Name: Wishes

Rating: T, perhaps higher for later chapters

Summary: Christine has been forced into a world of chaos. Torn in so many directions, she must now decide how she wants her story to end, as she prepares to perform her angel's opera.

Disclaimer: By the age of PotO, you can probably guess I don't own it… never have, never will… I can dream though! All characters belong to Leroux, Webber, and anyone else who took up the task of creating the wonderful characters of Phantom.

This is my first attempt in a long time in producing a more-than-one-chapter story for ya'll! It's set just after the events of the masquerade, and while some of the dialogue alludes to the film, the chandelier crash has already happened… so it's a bit of a mix between the book/movie/film! I'm not too sure where this is going to go yet, although I do have some ideas, so do let me know what you think so I can add to my original plan :) For now, please ENJOY!

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The graveyard was cold, icy against the bare skin at Christine's shoulders. She shivered deeper into her coat, clasping her gloved hands tighter together, staring up at the crypt of her father's grave. As she knelt there in the snow, she pondered over her choices. Her decision to run from her teacher – from her angel – instead of embrace him for what he was, and her decision to accept Raoul's proposal.

Sweet as it was, the horrid feeling of doubt that had settled in Christine's mind frightened her, and she traced the chain around her neck idly with one shaking finger.

"What am I to do, Papa?" She bid tiredly, her head falling, eyes trained on the white ground she knelt on. Vaguely, she felt the wetness of melting snow drench her skirts, heavy and chilly. She couldn't find the energy to care, though.

How had her life turned to such chaos? A few short months ago she was happy! Happy to be a dancer in the ballet of the operas, to train her voice with her angel after rehearsals, or late at night when everyone else had long since retired from the Opera House. She had been happy to live her simple, charming existence. Although she'd dreamed of the idea of becoming the star of one of the many shows she'd been in since arriving at the Opera House, she'd never expected to be thrown into that role so swiftly, so suddenly without so much as a warning! She knew now that it was his doing; it was all a part of Erik's plan. How foolish she was to ever think differently.

And then Raoul was there, sitting at the sidelines, flashing her that smile which had long ago always made her weak at the knees. Did she still feel that way about him? It had been years since they'd been those two young children, playing silly games in attics long forgotten. She'd run to Raoul after the unmasking, her fairytale dreams of her angel shattered as she revealed him to only be a man – a disfigured, pitiful man who had so easily preyed on her innocence! Foolish, Christine thought, how foolish she was to ever believe that such a thing as an Angel of Music existed!

She gripped her ring tighter as a horrible chill silenced her thoughts.

Things had been so simple.

Her limbs ached, her head spun, and as she slowly stood up, already regretting kneeling when her knees brushed the soaking fabric of her dress, she sighed heavily. She should return to the Opera House.

"Christine…"

As she turned, the voice caught her ear and stopped her dead, her foot half raised to take a step forward. If she'd been any quicker in her movements, she would have no doubt fallen over, but out of sheer luck she stayed upright, head snapping back towards the crypt, eyes scanning the monument for any form of life.

She knew the voice – how could she not?

So beautiful.

So hypnotic.

It was not her father – no, how could that voice ever belong to her father? But… perhaps it was okay… just for this once – that she pretended that she actually believed it were her father's voice? Erik had been out of her life for so long… away from her presence for so long… and now he called so blatantly to her! Disguised as always, yes… but still he called.

"Christine!" He said again, more urgently.

Where was he, behind the crypt? Perhaps above it… Christine wanted to smile at his ability to hide so well. She stepped towards the grave, hesitant, knowing that she shouldn't dare risk it.

Six months. She'd not seen him, not heard from him, sung with or to him in over six months! And she'd pined, God how she'd pined for him. Raoul was a more than adequate substitute – of course he was! Charming, elegant, handsome… but Christine had so very much missed her rendezvous' with Erik, missed his steady guidance and conversations. She missed the catacombs and that dark, mysterious house he had taken her to.

Her mind had begun to wander to that place when movement caught her eye, a dark shape that stood at the corner of the crypt. Her attention snapped towards it, and she drank in the sight of Erik – of her Angel. And he stared back, breathing heavily, as though the thought that she could see him frightened him half to death. He wore his long, black coat that looked so thick and warm, but his hat was missing, making the white mask stand blatantly out against his skin, his one visible cheek rosy from the cold of the winter air around them. His wig was perfectly in place, and the clothes he wore beneath the coat looked as expensive and tidy as ever. Forever the embodiment of elegance and poise.

"Christine…" he breathed once more, the sound almost caught and carried away by the wind. His eyes took her in, scanning every inch of her, and although Christine knew her reaction to his presence shouldn't be so shameless, a content shiver ran up the length of her spine.

All thoughts of his violent outburst six months before vanished, the memory of the chandelier falling towards her, so close to crushing her, fleeing her mind, if only momentarily. Instead, the image of her angel dressed as Red Death flashed through her memory, his brave façade so candid that night of the masquerade, only a few days earlier. He'd been so harsh, and yet at the same time so gentle when he'd bid her to him, barking his orders like a hurt child who felt in need of retribution.

As she drew away from the thought, she noticed him again staring at the chain she wore around her neck, and raised her hand in an attempt to cover it from view.

"Why?"

How could she answer that? She watched as his jaw tightened, and he growled angrily in his throat, stepping closer. Christine took a weary step back at his advance, stopping him dead in his track, arm half outstretched as though to reach for her. He pulled back, as though in check of his anger, breathing in deeply to calm himself, "I don't want to fight with you, Christine…" he finally assured her.

"Nor I with you," she managed in as strong of a voice as she could muster. It was hard, she realized, to sound strong after so many tears had been shed, so many hours spent weeping over actions passed. She felt her nails digging into the palm of her hands, where she held them in fists as her side.

"I've missed you." He confessed, trying again to step closer to her.

This time, Christine did not retreat, instead stood her ground and nodded.

At that little form of encouragement, Erik's eyes brightened and he nodded, "So much…"

"Ange…"

The name was like heaven to his ears, and he had to close his eyes, to savor the sound of it as it left her perfect lips, if only for a second. He regained his composure quickly, making an attempt to clear his throat and return his gaze to her small form, "What-"

He couldn't finish.

"Christine!"

Christine's attention was lost, and her head snapped towards the tombstones a little way down the graveyard, to where Raoul was running towards her, worry etched in his features. She blinked, and on realization of her actions, stepped back, shaking her head miserably. Erik cursed, anger contorting his features. He snapped towards the Vicomte, and Christine lost track of the insults and accusations they threw at each other. She watched, helpless, as the two men she cared most about drew their swords.

"Raoul!" She tried to object, but neither listened.

For a moment, she thought it horribly unfair that Raoul were to draw his weapon on Erik. Swordsmanship was a natural skill for the Vicomte and Christine feared that Erik would be no match for her fiancé. She was very wrong, it turned out, as he quickly proved himself to be quite the opponent, easily escaping Raoul's blows and elegantly returning his own. Still, Christine held her breath, ignoring the question that played on her mind over the origin of Erik's own skill.

It was only another reason not to trust him, she finally dismissed.

Somehow, the men had taken the fight nearer to the gates of the graveyard, and she quickly followed, keeping as greater distance as possible. Her breaths were sharp and panicked, and she suddenly realized how foolish it was that she ever thought it was a good idea to come here now, to her father's grave at this time.

Raoul played some crafty maneuver, and with a cry, Erik was on his back, arms outstretched in the snow. For a horrible second, Christine glimpsed the fury in her fiancé's eyes, the unspoken rage as he lifted his weapon to strike.

"No Raoul!" She quickly cut in, a high-pitched cry which caught both men's attention. She rushed towards them, standing between them both to stop any more violence from occurring, "Not like this. Please, Raoul."

She couldn't look at Erik, forced herself not to, out of fear of what she'd find in those beautiful eyes. Raoul finally nodded, conceding to her request, and shielded his sword. With an inaudible sigh of relief, she felt his warm hand find hers, and he began to drag her away, towards the road outside of the cemetery that led back to the forever-bustling city.

"No! Don't stop now! We're only beginning!" Erik tempted the Vicomte where he was left in the snow, but with a squeeze of Christine's hand around Raoul's, he conceded to leaving the man behind him be, pressing on towards the gates.

Only then did Christine risk a glimpse back. For a moment, Erik remained where he was on the ground, panting, the same as Raoul, from the exertion of the fight. When he caught her eye he lifted himself up effortlessly, returning her gaze in an unspoken question – are you alright? Christine gave him a slight nod, trying to block out the intensity of his stare.

Raoul didn't notice.

Christine did, though, that that stare wasn't just another of Erik's so very direct gazes – it was an unspoken promise that she would be seeing him again.

Very soon.

A horrible shiver ran down her spine at the thought, and she finally turned away, leaving her angel alone in the graveyard as she was led to where Raoul lifted her swiftly onto his waiting horse.