A/N: A bit of clarification, since several of you have brought this up: This takes place about 2 years after the musical, when they have been together. I suppose you could consider if alternate universe, because Christine is with Erik and they live together while Christine still performs at the Opera House. Don't expect to see any Raoul; that was 2 years ago and it's never really been a problem. The only problem they have now is Erik's jealousy. I think it's safe to assume that this is not the first time he has grown jealous over some admirer of Christine's.

This chapter is a little shorter than the other two, but the next chapter is much longer.

I forgot my sweater in the carriage, I was in such a rush to get home, and had to double back halfway up the drive to retrieve it. The night had grown rather chilly, and on such nights, Erik liked to walk me home. But I had not seen him at the theatre, and I had been too afraid to arrive home much later if I waited around for him. Although nothing had gone wrong, I had a twisted feeling in my stomach that something was not right.

I opened the door quietly, peering around the dark hallway. It seemed as though most of the lights were off—perhaps Erik wasn't even home yet.

"Are you home?" I called softly, knowing he would hear me no matter where he was. There was no answer at all. I reached out to turn up the lights in the main room and received a slight shock to se Erik sitting in his velvet green chair, staring at me.

I smiled warmly, trying to shake off my startled heartbeat at the sight of him in the darkness. "Am I so late?" I asked teasingly, setting down my things. "I was hardly away from the dear fans before Monsieur Ducet wanted to speak to me about changing the opening scene again—do you realize this is the third time he's changed it?"

Erik didn't smile at all. "Monsieur Ducet held you up?" he asked icily, and I paused. His voice was like the outside world, which was cruel and hard, and it burned even more sharply than the winter wind. I blinked in confusion, my eyes filling with sudden tears at the unexpected malice in his voice.

How I hated to upset him!

"I wish I could understand you," he commented bitterly out of nowhere, and said no more.

I pulled my scrambled thoughts together and tried to find what he was thinking about…what I had done to receive this cold welcome. "Erik, I don't understand. I was held up by the crowds, like always, and then the director. I came home as fast I could, you know I want to be here with you…"

"Oh, I see," he replied, but it didn't sound as though he saw anything he liked. "So I take it the director was the only man whom you spoke to?"

Something about the way he said that struck a chord in me, and I realized that Erik had been watching me all along and he had seen my interaction with the James who was hoping to make Paris his home. I tried to find anything about it that would make him upset… He was jealous? I tried to be compassionate, for I understood Erik and his jealously, but at the moment I was overcome with sudden anger that he was trying to trick me into telling him the truth.

"So you saw me talk with the one man backstage?" I demanded, and he just watched me. "Did that bother you so much? What was I supposed to do? Scream at him to leave me alone? This happens every week, you think you see something and you turn it into a huge deal! I was—"

"You flirted," he accused. "I saw you."

My Why didn't you walk me home, if you were there? died in my throat and I had to assure myself for a second that he wasn't teasing me, even though Erik would hardly be the type to tease in moments like these. "Excuse me?"

He could have been carved from stone. The way he sat, the way he viewed me, was all so cold and emotionless—so powerful and alluring—so intimidating in every aspect. There was absolutely nothing about him that appeared teasing in any way.

I tried very hard to recall; I had been so intent on getting away that I hadn't been paying attention to my foreign admirer. Had I perhaps given a certain smile or shown interest in one of his comments in a way that had touched a nerve with Erik? I even tried to think of someone else I talked to that would have upset him. I really hadn't been very nice to James. Surely that was not who Erik was speaking of?

"Everyone was calling for you," he said cruelly. "Everyone. You never turn. You come home to me. But you stopped… for him."

I sighed wearily. We'd had these conversations before. "I don't know what to tell you. I'm a nice person. I was trying to be, so I could get away and come home. To you. I greeted them like I always do. This particular person, James whatever-his-surname-is wanted to pursue an in-depth conversation, which I was not interested in. Rather than acting like a temperamental diva, I tried to be cordial and brush him off in a polite fashion."

"That is not what I saw."

I threw my hands toward him, his accusations putting me in a very sour mood indeed. "Who knows what you saw, Erik!" How many times had we had this argument? When had he ever been right? "Obviously you saw something different than what actually occurs, and that makes me not know what to think! You see what you want to see, you let jealously twist your imagination until—"

"You think I wanted to see that?" he burst out savagely. "You think I don't have reason to be paranoid? A lifetime of being used and betrayed, and you can't even understand why it would bother me to watch you flirting with a handsome man?"

I scowled. "I hope you have a better argument than that, considering I haven't flirted with a handsome man in two years."

He moved, like he meant to rise from his chair, and I drew back, instantly terrified. That movement startled me more than I would have ever expected, but there was something dangerously dark that lingered in his expression now, and I had a feeling that I had crossed some invisible line.

He evaluated my face for a full ten seconds, and then smiled in satisfaction at my fear.

It was the smile that set me off, not in an explosion of rage, but a deep pit that suddenly formed in my stomach. I was seized with a dramatic and childish desire to prove myself worthy of my own defense. Knowing full well that this was the wrong thing to do, I put my hands on his shoulders and kissed him, but it was black—fire meeting ice and it burned a wall between us that smoldered and shocked.

"You're a liar if you think I don't love you," I said quietly , crushing him in my arms. "You are making this up in your own head. And you know it."

He didn't move or respond, simply stood there, detached and completely emotionless.

I was the one who pulled away, because he chilled me more than I burned him. He chuckled, and said, "You don't have to prove anything to me, dearest. You already proved yourself earlier tonight."

"Oh, Erik, you cannot be serious!" I burst out, blinking back tears. "Is this real? Do you truly believe I was unfaithful to you?"

"Perhaps you should just learn to keep to yourself after performing," he said swiftly. "Perhaps you need to learn how to have self-control around handsome men."

I was angry, but mostly I was hurt. I was hurt that he didn't trust me, and that he played with me like this, as if to coax me into telling him what he wanted—no, what he didn't want to hear. I stalked away from him, my voice severe, but my eyes still wet. "Perhaps it would just be best if you stayed away from me when I'm performing."

His own voice betrayed no surprise, with only a faint twinge of amusement. "If you think it's for the best."

I sulked, impatient with his lack of reaction. I wanted him to suffer consequences when he acted ridiculous like that, and I wanted him to beg for forgiveness, to admit that he was being silly, to assure me that he knew he was the only man who I had ever let into my heart.

But of course, Erik would never say anything like that. His pride was easily transparent through his relaxed façade, and when I prowled into the hallway, I saw his shoulders relax and I heard him sigh.

I sighed as well, an involuntary echo that voiced our unique stubbornness, and perhaps a lack of trust.

It should have been addressed, it should have been resolved quite easily, but instead of facing it, I pushed it to the back of my mind where I could pretend to forget how much it bothered me, convinced myself he would be over it by tomorrow, and dressed for bed.