Disclaimer: The only things I own are the plot and my OCs, who will be making an appearance in this chapter.

Chapter 10: Believe In Love

May 1882

Erik and Christine entered London amid the evening rush of traffic. The carriage rolled over cobblestone roads as Erik steered Iago through the centre of the city, along the bank of the Thames. Christine was filled with energy as twilight set in on the city. In some ways it was like Paris, a metropolis. At the same time, it could not be more different.

Christine had always associated Paris with the reflective sheen of metals. London, on the other hand, was all shades of gray. Covering the indigo dusk sky was a layer, or rather, multiple layers, of soot and black smoke, which billowed from every rooftop. Homes, factories, and virtually every building sported a chimney that contributed to the thick smog that hung in the atmosphere. The pollution in the air was almost tangible on her tongue.

But she found herself fascinated with the hustle and bustle around them. Had she been away from a city for so long that she had forgotten what it was like? The streets of London seemed so much livelier than the boulevards of Paris. Carriages, carts, pedestrians appeared to move on the streets without any order whatsoever. The clamour of sounds swelled and flowed around her, rising in a raucous din. A chorus of voices, all shouting and calling at once in English, spoken with a variety of unfamiliar accents. The gentle yet powerful sound of the Thames, its waves lapping the shore. The noisy rattle of wheels and hooves on cobblestoned roads.

She turned to Erik, who was driving them through this whirlwind of activity without acknowledging it. Even in the middle of a crowd he appeared to be isolated from it, occupying a bubble all on his own. "You've been here before, haven't you?" She asked him.

"Yes," he replied with an impassiveness that could almost be passed for uncaring, save the warmth that punctuated his voice whenever he spoke to her. "It was many years ago, though; not long before I settled in Paris." He looked at her and a small smile appeared on the unconcealed corner of his mouth. Christine was absolutely endearing as she peered anxiously around the city, trying to take in everything at once. The light of curiosity shone from behind her grey eyes. "My dear, we will spend quite a while in this city. There is no rush for you to try committing this all to memory." He said fondly.

She returned a bashful look, self-consciously tucking her hair behind her ear. She was so utterly beautiful. In the dimness of the twilit street, she seemed to glow with a radiance all her own.

"London is very active in its other arts. There are several art galleries in the city; there is so much I can teach you about art! And the architecture is breathtaking." Erik pointed out the intricate designs on a nearby building. "I've always been partial to the gothic style."

"What about the opera houses?" She pressed. "You have commended them several times… can we watch an opera sometime?" Her face glowed with child-like excitement.

"Of course, my dear," he agreed, the hint of a smile fighting to appear on his lips. "And it is also a great opportunity for your career. Your voice will bring people from all over Europe to London, just to hear the voice of an angel!"

"Yes!" She agreed, laughing merrily at this notion of a bright. "And of course you must compose more arias and duets and operas. Your spirit and my voice, in one combined."

"Everything you want, Christine," he promised softly.

Shortly after arriving in the city, Erik had acquired a house in one of the quiet areas just outside London. It had once been the home of an elderly gentleman. Since his recent death it had been left vacant, slightly out of order. The exterior was stately, with grand designs, but simplistic enough to have the warmth of a home. There were large windows that looked out over the river on one side, and the grounds on the other. Erik had made plans for the renovation of the interior. The house would be fit for living in another month.

The house was a two-storied structure. The second floor consisted of the master bedroom, Erik's study (little used as it was) and no small number of spare rooms. The one adjacent to the master bedroom was destined to become the nursery. On the ground floor were the places for formal greetings – the dining room, the parlour, the drawing room. At the back of the house, on the ground floor, was the music room, with a grand piano still in it. The adjoining room was a huge library. Christine had been thrilled at the volumes that sat on the shelves. Some were so old that their spines were cracked and their pages yellowed. Their apparent fragility implied that they must be handled with utmost care.

The grounds of the property were modest, but the surrounding countryside held miles of woodlands and fields. On the grounds themselves was a wide field for keeping horses, as well as an airy stable. A smaller structure that served as a staff's quarters lay a small distance away from the main building. At half an hour's journey away from London, the house was distant enough from the city that it offered a quiet calm. It was near a couple of smaller villages, but just far enough to ensure their privacy.

Until the renovation was complete, Erik and Christine would live in a hotel in the city. Unlike the small inns they had stayed in throughout their journey from France, this one was much grander and luxuriant. Erik was a wealthy man – perhaps even more affluent than the de Chagnys. The high-end accommodation was by no means unaffordable.

A few nights after their arrival in London, Christine and Erik went out for dinner at a costly restaurant. Christine's hand on Erik's arm, they looked like any other married couple out for the night.

It was difficult to imagine that a creature, a child – his child – was now stirring in her. Christine was ecstatic about it, in the fashion that was truly her. She was always devoted and passionate to the things she loved, and Erik could not imagine a world where she would not love her unborn child. She had wanted to be a mother, and Erik was happy that he could grant her that wish. And as much as he tried to deny it, he, too, was excited for the imminent arrival of their baby, the fruit of their love.

But his worries outweighed his joy by far. He knew as well as Christine that the timing for her pregnancy was less than ideal. They were not legally married yet. Sworn their love again and again, yes; but marriage, with a wedding ceremony and vows and the exchange of rings that proved their bond to each other, was yet to come. The prospect of parenthood had always been at a safe, unreachable distance. He had never before contemplated the idea of himself as a father. He would be content forever to simply have Christine.

Children was something he stayed away from as a general rule, with the then ten-year-old Christine being the obvious exception to that. He was a destructive force, breaking and hurting anything and anyone he touched. Who knew how much damage he could cause to a helpless, trusting child? He did not know how to love them, or to care for them, or to protect them. But what worried him even more so than what he could not give to his child was what he may give to them. His deformity. There was always the chance that his birth defect would be passed on. For a child as deformed as he was, the chances of surviving past infancy were incredibly slim. Watching her baby die soon after birth would break Christine. And he feared that it would break him.

Presently, he and Christine had barely settled into a table near the back of the restaurant when a man in his mid fifties approached them. His hair, light brown in color and greying at the roots, was styled in a slightly out dated way, something that would have been fashionable maybe half a decade earlier. His eyes twinkled in a lightly tanned face, behind gold-rimmed glasses. Overall he was mediocrely handsome, in a plain, unmemorable way.

"Erik Destler?" The surprise in his voice was evident.

"Flavio Morino," Erik stood, clapping the older man on the shoulder. He spoke in flawless Italian: "Allow me to introduce my fiancée, Christine Daae."

"Daae... the girl who caused quite a scandal in Paris?" Despite his words, Flavio's smile was warm and genuine, as though he approved of her actions. He

took her hand in his and kissed its back. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Madame."

"The pleasure is mine." Christine replied with easy grace. Her Italian was fluent, much to her pride. She was glad that Erik had taught her several Italian operas. At the time she had hated learning a new language, but now it was definitely proving to be useful.

Flavio sat into a chair by Erik's side, despite the fact that he had not been invited to join them. He earned a glare from Erik, who moved closer to Christine in an almost protective manner.

"I met Flavio in Rome, twenty odd years ago," Erik explained to Christine. "I was young, perhaps not yet twenty. He was a traveling doctor, on his way home to Venice, and I accompanied him. He is one of the few men in the world who do not judge me for how I look." In his eyes was the rare look of admiration and genuine fondness.

"As a doctor I have seen a lot. Erik is not the only one who suffers from unfortunate defections since birth." Flavio shrugged in nonchalance. Christine could understand Erik's respect for him. Flavio did not judge him by the face that he had been born with, and that alone merited respect and admiration.

"So, Flavio," Erik took the chance of the other man's silence to change the topic. "Anyone important on your life?"

"Not a woman, if that is what you're implying." Flavio muttered almost condescendingly. "You know that I have vowed never to lose myself like that. But I do have an apprentice, Edward. He's been with me since he was ten. He is useful, I suppose." Flavio sipped his wine and studied the dark red liquid. "So Paris is where you chose to stay? And no word from you at all, all those years!"

"I have written you," Erik protested.

"Oh yes, of course you have – for no longer than the first six months!" Flavio retorted. "Then you abandoned the letters; I supposed you must have moved away, because staying in one place was never quite very you. You are quite often taken prey by wanderlust."

"I was distracted," Erik said defensively.

"You're always distracted."

"I took on a protégée and was busy fulfilling my role as a teacher."

"You never had the patience to teach," Flavio raised an eyebrow in semi-disbelief.

Erik simply shrugged. "She was talented and obedient and quick to learn." He put an arm around Christine's waist. "The best student I could have asked for." Her cheeks reddened at his compliment.

"Oh," Flavio's eyes widened in understanding. "Then it's no wonder that Mademoiselle Daae has the voice of an angel."

"My greatest creation," His pride was evident.

"Any more surprises, Erik?" Flavio asked. Erik shrugged nonchalantly. "In that case I don't suppose that you have anything to do with that whole Opera Ghost business, then?"

"You say that like you've already decided that it's my fault the Opera Garnier was haunted."

"With you being in the same city? The chances of you having nothing to do with it are incredibly slim, you must admit." A smirk formed on the older man's face.

"A man has to earn his living somehow, doesn't he?" A devious light glinted in Erik's golden eyes.

"Of course, and terrorizing opera house managers is just another respectable profession," Flavio remarked. "Attractive to the ladies, no?" He tipped his head towards Christine."

"We wouldn't have met otherwise," Christine argued. "He taught me to sing while I was only a ballet girl at the opera. He gave me my voice and helped me to remember my love for music."

"Well, I never thought that there would be a woman who would allow herself to marry him."

"People are superficial; I've learned that appearances can be deceiving," She answered with easy grace.

"What about all that he has done?" Flavio prompted. An ominous shadow descended over his face. "Do you know what his hands are capable of? What blood they have spilt, how they have caused pain as willingly as they have given you pleasure?"

"Yes." Christine answered, her voice taking on a haughty edge. She felt the pressure of Erik's hand on the small of her back. "I also know that they are capable of writing the most beautiful pieces of music, that could only be the creation of an angel."

Flavio leaned back, his demeanor suddenly becoming relaxed. The sinister glower was gone without a trace. "You've found yourself a perfect girl, Destler." He commented lightly. "How on earth did you manage to woo her?"

"He didn't 'woo' me; I've simply always loved him," She answered coolly, her head held high. Erik's hand brushed hers lightly and she looked up at him to meet his eyes of molten gold. Pride and gratitude sparkled in their depths. Unprepared for the intensity of emotion in his eyes, Christine's gaze dropped to their joint hands for a moment, and almost immediately raised again to lock with his eyes. I know. She let a brief smile flicker onto her lips. He returned one of his own.

Flavio was studying at the pair with interest. "Forgive me, Mademoiselle Daae, but are you pregnant?"

She felt her cheeks heat up. Erik answered before she could speak. "You know better than to ask personal questions like that. That was exceptionally rude, even from you." He growled protectively. Christine could sense the Opera Ghost simmering just under the surface.

The other man shrugged, not intimidated in the slightest. "I'm a doctor, Erik. I know the signs of pregnancy."

"Then there was no need to ask, was there?" Erik's eyes were narrowing into dangerous golden slits, his voice a threatening hiss. He looked uncannily like a tiger, crouched and ready to defend himself against an attacker.

"Knowing you, she probably hasn't seen a doctor yet; she needs medical attention, and you know it."

"I would ask for your medical advice when I need it," angry sarcasm laced every word.

"Is that why you're marrying her? Because she's carrying your spawn?" Contempt filled Flavio's voice. "I'm not surprised; you never take responsibility until it's forced on you."

"Erik's been planning our wedding for a long time; my pregnancy has nothing to do with it." Christine butted in firmly, her eyes blazing with cold fire.

"Christine –" Erik began.

"Don't you dare tell me to stay out of this; it's my fiancé he's insulting," She rounded on him fiercely.

Flavor inclined his head. "In that case, my apologies." But his eyes suggested that he felt differently.

"Apology accepted." Christine replied coldly.

To Christine's surprise, her outburst to Flavio's improper question was not followed by an awkward, icy silence. Both men appeared to be unfazed by the incident, as though it were a common occurrence. It was obvious that the friendship between these two men, despite Erik's reluctance to give it the name, was strong and close.

Erik even inquired about Flavio's romantic pursuits. "Did you court anyone after that girl from Florence – Gianna, was it not?"

Flavio's eyes lit up in anger. "Court her I did, despite my family's disapproval. You know that I come from a prestigious and well-known family, they couldn't believe that I wanted to marry a low-born girl. They threatened to disown me if I insisted on marrying Gianna, but I wouldn't call off our engagement because I was so blinded by love." He spat the word out with contempt. "They disowned me, and I worked hard to make my living as a doctor, despite my lack of experience and my meager pay, I gave everything I had to provide for her. I bought her everything she wanted - jewelry, dresses, any desire, however expensive, was given to her.

"And then, a few short days before the wedding – and it was to be a huge, elaborate, magnificent wedding! – she left me, without so much as an explanation or a goodbye. I had already paid for all the expenses, and I was broke from supporting her extravagant lifestyle.

"She just left me, ran off with a man she barely knew. He was rich, I do not doubt it, because Gianna had always cared for materialistic things. It was because of her poor background. She had spent the majority of her life seeing expensive things, and could only admire them from afar because she could not afford them. I sometimes believe that the only reason she even allowed me to court her was because of my family's money. She knew that I would spend everything I had on her, so she took advantage of that.

"I gave up everything for her – my family, my money, my entire inheritance. And she left me with nothing. I have sworn off love, because it had brought me nothing but despair." His eyes were stony with hatred for the woman who had made him a blind fool in his love for her. "I will not love again, because I have learned my lesson. Love is a hopeless pursuit, but it makes us mad with it. The only way I can keep my head clear is if I never love again."

Erik nodded, his expression as unreadable as ever. Christine slipped her hand, wanting to feel his fingers entwine with hers as a promise that he would not give up on love. The gentle pressure which she felt in return was a reassurance that he believed love was worth it.

A/N: I'm sorry that this chapter was a bit dull. But remember, the absence of the light is a necessary part. And yes, that IS a lyric from 93 Million Miles by Jason Mraz. This is a bit of a filler chapter, but I PROMISE that it is absolutely necessary to the story later on!

Also, the next chapter will be primarily fluff, to make up for the dullness of this one.