposes if he told her ahead of time. Raoul slipped the dull point of his letter-opener into the crack of the envelope and eased its way down to the other side. Extracting the note from its pocket, his eyes skimmed the lines of Madame Giry's impeccable script. Yes, Christine was welcome in their home…no, she would not be an inconvenience at all…no, she did not need to bring any money with her, she would be taken care of like a daughter…

Raoul hesitated before reading the last section of the letter. He had been unsure of how to word his questioning, so in his correspondence he simply asked (quite bluntly): Had she had any contact with Christine's old tutor? None was the curt response. The Phantom was presumed dead, and all police investigations had been halted only a week after the first and last performance of Don Juan. Raoul read and reread those lines, feeling a small burden lift from his shoulders. Now there would be no hesitation in his sending her to Paris. Only for a few days, he told himself silently as he stood outside her door.

Only a few days…

"Christine…?"

A/N: Yes, I know, there was a severe lack of a slightly important character in this chapter…I don't think I even said Erik's name once in the whole thing. Well, I said it there. Erik Erik Erik Erik. There you go…just to tide you over.