Han Futsu: my phic makes people get stared at in public! That's awesome!

Librarian of the Deep: wait and see, wait and see... and keep in mind how weak Christine's mind is... (wink)

Songwind: the last chapter, 12, is exclusively OG correspondence, and was absolutely my favourite to write... I'm looking forward to seeing what people's responses are to it... :)

Baffled Seraph: I find those things to be attractive, too... I think after the POTO movie there was probably a surge in parents sending their daughters to psychiatrists...

Circe Rose: wonder what it is about your reviews? But thanks for explaining them to me, takes a load off my mind... and I love long reviews...

EriksAngel1870: I bow back to you! (Pictures Raoul going up to Christine and singing "Do Ya Think I'm Sexy?" ala Rod Stewart) Its because of YOU that that image is in my mind...!

Beads: I still haven't steeled myself for letting go... I love all the reviews I'm getting on this, its way beyond anything I've ever written. And I've got an ego the size of, well, Texas, so you can imagine...

Phantomy-cookies: Yeah, only twelve. I wrote them all in like three days, too. I hope that "Scotch and dog biscuits" gets around a bit... bring it up on PFN or something for me, will you:) I've become a bit of a lurker there but haven't actually signed in again... kind of frightening that way...

Frogboy Lives: wondered how many people would latch onto that line! It was a late addition to the chapter... I'm so glad I decided to put it in after all...

Joanieponytail: Thanks for all your reviews! Another Gerry phan. (Sigh) Tons of those about these days. And I am sure he loves and lusts for ever single one. My psychiatrist tells me so.

Wildpixiechild16: I know, something about the story makes people write a lot of downers for fanphiction... what's that about:) Sarcasm, by the way.

Padfootz-luvr: go right ahead, print all you want. I think after its all posted here I'll give it its own website... (pats phic on the head phondly... lots of p's around)

KeeperOfBoxFive: your review made me laugh! Thank you!

Jessica Darque: aw, thanks... yeah the last two days have been much much much better... MUCH...

Mena: you should have! Ah well, you can go back and review the rest some other time. Thanks!

Aries-chica56: Glad its getting better stead of worse... :)

sparklyscorpion: Yeah, I liked writing that part. So much of it was totally random, the lavender shirts and all...

EmailyGirl: see, another person who reads this in public! Apparently a mistake! Love your last chapter by the way...

Sephira Netzach: oh, do your own Raoul-bashing. (Grin) I have to tell you, for my Erik/Christine under the Opera phic, there will almost certainly be a chapter entitled "Bobbing For Fops." Does that help?

Andiavas: thanks for reviewing! Keep reading!

A/N: There will now be a brief and apparently pointless scene, stolen from the movie, in which the Phantom slides acrobatically into a miscellaneous room and messes about with levers, chains, and just basically shows off his manly chest, via a frilly white shirt, open to the navel. There is apparently a drastic button shortage in Paris. We fully expect him to break out the maracas and burst into "The Boy From Oz" at any moment. The key point of this scene appears to be to give us the chance to examine him for nipple jewelry, which is, sadly, lacking.

Chapter Ten: In Which The Performance Goes Forth

It was time for the performance to begin. As I stood in the wings trying to make my costume stay on, I began to regret that I'd never learnt Italian, for I never could make heads or tails out of most of the operas I was required to sing. However, that was rather besides the point, as this one was in English.

Meanwhile, also backstage, Piangi was complaining.

"I wanted a nice big sword," he said, "but the property master gave me this little teeny one! Look at it— more of a dagger— ridiculous—"

"For heaven's sake, Piangi," snapped Raoul, "its not the size of the thing, its how you use it!" His tone was so vehement, so personal, that everyone turned to look at him. After a moment his face turned red and he started to stare at the floor.

I began to wonder if perhaps he remembered more of the conversation we had about Erik than I thought.

What was he doing back here, anyway?

I ventured over and asked him.

"Raoul, why aren't you out in your seat in box five?"

"Box five?" he said. "I'm not sitting in box five."

"Oh, sorry. Force of habit, um— whatever box you're in, why aren't you there?"

"I came to wish you luck, my dear. Not that I think you will need it, of course." He favoured me with a smile. I smiled back.

"Of course I won't need it. It's the costume I've got on that needs luck. Or at least some kind of antigravity system. Notice how it hasn't sleeves of any kind."

"I do notice," said Raoul. "That is— I had better go."

I watched his retreat and wondered what Erik would make of the sleeveless, backless costume. Perhaps he would be in Box Five— a stupid error on my part to mention it to Raoul— and would see for himself the fruits of his labors.

But I found to my disappointment, when I got onstage, that Box Five seemed to be deserted. The first thing I felt was anger at Erik, for deserting me in this manner. If he was going to go through the whole effort of writing a vengeful opera against Raoul and me, he should at least bother to show up. But the opera had started, and I could not concentrate on Erik— I had to concentrate on not letting my costume fall off.

I suppose my first clue that something was wrong was when Don Juan came back onstage after an exit and Piangi appeared to have undergone a rapid weight loss program. Also he was five inches taller. And smelled better. And was infinitely more seductive. I should have paid more attention, should have realized— but he was wearing a mask, so—

So I didn't realize it was Erik until he had started singing. Specifically, I knew it was him when he sang:

"Silent— silent—"

Putting a finger to his attractively-shaped lips to illustrate, he stared directly at me and slowly slid the finger up his nose.

Curse him! Was this the form of revenge he had decided to take? Here we were performing in front of the biggest audience I've ever seen and he was trying to make me laugh.

I suppose I should be grateful after all for Erik's peculiar sense of humour. The average Frenchman's taste in the risible tends more towards whoopie cushions. I suppose there are worse fates that could have befallen me.

I began my part and Erik snickered. More sabotage. I sang gamely on, however, remembering the first time I'd heard him play this song for me, down in the lair, when it was newly written.

"It's the latest discovery, Christine," he had said at the time. "It's all about sex."

It certainly was. I sang the lines but Erik, back to the audience, was making faces at me, leering, and I found myself blushing furiously. On top of which, my dress found that an opportune moment to go AWOL. I clasped it back to my chest with a gasp. Erik laughed so hard he choked.

Certain female members of the audience were standing and getting basically outraged. Certain male members of the audience were getting frightfully excited about something.

I sang on. The term 'quitter' will never be applied to me. Not appropriately, anyway.

There was a bit coming up that worried me. It had been bad enough practicing with Piangi— I could not fathom doing it with Erik.

That— sounded— a bit— racy.

Anyway.

The bit was, we were to ascend two separate staircases and meet at the top, and embrace each other. It had me worried because I had begun, quite suddenly, to fear Erik's touch as I feared nothing else. I know it's kind of capricious of me, but I can't help it. Not because of what he was, but because of what he meant to me— either I would die, or scream, or fall.

We got to that bit.

Erik's hands went to my waist, spun me around so my back was to him, and pulled me against his body. He held me, his voice sang words of love in my ear and his lips caressed my hair. I knew then that everything would be alright— it didn't matter what he looked like, I could love him forever. I could be his wife if he asked me. I could wait till he got out of prison. We'd get counseling.

To show him how I felt, I turned and pulled off his mask. The elastic made a slightly embarrassing 'thwacking' noise.

"Thwack," it went.

He seemed to take it the wrong way. Not the elastic. The whole pulling-the-mask-off gesture. Though I am reasonably certain that he found the elastic sound marginally mortifying as well, as I did. It was that kind of sound.

He stared at me, stared with eyes wide with horror, utterly aghast, totally shocked, and other things descriptive.

"Why would you do this?" he whimpered.

"Sorry," I said brightly, "was that not a wise move?"

He growled at me, unsheathed his rapier, and slashed at a rope. I don't know what it was intended to do, but nothing happened. He growled again and slashed at another rope.

Nothing.

Growl. Slash. Nothing. Growl. Slash. Nothing.

At that point somebody dropped a chandelier in the audience's lap.

People were running screaming out of the building as fire leapt up from the shattered chandelier. Erik kept growling and slashing, and nothing kept happening.

Finally he bellowed, "This is ridiculous!" and stomped his foot. That's when the trapdoor finally gave, and the two of us plummeted down several floors, landing on a trampoline, which we bounced on a couple of times before Erik grabbed me by the hand and started to pull me towards the lake.

"Down once more we go!" he shouted at me. "To that darkness that is my home—"

"Why?" I panted, "did someone turn your power off?"

"Christine, why would you do this? Why? Why couldn't you have warned me at least, so I would have had time to put on some stage makeup?"

"I tell you again, Erik, your face isn't that bad!"

He stopped and shouted at me. "Its awful! Its horrible! It killed my mother when she saw what she had given birth to! Admittedly she didn't die for several more decades, but still, it was the shock of this face that did it!"

"But— its not that bad—"

He sighed harshly and began to pull me on once again.

"Have you," I panted, unable to catch my breath, "have you gorged yourself at last in your lust for blood? Am I now to be prey to your lust for flesh?"

I hope, in retrospect, that I didn't sound too eager.

He whirled and glared at me.

"I will teach you respect if it's the last thing I do—"

"Erik, I already have more respect for you than I do for anyone," I said, putting as much feeling, compassion, and emotion in my voice as I could manage. "I think. Obviously I haven't met everyone on earth yet, but as far as I know—"

And then, to my utter astonishment, he began to cry.