a/n: Sorry I took so long to update! I really wanted to make sure I got this right. Plus, things have been really busy with school and stuff. Well, what are you waiting for? Read!

Disclaimer: Well, unless I'm still asleep and dreaming, I don't own POTO. Too bad.

Music wafted through Erik's home and found its way to Christine's ears, penetrating her dreams and waking her. At first, she hadn't the slightest idea where she was. All she knew was that she was exhausted and must've slept much longer than was per usual, which would explain why the setting was lacking light so severely. Also, the bed she was in was unfamiliar, but very, very comfortable. The velvet covers were soft and cool to the touch. And, of course, there was that breathtaking music drifting through the bedroom. It was quiet, hardly audible, yet ultimately consuming. She sat up in bed as if in a trance, craning her head to hear more of the song. She dare not attempt to stand up, for even the slightest rustling noise would overpower the wonderful tune.

She remained that way for quite a while, half-conscious and enraptured by a mysterious song coming from an equally mysterious source. She closed her eyes. From only one place had she heard music composed so gracefully, music that could be so gentle, yet overwhelming. Yes, she knew of one place in which a song would be treated as it was; powerful, intense, an individual life form. One place…one person. She knew of only one person. She stopped cold, realizing that she had been humming along to the song. The previous night's events washed over her. Her decision…oh, that horrible decision. But how could she not make it, when Raoul's life depended so greatly on her? And now she was here, cursed. Forced to live with the phantom, in the catacombs of the opera, with no hope of escaping. The consequences of her actions rushed to her like a gale of wind, and she bowed her head into her hands, weeping.

How could this be, that her fate was to live here, with Erik? The man was awful. Callous, oppressive, dominating. Thinking of him, she felt fear well up inside her 'til she felt ready to burst. And…hate It must have been hate, for she knew of no other emotion as unfamiliar as this. And how could one not hate him, a devil parading as an angel? He was a nightmare set loose on the world. She hated him, she hated him, she hated him. She had to. His face danced in her mind, and every part of her body became aware, magnetic. She felt neither heat nor cold, but shock, coursing through her, each individual hair standing up. Her heat pounded until it drowned out the music, which she no longer craved to hear. That music… It was beautiful, enchanting, but she felt the need to turn from it in disgust. His music is all you will ever be allowed to hear again. New sorrow fell upon her, and she gasped loudly as sobs racked her chest.

Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she heard the music stop. Heard the quick footfalls that grew louder and nearer to the bedroom. And she heard his soft gasp, deceivingly concerned. "Christine." Erik rushed toward her and sat next to her on the bed. He gently held her shaking shoulders, his fingers light and hesitant, as if afraid of rejection. Oh, how could he be so mocking? Why did he pretend to care, when his control over her was so absolute? Unless…he did care what she thought? What if he didn't just want her, but actually love her? What if…?

No, it could never be true. He was a liar, a coldhearted killer. He couldn't have true feelings, save for hatred and sadism. Never would he love. Never, never, never…

She was faintly aware of him pressing the tips of his fingers on the bottom of her chin and turning her face to his. "Never what, dear?" His eyes caught hers, the striking blue of his eyes causing a little jolt to her heart. He was wearing his mask again, the white one. It fit the contours of his right side perfectly, and without prior information, one would never imagine the horrible disfiguration that hid just beneath the surface.

He caught her staring. Stiffening, he straightened his back. "Talking to ourselves, are we? Unless you would actually prefer speaking to me?"

She stared at him, eyes wide with either dislike or fear, she wasn't sure which. "I am not sure what it is you expect me to say, monsieur. Except perhaps to request you leave me, for the time being? I am not proper." Her hands flew up to her bare shoulders.

He stood. "I took the liberty of taking your clothing from your previous residence. You will find it in that closet." He pointed to an elegantly carved closet of cherry wood. She nodded. Without another word, he spun on his heel and exited, dark cape billowing behind him.

Christine gently wiped away her unbidden tears. Standing on shaky legs, she crossed the room to the closet Erik had pointed out to her. Upon opening it, she found all of her clothing, as well as a few other things Erik must have gotten for her. She blushed in surprise when she found them all to be exactly her size. The materials he used were much softer than her original ones. Fingering the fine fabrics, she chose to wear an indigo gown with lace trimmings on the edge. At the thought of leaving the bedroom to face Erik, she felt her stomach twist with uncertainty, and delayed the inevitable meeting by spending a great deal of time running her fingers through her unruly curls.

When she had about doubled the amount of time it typically took her to get dressed, she decided she had to go. Breathing deeply, she stepped out to face her captor.

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Raoul swiftly dressed the next morning and impatiently rushed through his breakfast. His mind was centered on but one thing: Getting to the Populaire and Madame Giry to discuss Christine's rescue. Yesterday, after quite a bit reasoning and quite a lot of pleading, Raoul had convinced Madame Giry to assist him in getting his Christine back. He couldn't wait to begin planning, acting much like an eager schoolboy again. He could not help it; the thought of Christine in the hands of the monster made bile rise in his throat. He couldn't seem to keep still through the agonizingly long carriage ride to the theatre. He found himself tapping his knee, adjusting his clothing, or picking at his nails in a most improper manor. When the carriage stopped, he nearly threw himself out, accidently overpaying the driver in his haste. He rushed up the steps to the Populaire and flung open the doors. Madame Giry was waiting for him near the foot of the stairs.

"Ah, Monsieur de Vicomte, what a wonderful surprise." She swiftly approached him and placed her hand on his arm. "Please, join me for some tea in my flat." Before he could even nod in response, Madame Giry smiled warmly and began leading him through the winding Populaire hallways to her dingy little flat. Totally baffled, he simply watched her as she flitted about the room. She would stop and peer at seemingly random places, occasionally adjusting an object ever so slightly. When she had finished, she huffed and patted her rumpled skirt as if to smooth it, to no appeal.

"Well, why are you just standing about? Take a seat, make yourself comfortable. And do close your mouth, dear."

Raoul obeyed. Madame Giry seemed to be rather flustered today, more brisk and business-like than usual. Again she scurried about the room, then entered another, until finally she rejoined Raoul, a tray of delicious smelling tea in her hands. She poured him a cup.

"I am sorry to keep you waiting as I have, but I am afraid I had to secure my room." Now Raoul openly looked at Madame Giry as if she had gone mad. "Well, what are you staring at? Last night, as I was walking about the opera and checking on the dancers, I saw a shadow pass behind me. And later, as I returned to my room, another. I must tell you, sir, I feared the worst. So I have thrice assessed each inch of my room to ensure that Erik cannot listen in on what is happening inside."

Raoul relaxed into his seat, rather relieved to know his only hope to save Christine had not completely lost her mind. "But, Madame, how can you keep Erik from listening in?"

"Oh, long ago, when he first began to arrange his passageways throughout the Populaire, he offered me privacy. Of course, I accepted. But I fear if he discovers what you and I are doing, he would revoke his offer. While Erik is a man of his word when he finds it just, he would not think twice about taking away my promised privacy if he felt I had betrayed him somehow."

Raoul leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "But we are safe, then?"

"Yes, yes. But in this room only, and Little Meg's."

"Meg's?"

"Well, of course. Did you think I would not insist her privacy as well as my own?" Madame Giry straightened and pursed her lips, oozing refined dignity. "Now, we must plan."

"Yes," Raoul agreed. Excitement coursing through him, he leaned nearer Madame Giry.

She pulled out a map. Shocked, Raoul recognized the weaving tunnels as the catacombs beneath the Populaire. The parchment was old and fading, but he could still make out the black ink markings on the paper. It looked like any normal blueprint, save a few personalized changes. In the largest cellar, the title Cellar 5 was crossed out. Madame Giry's precise handwriting just above read "Erik's Home." Also, at various points were asterisks with the names of deadly traps.

Clearing her throat, the ballet mistress began, "Erik had told me where all the traps were, should I wish to visit him. However, I believe we can safely assume he has added to his defenses in light of…recent events." She paused a moment, eyes lost in thought. "I do suppose I could request visiting him, and learn where the new traps are. Alas, I am unsure whether or not he trusts me. Perhaps we could wait a while before…"

"No!" Raoul interrupted, his voice dripping desperation. He grasped Madame Giry's hand. "Please, you must understand. I fear for Christine daily. Imagine what horrors she may be facing below."

Madame Giry considered this for a minute. Raoul could hear a clock ticking quietly in the background. The tiny sounds seemed to imprint upon his mind. Tick, tick, tick. Finally, she met his eyes. "Yes, while I do know what greatness Erik holds, I must also agree he has become quite lost in his madness." She sighed deeply and conceded, "We mustn't wait."

"What can we do?"

"I…. I am not sure."

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Christine appeared outside the bedroom sometime later. Erik thought she must have been avoiding him, for he knew she did not take so long to prepare herself. Bowing, he greeted her good afternoon.

Christine nodded politely in reply before inquiring, "Afternoon?" Her cheeks had turned a delicate shade of pink.

"Yes, it is now half past two."

"My, I did sleep long, didn't I?"

"Yes." He gave a slight smile. "Two days."

"I beg your pardon?" she squeaked.

He eyed her carefully as if to say, Mind your voice. "Yes, you were quite exhausted. I am sorry; you hadn't thought it had been only one night?"

"Well, yes…I am not prone to sleeping so long."

"Or fainting," he added wryly. Christine turned an even deeper shade of pink. To save her from further embarrassment, he rushed on, "Are you hungry? Your last meal was…sixty-eight hours ago, I believe."

"Well, yes, I am rather famished, now that you mention it."

"Good. Breakfast is nearly finished. I am glad you already awoke. If you hadn't soon, I would've had to come and wake you.

"Yes, it was fortunate." She suddenly seemed entirely fixed on straightening her perfectly smooth skirt. Erik was pleased to see it was a gown he had made for her. He said as much as they sat down to breakfast.

"I notice you are wearing one of my gowns."

"Yes, thank you. They fit me very well."

"Of course; I was immediately able to asses your exact clothing size, unlike your originals."

"Yes…"

She still seemed unable to meet his eyes. While Erik felt pain stab at his heart, he also wondered: What has happened to the defiance she showed the other night? She acts so afraid and docile. While it was still very clear she was not fond of him, her attitude had changed greatly. It made him worry; had his rash behavior frightened her so much, she was jarred into submission? He did not mind the civilized conversations, but it was her love he longed for, not her…obedience. She was to be his wife, not his pet.

"Christine…"

She looked up as if startled. "Yes?"

What is wrong with me? he thought wildly. What could I possibly say, that she needn't fear me, for, despite my insanity and rage, I would never lash out on her? It seems I already have! Thinking this, he felt his guilt increase, for he had never wished to harm her, or cause her discomfort.

"Erik?"

Christine was still waiting for his reply. "Yes, I apologize," he rushed, trying to contain the joy he felt at her saying his name. If she wanted to speak to him, he hadn't completely lost her. Perhaps there was still hope… "I wanted to ask, how are you feeling now?"

"I am well, thank you." Her dark eyes darted about the room, looking anywhere but at him. As though feeling his eyes on her, she seemed completely absorbed with the candelabras he used to light his dark home.

Erik stayed silent, as well. He was unsure what to do about Christine. She couldn't learn to love him if she was afraid to even speak to him. When he finally removed his eyes from her to close them as he rubbed his temples, he could hear her nearly inaudible sigh of relief. He didn't think even she was aware of the sound. Just the fact that she could finally relax against her seat and actually look at him. Erik seized the opportunity and snapped his eyes open, so suddenly she caught his gaze.

She blushed profusely. "I, er, I-"

Erik held her gaze. "Christine…" he sang quietly. Her eyes widened as though she were in a daze. He smiled secretly to himself. No matter how she feared him, his singing would always mesmerize her. That was her weakness; music.

He continued singing, Point of No Return. Standing, he stalked across the room to her, graceful as a predatory cat going in for the kill. When her part came, she sang without hesitation, her beautiful voice filling the cavernous space. Taking her hands in his, he guided her up, and there they remained, embracing each other as music flooded the catacombs.

a/n: So there you go. This chapter was pretty much transitional, to get Raoul and Madame Giry's plan rolling, as well as Erik and Christine's relationship. They're going to have a lot of bonding time, and I'm planning quite a few confrontations between them, good ad bad. Anyways, I suppose this is my way of asking you to please read and review. Again, constructive criticism is welcome. Thanks to the people who reviewed!