The performance went off without another hitch, although the atmosphere in the theatre felt as if everyone was holding their breath the entire show. Christine sang flawlessly and she hoped that Erik could hear her, beneath the operahouse, and that her voice calmed him somewhat. Although he said nothing during their brief rooftop encounter, she could tell that he was indeed involved with what happened to Buquet and it was obvious that it had shaken him badly.

After the final curtain call, she rushed back to her dressing room, flanked by both the Giry women. As they helped her out of her costume and stage makeup, the three of them concocted what they would tell the Vicomte, as they were almost certain that he would seek her out after the performance. "Just tell him that I'm exhausted. I'm staying the night tonight in familiar surroundings, with the two of you and that...I'll see him in two days at rehearsals?"

"What if he wants to...oh I don't know. Do something silly, like guard our room? He will know that you didn't stay there," Meg said, as she hung up the gown in the armoire in the corner of the room.

Madame Giry chuckled slightly and the two younger women looked at her in shock. "Meg, darling, do you really think that the Vicomte would sleep outside the door of a ballet dormitory? I'm sure it'll be fine." The two younger women exchanged a look and Christine smirked slightly and then shrugged.

"You're right, as always, Maman," Meg chuckled and handed Christine one of her regular gowns, a simple cream day dress. Quickly, Christine slipped it over her head and Madame Giry quickly buttoned up the back and tied the sash. Christine turned to the mirror and smiled at the other women.

"Thank you, both of you. I will send you a note tomorrow to let you know how Erik is." She smiled softly as she quickly slid her hand behind the mirror and clicked the mechanism, causing the mirror to slide open. Grabbing the torch that was inside the sconce at the beginning of the passage, Madame Giry lit it with a candle from inside the room, and then leaned forward to gently kiss her cheek.

"Take care of him, Christine."

Christine smiled and nodded to both of her dear friends. "I will. Sleep well." With that she stepped inside the passage and then triggered the mechanism, sliding the mirror shut. The journey down to Erik's home took a bit longer than usual, although Christine was familiar with the tunnels; it wasn't often that she travelled them alone.

She smiled softly when she saw that he had left the boat for her and quickly hopped inside, slowly making her way to his home. Before she even reached the familiar portcullis, she could hear noises coming from his lair, something that sounded suspiciously like a vase being broken. Attempting to speed along her journey, she began pushing the boat with all her might. "Erik!" she called out as she approached the gate. The sounds of destruction ceased and he came into sight, yanking on the lever that raised the gate.

He watched her without saying a word as she hopped out of the boat and tied it to his makeshift dock. "Oh Erik," she murmured, looking around his home. Multiple marble busts lay in pieces and there were sheets of parchment everywhere, some parts of scores he had written and some of his various portraits. It was obvious that he had been hard at work destroying whatever he could get his hands on. Turning to Erik, she gasped slightly; his hair was in disarray and his knuckles bloody, his shirt barely covering his chest.

"Why are you here?" he murmured lowly, still keeping his gaze focused solely on her.

"Why wouldn't I be here?" she asked, her temper quick to flare at the insinuation that she wouldn't come to him.

He started advancing towards her and she suppressed a shudder. She had never seen Erik like this; usually he was such a gentle man. But right now, he was acting like a predator, stalking towards her as if she was his prey. "Aren't you frightened of me, Christine?" he hissed, pulling her close to him once she was within arm's reach, his hands fisting in her gown. "I am, after all, the fearsome Opera Ghost!"

She shook her head, forcing herself to relax in his too-tight grip. "I am not frightened of you, Erik!" She put special emphasis on his name, rather than his pseudonym. "Now stop this insane behaviour at once! You're injured and I need to attend to your wounds," she stated with as much strength as she could muster.

Her tone seemed to reach him, as Erik suddenly shook his head and the dark cloud that seemed to hang upon his face dimmed slightly. "Christine," he breathed, letting go of her waist and ghosting his fingers across her cheeks.

"I'm here. And I am not going anywhere," she told him, in no uncertain terms. He nodded slightly; suddenly unable to meet her gaze, like a little boy who knew that he had been caught doing something he shouldn't be doing. Christine gently took one bloodied hand and led him through his home to the kitchen where she demanded that he sit in one of the chairs while she fetched the meager medical supplies he kept.

She cleaned his wounds gently, not surprised that he didn't so much as hiss with pain while she went about her tasks. She imagined he had been through much worse than this and had always tended to his wounds himself. Wrapping his knuckles with cloth, she returned the supplies to their proper cabinet and then sat back down, leaning forward to grasp his masked cheek. "Erik...tell me what happened."

He jerked away from her touch and she winced, but understood his not so subtle insinuation. This was not the time to draw attention to his mask. Her hands folded in her lap as she waited for him to start talking. "You know of my past, Christine. I am not proud of it, but...I have tried so hard to be a better man for you." He looked up at her, pleading with her to understand. She leaned forward slightly and rested her hands over his bandaged ones. "Joseph Buquet...was a pig. He had spied on you, made holes in your dressing room wall. I always covered them up, but he would always just create new ones."

Christine fought to keep her expression neutral. Had Erik killed him because of that? Because of her? He was jealous and had a terrible temper but...was he so easily driven to violence?

Erik looked away from her, but kept his hands still, her touch grounding him. "He followed me into the cellars the other night. He was getting far too close to my home, Christine. If it weren't for one of the traps that I had set...he might have found his way here. I couldn't allow him to try again. I encountered him by chance on the catwalks tonight and saw an easy solution to all the problems that Joseph Buquet caused." The unemotional tone that Erik was suddenly using sent shivers up Christine's spine, but she did not move away from him. This was still Erik. This was still her fiancé and nothing he could say would change that.

Glancing up at Erik, her heart broke when she saw the look on his face. He looked so forlorn and resigned, as if he was expecting her to just up and leave after his confession. Christine leaned forward and gently kissed him, this time grasping his bare cheek. "Erik," she murmured, imploring him to look up at her. Reluctantly, he met her gaze, shrinking in on himself as if he was anticipating her anger or perhaps even violence. Her soul ached as she scooted forward, so their knees were touching and she leaned in to touch her forehead to his. "Erik, you did what you had to do. It was not right but...you were protecting yourself."

He tried to avoid her gaze but her hand on his cheek made it quite difficult. "I understand if you want to break our engagement. You should not be involved with a murderer, Christine. You should go to that...that boy who is so enchanted with you. Beg him to take you away."

Christine's temper flared again at the resigned tone in Erik's voice. He wanted Raoul to take her away? Not only from him, but from the operahouse? From the career that both of them had worked so hard to build? "No Erik. I do not want to break our engagement. I do not want to run off with the Vicomte and frankly am quite insulted that you would even think such a thing." She kissed him once more, this time forceful and passionate, trying to make him believe her. "I love you, Erik. And I will tell you so, every day for the rest of our lives. I only hope that one day you will believe me."

His hands came up to rest on her shoulders, his fingers tangling in her hair. "I've made a mess of things, Christine," he murmured. "How will we ever be able to be wed now? I'll be a wanted man."

She shook her head, her hands lying gently over his. "You'll just have to be very careful for awhile, Erik. More than likely, Joseph Buquet's death will be ruled an accident. After all, it is quite hard to blame a ghost for such a thing. There is nothing actually tying you to it." Christine's mind was racing as she spoke. Her fiancé had killed a man and she was thinking of ways to keep him out of the clutches of the authorities. Is this who she was now? An accomplice? "You will just have to be quiet for a few months and things will return to normal. We can wed and start our new lives together and no one will ever have to know that the husband of Christine Daaé is the infamous Opera Ghost."

She leaned forward and brushed her lips to his forehead. "Let's retire, my love. We have both had a very trying day...we should get some rest." Numbly, she led him to his bedroom and they both prepared for bed. Slipping beneath the covers, she turned on her side and waited until Erik padded over as well and blew out the candles that had illuminated the room. He slid into bed beside her and pulled her close, his arm wrapping around her waist.

Until she fell asleep, she stared at his hand, lying so innocently on her stomach, picturing it tightening his infamous lasso around Joseph's neck. Her eyes slowly drifted closed, her dreams that night were plagued by the dreaded Opera Ghost and that feral look in Erik's eyes.