A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed or read the last chapter. I didn't have time to reply to each review this week, but guys... just... wow. I'm SERIOUSLY amazed at how much you guys seem to like this story! Please leave a review. Some more fluff here, and I PROMISE, there will be a large dose of super fluffy fluff next chapter.

Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom, but you already know that.

Chapter 7: Today's The First Day Of The Rest Of Our Lives

April 1882

Apart from his lineage, Raoul de Chagny had always taken pride in his courtesy and his gentlemanly ways. When a woman rejected him, he always accepted it graciously. He may be slightly irked at the refusal, but it didn't injure his ego. He respected the woman's choice in turning him down. He didn't harbor resentment towards any men who did succeed in winning her over.

But that was in the past.

Christine was more than a pretty girl who took a fancy to his good looks and title. He had always wanted to marry her, ever since they first met as children at the seaside. Back then, he was too young to comprehend the unspoken rule of marrying within his own social class. They parted ways when she was nine and he was ten, as she moved to Paris with her ailing father. In the adolescent years that followed, Raoul often wondered about the charming Swedish girl who vanished from his life just as suddenly as she entered it.

As he reached adulthood, those colourful childhood memories of Christine gradually faded. Following the death of his father, Raoul took up responsibilities in his family's affairs. He accompanied Philippe to gatherings, mostly social parties and the occasional business meeting. He met countless women, flirted with half of them – all the ones his own age or younger – but was never inclined to court or marry any of them.

When he met Christine again, she was an aspiring singer. As an actress she was at the bottom of the social ladder, while he, a Vicomte and a de Chagny, no less, was at the top. But seeing her on stage that night – beautiful and radiant – he knew that he had to have her. She brought back into his life their old childhood dream. Only now, she was the troubled maiden of their nursery tales, her life and freedom endangered by a monster. Raoul had been her white knight, the one who saved her from that monster. Everything they dreamed of as children was almost coming true, only a night away from Raoul's grasp, when it all ended abruptly.

The thought of her disappearance made his blood boil. There was no doubt that the Phantom was to blame. He must have snuck into the de Chagny mansion, and spirited Christine away into the night, into his kingdom spun from illusions and deceit. The monster must have been furious that Christine – his protégée, whom he thought was so securely his – had chosen Raoul over himself, and kidnapped her out of spite. Did he honestly think that Christine would choose him, an aged, deformed monster who lived in eternal darkness, over the youth, beauty and wealth that Raoul had and the life in the sun that he could promise Christine? But the Phantom was a madman, and it was doubtless that he had stolen Christine to take revenge on Raoul's besting him.

What he hadn't factored in was Raoul perseverance. Although it had been a month since Christine's disappearance and most of the police had stopped searching for her, Raoul wouldn't stop. He would show that monster what was the consequence of stealing from Raoul de Chagny.

Erik had decided to go to England. Christine didn't care where they went; she just wanted to see the world. Crossing the English Channel to Devon was the quickest way out of France. Their plan was vague – "we'll see how it goes" was the full extent of it. They would travel through England, possibly Scotland and Ireland, then maybe return to continental Europe when the search for the Phantom has quieted.

Their carriage was small and light enough for them to travel quickly and quietly, though the design was elegant enough to fit in a middle-upper class environment. Christine could hardly believe that it was only weeks since they left the city. Not so long ago she was preparing to become a Vicomtesse, and now she was traveling to far-off place with a man hunted by the authorities.

In England, they posed as a married couple on their honeymoon, and no one so much as suspected that Erik was the Phantom. Outside of France the incident was little more than a ghost story, quickly dismissed as rumor and superstition. That first night of their journey, they stayed in an inn in Devon, small but clean and tidy. As soon as the door was closed behind them, they turned at stared at each other. The double bed, with its seemingly innocent white sheets, seemed to mock at them.

"I can take that chair, if you want me to..." Erik began awkwardly, gesturing at the stiff-looking armchair that stood in a corner of the room. After all, he had fallen asleep in worse places, anywhere from at a desk scattered with paper and quills and ink, to a stone floor in Russia in the middle of winter.

"There's no reason for you not to sleep in the bed. We've shared a bed before," Christine tried acting stronger and surer than she felt, but her embarrassment betrayed her by setting her cheeks aflame, and she ended the sentence in a mumble, looking at the ground. She forced herself to meet Erik's eyes. "It's simply pointless for you to sleep in that chair when the bed's large enough for both of us." She announced matter-of-factly. This time, to her pride, she didn't look away and she kept her voice from shaking.

It was easier said than done. Erik lifted one corner of the thick blanket, gesturing for Christine to get onto the bed. She did so and he settled on the opposite side of the bed, both of them lying on the edge, trying to stay as far as they could from each other. However, despite being a double bed, the mattress was not as spacious as they would have liked. Even though they were both lying as far as they could from each other, their backs brushed lightly against each other's.

Christine could sense Erik's unease. His rigid back. His deep breathing purposely even. The slight shifts he made to minimize their contact. She realized that she was doing the same thing. She was as tense and drawn as he was. The last time she spent the night in his arms had felt completely natural, with none of this awkwardness. To hell with propriety, she decided. Ignoring society's expectations of what a lady should do – sharing a bed and taking a lover were not deemed ladylike anyway, she reasoned – Christine rolled over and wrapped her arms around Erik's torso, letting his warmth seep through his nightshirt and her chemise.

Erik felt Christine's icy body press against his back "You're freezing." She nodded. How cold would she be to hold me voluntarily? Guilty, Erik rolled over, enveloping her slight body in his arms. She eagerly snuggled up to him. "You should have told me that you're cold."

"You're so warm," she murmured, nestling her head in the hollow between his shoulder and his neck, tucked under his chin. One of her arms came up around his neck. Erik's skin was usually evidently cooler than her own. Until she felt his warmth, she had not realized that her fingers and toes were starting to go numb.

"I'm sorry," the remorse was clear in his voice. As he spoke, she could feel his cool breath ruffle the hair at the top of her head.

"What for?"

"I can't give you even the most basic necessities. I can't even give you warmth and comfort. I'm sorry for everything, for what I've put you through last year. My temper is a force that I have no control over, and I'm sorry that you have been on the receiving end of that. I let my jealousy and madness take me to a point where I resorted to the most defiling behavior. That night after Don Juan, Christine, I was honestly on the verge of hurting you, or your boy. You never deserved any of that. I'm sorry for being a beast, for being a monster. I'm sorry for all that I had done against you, that you had suffered because of me."

"Do you think that I still hold a grudge against all that?" Christine asked incredulously. "I'm here of my own free will, Erik! Did you think that I would so willingly marry a man I loathe?" She slid her small hand into the cocoon of his long fingers, guiding his thumb over her ring. "I love you, Erik. And that is enough to undo everything you have done." She said with fervor, palming his cheek. To her disappointment, he casually shifted so that she did not touch the disfigurement.

Stunned, Erik could formulate no reply. Christine seemed to demand none from him. They slipped into silence, neither falling asleep. Erik marveled at the way Christine had freely forgiven him, and at the casual way that she accepted – even welcomed – physical contact with him.

"You are warm?" He broke the silence, maneuvering the topic from himself to her wellbeing. He felt with no little relief that the temperature of her hands had returned to normal, so that he was noticeably cooler than she was.

She nodded against his chest. Then, fearing that he would want to turn around again, she tightened her hold around him. She felt his abdomen rise and fall with a sigh, and he placed a tentative hand on the small of her back. The comfortable silence reminded her once again of their days in the opera house, how she could feel him watching her until she fell asleep, although neither one of them said a word to the other.

In the nights that followed, the awkwardness disappeared.

Christine was worried. And unsure. And more than anything else, terrified.

She had always been pale, but now she resembled Erik with his corpse-like complexion; her cheeks were worryingly bloodless. Her back ached like an old lady's, as did her feet, and her bosom was so tender that the lightest touch ached. She knew what was going on with her body; of course she did. And every time common sense tried to make her acknowledge the truth, she pushed it deeper into the recess of her mind, refusing to let it speak up in its tremulous voice. She denied it; denied what had happened to her; denied the suspicion that had festered in her for weeks now.

No. She steeled her mind. She pushed the thought away yet again with cold determination. It simply couldn't be a possibility. She refused to think the very word that stood for her "condition". It would be fatal. It would become real.

She wasn't ready. Erik wasn't ready. They were still on the run. They weren't people who were settled down, with a beautiful house, or a steady job, or even led a safe life. They didn't have a clear future. They didn't have safety. They could not provide for another.

And then there was the problem of age: Christine was barely twenty herself. She was little more than a child. She was weak and dependent and painfully inexperienced. She had her own problems to deal with. She had to mature and grow up and become someone who could stand on her own two feet.

Of course, there was a possibility that all this worrying was for nothing. After all, her condition was merely a suspicion. Not much less than fact, given the symptoms, but still, it was unproven. Christine dared to hope, even if the chance was slim. Perhaps she had missed her monthly bleeding due to stress. Perhaps she was tired because traveling was taking a toll on her delicate health. Perhaps there was a sensible, medical explanation to this all. Perhaps all this worry was for naught.

So, she would wait until she was certain. There was no point in alarming Erik, only to find out that all this was a misunderstanding.

She took a deep breath to calm herself. This would remain her secret for now.