Raoul couldn't remember all that well what had happened the night before. It was troubling because somehow he'd ended up in some sort of an unfamiliar candle-lit underground room. He was also chained to an organ, which he could honestly say was something that had never happened to him before.

All right. He was not completely clueless about where he was. Actually he was reasonably certain he was in the abode of the phantom of the opera—though the Phantom himself was nowhere in sight—and thus still somewhere underneath the opera house. Or somewhere near there, anyhow. Christine had said she had gotten to the Phantom's lair by means of gondola, which meant she had gone some distance from the original opening in her bedroom, and since she said she had lost track of time on the trip it could have been far enough to no longer be strictly speaking under the opera house but merely in the vicinity…

Raoul gave up on calculations. It was too hard. He'd woken up with a dry throat and a sore, cramped up body almost an hour ago, and he could still barely think.

In any case none of that really mattered because he was currently chained to the leg of an organ. He'd woken up lying on the floor next to it like that, probably the reason his body was so sore—there was a carpet on the floor that was surprisingly clean, and a black piece of cloth draped around him that Raoul suspected was the Phantom's cloak, but he could feel the rocky ground under it all the same, and it didn't exactly do wonders for his back. After that he'd gotten up fairly quickly and after ascertaining that he couldn't get the chain off the leg of the organ or his own leg had sat down on the organ bench. If he hadn't figured out it was the Phantom's lair by then, it would have become obvious when he saw the scores sitting on the organ with carefully penciled notes and letters. It was the score of Don Juan Triumphant—by now he'd recognize those damn lyrics anywhere.

So he'd been kidnapped by the Phantom. At least when the man had kidnapped Christine he'd been polite about it—gondola rides and music, albeit under the influence of hypnosis. But no such dignity for Raoul. No, he got choked and chained to pipe organs. It figured.

Raoul sighed and put his fingers down on the keys of the organ, resting them without pressing down. M. Daae had taught him the violin and tried to teach him the piano once. Raoul had been a decent violin player—was even now a better violin player than singer—but at the piano he had been somewhat hopeless. He only remembered a couple chords.

Mindlessly, he tried to locate the right keys for the chords. His first couple tries he got wrong, and the resulting dissonance was loud and angry enough to make him cringe. Though to be fair, there were some parts of Don Juan Triumphant that were equally cacophonous. "I am a great artist," he said aloud. He played the same dissonant chord. "I am the Angel of Music!" he yelled.

Of course no one responded.

Sighing, he repositioned his fingers on the keys. Making fun of the opera ghost behind his back would get him nowhere. To be fair, neither would trying to play anything good, but at least it would probably be easier on the ears. He finally located the few chords he could remember and played them in slow succession, mixing up the order in familiar patterns. M. Daae used to tell him to play them in various orders that had sounded sweet, although repeated too many times they had become monotonous. And he would constantly be craning to see over the top of the piano, to gaze at Christine sitting quietly in the corner, sometimes working on some embroidery or writing a letter, other times listening to him with a smile on her face. And she would see him looking at her and smile wider, and he would blush.

He shook his head, thinking of how peaceful things had been back then, how simple. As simple as the chords…and now, things were twisting into some ridiculous multi-part symphony he had no idea how to play…

Someone tapped his shoulder. He whirled around, hands accidentally crashing down on the keyboard for one final clash, to see the Phantom standing calmly behind him with a single raised eyebrow not covered by the mask.

"You," Raoul spluttered.

He was unsure what to say. He had seen the Phantom at the masquerade party before, but wearing the death's head mask and the flamboyant red costume he had hardly been recognizable at the same person, and while Raoul had chased him then they had not truly met. Apart from that, he had only ever encountered the Phantom as a voice.

"You like my organ, monsieur?" the Phantom said while Raoul was still staring at him. Casually, he sat down on the organ bench next to Raoul. Raoul immediately moved over but couldn't quite scoot to the far side of the bench because the chain fastened to his ankle wasn't that long.

Damn it.

"It's a fine instrument," he said. "Probably I'd appreciate it more if I weren't cuffed to it."

The Phantom hummed. "I did not know you played."

"I don't."

"You could, most likely," the Phantom said. "Here, give me your hands."

He took both of Raoul's hands and positioned them on the keyboard under his own gloved hands. Raoul, too startled to protest or move, sat stone still while the Phantom arranged his fingers just so, sighed and pressed down.

BANG.

Startled by the dissonance, Raoul shot up so quickly that he knocked the organ bench over and nearly tripped over his chain. He flailed, trying to catch his balance. The Phantom, who had somehow managed to stand more gracefully—perhaps foreseeing Raoul's spasm—grabbed Raoul by the shoulders and steadied him. "Maybe you aren't ready to learn how to play the organ yet. Perhaps something less combative." He bent down and picked up the organ bench, righting it a bit further back so that there was room for him and Raoul to stand.

By now, Raoul had come to his senses. Stepping around the organ and away from the Phantom, he said, "Monsieur, you must explain yourself." His hand slipped down to his waist, only of course he didn't have a sword on. Noticing the Phantom smirking at him, he put his hands on his hips as if it were what he had intended all along.

"What should I explain?" the Phantom said, casually leaning against the wall. "Is there a part of my opera that mystifies you? If you had accepted my tutelage weeks ago…"

"You know very well that is not what I mean," Raoul said. "What the hell am I doing here?"

"A good question," the Phantom said. "What were you doing? If you can't play the organ, and I'll admit by that reaction you are correct, why on Earth would you attempt it? Such fine instruments don't deserve the work of an amateur."

Raoul crossed his arms. He tried to take another step away from Erik, but once again was foiled by the length of the chain.

The Phantom said, "Very well. If it is the events of last night you want to know, they are simple enough."

He pushed the organ bench close to the organ and sat down again. After playing an opening chord that was slightly more melodic than the last (though still not Daae standard), he said, "I sent a note to Christine yesterday morning. I told her to come to Box Three to meet me and to send you to her dressing room. She did so. I waited until you were distracted, then came through the mirror and choked you into submission. Of course, restricting blood flow in the carotid artery will only render someone unconscious for less than a minute."

"Of course," Raoul said faintly.

The Phantom played another chord on the organ and did not continue the story.

He was clearly waiting for Raoul to ask him how, in that case, he had gotten Raoul from Christine's dressing room to his lair. Waiting for Raoul to ask him for details on how he had been kidnapped. As if Raoul was going to enable his gloating. He cleared his throat. "So you took advantage of my dazed state to drug me and then you hauled my body here."

The Phantom gave him a look of pure annoyance.

"I'm guessing it was laudanum. I hear that can evoke a certain kind of trance…"

"It does not matter how you got here," the Phantom said. "What matters is that I stole you from under the managers' noses—Christine's nose too for that matter."

"Get in a fight with Christine?" Raoul asked. He leaned against the organ. "I thought you were in love with her." His voice dripped venom on the word "love"—as if the Phantom could be in any such thing—and the Phantom scowled.

"She prefers you over me, and for a time I have allowed her to do so," he said. "But if she does love you as she claims, she ought to keep better track of you, don't you think?" He stood and touched Raoul's shoulder, sending a shiver through Raoul's body at the contact even though he was still wearing black gloves. "When I sent her the note she obeyed me. So she is still mine, no matter what you and she may say."

"By that logic you own the whole opera house."

"Do I not?"

"Don't you think that's a bit arrogant?"

"It's not arrogance," the Phantom said. "If I can follow through."

His hand was still on Raoul's shoulder, and now he lightly squeezed it. Before Raoul could pull away he brought his hand down, back to his side. "But we can talk over this at leisure, monsieur. You must be hungry. I have brought back food and drink."

"Leisure?" Raoul blinked. He had gotten too caught up in the conversation and half forgotten the situation. "Monsieur, the play goes on in…" He trailed off. He had no idea what time it was.

"Seven hours," the Phantom said blandly. "It's already noon. You slept very late, so I left you to perform my errands."

"There are preparations to be done," Raoul said. "There are singing warm-ups, and a brief run through."

"And gendarmes to talk to in order to arrange my capture," the Phantom said with a nod. He had taken out a parcel of brown paper and now began to unwrap it on a small table.

Raoul flushed. "You are the one who told me to perform in this opera, Monsieur O.G."

"Call me Erik."

"If you want me to perform, you must return me."

"A passionate plea," the Phantom observed. "It seems you like my opera after all."

He had finished unwrapping the parcel, revealing a loaf of bread and a hunk of cheese. With a smile, he also pulled an apple out from a bag Raoul had not noticed before, sitting in a corner. He held the apple temptingly in front of him, then brought it to his lips without biting. Noticing Raoul's skeptical stare, he placed the apple down on the table and said, "One would think you would recognize the choreography for your seduction scene."

"My apologies," Raoul said sarcastically. "I must be terribly dull."

To be honest, he'd never really understood what the apple was supposed to accomplish in that scene, where it was more of a distraction than anything else. But every time he brought it up the director and Christine would look knowingly at each other, so he'd stopped complaining.

The Phantom took out a bread knife and sliced up the bread and cheese. It was a terribly ordinary bread knife. Raoul felt somewhat disappointed—really, he thought, it should have been a dagger.

Task completed, the Phantom sent Raoul a contemplative look, and another long look at a coracle which was now on the edge of the water. He must have rowed in while Raoul was playing the organ loudly enough to cover the noise. Now, with a sigh, he walked across the room and pulled down a lever, and with a creak a wall of grating descended a few yards into the water. The Phantom watched until it was fully lowered, then walked over to Raoul.

"I'd rather you not eat over my organ," he said. "You could get crumbs under the keys."

"A travesty," Raoul said. He shuffled slightly, clinking the chain. His mind was racing. Did the Phantom intend to unlock the cuff? That could be hugely advantageous. The grating was blocking the way out now but it was controlled easily by a lever, and had moved very quickly. The coracle might be slow, of course—but then, the water didn't look very deep. As a last resort, Raoul could always swim.

Of course, it would all depend on him being able to overpower the Phantom for a minute or so, which had not turned out so well the last time, but now the Phantom did not have the element of surprise in his favor and he did not seem to have a weapon either. Raoul had sporting odds—for a risky gamble, at least.

He squared his feet on the floor and smiled politely. "Very well then. Let us eat at the table."

The Phantom snorted and shook his head. "You're altogether too obvious, monsieur. You want to try your luck?"

"There would be no point in my trying anything. You've brought the grate down."

"Yes, and you would have no idea what path to take out of here—it's not a simple tunnel, you know—and I'm probably twice as strong as you," the Phantom said drily. "But you'd still like to try, wouldn't you?"

Raoul would have said something then but the Phantom silenced him by bringing a hand up to touch his cheek. A gloved hand, still, but again he shivered.

The Phantom said, "I could stop you but I'd rather not hurt you."

"You did not seem as hesitant last night."

As if reminiscing, the Phantom slid his hand down to Raoul's neck. Raoul tensed. No point in fighting him now, not when he didn't know where the key to the ankle cuff was and he was stuck to a damned organ. But if tried to squeeze down, Raoul was still going to punch him in the nose, mask or no.

But the Phantom didn't. Instead, he wandered off to another corner of the lair and came back with a short coil of rope.

"Hands," he said.

At that, Raoul really did go to punch him in the nose. Unfortunately the Phantom moved quicker than he did, and somehow his hand ended up tangled in the rope, and then twisted behind his back. The same happened pretty quickly to his other hand. He cursed.

The Phantom fetched a key from a drawer and unlocked the cuff on Raoul's ankle. "Well then, monsieur. Let us eat."

Raoul gritted his teeth. Fine then.

He followed the Phantom over to the table, where two chairs were already set up. Set up for Raoul? Or perhaps for Christine…no, she had only been here once. For who, then? The Phantom couldn't have many visitors. Maybe he really had procured a second chair for Raoul. Or maybe he kept a second chair there regularly because he liked to be reminded that he was lonely.

They sat down. The Phantom poured drinks—water only, to Raoul's surprise. He brought out plates from a cupboard (where Raoul could clearly see at least ten plates, if the chair hadn't been sad enough) and served the food, two slices of bread and cheese for Raoul, two slices of bread and cheese for the Phantom. And half of the apple for each of them.

"I'm not going to be able to eat it," Raoul said. He wiggled his fingers against the rope—no, on reflection it was more like cord—holding his hands behind his back. Maybe the Phantom wanted him to eat with his face on the plate like a dog. Honestly, Raoul was fairly hungry at this point and hardly cared what the Phantom thought of him. If he had to, he'd probably do it.

But the Phantom, after taking a few bites of his own meal, shifted his chair closer to Raoul's and, picking up a piece of the bread with a slice of cheese on top of it, held it up to Raoul's lips. Raoul leaned back slightly, and the Phantom only reached a bit further. Finally, keeping his eyes on the food, Raoul took a bite. The bread and cheese stayed at a level. He chewed. Swallowed. Took another bite.

Looked up to find the Phantom's eyes fastened on his face, and carefully continued chewing. He couldn't let the Phantom know he was rattled. At least it was still better than trying to pick up the bread using only his teeth.

"You'd like some water," the Phantom said. His voice was oddly low and quiet. He put down the bread and cheese and brought the glass of water to Raoul's lips. Raoul worried that he would spill the water down Raoul's neck, onto his shirt, or maybe pour so much into Raoul's mouth that he would gag, but he only poured a little into Raoul's mouth before tilting the glass back up again, and waited for Raoul to swallow before repeating the action.

The entire meal went like that. In the end, the Phantom had a lot of food left to eat when Raoul was done. He ate it quietly, not pausing to speak. In the silence Raoul realized he had not spoken the entire time.

Finally, the Phantom was done eating. Putting his glass down with a clink of finality, he said, "In any case, monsieur, you should not worry about the play."

"The play," Raoul repeated. The play. He had not thought about it in what seemed like hours.

"While I was out, I happened to overhear a conversation between the managers and a few others. Monsieur Piangi will be replacing you. So you see there is no need for you to return tonight."

Using his feet, Raoul pushed his chair away from the table. "And how long do you intend to keep me here, then?" He intended to sound demanding. His voice came out slightly ragged instead.

"We will see," the Phantom said. Reassuring. "For tonight, I thought you might like to see my—no, perhaps I should say our—opera. I have Box Five reserved."

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AN: When I wrote this fic (and it's actually been done now for a while, I just keep forgetting to update), this chapter was me being like, "okay bae you wrote a lot of plot and meta so now you can enjoy a relaxing chapter of kidnapping, bondage and bread and cheese before we go back to war." All my favorite things.

Anyways, I hope you're enjoying Raoul's experiences as a kidnap victim! They will recommence next chapter. In the meantime I'd love to hear from y'all in the reviews. :)