AN: Wow, it's been way too long since I've updated this. I'm very, very, very, very (could go on like this for some time) very sorry. With the number of things I'm writing at once, it's been difficult for me to focus on one well enough to finish an entire chapter. However, I have finally finished this one. Note to those reading: most of this chapter will just be an explanation of Erik's past. Primarily based on the things I know of the books, but changed to suit my goals. You might want to read it for those changes, but if you already know his past you could probably make due well enough with that knowledge. Thanks as usual to xXxMusexXx for beta-ing.

Disclaimer: Don't own anything.

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"A servant could find a shirt for you, if you'd like."

"Yes, yes, that would be nice. Get to the point. You didn't want privacy to discuss my apparel."

Raoul shook his head. "You're right. I wanted to talk about Christine."

"I have already said that she will sleep for some time yet and was not harmed while we were captives. Is there something I neglected to mention?" asked Erik stiffly.

"That's not it either. I'm not a complete fool," the Vicomte said with faint heat. "I know you heard what I said to Madame Giry as she led me to you that day."

Erik's hands clenched, then relaxed. "Do not dismiss your foolishness so easily, boy. You still are in many things."

"But I'm right. You heard what I said."

He nodded. "I heard what you said. What of it?"

"What of it?" Raoul repeated. "Does it not interest you? Have you lost your love for her, when I just heard you speak of it a matter of minutes ago?"

"I could no sooner lose my love for my angel than I could dance in the clouds. You would never understand what Christine means to me." Erik's eyes fell to the carpet as his mind wandered through the many dreams he had once known. "I love her with everything I am, and more. She could have anything she wanted if she but asked, but she doesn't ask for anything… and I love her all the more for it. She is everything to me, boy, and you had best make her happy."

"I cannot. I can try, and maybe, eventually, we might be content… but she would never truly be happy."

Erik's gaze lifted in consternation. "I don't understand."

"That is quite unusual, isn't it?" the younger man asked. "You've a brilliant mind, and you've grown accustomed to the knowing of things. But no, I suppose this would be something you would not know. She does not love me. Not as she should. Not as she says."

"She chose you," Erik said slowly. "In the end, you were what she wanted."

"I made her feel safe. I was never what she wanted."

"And still you took her away, abandoning me to madness and heartache. I think she would have stayed, if what you say is true."

Raoul sank into a seat himself. "If I had not said what I did, I think she would have. I do not know if even she has the answers yet."

"What you said?"

"Say you love him and my life is over. We made the choice rather impossible, did we not? She kissed you. If she had not truly desired that, I do not think she would have."

"Is this all you wished to discuss? If so, I have no desire to continue." Erik all but leapt to his feet, returning to the window. His fingers tightened ominously against the wooden sill. "You are more a fool than you may know. Do you know the temptation your words create? All the things you say give hope, hope which I cannot harbor. It would be easy to kill you and take Christine for myself. In my madness, I nearly did. I cannot do so now."

"I do not think you would find it as easy as you say," Raoul said quietly, rising as well. "You would have done so then if your words were true. I do not think you would hurt her so. You love her."

"I have admitted I love her before. You need not remind me." Erik rounded on him. "I may never forgive you for what you have taken from me. The one thing I needed, while you have lived a life of luxury. Do you feel the need to gloat? To laugh that the monster lost, as the story goes?"

"Do you see yourself that way?"

He turned away once more. "Is there anything else to see? I have been called such things for a very long time. My own mother could not stand the sight of me. The wounds I suffer physically for my imperfection matter little. It is those to the heart that cause true pain. So few have accepted me as I am."

"Christine."

Erik nodded. "Christine. Antoinette and little Meg, as well, though they are my family in all but blood. I should not be surprised to learn that the family I was born to believes me dead. After all, my parents had another son while I lived in the darkness under the opera. Why should their first child matter when the second was not flawed?"

Raoul sighed. "It will do no good for us to speak now. You must be weary. The butler will have made up a room for you."

He shook his head. "I will remain with Christine. I have no way to know precisely how long the potion will hold her, and she will need someone near when she awakens."

"A servant might sit with her."

"No servant would know how to help her. Does my staying with her bother you?" Erik asked with exhausted amusement, facing the Vicomte. The emotional weight was apparent in his eyes, even through the mask. "I had intended to rest in the chair."

"I suppose it does, to some extent. But she will need you, as she always has. Stay with her, then. I will have one of the maids bring clothing for you."

Erik cared too little to linger, instead quickly returning to Christine's chamber as the Vicomte dealt with the servants. He moved the winged chair to the bedside and closed the curtains before sinking down. He took her hand in his.

"The Vicomte is a fool, Angel, tempting me with what I cannot have. Yet I suppose he is a lucky fool, to have your love."

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Christine woke slowly, stretching against the comfortable bed, enjoying the luxury. It had been too long since she last had been able to rest in a true bed rather than a small cot. That thought had barely crossed her mind when her memory caught up. Images of the man, the knife in her hand, the blood. A strange cross between a whimper, a scream, and a sob passed through her lips and she cowered in the midst of the covers as tears rolled down her cheeks.

The sound woke Erik without the usual instant reaction. His body too felt worn from their difficult time and was reluctant to awaken, begging to sleep longer. His mind, however, recognized the importance of the noise and quickly brought him to focus. His eyes cracked and noticed immediately that Christine was awake, and upset.

He cursed the pain that had finally settled and slowed his movements as he went to her side. "Angel. Christine."

She turned to him, crying in his lap as a child might. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his trousers.

"Angel, please. Tell me what is bothering you."

"I… killed him…" she managed through heavy tears. "I killed him…"

His lips tightened into a scowl, but he purposely kept it from his tone. "No, Christine, you didn't."

"I… did…" Christine wept. "The knife… the blood…"

'Let her have her tears,' he thought tiredly. 'She has reason enough for them.' He could reason with her when they ran dry. He let his fingers caress her hair as he held her, reminding her she was not alone. It took time, nearly an hour to his figuring, but she began to quiet.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, words uneven and raw.

"There is no need to apologize," said Erik in a gentle voice. "You are always free to express your sadness to me."

"I killed him," she stated dully. "He was there, and I somehow remembered the dagger you gave me. I killed him."

He shifted them so that they were lying next to one another, his arms remaining around her in comfort. "You did not. You are not at fault, Christine. You cannot blame yourself for his death."

"Then who?" she asked. "He would have died from that wound."

"Yet you did not kill him. It was my hand that struck the final blow, Angel."

"But he still would have died."

"If he had remained there, untended, yes," Erik agreed. "I might have been able to save him, had I the inclination, but even then I could not have made guarantees. My medical knowledge is rather extensive, but his injury may well have killed him before there was a chance. You cannot be blamed for protecting yourself, Christine, and it was not just you that was saved by your actions. He might have been able to strike me from behind. I would have died if you had not acted as you did."

"You're trying to convince me what I did was right. It wasn't. I took a life, Erik. How can I forgive myself for that?" Christine beseeched. "I understand what you've said, but I cannot believe it is ever right to take a life."

He averted his eyes. "When one kills to save oneself, or another, is it wrong? Is it wrong to defend what you care for? Angel, the world is not simple. There is not just black and white, where something is clearly defined as one or the other. Grey shades exist. I placed a dagger in his heart to spare him the pain of the death that was waiting. Was that wrong? Is it wrong to end another's suffering?"

"The Ten Commandments say not to kill. I did not obey."

"Perhaps so, yet the Bible speaks also of protecting those who are in danger and caring for others. You did not intentionally strike a fatal blow, Christine. You did not intend for him to die. You acted merely to spare yourself and others. Is there evil in that?"

Christine's mind raced, trying to understand both his words and the events that had caused them. "We are not simply speaking of what I did. Erik, I did not mean to condemn you!"

Erik sighed. "I know, Angel. I understand. Your heart aches for what occurred, though it truly is no fault of yours. Perhaps now, though, is the time for honesty. I told you before that I would someday tell you everything, did I not? I suspect that you are ready now. I only hope you will understand.

"You know to some extent, I believe, the kind of life I have led. No doubt Antoinette told you the little she knows, that she rescued me from a gypsy show all those years ago. In a way, that is only part of the trials I have faced.

"My parents were young when they wed, unwillingly, and I was born just under a year later. I was imperfect, not the son they had imagined to be their heir. I rarely saw my father. You might remember one of the things I told you, that my mother feared and loathed me. She avoided me as often as she might, and I wore always a mask. Eventually, it became too much for a child to bear."

Christine touched his face gently. "It is sad when others refuse to see beyond the surface. They must have hurt you terribly." He was relieved that her disquiet seemed to have faded in the telling.

"They did. I was eight years old when I ran away, taking what little coin I had. However, I quickly realized that though I was not happy in my home, I had no experience with which I might survive in the outside world. I had begun the trek back, thinking an unhappy home better than life on the streets, when I ran into a troupe of gypsies.

"Literally, to my misfortune. The impact knocked away my mask. The gypsies ran a circus of sorts, though I suppose freak show might be a more accurate description. They thought I would make them money. I was strong and tall for my age, but I was outnumbered and still far smaller and weaker than my assailants. I was knocked unconscious.

"When I awakened once more, I was in that cage, used as an amusement in their fair. The Devil's Child. I realized quickly that though they had not yet asked, they would want to know my name, and telling them I was a nobleman's son would not bode well for me. I fabricated a new name for myself, a false last name though I continued the use of my Christian name. They finally deigned to ask two days later. I told them I was called Erik Destler. I have used that name since, and have never chosen to reveal my birth name."

"Not even to Madame Giry?" Christine asked.

"Not even to Antoinette," he confirmed. "I have been Erik Destler since. No doubt my parents are unaware that I live, after so many years. They must think me dead."

She nodded. "And Madame rescued you. How long were you trapped?"

He considered. "Four years, I believe. I was about twelve when Antoinette first came to the circus. The man that kept me trapped beat me, and tore away the sack I wore in place of a proper mask. I saw sympathy in her eyes that day, rather than fear or amusement. I couldn't stay a moment longer. I strangled my jailor. Antoinette had paused just outside rather than leave. She turned and saw what happened. She hid me away as the police searched."

"But why?" Christine demanded. "Why would the police come for you? You only defended yourself from a cruel man that beat a child. No one else was helping you. What else could you have done?!"

Erik smiled faintly. "I had killed a man. Yes, I was compelled to do so, to save my own life, but the gendarme would have thought me a vicious killer for my face alone. I would have been condemned and hanged. Does this story not speak to you of another?"

"You think it's the same? You were a frightened child that had no other way to escape."

"And what other way did you have?" he pressed gently. "What other choice did you have? To quietly forfeit your life or freedom? To let myself and the others suffer? You were given no time to think, merely to react. By doing so, you saved us. You cannot be blamed for that."

Her head bowed until the crown was pressed against his chest. "Maybe," she whispered. "You might be right, but it's so hard…"

"It was no easier when first I took a life, Christine. Some will say that I never paid for the crime I committed. Yet how did I not? I spent years hiding in the darkness, seeing no one but Antoinette. I was a child deprived of those things children might enjoy. I was alone."

"Then what?" she finally asked, once more drawn in by the answers she had desired for so long.

"The child became a young man," Erik explained. "A sad, lonely young man. There was no light in my life, nothing to give me a purpose beyond the music or my other gifts. Yet these things were still no comfort, because there was no one with which I could share them. I remained suspended in the darkness of the caverns, as if frozen in time. Yet the world continued while I remained confined. It seemed I had changed one prison for another, though Antoinette would never intend to trap me. She met a man and fell in love. They married, and she left the opera. The only person I had was gone. I couldn't stay.

"In the depths of night, I crept from the depths of the Populaire, taking little with me. I had little to begin with, the few things Antoinette could afford to give me. I left Paris, and began to travel. I gained money by selling designs, art, whatever garnered interest. A kind mason I encountered in Italy paid me well for my work. I used that to continue on my way.

"Eventually I came to Persia." He stopped, gazed at her meaningfully. "Angel, this tale becomes more sorrowful now than ever before. I need to know that you really want to hear this, or I will simply resume the narrative at the time when you appeared in my dark world."

Christine smiled tentatively. "I asked for the truth. I need to hear it all, good or bad."

He blew out a breath. "Very well. I only hope you do not hate me when it is done. Persia. I had gained moderate wealth by this time, and my various talents came to the attention of the Shah. He and his mother commissioned my work. Their order? A palace of torture."

She tried to stifle her gasp, but his pause clearly indicated he had heard. "I'm sorry," she murmured.

His eyes closed, but he pushed on. "One does not survive defying the Shah or the Khanum. To spare my miserable life, I did as they ordered. In retrospect, I have to wonder if it would have been best had I refused. I built their hell. They were yet to be satisfied.

"I was ordered to work as an assassin. In my wanderings, I had taken the time to hone the skills in swordplay I had begun as a child, and I took the opportunity as well to learn other weapons. I very quickly gained immense talent with the Punjab lasso. The Khanum had learned of this and wished to see it. I fought them on this, and paid the price. I was tortured in the place I had built. In the end, I had little choice but to give in."

"Erik, no," she wept against his shirt. "You didn't."

Erik sighed. "I had no choice. You cannot understand the torture I suffered. The wounds Moreau bestowed upon me? Child's play, to them. My mind and body were pushed to the very brink. There was physical assault. Drugs. I was nearly dead from these things when I did. Yet in some mysterious way, my intelligence had survived. I pretended to heed them. Instead, I began to work quietly against them. There was no choice but for me to pretend to serve the Shah, however. Nothing would have been accomplished save my death if I had not."

"What did you do?" she whispered, so afraid of the answer.

"I took the orders, and I went to that man's home once I had healed and regained my strength through a friend's care. I refused, however, to be a coward. I would not simply kill him in the night. He would be given a fair chance. I woke him, and we moved to his front room to speak while his family slumbered.

"I spoke to him frankly, explaining that the Khanum wanted him dead and that I had been sent to see it done. He was frightened, and moved to attack, but I stopped him. I had to ask him what that would accomplish, except to send other, more vindictive assassins after him, and his family as well. I offered a choice. A quick, painless death, a chance to stand against them, or to run, with the risks it carried.

"He spoke of the risk I took with my own life by doing so. I could only say that there was nothing left for me to lose, but that I could try to help others with what little I had. I told him that I didn't want to have to kill his wife, or his young daughter. I desired no deaths, but I would not make the choice.

"Then why offer to kill him, he demanded. Why would I be willing to take his life if I didn't want to kill. I had no answer. Though religion had been lost to me after my capture, my heart still rebelled against murder. It took so long for me to find an answer. I had already killed once, I finally said. I would not burden another soul with murder when mine was already marred.

"He chose, in the end, to give his life to save his family. I killed him as painlessly and quietly as I could, in a way that would leave his family only grief rather than guilt. They never knew that his death was any more than the natural way of things.

"This continued. There were rare occurrences when the target would choose to reject my offer. Instead, I would attempt to allow them to escape, but I was limited in my actions by the Shah's constant attentions. I was trapped."

"Why are you always trapped?" Christine wondered. "You haven't done anything to deserve it, but you always seem to be bound in darkness by those things you could not control."

"I do not know," Erik answered. "Perhaps that is simply the hand Fate dealt. Perhaps the sin of my face will haunt me for all eternity. I cannot guess the reasons of the universe's workings. Shall I continue, or would you rather I move past this?"

She shook her head. "Continue. I need to hear all of this."

"The time came when I could not help any longer. I had been caught assisting a target and his family in escaping. Through serendipitous circumstance, they were still able to flee. I hope still that they survived. I was to be killed." She whimpered softly, and he caressed her hair gently. "Clearly, I was not. I spoke before of the friend that returned me to health when I was freed of the Khanum's torture. He moved in my aid again. His name was Nadir Khan, and he was the Daroga- the Persian chief of police. He freed me and made it seem that I had died. The ruse held long enough for him to smuggle me from the country. In the end, he was discovered, but he was spared harsh punishment for his long years of service. He merely was sentenced a few years of prison.

"I fled, retracing the steps I had taken some years before to return to Paris, and the Populaire. I arrived at a felicitous time. The opera house was to be redone. I contacted the architect responsible for the job and offered my designs for his use. I was paid handsomely and used that time in which the Populaire was in constant disarray to construct my home below. I had no further desire to wander the world beyond. Perhaps the Populaire was a prison to me as well, but it was at least one I had chosen for myself, where I was spared torture and humiliation. When it was done, I retreated below, ready to remain isolated for the rest of my years."

"It's so sad," Christine sighed. "Everything you did left you alone. Did you ever wish for something else?"

"Always," he replied quietly. "Always. I yearned for the beautiful things I had seen in my wanderings, before darkness had once again clouded my world. For the first time in my life, I had seen love, kindness, and the finer qualities that humanity possesses and yet never extends to me. While Antoinette had shown me these things, I had been able to see her only rarely, and so they never quite registered. I wanted them for myself, but I had grown oh so weary of torment. Solitude was kinder.

"One can only imagine my surprise when a man wandered into my quiet world. Monsieur Lefevre had heard rumors of mysterious noises beneath the Populaire and wished to know the cause. My first instinct was to protect myself, and this secret place of safety that I had finally achieved. However, his words caught my mind.

"He meant no harm, he told me. Antoinette had spoken of me to him just as she left, but I had been gone when he came searching. The rumors had led him to suspect my return, so he came to see if I required anything. With time, I relaxed, and I allowed him to see the world I had created. He admired my work a great deal and offered me a position within the Populaire.

"When the new managers took control of the Populaire, they disdained paying my salary as blackmail, though in fact it never was. Lefevre paid me for music, set design, costume work, stage instructions, whatever useful things I could produce. I was also charged to watch over the Populaire's people, to protect them if need be.

"My shock was compounded when Antoinette appeared a mere few months later, small child in tow. She came to me almost at once with her tale. Her husband had died, leaving her and the then-infant Meg alone. She had returned to her family for a few years while she grieved, but Lefevre had contacted her with an offer of the ballet mistress' post. So she returned with her child. I never told her of my excursion beyond the Populaire's walls. A few months more, and she brought you.

"And you know the story from there," he finished. "Now you have heard the sum of my life's horrors. Do I frighten you now, I wonder? Does the blood on my hands upset you?"

Christine couldn't think of a response for a long while, and each passing second only unnerved Erik further. His fear that she would reject him completely once learning of his past burned painfully against his heart.

"What about Monsieur Buquet and Signor Piangi?" she finally asked.

"I have regretted all deaths by my hand but two. One, the cruel gypsy that tormented me those many years. The second was Buquet's. Perhaps you were unaware, through the shelter provided by myself and Antoinette, but Joseph Buquet was a hard and terrible man. You must have heard him before, speaking of me. After our work brought you to the stage, he began to watch you far more closely than before. I had caught him assaulting women of the opera previously. When he was both pursuing me and beginning to plan his attack on you, I could not take that risk. My intent had never been to display him in front of the entire theater, however."

She nodded, seeming to accept his reason. "Piangi?"

"The result of madness," Erik sighed. "I was driven so by my desperate obsession that all else failed to matter. It had not been my wish to kill him, but he struggled and though I was stronger I feared the commotion would be overheard. Before my rationality could intervene, madness took his life. And now, I fear you will never trust me again."

"I trust you," she whispered, but his keen ears caught his words. She repeated them, louder. "I trust you."

"Really?" he enquired gently. "You do not simply pity me?"

Christine shook her head. "I understand. It's not your fault, any of it. You were trying to protect people. I'm sorry. I am so sorry I couldn't trust you before. I apologize for not remembering your kindness." She pressed her face into his shoulder, and he felt a few teardrops touch his bare skin. "I'm so sorry."

A soft smile soothed the harshness from his features, and he rubbed gentle circles against her back. "I know. I understand. But don't you see, Angel? You do not blame me for those things I did to protect others. Why must you blame yourself?"

"I'll try not to," she said quietly. "I just don't know how."

"First, sleep," he suggested. "There are still some hours until supper. Rest. You have much to recover from." He began to move away, but she grasped his hand.

"Stay. Please stay. Don't leave me alone."

"You are engaged." The words tore at his soul.

She shook her head. "It doesn't matter. I need you. You understand. Please, Erik!"

His eyes closed in resignation, and he relaxed once more into the soft mattress. "I find this unfair. You use my love for you to gain your desires. Very well. You shall have your wish, as always, Christine."

Christine murmured something, but even his sharp senses couldn't register the faint words. When he didn't reply, she restated them. "I don't want to use your love. I'm sorry. You can leave if you want to."

"Don't apologize," Erik soothed. "You are merely very distressed and exhausted."

"Erik?"

"Yes?"

"There's something… there's something I have to tell you."

"Then do so."

"I…"

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AN: Hehe, cliffhanger again. Sorry, but I really wanted to cut off there. No guarantees on the next time I'll update- I've been pretty wrapped up in my Sailor Moon story for those who care, and I neglected it a lot in favor of this story so I'm making it up to my readers there. The typical request for reviews applies. Till next time!