A/N: I was in the hospital, so I apologize for the delay.

And to friscofilly: I actually think this Christine is very clever and scheming, so I would love to hear more about why you think she is stupid. And also, this is unfortunately NOT based on the book, which I think I make pretty clear... so you obviously did not read the first chapter. If you did so, I'm sure you would understand the story and characters better.

Anyone else noticed you can no longer add those dashes to seperate scenes? It's completely destroyed all my stories and made them look like run-ons.

.

"Go off and play," he told her one day. "I'll be back in an hour. I want you out as well."

"Can't I come with you?"

"No," he answered. "Just an hour."

He walked her upstairs and set her loose in the entrance hall after an intrusive kiss and abrupt dismissal. He walked right out the front doors, but when the glass swung shut, he was no longer there.

Although she had been getting ready for bed at home, it was late morning here. The lobbies and quarters were all but deserted, yet the auditorium was filled with the members of a rehearsal. Christine practiced following people around, but she thought it was boring. Erik could scare people, which was what made it fun for him, but she wasn't sure how to startle someone without making it obvious she was right there. A little upset with him from the way he had so easily dismissed her, she had nothing to do but fume around in the age-old auditorium.

Listening was tiresome, as they were doing blocking rather than any music, so she fooled around in the sets and looked at all the costumes, but after being almost run over by a changing baritone, she decided to clear the area.

It did not take her long to realize that an hour had passed and Erik had still not returned. It was a direct violation of his promise, and it excused her from harm.

Her dress was a creamy blue, so she snatched black walking boots and a black, gauzy shawl from the costume wing and wrapped it around her head like a widow to go out the side door. She must have looked a bit peculiar, but the stares were minimal as she followed the dull brick all the way to the edge of the street. The ground was muddy and clumped on the bottom of her stolen boots.

To anyone else, the deserted ruins of an ancient building just off Drimvere had been deserted for decades. She hoisted herself up on the brick and climbed through one of the crumbling windows.

Inside was just as magical as their home, only in a different way. Everything was colored very pale, like the wood of furniture and the cloth of faded pillows. Nothing matched whatsoever.

"Darling?" she called hesitatingly.

She paused in anticipation, and there were footsteps up ahead.

"Darling?" Erik's voice mimicked from somewhere behind her.

"Where are you?"

"I told you to stay," his voice said pleasantly.

"You told me you would only be gone an hour," she flounced back. Oh no, he could not win with his games anymore.

Even in the pale shadows of this haunted place, she felt alone. Her arms came out and wrapped around her, and she wished Erik would appear. He came from the opposite side she had been predicting. His jacket was off and his black shirt was captivating.

She goggled a little. He had to warn her when he was making any alteration to his appearance, or else it simply threw her. "You look nice," she breathed.

He gave an impatient smirk. "Only when you can't see my face. And I can't see yours. Take off that silly thing, I want to see you."

She hastily slid her cover off her face, and he reached out and pulled away the black material around her shoulders. The gesture of his arm and shoulder as it pulled off this semblance of article of clothing affected her deeply. She touched his shoulder and she could feel his skin through the fabric, and he turned away and grabbed something dark—his jacket, and slung it on.

"I didn't want to be recognized," she said in an injured voice.

"Very creative," he approved.

They ended up walking together in the cover of trees rather than stolen scarves. They passed a stall filled with flowers and a young man waiting anxiously as the clerk wrapped a bundle of garlands.

Erik saw her looking and grew dangerously close. He swiped the wrapped florals as the other two men looked the other way.

"Erik, that man paid for that wrapping!" she scolded, but she took it anyway. He looked unconcerned.

"So?"

"So… what if he only had enough money for this, and it was his wife's anniversary, and now she is at home crying because they have no money, and he is heartbroken because now he cannot even get her flowers?"

He gave her a stern look. "If that is all the money he has for his wife, he should not be spending it on flowers, foolish girl."

She held them away from her body but sniffed them delicately. "How can I say thank you for stolen flowers?"

Erik rolled his eyes. It made her laugh.

When they completely passed the booth, he suddenly grinned at her—how terrifying it was, to see him smile like that.

"What is it?" she asked suspiciously.

His expression turned off like a facet, as if she had caught him at a moment of weakness. "You stole the shawl."

Without any warning, he stopped and swooped down, lifting up her dress to her knee. "And the shoes, it I'm not mistaken," he added, a bit of his merry leer coming back.

"Stop—put it down!" she flapped, snatching her dress from him and pressing it against her legs, blushing for numerous reasons. He returned to standing position, looking completely nonchalant, as if he had not just lifted up most of her clothing."Firstly—do not ever do that again! Second—I did notsteal them. I borrowed them and I plan to give them back. You are not planning on giving the flowers back, are you?"

His face changed; he brightened considerably. "So if you give them back, it's not stealing?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, but didn't say anything.

He took her arm, kissed her fingers, and hummed on the way home.

There was a bit of a difficult situation under the Opera. There were dozens of people at every turn, whispering seriously to each other.

"They think they're so clever, but they do not even guard the entrance," Erik scoffed. Perhaps her face was alarmed, because he patted her arm and said, "They'll give up soon enough, dear, don't you worry. Now follow me closely."

She had barely moved more than two steps before he said, "And take off those shoes if you insist on stepping like an elephant. And drop the shawl, there's no use for it."

She quickly removed the shows and scarf and held them tightly in her arms, but he wrestled them from her, dropping them on the floor.

"They'll see it…" she said in hushed tones.

Erik smiled insanely. "Another mystery to keep them up at night."

Together they plowed through the darker paths, occasionally pausing when seeing a shadow up ahead.

"We should just let them see us," he sighed pensively.

Christine instantly wrapped her arms around him, as if to physically hold him back, and pressed her face into him. "No, we shouldn't! That's just more trouble for us if they keep being down here."

He turned around in an odd, flow-like movement, catching his hand around her waist and pulling her close to him, jerking her against him. "You have to warn me before you touch me like that," he murmured lustily against her ear, before abruptly releasing her and vanishing into the darkness.

For a moment, she had thought he was going to push her down to the ground, and it made her heart pound as she fingered where his hands had roughly touched.

"Same to you!" she said to the floor.

.

Later, Erik came into one of the library rooms upstairs where Christine was trying to study German text. He sat across from her, holding a wrapped, lace scarf.

She tucked her bare legs under her and blatantly buttoned her dressing gown. He waited until she was finished, and then said, "Don't you want to see what I have for you?"

"I suspect so," she answered, relinquishing her books.

The scarf fell partially open and he pulled out her emerald hairpin, her cross necklace, and a pearl bracelet she hadn't even known she was missing. He laid them all diligently in her outstretched hand. "I found them," he announced triumphantly.

Her fingers clutched at them, shocked. It was baffling how they had gone missing down here in the first place, and now he had mysteriously discovered them all together?

"You stole them!" she exclaimed.

The grey eyes she knew so well narrowed, seriously offended. "How unkind! I found them."

"Yes, but did you find them because you took them in the first place?"

"I found them," he repeated stubbornly. The hairpin smelled metallicay and looked a little darker than how she had remembered, but it was most definitely hers. Erik watched her closely as she examined them.

Exasperated, she tucked them in her side and exploded with, "Erik! Why would you take my things? Were you intentionally trying to anger me?"

He was quiet for a long time, like a little boy sulking. "I was trying to be good, giving them back," he said shortly. "It's not stealing if you give them back. I was trying to be good, this is what I get?"

She reached out a consoling hand while his eyes dropped dully to the floor. If he was trying to trick her into feeling guilty, well, he was doing a very good job. "Don't think that… It was wrong of me to assume. I am thankful you have returned them to me." When he made no response, she lifted her hand down his cheek and rested on his shoulder.

There was a snap reaction; one second, he was sitting across from her, and the next second he was on top of her.

"What did I say about touching me?" he said in frustration.

All of the breath was knocked out of her. "Why wouldn't you like me touching you?" she gasped as he rolled her over on her back and hovered over her, his face gaunt and pale in the orangish light.

He laughed, a slightly hysterical sound. "Why wouldn't I like it? I want it. I want it so badly you could not even imagine! You, who is used to frequent touches, no matter how small or how heartfelt. I want touch so badly that it's almost not enjoyable when I am touched! Do you know how long it took me to get used to it? And now…" His voice became almost a whine. "… I am growing to expect it… so dangerous! This cannot lead to anything good."

"It could lead to something very good," she said.

He kissed her almost in anger, and she wondered if she was so used to his dark moods that she wouldn't known anger from passion anyway. His fingers found the soft area beneath her breasts and pushed with the tinniest amount of pressure. She drew in a startled breath in his mouth, and he said, "Be a good girl, Christine, and stay still for me."

There wasn't a single doubt in her head to disobey him this time. Her heart pounded even faster than it had the other day in the catacombs; she was afraid that one time, it would finally explode.

"Erik," she sighed, and he slipped his hands down over her and pulled on the hem of her dressing gown lower, so it exposed her collarbone and high chest. His hands curled around her waist as he lifted her up to him and pushed his lips against hers—the mask dug into the left side of her face, but she said nothing of it. His hands lay flat against her stomach now, but rose higher with every passing breath. As much as her panic spread, suddenly she wanted him to take her right now, take her on the sofa in the library room, in a spontaneous and exhilarating way. She could feel something between her legs, and she was quite certain it was not his belt.

"Look what I've done," he moaned, only an inch from her face. "I came up here to do something good." His eyes closed. "But it's your fault. I can't help it."

His hands, although still outside her gown, were touching her up and down, as if he had never felt a female body before. He seemed most fascinated by under her breasts, although he took great care to not touch them directly. She wanted to giggle at it, and decided to do something herself.

She kissed his clothed chest and worked her way up to right under the mask. When her lips touched the beginnings of the ravaged area under the material, he suddenly shivered so hard that Christine's innocent book on the cushion fell to the floor with a thunk. It startled both of them, so that Christine sat up awkwardly, one leg around his waist, the other still under his weight.

It was like he was trying to pull away, but his body wouldn't let him. He leaned back, struggling with himself, and it was almost funny to see him like that. He finally gave up, keeping her tucked against him, now in a more comforting than sensual position. "It's nice to feel human touch that is kindly, rather than angry…" He brushed his bare hand against her wrists. "And to feel your skin is almost…" His mouth remained opened, his eyes locked on their intercrossed fingers.

"…Overwhelming?" she finished helpfully.

He struggled away from her again, but she held tight.

"Overwhelming," he agreed. "Let go of me, Christine, please let go of me and I promise not to leave…"

She took her hands away and he finally succeeded in leaning away from her. She watched him tremble, and shake his head.

Wordlessly, she extended her hand to him again. He looked at it as though she was brandishing a weapon.

"Such a dangerous thing to get used to," he said mournfully. He dropped his arm to her waist again and pulled her against him, and the two leaned back on the couch, holding hands.

.