There is no excuse for the lateness of this chapter. I know, I deserved to be killed by all of you. Thank you for any reviews/favoriting/alerts, ect. And I do not own Phantom of the Opera.

Everyday, Erik or Christine crossed off the previous day on a calendar that hung on an inconspicuous corner of the drawing room. At times, that calendar was the sole connection Erik and Christine had to things outside their small, subterranean world. It was a small daily ritual, albeit an important one.

Christine dutifully went to mark the passage of the previous day one morning. It was the begining of a new month, so she turned the paged and made another little "x." She'd wanted to get it over with before she did anything else. Something about the date made her pause; she studied the calendar with a pensive expression. There was an event coming up that she hadn't thought about before. She lost herself in thoughts until a voice made her jump.

"Good morning Christine," Erik said, jerking her out of her previous mindset.

"My god, Erik, you scared me," Christine said.

His head dipped down slightly in a regretful motion. "I'm sorry."

"I wasn't paying attention. I didn't hear you come in; I was thinking," Christine said, before Erik could blame himself anymore.

"About?" he couldn't help asking, though he didn't want to pry.

Christine's face flushed and she avoided his eyes. "The Masked Ball. The opera house hasn't been rebuilt and I was wondering where it would be held. And i-" She stopped suddenly.

"What is it?" a puzzled Erik asked. Christine realized how silly she'd been.

"It's nothing. Please, can we forget I mentioned this?"

Erik obviously acceded to Christine's request, but he was still wholly confused. He hadn't seen this girlish, silly behavior since she'd confessed to him that she loved Raoul. The time when he was still the Angel of Music seemed almost like another world or a dream from eternity ago. Somehow, it now seemed alien and distant.

Although Christine had acted oddly, when she sat with Erik, drinking tea after she practiced scales and arpeggios she acted just as she normally did. It seemed like she had forgotten the peculiar conversation. Erik wanted to forget, too, but he seemed unable to. What had made her stop in midsentence so suddenly? He had to know what she'd been thinking about!

"The Masked Ball is next week," Christine said, breaking a lull in the conversation.

"I know," Erik said tersely. He had no intention of going, but he wondered why Christine brought it up again. What could it possibly have to do with anything?

Christine cocked her head slightly at Erik's apparent indifference. "Do you want to go? No one would stare at you. Please?" She bit her lip, hoping she didn't offend him with the "staring" comment.

"The de Chagny boy will be there," he pointed out frostily, unsure why he mentioned Raoul. It was a legitamate concern, however.

Christine was irked by Erik's quiet, stony indifference to her proposal. "I have no problems seeing him." She was quite sure of that. "My concern is you. If you don't want to go, that's fine."

"I do want to go," he assured her emphatically.

"Erik, is something wrong?" Christine looked at him seriously, disquieted.

"No...I can't dance, Christine. How can I go to a ball, and not dance?" He looked up at her with pleading eyes, and in that moment she saw it all. He so desperately wanted to be everything for Christine; he didn't want to fail her in any way. He loved her with such a sad, sweet devotion she didn't know whether to cry, laugh, or embrace him. It came to her in a staggering flood.

"Erik," she almost laughed, "I'll teach you. That's no reason not to do something. You can trust me." The open expression in her wide blue eyes nearly killed him. It was overwhelming, her complete interest, her concern. To Erik, the most frightening thing was that he did trust her implicitly. Never in his life had Erik trusted anyone the way he knew he could depend on the blond girl sitting across from him, her eyes bright with interest. Love is built on trust. Wherever Christine wanted to go, he would follow, dancing ability or not. It was a beautiful prospect.

There was a moment of silence; Erik was unsure of what to say.

"Erik?" Christine asked.

"I'm sorry. I just... I would love to attend the Masked Ball with you, dear," he said distractedly, getting up. There was a song he just had to get on paper all of a sudden.

Taking out his violin, Erik began to compose a violin solo, and Christine sat in a corner to listen. Erik's song was admittedly beautiful. It seemed to throw itself at the listener in hopes of being accepted and favored, which wasn't difficult. It was almost like a little puppy trying so hard to please a doting master. After Erik added the finishing touches and played it through one last time, Christine asked if the piece had a title.

"No, not yet," he answered with brows furrowed under his mask, "Make sure that you finish your tea, dear, I don't want you to get hoarse."

Knowing that Erik wouldn't allow her to speak for a year if her voice was hoarse, Christine did as she was told before her tea got cold.

"Erik?" she called when she finished, "Would you like a dance lesson now?"

"Yes."

Christine showed Erik how to waltz; he picked it up easily. She liked the feeling of being in his arms and the way their bodies moved together, and there was something special in moving with him to music. Erik's natural grace and Christine's ballet background made them move easily to the "1-2-3"'s that Christine counted out.

"There, you've got it," she told him, "I knew this would be easy." It was almost effortless. "But the important problem at hand is costumes. I won't let you be Red Death again." An impish smile played on her lips.

"We shall have to see about that." The smile blossomed into a grin. Something about today felt right to Christine, like all of the pieces of her life we finally falling together or the musicians in an orchestra finally played a song in tune. It was harmonious, pleasant. Maybe this was where she was meant to end up after all.