Author's Note: Thank you for all the lovely reviews! I'm so sorry I haven't updated for such a long time!

I hope you all enjoy this chapter. It's quite a bit longer than the last one, with plenty of Erik and Angel. But don't worry, Raoul fans: Raoul is present in this chapter too!

Disclaimer: I do not own 'The Phantom of the Opera.' The quotation in this chapter is taken from the novel by Gaston Leroux. 'Dracula' belongs to Bram Stoker. The Igors belong to Terry Pratchett.

On with the story!

'The Price of Fame'

Chapter Ten: The Curious Contents of a Phantom's Wardrobe

Erik folded his arms and glared defiantly at Angel.

"I am not wearing that."

Angel smiled down at the object in his hand. "Oh, come on, Erik! It's totally you! Look...it even comes with a pair of free sunglasses..."

"Angel, I am not wearing a fake nose, particularly one which has a ginger moustache attached to it."

"But the moustache is detachable! Look!"

"I don't care if the damned moustache is detachable or not! I refuse to go out with that thing stuck to my face!"

It was the first day of Erik's new training programme, and Angel had decided that the first step towards progress was to redesign Erik's wardrobe. This was no small task. There had been a time when Erik was content to wear the same old oversized evening suits, black capes and felt hats day after day. But then the musical had come along, followed by the Charles Dance miniseries. And suddenly the Phantom of the Opera had acquired a sense of fashion.

Therefore, Angel was not surprised when he opened the door of Erik's huge walk-in wardrobe only to be confronted by row upon row of elegantly tailored evening suits, silk cravats, beaded capes, intricately embroidered kimonos, delicate white gloves, exotic plumed hats, red stockings, extremely interesting waistcoats, and masks for every occasion. After staring at the mountain of silk, satin and sequins for a brief moment, Angel had reached an important conclusion: Erik needed a makeover. And what better person to perform this gargantuan task than he, Angel, fashion designer extraordinaire and internationally renowned style guru?

Consequently, an extremely irritable Erik was now wearing a dreadful baggy evening suit (Introduced by Angel as "The All-Purpose Evening Suit, ideal for a Phantom with a busy schedule"), a deformed fedora hat ("It'll add to your mystery!"), and a shapeless black cape ("Black will never go out of fashion!"). Erik had grudgingly removed his contact lenses and his favourite wig, and he had agreed to wear Angel's boring black mask on "special occasions."

But he would not wear a fake nose. Never.

"Oh, why are you being so stubborn, Erik? A fake nose is just what you need! I don't know what I'd do without mine. You can wear it when you go shopping instead of your mask. People won't even know it's fake, and you'll look just like everyone else! Allow me to demonstrate..."

Angel placed the nose delicately over his nasal cavity. Then he turned to face Erik, twirling one corner of the moustache around a skeletal finger.

"See? Just like a real nose! What are you laughing at?"

Erik's shoulders were shaking. The absurdity of the image before him was more than he could bear. Far too large for Angel's face, and a different colour to the rest of his skin, the overall effect was of a skeleton dressing up as a living, breathing human for Halloween.

Angel looked at Erik in bewilderment.

"What's the matter? Don't you think I look suave and sophisticated?"

"No, Angel. You look like a reject from the cast of 'Scooby Doo'!" And Erik roared with laughter.

Angel put his hands on his hips.

"Well, at least I look a bit spooky! You usually resemble an overweight vampire covered in glitter!"

Angel grinned triumphantly. Now that was what you called an insult!

Erik stopped laughing abruptly.

"How dare you! I do not look like an overweight vampire!" Erik lowered his voice, clearly hurt. "I'm just a little portly, that's all..."

"And the glitter?"

Erik blushed.

"I only wear my beaded cloak on special occasions...What on earth are you doing now?"

Angel had opened Erik's wardrobe again, and was throwing various garments onto the floor.

"I'm getting rid of all the clothes you don't need anymore. We'll have less to pack when we move into Nadir's tomorrow."

Erik watched in disbelief as several expensive evening suits landed at his feet.

"Oh, no, you're not! Most of the things in that wardrobe were specially made for me! And I do need those evening suits!"

"No you don't. You've got that nice new one now."

Erik looked down at the shapeless suit.

"It's horrible. It makes me look like a clothes horse!"

"Oh, you'll soon get used to it!" said Angel cheerfully, adding several cloaks to the pile of rejected clothing.

Erik looked down at the abused garments sadly. He reached down and picked one of the nicer cloaks up.

A small gold object fell onto the floor.

Erik bent to retrieve it.

"My God," he thought, staring at the locket in disbelief. "I thought I'd lost you..."

"What's that?" said Angel, peering over Erik's shoulder.

Erik closed his hand around the locket. "Just something I found."

Angel's eyes burned with curiosity. "Can I see it?"

"No!" said Erik, slightly more sharply than he had intended. "It's nothing interesting, really."

"Well, if it's nothing interesting it won't matter if I see it," said Angel, with the Phantom of the Opera's infuriatingly logical brand of logic.

Erik sighed. He knew he'd lost. When Angel was interested in something, he'd stop at nothing to satisfy his curiosity.

"Oh, all right," he said, opening his hands. "Happy now?"

Angel stared down at the locket in a manner which suggested that, if it were human, he would probably dissect it.

"That's pretty. What's inside it?"

Erik undid the little clasp which held the locket closed. It sprang open to reveal a tiny portrait of an exquisitely beautiful young woman.

"It's Christine!" said Angel, with almost childlike excitement. "Oh, Erik! Where did you get this?"

"She gave it to me," said Erik, in a dreamy, distant voice. "It was the first time I brought her down to my lair, when she stayed with me for a fortnight. One night I woke up screaming from a terrible nightmare. I didn't want Christine to hear me, because I was afraid she would think I was weak. But she did hear me and she came running into my bedroom. I was huddled under the bedclothes, crying my eyes out. When I saw her I became hysterical...I told Christine that I didn't want her to leave, that I didn't want to be on my own underground anymore because I was scared. Christine left the room and came back with this locket. She pressed it into my hand and told me not to be scared. She said she would always be with me if I wore it close to my heart. And I believed her."

Angel gave a little sob. Erik looked up just in time to see him wipe away a tear.

"That's so beautiful. I wish my Christine said things like that to me."

Erik looked at him in confusion. "But surely you've had the same experiences as I've had?"

Angel shook his head. "No. I'm confined to the novel. I only live out the events which you described to Gaston Leroux. I'm lucky if my Christine gives me a kind word..."

"Oh, Angel, I'm so sorry."

"It's all right. I understand why you didn't tell him about that. It's far too personal."

There was silence, as both Phantoms stared tenderly down at the portrait.

"You still love her, don't you?" said Angel, after a moment.

"Yes. Even after everything we've been through, I still love her."

Angel thought for a moment. "Does this mean you're still a...does this mean you've never been with anyone else?"

Erik nodded. "Pathetic really, for a man of my age."

"I think it's romantic," said Angel. "I've noticed you still wear her ring."

Erik looked down at the small gold ring on the little finger of his right hand.

"I couldn't take it off now even if I wanted to. My finger is much too fat. See?" Erik tried to remove the ring. "It won't budge. Maybe when I lose weight I'll finally be free of it..."

There was another silence. Suddenly Erik started to shake. Then he burst into loud, anguished sobs and sank down onto the bed.

"I just don't know...where it all went wrong...Angel," he gasped. "Even when I let her go she still cared about me...I know she did. Sometimes I like to imagine that she really loved me when she left. I go on the internet and read the stories about Christine coming back to me and the two of us living happily ever after...and I wish that would happen in real life, Angel...I wish she would come back to me..."

Angel looked at Erik with compassion in his eyes.

"Oh, hush! I know, I know..." he crooned, patting Erik's shoulder with a skeletal hand. "Don't cry, please, or you'll start me off!"

"I'm sorry, Angel. I just wish I knew what I did to make her hate me so much..."

"I'm sure she doesn't hate you really," said Angel, uncertainly.

"Oh, she does. I saw it in her eyes after the bin lid fight. I've seen that look too many times not to recognise it..."

Angel searched desperately for something comforting to say.

"Well, this may not be much of a consolation, but at least you've still got Nadir."

Erik laughed in spite of himself. "Oh, I'll never get rid of him. Every time I think he's gone for good, he turns up again like the proverbial bad penny. But he's a good companion, I must admit."

"And you've still got doughnuts."

Erik laughed harder. "Yes, I've still got doughnuts."

"And you've still got me."

There was a pause. Erik looked at Angel for a moment. There was something about his warm golden eyes, sweet voice, and lively, childlike nature which Erik found both comforting and endearing. There always seemed to be a glimmer of hope in his eyes. He was like a dog whose spirit would not be broken, no matter how many times it was kicked by the Great Leather Boot of Society.

Erik wished he was still like that. He also wished he could thank Angel for being so understanding...

"Are you all right now?" said Angel, concern weighing heavily on every syllable.

Erik nodded, and held out the locket. "Angel, I want you to have this."

Angel looked from Erik to the locket and back again.

"Oh, Erik! I can't accept that!"

"Yes, you can. Please? I haven't worn it for years, and it seems a shame just to put it back in the wardrobe." Erik took Angel's hand and closed it around the locket. "It's yours."

A tear appeared in Angel's eye socket. "This is the first time anyone's ever given me a present. Well, apart from masks, and they don't really count. I suppose that's the equivalent of an ordinary human getting socks for Christmas..." Angel's eyes glowed with gratitude. "Thank you so much..."

Erik smiled. "It's my pleasure. Now I think we'd better stop talking about this. It's starting to get very cheesy."

Angel fastened the locket around his neck. Then he pulled himself together and nodded. "You're right. I think it's about time we began the next stage of the training programme. Are you sure you can't be persuaded to wear the nose?"

Erik shook his head. "No."

Angel shrugged. "Oh, well...I suppose it really isn't necessary for our first little exercise of the day."

"And what might that be?"

Angel smiled sweetly. "You'll see..."

--)--)—

When Christine awoke, she was lying on a chaise longue in a stone cavern containing rather too many candles. She stretched drowsily, yawned, rubbed her eyes, and arranged her dress so it lay about her in the most elegant way possible. Then she reacted to her surroundings.

"Where...where am I?"

A dark figure extended a hand towards her.

"Christine...my love..."

Christine screamed and leapt to her feet.

"You! I thought I told you to keep away from me!"

The Phantom went down on his knees before her.

"You did...but I am drawn to you, like the moth that is drawn to the light bulb...And like the moth, I am burned by your incandescent beauty..."

Christine grimaced. "I think I'm going to be sick."

The Phantom looked up at her with a pair of great pleading eyes.

"Oh, Christine...please refrain from vomiting long enough for me to ask you the question I have been dying to ask you...to ask you...dying to...Oh, fffffffiddlesticks!"

"CUT!"

Raoul got to his feet and looked sheepishly at Dracula, who had stepped onto the set.

"I'm sorry, Dracula. I just can't seem to get that part right..."

Dracula sighed. This boy was starting to annoy him, but perhaps that was a good thing. After all, they had hired Raoul for his immense ability to be irritating. He reached forward and patted the young actor on the shoulder.

"It's OK. We'll try it again from the beginning of the Phantom's Moth Speech. Positions please, everyone!"

Raoul went down on his knees again. Christine stood before him looking disgusted. Dracula retreated to his personalised director's chair.

Igor held up a clapperboard.

"Really Cheethy Phantom'th Lair Thene Take Thirty! Acthion!"

Raoul wrung his hands melodramatically. "You did...but I am drawn to you, like the light bulb that is drawn to the moth...I mean...oh, fiddlesticks, fiddlesticks, fiddlesticks!"

"Cut, cut, cut!" Dracula got to his feet and addressed the film crew. "Take a blood break, everyone. We'll start again in half an hour." He turned to Raoul. "Now Raoul, what seems to be the problem, old chap?"

"I don't know, Dracula," Raoul whimpered. "It's just this script. It's terrible. It's worse than that version with the rats, and that's saying something."

Dracula smiled. "Good. I'm glad you think that."

Raoul gave him a puzzled look. "You mean you want your film to be bad?"

"It doesn't matter how bad the film is, old chap, as long as we destroy Erik's reputation, ruin 'The Phantom of the Opera' forever, and preferably make lots of money along the way. Now you run along and rehearse those lines of yours. Oh, and get your hair cut."

Raoul bristled with anger. "What did you say?"

"I said 'Get your hair cut.' It looks dreadful on camera. You look like an extra from 'The Lord of the Rings.'"

Raoul smiled. "Oh! Do you really think so?"

Dracula rolled his eyes. "Go and get it cut."

Raoul's face fell. "Can't I just tie it back in a ponytail? I've got a nice black satin ribbon in my room..."

"Igor is a dab hand with a pair of scissors," Dracula continued, ignoring him. "Ask him to shave off your sideburns while he's at it. Then we'll film the scene again from scratch."

And Dracula stalked over to the vending machine and selected his favourite beverage.

Raoul stared after him, and sighed deeply. This was the first day of shooting, and he was already starting to hate this job. The script was dreadful, the crew and cast (apart from himself and Christine, of course) seemed to consist entirely of vampires, werewolves and zombies, and Dracula was a major pain in the neck. How dare the stuck-up old leech order Raoul to cut his beloved hair!

Tired of being referred to as 'The Fop' by Erik's army of Phans, Raoul had decided to change his image. He wanted to be a different Raoul: A Raoul who was dynamic, sexy, strong, and not afraid of sock puppets.

Consequently, he had started working-out on a regular basis, and had acquired sword fighting and horse riding skills. He had discarded his expensive tailor-made suits, and had taken to wearing tight leather trousers and baggy white shirts which he often left unbuttoned, revealing his small yet muscular chest. He had also decided to grow his hair, and it was now shoulder-length. Sometimes he added red highlights. He was Raoul the Rebellious, ready to take Hollywood by storm.

Unfortunately, his only roles so far had been in obscure costume dramas, playing characters one could only describe as 'foppish.' Just a few weeks earlier, Raoul had been seriously considering turning his back on the film business and trying his hand at politics instead.

And then the Letter had arrived, the magical Letter from his beloved Christine, his ex-wife, whom he had not seen since 1988. Christine had told him all about Dracula, their new castle in Transylvania, and their latest project: "A Gothic melodrama featuring vampires." She had asked Raoul to play the villain, and Raoul had enthusiastically agreed. It had all seemed so perfect: not only would he get to see Christine again, he would also be able to reinvent himself as an actor. Brilliant.

It was a shame Christine had playfully kept the identity of the villain a secret...

Now Raoul was playing the Phantom of the Opera, his one-time rival for Christine's affections. But the Phantom in this film was not exactly how Raoul remembered him. For example, he was sure the real Erik had never worn an evening suit which had sparkly buttons and nipples sewn onto it.

Now, after only a few hours of filming, Raoul was tired, frustrated, and completely disillusioned with the whole project. Any hope he had possessed of giving an Oscar-winning performance as a dignified, tragic villain had been crushed.

And, to make matters worse, no one had given him any attention for at least two minutes. It was more than a poor viscount could bear.

He sidled over to Christine. Perhaps she would cheer him up.

"Chistine?"

Christine was reapplying her make-up with the help of a small hand mirror. She resisted the temptation to roll her eyes when she heard Raoul's voice. She really wasn't in the mood for yet another riveting conversation with her former husband.

"Yes, Raoul?"

"Christine, why do you want to ruin Erik's reputation? I know he hit Dracula over the head with a bin lid and everything, but surely that doesn't justify sewing nipples and sparkly buttons onto his costumes?"

Christine sighed impatiently. "Raoul, I thought I went through all this last night. Dracula sees Erik as a rival for his cinematic throne."

"Yes, yes. I can understand Dracula's motives. But I don't understand yours, Christine. Why are you mixing with these..." he paused for a moment, and looked around at the various creatures in the studio "...these people? Why do you want to destroy Erik? He seems a decent chap to me..."

Christine stared at him in disbelief. "He almost roasted you alive!"

"Yes, but he let us go in the end, didn't he? Can't we just let bygones be bygones?"

Christine gave him a pitying look. "Oh, Raoul. Poor, dear, sweet Raoul. You just don't understand, do you? Listen...after we parted, I tried to restart my career as an opera singer, but everywhere I went, everywhere I sang, people just said "Oh, that's Christine Daae! The Phantom's protégée!" or "Christine, will you sing 'Wishing You Where Somehow Here Again' for my wife? It's her favourite song!" or, worse still: "Hey, there's Sarah Brightman! Can I have your autograph, Ms. Brightman?" I live in Erik's shadow. You have no idea what that's like. No matter how hard I try, I can't escape from him. He's always with me..." Christine's voice softened. Her eyes seemed to glaze over. "Always with me..."

Raoul looked at Christine in bewilderment. She was staring straight at him, but she had a strange, faraway look in her eyes.

"Christine?"

Christine smiled warmly.

"My Angel..." she whispered, reaching forward to caress Raoul's Phantom mask.

Raoul flinched away, frightened by Christine's unusual behaviour.

"Christine? Christine! It's me! Don't you know who I am?"

Christine stared at him in confusion. Then she laughed.

"Of course I do. You're my Angel."

"No, Christine, I'm Raoul," said Raoul, removing the mask. "See?"

Christine stared at him. "Raoul..."

Raoul took her hand. "Yes, Christine. It's OK. I'm here..."

Christine looked at him strangely. Was it disappointment he saw in her eyes? Raoul wasn't sure. But whatever it was, it was soon replaced by anger, and he knew the spell was broken.

"He ruined me," Christine snapped, as though nothing strange had occurred. "Do you understand now, Raoul? Erik ruined me!"

"All right, calm down," said Raoul, distressed by the rising note of anger in her voice. "I understand, and I'll do whatever I can to help you."

Christine smiled at him. "Thank you, Raoul. You're a very special friend..."

She squeezed his hand, and their eyes met. For a moment Raoul was certain he saw the Christine he had known and loved behind her eyes: the gentle, sweet, naïve creature fleeing from a monster's obsession...

"Christine! My love! It's time for your next costume fitting!"

Christine lowered her eyes and turned away from Raoul. The moment had gone.

"Coming, Dracula!"

Raoul watched sadly as she hurried away. He was now very worried about Christine. True, she had always been a little...odd, but he hadn't seen her go into a trance like that since their time at the Opera House. Was it his Phantom costume that had triggered it?

She had been talking about Erik as though she hated him, and then...

Raoul shook his head in confusion. The Phantom had certainly exercised some strange hold over Christine. Was she still under Erik's power, even after all these years? Was she still afraid of him? Was that why she hated him so much?

But she didn't hate him, did she?

"No," said Christine simply.

"No, of course not...Why, you love him! Your fear, your terror, all of that is just love and love of the most exquisite kind, the kind which people do not admit even to themselves. The kind that gives you a thrill, when you think of it..."

Raoul shuddered, and forced the memory away. He was fearful of the part he would have to play in this little drama, but he would endure it for Christine's sake. Then, when this monstrosity of a movie was complete, he would take Christine away. Away from Dracula, away from this godforsaken castle, away from all those insensitive Sarah Brightman fans, to a place where she could forget about Erik once and for all.

If that was possible.

--)--)--

Erik stared at the black expanse of water and shuddered.

"You can't be serious."

Angel grinned. "Of course I am! There's nothing like a nice swim in the lake on a hot summer's day!"

"But it's cold and dirty and quite possibly rat-infested!"

"Good! That'll add an element of excitement! Just think of it as an extreme sport!"

Erik sighed. "I'll just get my swimming trunks."

"Oh, you don't need swimming trunks."

Erik stared at Angel in disbelief. "I am not swimming naked, if that's what you're suggesting!"

"Of course not! I mean you can go swimming as you are!"

"Wearing my evening suit? It'll get soaked!"

Angel shrugged. "So what? It's an All-Purpose Evening Suit, suitable for all sorts of activities, including rope-climbing, Punjabing, and singing underwater! Oh, and that reminds me...you're going to need this," Angel thrust a long, hollow reed into Erik's hand.

Erik stared at the reed in disgust. "Can't I just do some press-ups? Or maybe we could go for a nice gentle jog around the park?"

"Don't worry, we'll do all that later. Besides, this is far more fun. Just dive in, you great Phantom-shaped wimp!"

And Angel, still fully clothed, dived headfirst into the water.

Erik waited for him to reappear.

He didn't.

"Angel?"

There was no reply.

"Angel, are you all right?"

Silence. Erik started to panic. He rushed down to the water's edge and peered out across the lake. To his horror, he saw Angel's dress coat floating on the black, forbidding surface.

"Angel! Oh, God, no..."

Suddenly, a pair of skeletal hands shot out of the water and curled around Erik's ankles. Erik lost his footing and, with a loud cry, he tumbled into the lake.

There was a huge 'splash,' followed by the roar of water in his ears. There was a moment of sheer panic and confusion, and then a hand seized his and pulled him up to the surface. He emerged, choking and gasping for air. Angel's grinning face appeared beside him in the water.

"What the hell...do you think...you're doing?" Erik spluttered furiously.

"Fooled you!" said Angel, laughing hysterically. "The classics never die!"

Erik glared at him. "You idiot!"

Angel grinned. "Oh, Erik! Lighten up! Have a little fun for once!"

"This is not my idea of fun!"

"Of course it is! Remember: you're the Phantom of the Opera!"

Erik sighed. "Am I likely to forget it?"

Angel ignored him. "Just play around for a bit. Let your hair down, for want of a better expression!"

Angel lowered his face under the water for a moment. Then he lifted his head up, pursed his lips, and fired a stream of water into Erik's face.

Erik lifted a hand to wipe the water away. Then, to his astonishment, he felt himself smile.

"You monster!" he growled. "I'm going to get you for that!"

Angel gave a giggling shriek, and started to swim away. Erik swam after him, caught hold of his dress shirt, and pulled him under the water. Angel fought his way to the surface, kicking and splashing with all his might. He managed to break free from Erik's grasp and Erik chased him around the lake, swimming as fast as he could with his clumsy butterfly stroke. But he was no match for Angel, who was built for speed rather than strength, and eventually Erik gave up the chase. He pulled himself up onto the bank, where he lay panting for breath.

Angel hoisted himself up beside Erik and sat down on the edge of the lake, his feet dangling in the water.

"There, you see? Wasn't that fun?"

Erik began to laugh. It was quiet at first, but it soon became a real rumbling belly-laugh, the sort which normally meant that the auditorium would soon need a new chandelier. Erik hadn't laughed so hard for years.

"Just you wait!" he laughed. "Just you wait until I'm fit, then I'll get you!"

Angel grinned. "That's the spirit! We'll have you swinging from the chandeliers in no time...What's the matter?"

Erik had got to his feet and was peering into the darkness beyond the lake.

"Did you hear something?"

Angel shook his head. "No."

"I thought I heard footsteps. Listen!"

This time Angel also heard the footsteps. They seemed to be directly in front of them, echoing along the passage leading to the lake.

"Who do you think it is?" Angel asked.

"I don't know."

The footsteps became increasingly loud and purposeful. Then they stopped abruptly.

A torch beam shone out across the lake, and Erik pulled Angel out of its path just in time.

"Hello?" said a nervous male voice. "Mr Phantom, sir?"

The torch moved across the surface of the lake again.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are..."

Angel gave a deep, menacing growl. Erik turned to look at him, and immediately backed away in fright.

Angel's eyes were blazing with fear and anger. His lips were curled into a snarl, revealing his jagged, yellow teeth. Every muscle in his body was tense, and his skeletal hands looked like claws in the dim light. He was like an enraged animal which was prepared to do anything to defend its lair. He reached into his jacket pocket, and Erik realised too late that he was about to attack.

"Angel! No!"

"Mr Phantom, sir? It's me..."

The Punjab Lasso flew through the air.

"...Charles Bloom, reportaaaaaaarrrrrgggghhhh!"

There was a twanging sound, followed by a rather sickening thud.

And then there was silence.

Erik stared at Angel in shock.

"Angel?

"Yes, Erik?"

"Angel, I think you just killed a journalist. A journalist who I invited here. Myself. For a personal interview. This is not good."

Angel spread his hands philosophically. He was unnaturally calm now that the Punjab Lasso had done its work.

"Well, things could be worse, I suppose"

Erik exploded. "Things could be worse? Things could be WORSE?! You've just killed someone! In what way, exactly, could things be worse?"

Angel shrugged. "He could've stolen my doughnuts."