Author's note: Please take note that there is a new POV is this chapter.

Thank you all for the wonderful reviews.

Enjoy!

Erik

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I finished the work and made my way home with a sense of accomplishment. All field work was done for now, all that was left was a quick visit to the new site. That aside, I would be spending more time at home at night and would be able to concentrate on Christine.

If she wanted to continue to stay with me, I could show her the passages up to the opera house so she could still attend her dance practices. I could walk her there and back daily, seeing to her safety and my sanity by letting her practice dancing anywhere but in my living room again.

The more I thought about it the more I liked it. I would ask her to stay with me so I never would worry for her safety and we could get to know one another better.

I couldn't believe how positive I felt as I prepared my sleep tea. The only thing I would have to figure out was my sleep pattern. I would have to think on that. For today, I had plenty of time to sleep before I had to meet her on the roof. I downed the foul concoction and slid into bed gratefully.

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Raoul

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Women.

I took a long swallow from my flask as I leaned against the wall, waiting for my companion.

As a young man of twenty two years I didn't have a vast knowledge of women. I suppose my wealthy somewhat sheltered upbringing kept me from understanding the delicate complicating creatures we call women. I've asked the young woman whose bed I frequent why she's a dancer and she says she loves the stage but to me it seems wrong. Why would a girl subject herself to that kind of scrutiny? You would never see a man out there parading his half covered body around like a sweet meat. It further confused me to know that Christine was one of those girls.

Christine. The name haunted my thoughts daily and I took another long drink as it floated through my mind.

I can remember the first time I saw Christine like it was yesterday. Phillip and I were in the library completing our lessons for the day. Actually, we were tossing a ball back and forth and one stray toss had brought me to the large window that overlooked our back gardens. As I stooped to pick up the ball I noticed a young girl standing by some flowers, smelling them with reverence. She was commonly dressed but had thick curly hair and when she turned to touch an opening bloom I was struck by her beautiful features and the vacant expression in her eyes.

"Phillip," I called him over breathlessly, "There is a fairy in our yard."

He, being older and less impressionable, came to investigate and then pushed me playfully, "You are the fairy, stupid, that's Christine Daae. Father is talking with…" the rest of Phillip's words faded because the name resonated in my head like a bell. The most beautiful name I've ever heard, Christine. He tried to get my attention but my eyes were riveted to the girl. At the tender age of twelve I fell in love with the beautiful fairy that was smelling the flowers in our garden.

I never met her that day or even spoke to her but her precious innocent face and wildly curling hair haunted my dreams for years and as a boy I never found an equal to the sheer radiance of that one glimpse of my fairy amongst the flowers.

As I came into manhood I joined Father as a patron to the Opera Garnier and learned many things about young ladies. Especially young dancers. I was fully captured by their silly laughter and shining eyes and their gracefully bared arms and legs. I wanted to hold every one of them and could not keep myself from their arms and eventually, from their beds. They taunted me with their beauty, grace and coy smiles but Father was none too pleased.

"Dancers are no better than whores. I'll find you a proper girl." So our arguments began. Father was determined to find me a proper bride and I was determined to find my own, thank you. It didn't help at all when Phillip married an angel named Merilee who was the epitome of feminine grace and perfection. The only perfection I had ever witnessed had occurred when I was twelve and I had never seen my fairy again.

Until this summer. I tipped the flask to my lips as my more recent memories on the fairy Christine burned their way through my mind.

Father called me into his study where he usually met with clients and customers. He'd recently begun teaching me the workings of his business and I came into the room totally unprepared to see the vision before me. Her head was bowed but I could see enough of her face to know it was her. My dream. Her father was beside her but I am ashamed to say I could not describe what he looked like. My heart pounded as I stared at this vision of a woman my fairy child had become. I have no idea what my father and hers spoke of. Especially after we were introduced and her lovely eyes rose sweetly and she smiled angelically at me, "A pleasure to meet you," the vision spoke and my ears rang with perfection.

As soon as they left I told father I had found my future wife. He disagreed with me heartily and would not relent, even when I found out Monsieur Daae had brought her to Paris to find a husband for her, Father was still adamant. My fairy needed a husband and I wanted to comply.

"She is perfect," I childishly screamed more than once at my father, wanting her with a passion I could barely comprehended. Father was unyielding, saying she was not right for me and he had someone else in mind but then Christine's father died.

She came trembling to our house babbling incoherently and crying mournfully about her father. I wanted to take her in my arms and soothe her pain but Father kept her away from me and after the funeral, he sent her home. I thought about travelling to Sweden to find her but the only money I possessed was father's money and he told me quite firmly to forget her.

I tried to. I took comfort from one of the pretty dancers and father kept planning his wedding schemes for me. A month passed peacefully and then the Masquerade.

Mother and Father could not attend so I went alone. When they announced the new dancer I gaped as my fairy floated across the stage. Then anger had coursed through me. What was she doing here? She was supposed to be home! She was too perfect and precious to have all these men ogling her! But every time I came to save her from this depravity she was not in her room. I was beginning to think that I had imagined her name being called and was slowing going crazy.

"Monsieur Raoul," the pretty dancer behind me called. I turned with a small smile for the young woman that gave me the comfort of her body. "I do not have much time," she began to pull me toward the washing room, "The performance starts in an hour."

"More than enough time, Julie," I grinned at her.

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Christine

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I attended practice the next morning with Julie and Meg. Mme Giry said it was nice to see me and asked how many more lessons I thought I should miss before I would be ready for a part. I bowed my head and apologized and she went on with the practice.

I ate lunch with Meg and went to the roof with her to get some air. That night everyone was getting ready for the performance and I didn't know what to do with myself until it was time to meet Erik. I decided to have a bath and made my way to the washing room in my undergarments and a wrapper borrowed from Meg. Everyone else was busy getting dressed and doing make-up so I figured I'd have the room to myself.

I unlocked the door and there was giggling and scuffling happening on the other side of a change wall.

"Hello?" I called out. There was some muffled talk and Julie poked her head around the corner.

"Bonjour Christine. Could you come back in a little while? Maybe ten minutes?" Her hair was undone and disheveled and her shoulder and arm naked. I'm sure I would have thought of it but a man's voice came from the shelter.

"Ten minutes! Stupid chit!" and she was yanked back with a whoop and Raoul strode around the corner, his pants undone and his shirt half out of his pants. I looked down blushing hot. Were they being intimate?

"Christine? It's so marvelous to see you."

"What are you doing in our washroom?" I asked quietly edging back from him.

"Engaging in bad behavior," he laughed and reached out to grab me. He yanked me against him and I stumbled forward, surprised, putting my hands up defensively on his chest. He moaned and held me hard as he rolled his hips against me. I tried to pull away because I could feel his 'manhood', I learned from Meg and Julie, hard as a ballet bar pressing into my stomach. It made me feel too many things to separate them all, horrified, scared, humiliated, curious….too many things.

"You feel so good," he whispered in my ear and then shook me. "How many men have had you?" he was instantly angry and I tried to push him away.

"Let me go!" I said with more conviction then I felt.

"Oh no Christine," he slid his hands down to my bottom, his anger gone, "I never want to let you go." He nuzzled my neck with a shuddering breath and Julie came from around the wall pulling on her wrapper. She looked hurt and confused and then I met her eyes and conveyed my frantic fear to her. She ran from the washroom and I tried to delay what ever Raoul had planned for me.

"Did you know your father wanted us to be married? Did the thought excite you my love?" I trembled with shock at his words.

"You lie!" I whispered, disgusted.

He pulled back to look at me and then smiled like I was a child, "There's no need to be scared my sweet little fairy, I love you so very much," and then he kissed me. His lips were rough and his tongue forced itself into my mouth. I twisted to get his mouth off of mine and he grabbed my bun to get better leverage as his mouth sought mine once more. I wanted to scream or bite him but alcohol fumes filled my nose as his tongue filled my mouth and I coughed into his mouth. He let go and my wobbly knees dropped me to the ground while he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"That was gross," he admonished me and I tried to back away from him on my knees.

"I'll tell your father," I threatened breathily and he laughed.

"Father knows that dancers are just whores to be had," he scowled suddenly. "That's why I'm surprised you would choose this, Christine. You seemed so sweet and quiet…I can't believe you're no better than Julie." He was right of course but that didn't mean I was going to let him have his way with me. I huddled on the ground and he came to kneel in front of me.

"I would have married you," he said quietly, taking me by the shoulders to shake me sharply, "But I can't now!" His eyes travelled down to my chest and I'm not sure what he could see because I was too afraid to look away from his feverishly bright blue eyes. "I don't care how many men have had you," he whispered, "I need you. I need this."

He stood quickly and began wrestling with his clothing while I stared at his boots. He was going to assault me. I trembled with fear and knew I had to do something, run away or yell or scream but I was frozen. Something soft and musky smelling grazed my cheek and I closed my eyes, my chin quivering.

"Put it in your mouth," his voice had lowered to a purr and I heard Meg yelling my name from not far away. Sweet rescue come save me, tears came to my eyes but I knew he would come back for me. His hand pulled on my hair, pulling me towards his hips and his man parts brushed across my face.

Meg and some other girls poured into the room in varying degrees of undress shouting at Raoul in French and he let me go but I knew he would never leave me alone unless I did something. My eyes fastened on the hilt of a knife protruding from his boot. I had to do something. I grabbed his knife, springing up to my feet, tearing my wrapper and pressing the blade to his side. He jumped back with a yelp.

"Stay away from me," I sobbed as I backed away. Red blossomed on his white shirt and I held the knife hard in my hand, terrified of what I'd just done. The girls were forming a wall between us yelling at Raoul while he lifted his shirt to see how badly I'd cut him. Meg turned and asked if I was okay but I couldn't stand to be in this room one more second and turned on my heel and ran.

I don't know where I meant to go but I ran. As hard and as fast as I could and when I reached the stairs I climbed. When I burst out onto the roof I fell to the cold stone and threw up. The knife had blood on it and I wanted to throw it away from me but kept it in case Raoul came after me again. I crawled around the corner from the door and huddled into a ball, my knees drawn up to my chest. My breath gasped in and out, little white clouds around my face, and I began to cry.

Cold tears streaked down my face. The terrible things he said! Did Papa honestly think to marry me off to him? Did I kill him? There was a lot of blood on his shirt. It was hard to get a full breath as my sobs wracked my body and I began to shiver in the cold night.

"Erik," I cried out, as if speaking his name could make him materialize. He was the only real person in my life. The only one who could stop the whirl of my life, spinning out of control. When I was with him, everything was fine. I held my breath because I seemed to be making a lot of noise. How could I hide from Raoul if I was making enough noise to drown out an elephant, but it was useless. My breath was hitched and gasping, I could smell blood and vomit and I felt sick, sick from the taste of him in my mouth, sick from his upsetting words, sick of people. More than anything, I longed for when it was just me and Papa. I was safe, loved, sheltered and cared for. Now I felt naked and alone, so, so alone in this cold unreal place. I buried my face in my knees and starting crying my heart out.

---

Erik

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My spirits were high as I climbed to the roof. I was hours early yet but couldn't stay a moment more down below. I'd woken with a vigor that I hadn't felt in…well….ever.

The world seemed a brighter place knowing Christine was in it and as I made it to the last series of stairs I increased my speed, taking the stairs two at a time, wondering if she would come early, just as eager to see me as I was to see her.

I few steps from my private entrance I heard frantic sobbing and hesitated. The sound of it rattled in my head for a moment and I exploded out into the open, knowing it was her.

She sprang up from the ground with a startled cry, her face wet, her eyes wild, a bloody knife in her hand. I couldn't even speak, looking at her disheveled fierce appearance. Then her face collapsed and her arms dropped, the knife pinging off the stone loudly.

"Erik," she sobbed, her breath a white cloud in the cold air and her eyes rolled back in her head. I leapt forward as her body crumpled to the ground and caught her in my arms., my heart galloping in my chest. Was her attacker up here? I darted my eyes around the roof as I whisked off my cloak but saw no one. What was she doing up here in just her wrapper? I quickly wrapped my cloak around her limp cold body and stood with her in my arms.

Only one thing for me to do.

I took her as swiftly as I could back to my underground home.

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Christine

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I could smell wood and some spice that was unfamiliar. And vomit. I jerked my head with a gasp and only noticed the arms under my knees and shoulders when they held me tighter against a hard chest. We were moving quickly.

"Ma petite fleur," I didn't even hear the rest, the wash of relief was so overwhelming. Only one man had a voice like that. Erik had me. I was safe.

I buried my face back into his chest, breathing the cedar spice of his clothing. Tears started to collect and I couldn't help the sobs of relief and of trial from spilling from my mouth.