A/N This takes place just after Christine leaves with Raoul. Think of a general movie time line, but with a past borrowed from the fabulous Susan Kay.

And it goes without saying, I don't own Erik, or Christine. In fact, anything you do recognize, isn't mine... If only...

"No…"'You can't be gone… You are my angel… My light… Without you, I'm nothing…' Erik looked at his music box. It had stopped moments ago. Or was it days, weeks? It didn't matter, she was gone. He had loved her as well as he could, but it must not have been enough.

Erik glanced up at the clock, it had only been minutes since she had left, but it felt like an eternity. He didn't know how he would make it through the rest of his life if it would pass this slowly. He couldn't let it go on. His hand drifted down to his side where he kept a dagger and drew it out of it's sheath. A shaky sigh escaped his lips as he put it up to his neck, but a small draft reminded him his mask was not on. He would at least die with some vestige of dignity.

Erik hauled himself up and walked down the small set of stairs to where his home met the lake. He could have sworn he had seen his mask somewhere near the organ. He moved a few pieces of sheet music around in a vain attempt to find it. Erik didn't even notice the small figure hiding in a shadow. The form shifted slightly and it was enough to alert Erik to it's presence.

"Show yourself!" The knife was ready in his hand as he took a offensive posture. 'I didn't know the mob would have made it here this quickly!' The figure gave a muffled whimper that Erik would have known anywhere. "Christine?" She stepped out of the shadows, mask in hand, and also, something else. She took another step closer to him and looked fearfully at the dagger in his hands. He slipped it back into the sheath at his side, all the while keeping his gaze on her. He swiftly regained his composure.

"My mask, Christine." She shivered when she heard his voice, but remained otherwise paralyzed. He couldn't help but raise his voice. "My mask!" She squeaked as he strode towards her and snatched it from her delicate hands. After repositioning it on his face, he turned his gaze to her, once again, the reveared Phantom of the Opera.

"Christine, why are you here, I know your fop must be pining for your precious company." He said this with dripping sarcasm. There was only one thing on the face of this godforsaken planet Erik hated more than a poorly composed arrangement. The repulsive creature that called itself Christine's fiancé.

"I… He…" Something was obviously causing her great strife. But Erik didn't have the patience to wait around all night.

"Spit it out woman."

"He fell into one of your traps." Tears began to stream down her face. Erik didn't quite grasp the implications of this at first.

'Ah, well it seems my traps do still function after all…' Then it came to him in a sweeping revelation. "The first thing you do when your man-of-choice is killed, is come running back to your leftovers?! Am I only good enough now that he is dead?!" Erik was enraged to say the least. He continued ranting for several minutes before Christine finally broke down and began sobbing. She crumpled to the floor and clutched the thing she held in her hands to her breast. Erik ceased yelling and looked down on his poor angel.

"Christine… I…" He moved toward her, and she flinched back. Any pity that had replaced his anger quickly vanished once again into the dark recesses of his thoughts. He looked into her chocolate eyes and murmured quietly, "Your chambers are as you left them." Christine struggled to her feet and gave Erik a wide berth as she made her way to her rooms. She gave him one last fearful look as she pushed the door shut behind her. It was his turn to flinch as the heavy lock barred him from her presence. His first thought was to be enraged at her mistrust. But on further contemplation, he dismissed it. He had been rather coarse with her, and may have frightened her a great deal.

He made his way back to his own chambers and pondered the events of the past few minutes, and then looked at the dagger by his side. With a sound that portrayed distaste, he unfastened his belt, and tossed it, and the sheath, to the side. He was once again in charge of his helpless ingénue. He cleaned himself up before changing into a new shirt and pants, and put on a cloak. It would be no use running about looking like the madman he was. A cold draft made it's way through the chambers, and his first thought was of Christine. She must be dreadfully cold down here in his dismal abyss.

He went back into the main living area and put more wood on the fire. It blazed, adding a soft light to the otherwise foreboding atmosphere. The lock on Christine's door unbolted, and he expected her to emerge, but was only met with the sight of a door that remained closed. Puzzled, he waited a moment longer before turning to the area he used to prepare food. He pulled fresh bread from the pantry as well as some fruit, and put on a pot of tea. No doubt she would be hungry when she did emerge, as she hadn't eaten since before the performance.

Inside Christine's room, Christine paced to and fro. She had changed into a simple emerald outfit and simply couldn't decide what to do with herself. Upon seeing Raoul impaled upon a protruding spike in a pit on the floor, she had turned and fled back to her beloved Angel of Music. 'Erik,' she corrected herself mentally. A few weeks ago, she discovered his real name. It had been a rather uncomfortable situation for both of them, but it began the transition of her view of him as that of an angel, to a man. She realized she had paused in her pacing, and quickly resumed.

A few moments ago, she had unbolted her door, hoping Erik would understand the unspoken invitation. So far she had been unrewarded, but just as she was about to venture into the living chambers, there was a knock at her door.

"Christine? Christine, there is food out here if you're hungry." It was Erik.

'As if it would be anyone else,' she chided herself. "I'll… I'll be out in a moment," was her response. She did need a moment to prepare herself for the immense task of keeping company to Erik. He was a simply amazing man, but immensely complex, emotionally and otherwise.

"Alright." She didn't hear his tread as he stepped away, but didn't really expect to anyway. The man moved like a cat. Lithe and graceful, almost beyond reason. But, he was Erik, and so it was to be expected. She moved toward her door and opened it as quietly as she could. Never the less, Erik still turned as she emerged. There was simply no sneaking up on him.

Their eyes met and neither looked away. They remained staring for several moment before Erik broke the silence.

"Tea?"

A/N I have once again returned to the land of the living. I really only intended this to be a short piece, but it seems to have taken on a mind of it's own. It has demanded to be something more, and so, I am a slave to it's whims. Expect more in the not so distant future.

Your Author,

C. M.