Disclaimer: I don't own The Phantom of the Opera

Lost in His Obsession
Chapter Four

Why was it so difficult for him to admit he'd been wrong? He must have been standing behind the mirror for two hours now, watching Christine as she studied and practiced her scant few lines for the upcoming production, and still he was unable to speak.

Or perhaps, unwilling to.

But what could he say?

"I'm sorry that you saw my hideous face, burst into tears, and watched as I behaved like a crazed, wounded animal, screaming and raving for minutes on end before unmanning myself and bursting into womanly tears." ?

That certainly didn't bring his message across in the right context and manner, and Erik was lost as to what else he could possibly say.

Heaving a heavy sigh, he leaned ever so slightly against the damp stone wall beside him and continued to watch his only friend as she struggled with her concentration, stopping mid-line to stare thoughtfully across the room, obviously quite lost in her imagination.

Thinking about that blasted Vicomte, to be sure. Erik mused, grinding his teeth. But I'll worry about taking care of him later.

His main priority was eliminating Christine's fear of her lost Angel, and then the Vicomte would be removed from the picture.

Permanently.

XXXXXX

How much longer was he going to watch her?

Christine had learned long ago to be able to tell when her strange angel was present. A certain feeling would find itself nestled in her belly, and it was almost as if the air was alive with his presence. Before, Christine had attributed it to holy energy, but now that she knew the truth about her tutor, she hadn't the slightest idea why she could sense his presence.

But she could.

And so, for the past two hours, she'd known he was watching, and for the past two hours she'd been waiting for him to enter, to speak, to do anything, really. But he had not done a thing.

And by now, Christine's patience was wearing thin.

"It is nothing, my lady, only the moon." She said, trying once again the passage in the newest production that was giving her so much trouble.

"No, my queen, there is not a soul there, except for the stable keep."

"'Save for the stable keep', my dear. Not "except", "save"."

She must have jumped a mile high when she heard the gentle, correcting timbre of her angel's voice, and she gasped. Sure, she knew he was there, but after two hours of silence, she had stopped expecting him to speak!

"Honestly, child. If you do not begin to concentrate, you will not be ready for the performance at all," he gently admonished. "Where on earth is your head today?"

Christine had to smile, she had missed his criticism in the few days she'd gone without.

"Forgive me, maestro." She murmured, head lowered.

And she jumped as she felt two icy hands on her shoulders!

"Posture, my dear." Erik purred, and Christine relaxed and sat up straight again.

"Good. Now, from the beginning of the scene again, if you please."

"But angel-"

"No!" he barked, before looking away for a moment. "Forgive me." He spoke, voice much more calm and controlled. "Please, do not call me that. Not any more."

"Of course, maestro." She breathed, quite contrite.

"Now, as I was saying-"

"Maestro?"

Erik grit his teeth for a moment, then let out a slow breath.

"Yes, child?"

"About… before, I just wished to-"

"We shall not discuss it."

"But maestro-"

"No! You are not to mention that night again in my presence. There is nothing on the matter that needs to be discussed."

"But there is!"

"Oh? Perhaps you would like to know why your maestro is so ugly? Or why he lives below ground all alone? Or maybe, you wish to insist that he takes his demonic fallacies away from your God-fearing and impressionable self? Which is it, Christine? Tell me! I'm sure you could manage to twist the knife you've so deeply thrust into my heart a little harder! Say it!"

Silence, save for the harsh sound of his labored breathing, and then:

"I was wrong. I'm sorry."