Raoul le Vicomte de Chagny strode down the hallway to Erik's office, completely numb after the events of the last few days. He was a new widower with no direction for his grief. Agreeing to see the phantom, now calling himself Mister Y, did nothing for his nerves.

Raoul had resigned himself to losing Christine to her angel after ten years of marriage, ten difficult years, once she opened her mouth to let her song fly free. Her song…His song, of course. Raoul recognized that losing her would require plans, explanations, and no small level of humiliation. But not even a few hours after realizing he'd lost the bet, she was lost to the world. A death, a funeral was something people could at least understand. He still could not fathom why Meg shot Christine. Meg? They were the best of friends, or so he had believed. What could have possessed the dancer? Apparently Meg had wanted Erik's attention as well.

Raoul remembered running with Gustave to find his wife limp in the arms of her bereft demon angel on the docks. Erik had looked up, his expression a mix of shock and horror. The masked creature had extricated himself from her body, giving that space to Raoul. A small kindness, Raoul had to admit, an unexpected one from the fiend. The Vicomte had taken his place, cradled Christine's form, and embraced her for a last time. Erik had staggered to the edge of the pier and collapsed to his knees, and for a moment Raoul expected the monster would let himself plunge into the surf.

Still, Raoul approached the working space of his rival apprehensively. Whatever could the madman want now? Hadn't he already taken enough? The door swung open before Raoul could knock. Of course it did. He stepped carefully inside.

The room was dark, darker than the well-lit carnival of Coney Island. Raoul let his eyes adjust. There were lit candles about and a few gas lights were burning, but the walls were covered with dark red and black paper and draped with heavy curtains that seemed to absorb the diffuse light.

The scratching of a pen drew Raoul's attention. Erik sat at his elegant mahogany desk, writing diligently on some document. He reached the end of his writing and turned to face Raoul. He looked tired, the grief fresh and taking its toll. Despite their quarrel over who would possess Christine, Raoul recognized that this soul suffered her loss as much his own. Erik's enchanting voice softly offered a greeting.

"Welcome. I am most appreciative you've agreed to see me. Even a little surprised."

"I'm not entirely sure why I agreed to come myself," Raoul answered stiffly. He had rarely heard the phantom's speaking voice at a normal conversational volume. It was melodious and soothing, hypnotic. Raoul found himself understanding Christine's inability to resist. It was lovely to hear French spoken again, even if by Him.

"Please have a seat. Would you care for tea? Wine? Tea would be better."

"No, thank you." Raoul sat on a luxurious red velvet settee and waited. Erik stood up from his desk chair, but did not approach. A cold, fragile truce held them. Erik at last broke the silence.

"Were you…were you actually leaving?" he finally asked.

"Yes. She sang. I lost." Raoul had minimal desire to discuss this point.

"You were keeping our agreement?" Erik prompted.

"Yes. What do you want me to say? I lost! I lost my wife, my family. My life as I had known it." Something broke loose in Raoul as he continued. "I should have known better. We should have left as soon as we landed here. Then she…all of this would never have happened." Raoul stopped himself. He realized that losing control around Erik was no doubt rather dangerous. Erik, however, did not seem to take it amiss.

"Yes, that is quite true. You should have ignored my summons. Forbade her to come. My foolish need to see her again cost me dearly."

Raoul could not believe his ears. His weariness, his grief, his anger, and his desperate need for a drink crashed down upon him. He stood and crossed the space between them. Raoul clenched his fists into the lapels of Erik's coat as he seized the ghost and propelled them both into a wall.

"Cost you! Do you have any idea what it has been like for me? For her son?! Do you know what it is like to live with someone you love but always be haunted by the ghost of someone like you? I was her husband for ten years! Ten! I loved her! But she was never really my wife!"

As he spoke, Raoul shook Erik in his grasp, his voice steadily rising in volume and hysteria. He let go with his right hand and with all his strength struck Erik on the jaw. Raoul knew that this was a terrible course of action, but he could not stop. He struck again and again, not even aiming, finally losing his grip on Erik's coat as the former angel slid down the wall to the floor. Raoul could neither stop nor control himself. Erik did not fight back, did not even defend himself. Raoul picked up a glass vase and threw it at the wall over Erik's head. It shattered, raining crystal shards all around them.

Two of Erik's guards burst in the door and attempted to assess the chaos. Raoul was now kicking Erik as hard as he could, his fury fully out of control. As the guards deftly moved to pull Raoul away, Erik weakly raised a hand.

"Non, c'est bien – it is alright. Let him. …he has every right." The guards looked at one another, then at Raoul. Erik sat up, bracing himself on the floor, not really taking care of the broken glass. Blood trickled from under his mask and he clutched his middle.

"Thank you for your speed and service. On my desk are some envelopes for some of my employees. Please give those to Mme. Giry to hand out if she does not see me by tomorrow. Now, please leave us. Whatever you may hear, whatever may happen, please do not disturb us again. Thank you."

"But sir-"

"Thank you!" Erik repeated emphatically.

The guards stepped back, clearly not pleased with their orders. They retreated back out into the hallway with the envelopes and closed the door. From where he sat on the floor, Erik took off his coat and laid it next to him. He then unbuttoned his vest and held it open. The white dress shirt underneath shone in stark contrast to all the darkness. Erik looked up at Raoul, who leaned on the desk, still panting with exertion.

"My apologies for the interruption. You wish to continue?" Erik offered, once more in lyrical French.

Raoul found himself feeling ashamed, and worse, foolish. He had let his pent-up fury get the better of him. He had wanted to hurt Erik, to cause him pain, and had evidently succeeded. The nobleman had been raised to know this was not how he ought to behave, no matter the circumstances.

"No…no, I'm sorry." Raoul offered quietly. Erik took a careful breath. His ribs ached. He was fairly certain that at least one rib was broken and several were bruised badly or cracked. His face stung and ached. His mask had a crack in it. Some glass had sliced into his hands. No matter. The pain was a dull ache mixed with some sharp twinges. It was good, but not enough.

"Why should you be? You have no reason…but every reason to do what you did. Were the situation reversed, do you think I would have been particularly merciful?"

Raoul shook his head. He knew the answer to that. Erik slowly stood up. Raoul knew that the phantom was a good head taller than he, but didn't seem to tower so much now.

"Monsieur, please allow me to attend to business. Then to further pleasure." Erik returned to the desk, his breath sounded almost papery.

"Pardon?"

"I have here two different versions of more or less the same arrangement. I wish to transfer ownership of Phantasma to you. Well, more accurately, to Gustave."

"What?" Raoul tried to make sense of Erik's words, but the effort was failing him thus far. Erik picked up one dossier and continued.

"Option one - you can leave it as it is, you return to France, and we send you the profits. I'd ask that the employees who work here get paid and some investment funds remain available. I promised I would care for my employees as long as they work here and I'd hate to disappoint them. The rest will go to you, to be put away for Gustave's future. I'm including in this all my life's savings that are not marked for Phantasma. You can pay off your debts, start over as you like. I need not tell you, of course, that none of this is to go to your gambling or drinking."

"Of course..?" Raoul responded weakly. Erik put down the sheaf of papers and picked up the second one.

"The other option is that I sell it to whomever wishes to buy it, I pay off my performers, albeit handsomely, and give you the entirety of the remaining profit with my aforementioned savings. I have already signed both of them. All that remains is that you decide which way you wish to have it and sign the appropriate one. I have asked Mme. Giry to make happen whichever of these you prefer."

"I don't understand," Raoul felt a headache coming on. "Why would you stop running Phantasma? Isn't this your life now?"

"It was. Come, please. To pleasure."

Erik stood and guided Raoul to another door obscured by a velvet curtain. Behind the door, a damp hallway led into a stone room, dark and dismal. It would seem that Erik needed a dungeon wherever he lived. Chains hung on the wall, though Raoul could not tell if they were for use or merely décor. Erik moved to a cabinet on the wall opposite of the entrance, opened it, and pulled out several fierce devices. Knives, a whip, some rope, and some other instruments of pain and torment that Raoul could not identify appeared and were laid on a table. He felt his blood run cold. Erik picked up a pair of daggers and held them lovingly.

"These are two of my favorites. Such stories I could tell about them." He held one up for inspection. "A victim bleeds out quickly with this one. This one, though, slower bleed, and the edges are barbed so there is greater pain. Almost impossible to pull out without doing significant damage. Cleaning this one after use was always a touch distasteful. Such is the price for such vicious efficacy. These…these are for you." The tone in the phantom's voice caused Raoul to step back defensively.

"I don't understand. Why offer me all this…if you just want to kill me?"

Erik turned to Raoul, a surprised expression visible beneath the mask. "You? Not at all, monsieur. Why would you think…? I know you've hated me all your life, or at least all the while you knew of me. I know that night when the opera burned …you would dearly love to have me dead. After all, I almost did just that to you. I'm not only offering you financial security. I'm offering you your revenge."

Raoul tried to make his brain work through it, but it wouldn't cooperate.

"I know what I've done to you…what I did to Her…" Erik's breath caught in his throat. He paused a moment before continuing, in a distant reverie. "I was so close. I arranged the whole thing, you coming here, Christine singing. I so needed to hear her again. I almost had her, almost had my dreams. And she was taken from me…from everyone. You must believe me, I had no idea Meg was a danger to her. I never saw it…I should have. I'm to blame.

"I offer you satisfaction. What I did to her, to you, cannot be undone. But it can be accounted for. I gave you all the money I can to help her son, but that would never be good enough. I wish to pay for her life with mine. I give you your relief with my blood. I can educate you in the use of some of my restraint techniques if you wish me to die slowly. Not that I necessarily want to get away, but the body's natural reaction is for self-preservation and we wouldn't want that to interfere." Erik gestured at the chains on the walls, the rope on the table.

"What? Why are you doing this?" Raoul asked, ashen-faced and shocked.

"Because I deserve it! You deserve it! Why should I live if she does not? Here is your chance to relieve those years of living with my ghost. Wipe the slate clean. I've seen the anger seething within you. Felt it already. Just…release it. This is the only thing that will ease the anguish in my soul. I should suffer for her. And you should be the one to do it. The conductor of it and the audience as well. This is your right. My death in whatever form you wish."

Raoul looked at Erik in confusion. "My death, my pain, my blood are my gifts to you." These words echoed from the walls. Raoul heard the words, but could not determine their origin.

Erik removed his vest and dropped it carelessly on the floor, then unfastened the buttons of his shirt and pulled it open. His unprotected skin almost glowed in its pallor. He handed the daggers to the wide-eyed Vicomte.

"Bind me, if you wish, and do what you will." Erik issued this last sentence in his most hypnotic timbre as he knelt down before the disturbed Vicomte.

Raoul looked down at the weapons, the wicked-looking implements of death. Raoul turned his attention to the kneeling man. For just a moment, he let his imagination play with them. Erik was right. He would dearly love to take his anger and grief out on this man before him. He could slash at the phantom until he was naught but scarlet ribbons, open his chest and cut his very heart out and no one would stop him. Certainly not the guards. Not even the Ghost himself. Raoul could watch the life fade from his cursed mismatched eyes. The fantasies started to play fast and wild in his mind.

Raoul looked at the daggers again. He set one on the table and held tight to the second one, the maximum pain dagger. It vibrated in his hand to the rhythm of his pulse. He experimentally touched the blade. It was sharp, as promised. Raoul placed the edge against Erik's throat and held it there a moment. Erik waited, not moving. No sound but their quickened breaths echoed through the dank room. Raoul closed his eyes and envisioned slitting the instrument of the singing angel, that white unprotected throat, silencing the mesmerizing voice forever. He let himself see dark blood cascade in his mind's eye. Raoul opened his eyes, shifted the blade so that the tip was directly over Erik's heart, indenting the pale skin. A small bead of blood formed around the point. Raoul felt his hands start to tremble…a small amount of pressure would end this man. In his mind once more, he let the dagger sink slowly into the monster's chest, buried the blade to its hilt. He tried to imagine how it would be to then twist and extract the knife.

"Yes, do it." The voice that seemed to emanate from everywhere echoed in Raoul's mind again. Erik closed his eyes and leaned forward into the blade. A centimeter of the point penetrated into his chest. Raoul gazed at the blood now pooling around the dagger and running down the white skin, and pulled the dagger back. His arm shaking, he pointed the weapon once more near the heart of the monster. Raoul allowed his arm to drop and the blade to slice downward as if through warm butter. He heard the sharp intake of breath at the other end of the knife. A shallow red line etched into Erik's chest. A rivulet of blood stained the white shirt the masked man wore. Raoul raised the knife to do it again…

He envisioned Erik on the table, tied down, his chest a ruined cavity that Raoul himself had opened and destroyed. A sickening revulsion gurgled up from Raoul's stomach, a feeling at war with the voice in his mind. This was not who he was. None of his Navy training could have prepared him to execute a man himself, up close and intimate like this. It would be less an execution and more a butchery. He knew that if he allowed himself this revenge, the blood would never wash out of his mind nor his conscience. He knew also that Christine would not have wanted this. And what of Gustave? What would he think, now that he knew about…? Raoul let the knife fall from his hand. The sound of it hitting the floor seemed enormous in the silence of the room.

"No." Raoul turned away towards the door. "I can't. I won't."

"Why not?" Erik cried, stricken. "Is it not your duty as her husband? Surely your conscience will keep you clear. I certainly make you free of it. Tell me truly that you don't yearn to kill me."

"No matter how I feel, nothing I do will bring her back, certainly not this," Raoul gestured to the various implements of death and torture.

"Then… do it quickly and let it be a mercy," Erik pleaded.

Raoul shook his head and covered his eyes with a shaky hand. "No! I'm sorry, but no. Perhaps I'm too petty to grant you an escape."

Erik fell forward from his kneeling position onto the floor into something like a crawl. His heart flooded with relief, confusion, and disappointment. The damage he sustained was merely a tease, a decent start. A shallow stab wound and a shallower incision were hardly what he'd hoped for.

"Damn you, Vicomte," Erik felt tears threaten.

"As much as I am loathe to admit it, I know…. I'll not do harm to one she loved. She would not have wanted that for either of us." Raoul leaned against a damp wall.

"What I would really like may, in truth, be more painful that any dagger. I want answers. Answers to questions I never dared voice. I can't get those if you are dead. You will answer my questions and I can answer yours if you have any. Agreed?" Raoul asked. Erik nodded from the floor.

"First, here. I'm sorry." Raoul produced a handkerchief and handed it to Erik. Erik looked at it blankly for a moment. He turned away, pulled up his mask and dabbed at his face. Blood and tears soaked the fabric. Erik replaced the mask, turned back to Raoul, and tucked the handkerchief into his shirt to staunch the bleeding. Raoul offered his arm and helped the phantom to stand. Raoul turned and led the way back into the office. He needed something that didn't remind him so much of the Opera lair. He settled back on the settee. Erik sat gingerly in a large leather chair.

"Did you and she really…?" Raoul found it difficult to ask, even after all this time. He took a steadying breath. "Did she really…come to you?"

Erik readjusted his damaged mask and considered the answer. There was no point in lying, no need to spare feelings. This moment in time was somehow outside the conventions of the normal, civilized, polite world. He owed the truth, social niceties be damned.

"Yes. I've no idea how, but she found me. "

"You and she…you were physical with her?" Raoul persisted.

"You wish to hear it stated so plainly?" Erik asked, eyeing the Vicomte warily.

"I have long suspected, but I must know. Tell me, please. I need to hear the words. No games, no obfuscation. Just tell me."

Erik sighed. "Yes. She came to me. She found me and... This is what you wish to hear? That she gave herself to me for one night before wedding you? Shared my bed? Yes. I made love to her that night. I, a ghost, the monster! For one beautiful night…her purity sacrificed to my desperate desire."

Raoul sat back and let the news wash over him. Of course, he'd known it. He'd kept that thought buried a long time. The confirmation was a blow to his heart. Erik continued.

"After I- once it was…over, I somehow loved her even more deeply than I could believe was possible. And yet almost immediately, I was plagued by guilt. I had corrupted her, taken her purity and innocence, and replaced it with the poison that is me. I sullied your bride. I wanted her to choose me, god knows I did, craved her presence…but I knew it would be no life for her. I knew you'd be better for her. I loved her too much to condemn her to a life with me in a cellar. I left her. I lived in the memory of that night and it sustained me, fed my soul for years. I loved her with all I had…and I left. I was sure she'd hate me for abandoning her. Especially after… She told me a few days ago that she would have stayed with me had I not gone. She had chosen me. I don't know that it really changes how I felt then, but knowing I might have lived with her near…" A shudder wracked Erik's lithe frame.

"She also told me that Gustave is mine. Though how could she know that for certain? You were to wed so quickly after. It could have been either of us who sired the child. Strange thought, no?" Erik laughed mirthlessly. In his heart, he believed Gustave to be his. However, he knew of no way to prove it.

Raoul shifted uncomfortably. Erik had told him a difficult truth. As a man of honor, he had to do the same.

"We weren't married that quickly."

"No?" Erik asked cautiously.

"No. When she came back to me, it was already a few days later. I was frantic with worry. I wanted to marry her right then and there, family name be damned. She begged me to wait. She said it was for my own good. So that I could be sure. I didn't understand what she meant by that; I was never more certain of anything in my life. But I could not deny her if she asked me to wait, I'm sure you understand. So, we waited. It was three and a half months later that we married. We were not… intimate until we were properly wed."

"Months?" Erik repeated in a whisper.

"I thought that once we were away and married, you would be gone from us. That we'd have a new start and things would be like they once were when we were young. Foolish of me to think she could just put everything behind her, forget you. She changed before my eyes. She became anxious, nervous. She didn't speak of you, but I could always see her thinking about you, always just behind her eyes. Jealousy started to form in my mind. I had her beside me, but I was discontent because her mind was clearly somewhere else…with you. All I could see in her was regret. That she had me and not you.

"And then, she told me we were expecting. Here was something that would not be tainted by your memory. Something that bound us that was just us. At last! I was overjoyed. I fawned over her and waited on her. I cared for her every moment. She had a difficult confinement. When she went into labor I was terrified. It was far too early." Raoul stopped for a moment. He stood up and walked over to the decanters full of warm amber liquid. He picked one up and looked at Erik. Erik nodded his consent. Raoul poured a drink, sipped, then continued.

"I remember pacing about and asking the doctor if she'd survive. I knew the baby would likely not make it. I'll never forget that look the doctor gave me, a pitying look. He told me that no, both were healthy and normal and on schedule. He asked me how long we'd been married. I told him a little over five months at that point. The doctor said nothing else then, just shook his head. So I…I knew. And I was bitter that even this little piece of heaven was taken from me. I'd always have your shadow in my way. I sometimes comforted myself that you had, I don't know, tricked her or even raped her. But I also knew perfectly well that wasn't true. You were a lot of things, but that sort of monster you were not.

"She never said he wasn't mine. I never said that I suspected he wasn't. It was one of the many things we just…never spoke of. And those many things drove a divide between us. A distance that I found difficult to bridge. I found myself drinking more to kill the pain, stifle the jealousy. Gambling started after that, with more drinking to push back the guilt. I was a fool and unworthy of her. Gustave is your blood, your child, not mine. And I…I always knew it."

Erik listened in awe. "I am so sorry..."

"I vowed to be the gentleman, to raise Gustave, and care for him, and put away the thought that he wasn't mine. He was still hers. No one else would ever suspect. Why would they? If they thought about the early birth, they would just assume the fault was her 'lowly class,' or my…impatience. Nobles are never questioned too closely. I let them think what they wished. The truth was much harder to accept, let alone explain."

"You are a good man. Better than I, certainly. And Gustave never knew? That is, before now?"

"No. We never spoke of you. You were gone, dead we believed. What would be the point? Not until we came here did the need even arise. I was always distant as a father. I know he often wondered if I loved him. I could have done better. I should have. Nothing was ever his fault." Raoul sipped his drink.

"I never believed I would ever sire a child. I never really thought it possible that any woman would let me near, let alone...Christine was my one and only."

Raoul shifted in his seat. "No doubt…and mine as well."

"You?" Eric was incredulous. "Rich and handsome, you are telling me you never had any other woman? That none fell over you to offer themselves to you?"

"I am. Yes, I could have had any number of women who put themselves in my way, if I chose to. They wanted my name, my fortune, my family influence, my looks. I doubt they cared about me very much as an actual person. But I never wanted them. I wanted to be loved for myself. I know how that must sound to you. And it would not do to want that for myself and treat women dishonorably. Like you…I only ever wanted her. And after Gustave, the doctor made it clear that it would be better if she had no more children. I thought, of course, there are always ways that would not produce children. I was greedy, angry, and not always cautious. I think I wanted a child I knew for certain was mine. She did conceive again, but…she suffered a terrible miscarriage. It was horrible. After that, I didn't dare touch her. How could I? We never again… I'd not shared a bed with her in seven or eight years."

"I am sorry for that, Monsieur," Erik paused a moment. "When I believed you gone away…and Christine gone, I was terrified to think I might be the only one left for the boy. How awful that would have been for him."

Raoul looked at the man, his long-time rival.

"Well, the boy is fond of you. I daresay you would have managed." Raoul drank his burning liquid, a peculiar expression on his face.

"All that time, we each hoped to win her. I knew her as a young girl…she charmed me and somehow I thought that was enough. You, you were some magic angel that changed her, gave her the world. She evidently chose you, but then ended up with me. I should have been pleased, but all I could see was her regret. I never appreciated her presence enough. I only thought of winning and keeping her heart. I never asked her what she felt. I think it possible she loved us both, in a way. I wonder if she had lived with you, if you would have seen the same thing, that regret, and wonder about what might have been… But we had to make her choose, didn't we? That nearly killed us all." Erik listened and wondered himself. Could he ever have shared her heart? He knew himself too jealous, like the Vicomte. He might have behaved no better.

The silence settled around them as they sank into their thoughts. Finally, a clock chimed and shook the reverie loose.

"What do we do now?" Erik asked the Vicomte.

Raoul considered for a moment and took another sip.

"My counter-offer, if you will. Let's not disrupt Gustave's life more than is necessary. Leave things mostly as they are. I'll accept your help with the debts, and perhaps a stipend for Gustave. For the future, why not will Phantasma to him? This place seems the best home and life for you. I'll not gamble or drink to excess and you must not suicide or invite someone else to kill you. If I have to live without her, so do you. That will be our penance and my revenge. Do you accept?"

Erik wilted a little. "Yes. I suppose I must."

Raoul continued. "Yes. If I hear otherwise, I will be very displeased. And Gustave will remain with me. This is no place for a young boy to live."

Erik winced. He felt the tears starting to gather, but conceded the point.

"However, if you're willing, it is a magnificent place for a boy to visit," Raoul continued. Erik looked up once more, hopeful.

"You'd allow that?"

"He will live as he has, remain a Chagny, at least in France. There is no reason for the people at home to know of any of this. I'll continue his education and he'll learn about being lesser nobility. But once a year, maybe more, I'll bring or send him for an extended visit to you of some months. You can teach him your music, your magic, share your world with him. That, I hope, will give you good reason to live. When he is of age, it will be his choice what to do with his life. Stay and live as Parisian elite or come here and be an American entrepreneur. Or divide his time. That makes no difference to me."

Erik could hardly believe his ears. "Yes, that would be…wonderful! Thank you, Chagny. Raoul."

"Erik…we may never be friends, as such. There is…too much. I daresay you might agree. But I have neither the desire nor the energy to remain your enemy. I'm tired of hating you, of being bitter. I've done it for a decade. We loved and lost the same woman…and love the same child. You sired him, I supported him. Christine raised and cared for him. And she loved him more than she loved either of us, I daresay. Now we must honor her by caring for him, the both of us. And not hating one another. Can you agree? Can we be allies for him?"

Erik nodded gravely. He slowly stood, wincing. He approached the Vicomte and extended his hand.

"Of course. It is a wonderful plan."