Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, sadly. All characters originally belonged to Gaston Leroux, but have since been divied up, as it seems. Moral of the store: rights aren't mine.

AN: This is completely in progress. Feedback is VERY WELCOMED. I won't continue unless I know it is wanted. Not sure where this is going. Ideas are welcome.

No light came from the path ahead of her. The bleak, startling blackness absorbed the sounds of her soft, tentative footsteps. His escape route was obviously meant for only him. The fear of traps and hidden dangers crept up her spine, making her shiver. A sudden noise made her stop. A heart wrenching, animalistic sob tore through the still, damp air. The gravity of the sound, the pure pain held in that single, tormenting note caused tears to well in her widened eyes. She threw herself around the bend to land on her knees at his side. He flinched away, his distorted face further contorting into a look of furious horror.

"What are you doing?" His voice was low and strangled as he straightened, his menacing form towering over her. She bowed her head, very suddenly ashamed.

"I didn't want to let you leave alone," she said, rushing her words.

"And why," he said quietly, his eyes flashing dangerously as he advanced. "Would you possibly care whether I was alone or not?"

She stared silently for a moment, trembling beneath his icy, raging gaze.

"I don't know," she whispered, her chocolate eyes pleading for mercy.

"You don't know?" he roared, stopping as shouts rang out behind them. His eyes narrowed and he grabbed her roughly by the arm, hauling her to her feet. "Well, you'll have plenty of time to think of a reason, won't you?" he growled, hurrying down the passageway. His strides were long and they moved swiftly, emerging into the safe cloak of the Paris night. She stumbled along behind him as he pulled her further into the shadows. He glared around them and released her, seeming to have second thoughts.

"If you swear never to speak of this encounter, I will allow you to return to the Opera House." He spoke softly, his voice tense, and she could see an almost frightened weariness glittering in his dark eyes. She stepped towards him, holding his gaze.

"I know a place we can stay, for tonight at least."

---

He lit a candle, the flickering flame casting a muted glow about the small, sparsely furnished room. She perched lightly on the edge of the bed, watching his movements with a strange mixture of fear and desire.

"You're the little Giry girl, aren't you?" He moved to stand in front of her as he spoke, lean arms folded across a broad expanse of firm chest. She nodded. "And you are friends with…Christine?" He struggled visibly to say her name, and she nodded again. His gaze darkened as he scowled with mild irritation. "Do you speak at all, damn it?"

"Meg," she said quietly, raising her eyes to his face. "My name is Meg."

"Meg," he repeated, his expression softening. "I knew that. At least, I should have. You'll have to excuse me." He smiled dryly. "I'm a little out of sorts."

She looked at him a little sadly as she stood. "You should sleep. It's obvious you've had quite a trying night." He sat rather roughly in the spot she had previously occupied.

"Why are you here? Why are you not with her?" He was hunched into himself protectively, his hands gripping the bedcovers, his eyes boring into her. She turned her head, unable to withstand his piercing gaze.

"She has no need for me. She has Raoul now. But you need someone."

"What makes you think I need anyone?" he snapped.

"Though you protest, I know that you do not want to be alone. It's simply what you're used to, and Christine certainly did not help that thinking. Someone has to show you that you don't have to be alone."

He rose imperiously, taking a step near her. "And I suppose you think it should be you? Do you believe you are a match for me, Little Meg?"

She stood her ground, her little fists clenched tightly at her sides.

"I believe you should give me a chance."

"Give me one good reason why I should."

She swiftly closed the gap between them, pressing her lips to his and resting her tiny hand against his bare, malformed cheek. He made a disgruntled but pleased sound of surprise, responding immediately, despite any misgivings he may have held. She pulled away after a few moments, her breathing heavy, her eyes half closed.

"Is that good enough?"

His eyes remained shut, hot breath hissing from between parted lips. The anger had disappeared from the sharp lines of his misshapen face, replaced with a sort of confused, slack-jawed awe. Her fingertips flitted across his sunken cheek and his breath hitched in his throat. Suddenly, he was glaring down at her in a vicious way.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he spat, his fists clenched and his breath ragged. "Trying to seduce me? And then are you just going to hand me to the police Meg? Is that your plan, you horrid little rat? Or are you simply going to lead me on, just to watch me fall again? Hoping that maybe this time the wretched monster will do himself off, once and for all." Her eyes were wide, horror stricken. She stared at him, unnerved by this sudden shift.

"No, Erik! That's not it at all!" She had intended to sound strong and indignant, but ended up sounding like a meek, frightened mouse. He stepped towards her. His fury mounted swiftly as he gripped her arms fiercely, his eyes livid.

"Where did you hear that? Who told you my name?" His voice was a growl, deadly quiet.

"I- it was...Christine." She breathed her name almost cautiously, terrified of his reaction. His hands on her arms sent tiny jolts of electricity through her, making her shiver. His fingers were digging painfully into her skin, and she never wanted him to let go, for reasons she didn't quite comprehend. He froze, then shook his head and released her.

"Of course," he muttered somewhat distantly. She stayed where she was, petrified. "I apologize. I was out of line." He turned from her, running a hand through his hair. She was utterly baffled at his rapid change in temperament. She sat on the bed, staying silent, her dark eyes wide and watchful. He faced her again, a look of weary resignation on his face. "What do you want, Meg Giry?"

'What do I want?' she thought. 'I want you to hurt me because I like it and I don't understand why. I want to feel your hands and your lips on me, because it's the only time I've ever felt truly alive. You set me on fire, in a new and frightfully lovely way. I want to marry you, so I never have to leave your side and you can show me how to live every moment of every day. I want all of you, and I want you to take all of me in return.'

"I don't know what I want," she said softly.