Soooo… new chapter is up! Hope you like it :) Review please!

Disclaimer: I do not own POTO, but I really wish I did!

Chapter 7: Weeping Angels

- Christine's POV -

As the day rose, Christine got up. Ever since her father had died, she would visit his grave on the first day of each year. She had always thought of it not as a sign of grief, but of hope. Hope that, wherever he was, he could guide and help her through troubled times. This year, she needed him more than ever before – she had improved her social status as a primma donna, but that fact didn't console her much. She would give anything to go back to much simpler times, when everyday was magical and she didn't have to worry about marriage proposals from vicomtes or masked men. Christine might have been poor and disregarded as a not very promising ballerina, but she'd never felt as lonely before. The events that had taken place the night before only made it worse. She had spent all night long tossing and turning, trying to make sense of everything Mme. Giry had told her about the opera ghost. He was just a man, she knew as much. Illusions concerning him had shattered a long time ago – Christine was no longer as ingenuous as she'd once been. But the story of his life had left a strong impression on her. How lonely he must have been all these years! A poor child living under the opera house, afraid of the harsh cruelty of men. His geniality never acclaimed, a life of shadows and death. The powerful mighty Phantom of the Opera had hidden not only his face but also his identity under the mask, concealed from the world and its malice. Never loved, always feared. Never a friendly gesture from anyone, not a word of kindness. Christine pitied him. How could she not? Despite his unfortunate life, he had always been kind to her. Everything she was, she owed it to him. Had he not noticed her, not taken her as his protégé, her life would have been a lot harder. Despite all of this, her angel had managed to love her in his own way. And he was not a young boy any longer. No, quite the contrary; he was a powerful man who was thirsty for love.

Her lips still tingled with remembrance of the previous night. The husky voice still echoed in her ears, the memories of duskiness in those emerald green eyes still sent shivers down her spine. What was she supposed to do? She'd been caught off guard by his behavior. So very possessive, so very rough. What would have happened if he had stayed? Christine trembled with excitement at the thought. But it still upset her that he accused her of having had an affair with Raoul. Of all people her angel should know that such accusations had no ground. Not to mention the role he had assigned to her on his opera. He wanted to teach her again? What could he possibly mean by that?

As thoughts ran wild, Christine dressed and went down to the stables. The opera house was silent and everyone was soundly asleep. Quickly, she addressed one of the stablemen and gave him a silver coin. "To my father's grave, please."

On her way, Christine felt the cold wind blowing on her face. Confusion had settled in her mind and she felt hopeless. Entering the cemetery, memories resurged in her mind and tears streamed down her face. At a quick pace she got to Gustave Daaé's grave. On this day, grief got the best of her. "Papa, what am I to do? What would you have me do?" Sobs started to build up. "I feel so lost, papa. My angel won't forgive me. I don't know what to do. I lost my friend, I lost the one friend who stayed when you were gone. What a fool I've been! I was so heartless, I really was. And I'm being punished for it, I am!" Christine cried her heart out. She didn't know how long had passed, but it had started to snow heavily and she was shivering with cold. It was time for her to leave. Silently, she said her prayers and went back to the Ópera Populaire.

- Erik's POV –

A chilly morning was upon him. Or at least he supposed, since he had no way of knowing in his lair. Last night had drowned him in guilt and shame. His conduct towards Christine had been abominable and he hated himself for it. Just when he had the chance to set things right between them, he had to sabotage the whole thing! Erik truly believed Christine to be horrified by his actions. He had always tried to act the perfect gentleman around her, to make her feel safe in his presence. And yet again, he had managed to frighten her further, proving himself the monster she undoubtedly believed him to be. After rescuing from that boy, he had worsened things. There was no other way – he needed to apologize properly. For Erik, honor had always been a second plan issue; survival had always been his priority. This time, it was different. It wasn't about survival, it was about respecting the woman he so dearly loved. Christine's acceptance was too important for him - it was invaluable to have her in his life and he was ready to accept his faults, as much as it wounded his pride.

He got ready to go out. If his memory didn't fail him, Christine went to the graveyard on the first day of every year. Erik decided not to follow her, for he understood her need for a private moment to mourn the loss of her father. He had to restrain himself when it came to her and would not disrespect her further by going after Christine. In fact, he would rather wait for her to return.

Ever so carefully, he went to the stables. Fortunately, the extensive celebrations that had taken place made it easier for him to move to an isolated spot, from which he could observe perfectly everything that took place without being noticed.

The carriage appeared at the end of the alley. Christine got off of it swiftly and Erik managed to hold her arm. He had startled her but she didn't cry out loud, thankfully. Erik examined her face. Red puffy eyes were an absolute trace of crying and there was such desolation in them that his heart sank. Erik couldn't help but feel that the tears had been his fault, even if partially.

"Christine." His tone was grave. "I need to talk to you most urgently."

- Christine's POV -

She was taken aback by the phantom's sudden appearance. His look was serious, his presence as dark and mysterious as ever; fascinating as only the phantom of the opera could be. Christine had definitely not anticipated this. Of course, she had assumed that they would need to speak eventually. Or so she had hoped. Anyway, whatever the matter it seemed serious enough to make him into broad sunlight – well, not exactly, since it was snowing and the sky was darkened by big deep grey clouds.

"Alright then. Let us talk." She replied softly, almost whispering.

Without further exchange of words or looks, the phantom led her through staircases and tunnels, until they had reached the top of the opera house. They entered a dusty room contiguous to the rooftop. Clearly it wasn't used very often, for it was completely empty. Christine thought that it would have made a splendid ballroom. Not only was it enormous, but it also had one of the most exquisite features she'd ever found in a room - glass walls and roof. How come no one knew about this? She had lived in the opera house for about twelve years and never had she realized this room existed! She was charmed by it and it wasn't until she heard the phantom's footsteps that Christine remembered what she'd come there for. She turned around and noticed the gloomy expression across the phantom's face. He appeared distressed, which was making Christine the more anxious.

"What is it?"

He was looking in her direction, but at the same time he seemed absentminded. It was almost as if he was looking through her, not at her. Slowly, he moved towards her.

"Christine…" the golden voice was quivering. "Forgive me." The phantom looked down and breathed in deeply. His eyes were wandering around, not focusing on anything. His look was drawing away from Christine.

"W-what?" She was astonished, and rather perplexed.

"I want to apologize for my manners last night. I am deeply ashamed of my behavior towards you. I assaulted you, harassed you! I can't forgive myself for those vile actions. You are right to think of me as monster; I deserve no other name regarding my conduct. I'm a beast, a brute!" His words were getting louder and harder at himself, filled with hatred.

"Stop it!" she heard herself cry.

The man looked her straight in the eyes for a moment, but then carried on with his speech of self-loath, thunderous echoing. "But I am a monster! I KILLED BUQUET! And yesterday I almost took advantage of you! I pushed you against the wall, I almost…" he gulped. "…forced myself upon you. I must be a beast of the worst sort! I wouldn't blame you if you feared me and detested me. I deserve it, I do deserve it…"

As serenely as she could, Christine said.

"You did not assault me or mistreat me." She touched his arm and the phantom looked at her. The expression in his eyes could only be interpreted as disbelief.

"I pushed you! And my behavior was most inappropriate! Christine, I almost tainted you!"

"You did not do such a thing, monsieur! I'm not injured! In fact, if it hadn't been for you I might as well could have been harmed!" Christine was sobbing. "Don't call yourself such things, please. You have saved my life and yesterday you rescued me again." She tried to smile. "Don't say such things. You couldn't have possibly taken advantage of me, you barely even touched me! Please, don't punish yourself needlessly." Weeping, she continued. "I'm unworthy of such actions from you. I'm the one who needs forgiveness. I should have thought of how lonely you were, of how kind you were to me when I was alone. I could have been a better friend to you, and still you kept protecting me. You have no idea of how much I owe you. Don't say such things. I am not afraid of you and I trust I could never be."

- Erik's –

Erik thought he was dreaming. Was Christine really saying such things?

"I'm not plotting against you. Do you believe me now?"

Her expression was honest and hopeful. He could not deny her sincerity and generosity towards him. Not any longer. Pain stung in his chest and shock overcame him. How come he could have been so blind? All that time, she had been trying to reach out to him, and he had been so consumed with jealousy and suspicion that he had kept her at bay.

"I killed a man, Christine. My hands are of a murderer."

"Why did you do it?" was her calm reply.

"I had advised Firmin and André about for the cast of 'Il Muto', as you well know." Erik groaned. "After my appearance, Buquet tracked me down. I couldn't let him catch me… he was too close." His eyes shone with unshed tears. "I couldn't let him. Men are wicked, Christine. You have no idea." He was shaking.

Christine did not respond. She got closer and embraced him, her resting head on his chest. They'd never been this intimate. Actually, he'd never been this intimate with anyone. No one had ever held him. No one had ever cared. He held her back in a clumsy way, but she did not flinch.

"I am not afraid of you." She looked up and released him ever so slowly. They stared at each other for a long time, until she broke the silence.

"May I ask you something?" Her voice was slightly shaking but soft. He gave her an encouraging look.

"What is your name?" A flush spread across her cheeks and she looked away shyly. "I m-mean, you don't have to tell me if you do not wish to. It's just that…" Their eyes locked. "… I find it strange not having anything else to call you but 'angel'."

Oh. From all the questions she could have asked – and that he imagined she would ask – he had not considered this one.

"Erik. My name is Erik."

"Erik." She repeated. His name sounded magical on her lips.

They fell into comfortable silence again. Snowflakes were gently falling outside, looking like small crystal stars as the sun shed on them. Christine was tremulous and he didn't know if she was cold or emotional. He took of his gloves and gently whispered.

"Christine."

"Hm?" She had been watching the snow most thoughtfully and now her chocolate curls bounced as she turned her head towards him. He held her small delicate hands in his own and affectionately squeezed them

"Your hands are cold."