Hello there,

Apologies for my unnecessary absence: I've been busying acting as a beta, while firing out papers and discussion board responses for my classes. I've also been toying about with a few ideas for later on in the story.

I recently received a review that mentioned that I was flip-flopping too much and for that particular reader, it was frustrating. I can easily understand why any reader could think that, and let me explain why.

In my head, Erik is deep: he has more than just self-conscious issues. Let's think about this: he's had multiple surgeries, had his first love killed, he was neglected as a child by his mother and at the same time, Erik is also dealing with his problems concerning blood lust. The list goes on… Because of all of this, Erik may love Christine, but he doesn't feel as though he deserves her because of the darkness his life is wrapped up in. We see this a lot in the original musical and even Gaston Leroux's novel: Erik loves Christine not only for her voice, but for her innocence and purity—for him, Christine is his beacon of light.

While all of this is going on Christine has her own battle scars and her own ghosts. While she may give off a false wall of confidence, she's not. She feels guilt and remorse for killing her clients, and she has an anonymous secret admirer who thinks killing off her client list is like sending bouquets of roses. At the same time, she's finally realized that she's been in love with the composer Erik Destler ever since she had first performed his operas (I'm planning on writing a one-shot about this soon), and has fallen in love with the man himself. Because of her own self-confidence issues, she ran to Raoul because she needed someone who would love her. And Christine hasn't seen Raoul (her best friend) in a few years—it's been a while, and she just needed to catch up… I think everyone can readily agree that if they were in that situation, they would drop everything in order to spend time with their closest friends because of how much they missed them.

Finally, the genre for this work is romance/drama, which means that there is bound to be plenty of flip-flopping. Check out Erik: The Vampire Hunter—one of my favorite reads. Loads of flip-flopping, and yet a brilliant plot. This story will obviously need to be restructured one of these days, but until Winter Break comes, I won't have the time to do so. However I am planning on starting that work today through this weekend, so if you check back by Monday, I'll probably have rewritten at least the fist handful of chapters.

I know that this is a rather lengthy author's note, however I hope that this helps a lot of readers out there understand where I'm coming from.

Ever yours,

Soprano in Shadow

Erik paced the length of his bedroom, agitated; he had almost delivered a harmful blow to Christine. How could he have allowed that to happen? A voice snickered in his head, taunting him—egging him on to lose control.

'Maybe you're not as disciplined as you had earlier believed… What if all of those days meditating with the best instructors were a waste of your effort and Antoinette's money? How about you sit back, Erik, and let me take control—I'm sure I could show the darling little bitch a good time.' Erik dearly wished that he could throttle the voice that had taken up residence within his mind. He needed a way to temporarily silence his demons.

His eyes narrowed as he thought of his missing files once again. He needed—no, he hungered—to hunt. He needed to spill the blood of those who had no business living. Now.

No! Growling, Erik glowered at his reflection in the mirror, wishing that he could smash it to bits. When had he changed so drastically? Since when had he allowed the thirst to consume him like this? He racked his brain, allowing memories to flood through his mind, as he tried to focus on specific events. He wasn't even sure where, or when, to look. Erik only knew that the name of that blasted boy had set him off.

There!

Tucked away behind plaster, bandages and wrappings, Erik could almost feel the memory of being trapped and unable to move for eighteen months becoming real once more—unable to quench the desire to kill the man who had locked away his freedom. Joseph Bouquet. Erik could feel his rage begin to rise within him once more, and the excitement began to grow within him: he would have his revenge!

"Erik?" His angel's voice reached him before the composer could even see her, and like a sedative, her melodic voice began to cool and soothe his temper. The unwelcome presence had decidedly left his mind for the moment, of which he was glad: that last thing he wanted was for her to be at its mercy…again. He would worry about that later—for now he had a fiancée to tend to.

"I'm here, angel," Erik called out in response, brushing back a nonexistent stray hair with his hand, before catching sight of his beautiful brunette. Despite the ugly past that she had shared with him a few weeks earlier she was still a force to be reckoned with; her smile and cheerful demeanor, despite the earlier incident, were utterly contagious.

"Let's go to Chelsea—I need to get away from this apartment and the boys for a while, alright?" Erik couldn't help but smile back at the way she was almost bouncing in place on her toes, her heels barely touching the ground. How did she have so much energy?

"Anywhere in particular, Christine?"

Christine thought for a moment, her hazel eyes sparkling in amusement at the thought of dragging the antisocial composer down blocks filled with boutiques. However, Christine knew that she could never be able coax him through hours of taxi-filled streets and curious people without feeling guilty. There had to be something that they could do.

An idea popped into her head, one that sounded almost childish in her mind. But it was autumn, and how much longer would she have this chance?

"So Erik," Christine began coyly, placing her hand in his, "how would you feel about grocery shopping for a pie?"

"Dean and DeLuca's always have fresh pies available—shall we check there?" Erik asked, not fully comprehending the young brunette's train of thought.

Christine grinned wickedly. "Oh no, mister, not exactly what I had in mind. What I meant was: how would you feel about grocery shopping so that we can bake some pies?"

Erik paled as thoughts of pie dough sticking in awkward areas, a face full of flour and Christine running about the apartment chasing him with a rolling pin in hand, before gulping and nodding slowly.

"It's just a little baking, right? What harm will that do?" Erik asked, mostly to himself, as Christine began to pull him towards the front door, eager to leave. Why did he feel like he was walking into a trap? Shrugging, Erik grabbed his scarf from the couch and barely managed to wrap it around his neck before Christine began to eagerly tug him out of the apartment.

This was an adventure and it would make Christine happy, Erik continually told himself. This would be a new adventure, and as a highly trained assassin, he should be more than ready for the unexpected… Besides, there couldn't be any harm in baking.

Right?

…

This had gone dreadfully wrong. No, no, no! Erik could barely believe that Christine was acting like this.

"Christine," Erik said warningly, as said brunette began to approach him slowly, "think about what you're doing. You don't want to do this."

Christine smiled, a dark twinkle in her eyes as she surveyed the room. Yes, that corner would be where she would trap him. And then she would have her way and he would beg for mercy.

"Think about what you're doing. You'll regret it, Antoinette will be furious… And-Well… Let's not forget about me. Are you fully prepared to use me like this and accept the consequences?" Being unable to see where he was going, Erik nearly stumbled on a chair—there was no way he could turn his back on her. If he did, then she would, and then…disaster.

"You can't be scared of little ol' me could you, Erik? It's not like I bite…much." Christine snickered at the last words, as she took another step towards him, causing Erik in turn to move away from her yet again.

This was too much. This wasn't safe at all! What could Christine be thinking, acting irresponsible like this? Erik gulped as he realized that his back was now against the wall—there would be no escape.

"Christine-Cat-Angel… Don't do this…Please?" His pitiful attempts at asking for Christine to reconsider reached deaf ears. And that's where Erik drew the line. He refused to beg—he was a man for goodness sake! How would it look for him to plead? Even if she was making a bad decision.

"Apologize."

Erik huffed; his earlier please forgotten as he crossed his arms, turning his head to the side with his mask facing outward. He would show his fiancé that when Erik Destler did something, Erik Destler didn't apologize for it. She grinned at his defiance before moving a step closer.

"Now why would I ever do that? I would never apologize for something so utterly below me—" Erik saw white.

Christine had thrown a handful of flour at him.

He growled as he looked down at his clothes now dusted in white. He was quite sure that his face was sprinkled with just as much of the dreaded stuff. Wiping his hand free of it, Erik's eyes narrowed as he tried to brush the flour off from his sweater and failed. She could have at least thrown something else at him… but flour? Erik could already tell that it would be difficult to remove flour particles from his sweater… it was cashmere!

So perhaps he should have looked before putting his elbow down on the counter, on top of the squeeze bottle filled with caramel sauce. And maybe he shouldn't have laughed at her horrorstruck face as the bottle squirted caramel all over her, and her beloved cardigan. And maybe offering to spoon some of the apples out of the pie crust and onto her hair as a topping was taking it a bit too far…. No, taking it a bit too far had passed after he had quickly gotten hold of all the kitchen towels, leaving her standing there gaping at him covered in a sweet and sticky mess. And then he had laughed some more… Yes, that was probably what had caused her to grab the flour in the first place.

Who knew baking could be so much fun?

Christine's laughter broke through the composer's thoughts, as she smiled in glee. "It's just a little bit of flour, Erik. No need to make such a fuss," Christine said happily, skipping back to the kitchen where she continued watching the apple pie bake. Hearing Erik grumble under his breath about his ruined sweater, before heading back to his room to change, Christine chuckled before peering inside the oven in order to check the status of their pie.

It was almost ready. A thought tickled her mind: The Doctor. What was she going to do? Christine knew that Antoinette would be expecting a call from… whoever it was, before the day ended. If she didn't hear from The Doc, then Antoinette would know of her daughter's betrayal. Leaning against the counter, in fear of getting caught, Christine glanced down at the screen of her phone as she accessed the Doctor's number from her contact list, biting her lip in concentration. It would only take two minutes to call The Doctor. All she would have to do was step outside for a few minutes and make the call. In all honesty, she wasn't even quite sure why she would even consider calling. Was Christine honestly considering putting her fiancé's life in danger?

Perhaps Christine could try and hold off the call—what if Erik wasn't even a danger?

Arms encircled the contemplative brunette from behind, startling the female assassin from her thoughts.

"And what is it that you're doing, hmm?" The composer mumbled huskily, nuzzling his face into her hair, and breathing in her scent deeply. His muscles began to relax, a stark contrast from Christine's, which were tensed in anticipation of, well, anything.

"I-I'm just setting a timer for the oven, so that I don't have to watch the pie baking anymore. I think there's about five or six minutes left still…the pastry doesn't look as flaky as I'd like," Christine said, recovering from her thoughts quickly. She wasn't sure which Erik this was, but as he began to draw her hair to one side, and leave quick kisses down her neck, Christine realized that she didn't care.

For the past few weeks, Christine had been so worried about unleashing his bloodlust, she hadn't even thought about the physical part of their relationship. But then again, she was an assassin who been sent on multiple seduction assignments…so really, what she had been craving was an actual, solid relationship (with someone other then Antoinette, her boys and Meg) that didn't involve just physical activities.

Closing her eyes in enjoyment, she shivered slightly at the feel of his hot breath against her neck, his hands splayed tightly against her hips. Leaning lightly against her fiancé, Christine's arms went limp, her cell phone finding itself on the counter—she would contemplate what actions to take later.

Moving further down, Erik began to kiss the top of her shoulder, fighting back a growl at the fabric in the way. Moving a hand to stroke her neck, Erik began to lower it until his fingers felt the first metal button. Undoing it, Erik used his other hand to pull the shoulder of Christine's cardigan in order to feel her skin. Repeating his pattern of kisses on her shoulder, Erik's hand continued down the line of buttons. Mentally he decided to add to their marriage contract that his angel would no longer be allowed to wear anything that involved buttons…or clasps…or ties: nothing that would cause this much standstill in his desire for her.

For all he cared, she could just wear nothing… Erik grinned wickedly at the thought of having a naked Christine with him at all times. They could just stay indoors and never leave—they did have the internet after all, so they could order anything they would need online and have it delivered: groceries, clothes, movies, furniture, books, a piano, baby clothes…

Erik stiffened at his last thought—where had that come from? Erik had always known that he would never sire his own children. He had endured enough pain his whole life for at least several families, and there was no need for his own children to be as ugly as him. Besides Christine was beautiful, and so she would want to have beautiful children, right? But Erik mentally slapped himself for that thought—he knew Christine, his Christine, and she would never be that shallow, and would love whatever children they ever did have. So what if they did have children together?

"Erik?" Christine's voice broke through his thoughts, and Erik noticed that he had in fact paused in his ministrations on her shoulder. "Is everything ok?" Christine asked, concerned at how her fiancé had suddenly stopped, his eyes far off and glazed over. What had he been thinking about?

Placing an apologetic kiss on her shoulder, Erik turned her around so that he could directly into her eyes. Resting his forehead against hers, he closed his eyes as he tried to focus his thoughts.

"I love you, you know that…right?" Erik nodded in response to her question. How would he bring this up to her?

"I want us…to have—I want…well…" Erik trailed off, unable to properly word his thoughts. How was he supposed to say something like this so outright? It's not as though they were cave dwellers, where this ideal was expected. He tried again. "Angel, did you ever think of…well, being a…mother?" Erik cringed, expecting to hear a sharp retort that he had no right to ask her something like that.

But none came. Instead, all Erik heard was a quiet chuckle. "Is that what you were worried about, Erik? You thought I would never want children?" Slowly Erik nodded, eyes still closed. "I think that one day after we've settled down, then yes, I think I'd like to have children: maybe two or three? But why is this coming up now?"

Opening his eyes, he saw Christine's eyes sparkle and knew what she said to be true: she wanted children too.

He chose to not respond. Instead, he drew her lips to his own, his hands finding their way to the sides of her hips once more. These kisses, however, were no longer playful, instead each grew in intensity as Christine placed one hand on his masked cheek and the other gripped within his hair. Erik froze and pulled back in alarm as his cheek lost the mask's weight, before realizing that it was Christine who had removed it.

"Christine…" Erik began weakly, unsure of how he felt unmasked in such a public place. Hushing her fiancé's verbal attempts, Christine took the lead, as she began to kiss the ravaged half of his face.

"I love this, Erik," Christine said between kisses. "It's part of you, and it's you I love. Don't hide away from that," she said firmly, before bringing their lips together again, her arms twining around the composer's neck. Slowly, Erik's confidence returned; the baking pie became forgotten as Erik slipped Christine's sweater off, and it dropped to the floor. Leaving her in only a thin olive green tank top, and Erik placed his hands on the sides of her flat stomach.

Growing bolder, Erik moved one of his hands inward, drawing circles on her stomach, the other still holding the brunette steadily close to him. A soft gasp from Christine escaped from their continued kissing, as his hand still circled upward, until finally reaching out to cup the underside of a breast. He held his hand there for a moment, enjoying the lightweight, before moving up further and finding the part of her breast that was hidden behind the fabric of her bra.

There! Slowly, Erik began to trace the area of her breast that had escaped the reach of her bra, causing the soprano to tremble at the repeated light touch. Breaking their kiss, Erik bent down to nibble lightly at the area between her shoulder and neck, causing Christine's head to tip back in enjoyment, a breathy sigh escaping her lips every once in a while.

"Erik…" Hearing his name come forth from those lips only encouraged Erik to continue his ministrations, as his hand paused from its movement, only to travel back down and under her tank top, the cloth hitching up to allow access to his hand. Feeling the taunt abdominal muscles beneath his slightly rough hands, Erik didn't think that he could ever accept an assigned seductive mission ever again. The way they were reacting to each other was chemical, and Erik wouldn't have it any other way. Was this what love could do to a man? Slowly his hand began to inch up towards her breasts once again, causing Christine to groan in impatience. Capturing her lips with his in order to silence those groans, Erik continued the slow progress of his hand, already anticipating the feel of her breast in his hand once more.

"Christine, what pie did you en—Oh!" Antoinette's alarmed voice startled the couple, and hastily separating their lips in alarm, turned to see the elder woman watching them, her eyes wide, looking between the couple, although pointedly ignoring the uncovered side of Erik's face.

Silence erupted from the kitchen, as Christine and Erik avoided looking at each other or at their boss in embarrassment, only for it to be broken a few moments later, as the pie's timer went off.

"I'll…umm…pie!" Christine said cleverly, straightening her tank top, before rushing to grab an oven mitt, rescuing the pie from the hot oven. As she placed the perfectly golden apple pie down onto the counter space, Christine felt Antoinette move closer towards her. Looking up at her adoptive mother, Christine noticed that Erik had made his presence scarce, leaving her deal with Antoinette all on her on. Lovely. "Antoinette," Christine began nervously, "I'm—"

"Are you being careful?" Biting her lip, Christine nodded; she had just picked up her monthly prescription for the pill. "Have the both of you sat down and set a date yet?" Antoinette asked calmly, knife in hand, as though she hadn't seen the boy she helped raise maul the daughter she had practically raised.

"P-pardon?" Christine asked weakly, unsure of how to proceed.

"For the wedding, Christine. Have the two of you sat down and set the date?" Christine stared at Antoinette silently, not knowing what to say. After the almost catastrophic reaction she had received from asking what they would be doing after being married, Christine didn't have the nerve to even ask about setting an actual wedding date.

"I would watch what," Antoinette searched for the right words as she sliced a piece of pie for herself, "goes on, until you've set a date with him. Otherwise, there may be…issues that need to be taken care of, and then Meg may be in trouble." Christine realized that Antoinette had known how her portion of the conversation with Meg had gone, and silently thanked whatever was watching them above for how calm Antoinette was being. "Set the date, Christine. Give Erik something to hold onto as his anchor, otherwise, you may in fact lose him at the end of this battle." Slowly Christine nodded in understanding, as Antoinette plated her slice and walked back toward her room.

Counting silently for a few minutes, Christine finally deemed it safe to creep past Antoinette's master bedroom to Erik's own room, relief hitting her as she heard the radio blaring in Firmin and Andre's own set of rooms.

Opening the door, Christine popped her head through the crack, catching sight of her fiancé almost instantly. He lay there on his bed, staring straight up at the ceiling, his mask once more securely in place.

"Erik, can we talk?" Christine slipped into his bedroom, walking over to sit on the edge of his bed. Rolling on his side, Erik nodded, as he reached out to run his hands through his fiancée's wild hair. "We should talk about the wedding." Erik froze at her words, his dark eyes boring into her own.

"Go ahead, Christine," Erik said quietly, not wanting to ruin the moment. Christine drew in a breath, before continuing.

"Why haven't we set a date yet?" Christine asked, watching closely for Erik's reaction. "I mean, one moment we hate each other, then we go cold…and then hot again. Then you leave to go and do God knows what, and then we're engaged. So what do we do now? Do we step backward and keep going hot and cold, or do we move forward, settle down and set a date?"

Erik froze for a moment, not really knowing what to say. He felt as though he was being cornered into making a decision. What was he supposed to say?

"I…don't know," Erik said slowly.

Christine stared hard at the composer for a moment, before shaking her head. "See, Erik, this is you making us take a step backward. Why can't we just sit down and pick a date together? Why does everything have to be, 'I don't know' with you?"

Fury rose in the belly of the composer, rising up until Erik could barely rein himself back from losing his temper. "Well, why does everything have to be 'now, now, now!' with you?" the composer sneered. "I mean, you throw yourself at me like a clingy little girl, and expect me to fall in love with you and marry you within the timespan of the opera—my opera! Then when I need to get away because I'm feeling suffocated and not used to a woman actually wanting to be with me, you throw a tantrum like a spoiled little brat, and get yourself engaged to that…that little piece of shit, spoiled brat who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, angel-eyed and twinkle-toed fop! Then the moment I come back, you latch back onto me, expect me to be fine with everything that has been going on around here. And then the minute I make a right move, you practically shove me off the bloody stage with pies, trying to make me set the date," he bellowed, before switching to a higher voice. "When are we getting married? When? When? Erik, we have to get married! When are we getting married? For God's sake, woman, let me breathe!" His chest heaved from the exertion of his anger as his mind finally caught up with his mouth. What had he done?

Christine stood up trembling, her head bowed, so that he couldn't see her reaction. "You're really going to pick a fight with me about this? Really? Mr. 'I don't know how I feel, so I need to run away to fucking Amsterdam and not even let the woman who loves me know that I'm alright'? Well, fine! Let's fight! And if I don't have my voice back in a few for your bloody opera, then at least we all know whom to blame!" Christine screeched just as loud as Erik, before storming towards his bedroom door. She needed to go to her own room in order to think.

"Ever heard of an understudy, Christine?" Erik called out, receiving a few choice words in return, before she slammed his bedroom door. Groaning to himself, Erik flopped onto his bed, removing his mask once again. Was he an idiot?

…

A few hours later, Erik heard a soft knock on his door. Assuming that it wasn't Christine, from the way she had stormed out earlier, Erik opened the door cautiously, only to find his angel standing there.

"Christ—" Erik barely had time to say his beloved's name, before she flung her arms around him, kissing him quiet.

She moved away from him a moment longer. "I'm sorry about what I said earlier. I shouldn't have pushed you into setting a date, I just…I got worried. You didn't…" Christine began to fidget, before finishing her though. "You didn't mean all of those things that you said earlier, did you?"

Erik shook his head. "No I didn't. I'm…I apol—I'm sorry as well, angel," Erik responded just as quietly.

"I didn't mean what I said either, Erik. You just started attacking me, and I reacted without thinking."

"Come on in, angel, and we'll talk." Christine fidgeted for a moment before nodding and following her fiancé to his bed. Flopping onto the left side, Christine bit her lip, as she stared up at the man she loved. He smiled softly, as he felt her hands sliding the porcelain mask off from his cheek, before lying down on the open side of his bed.

Instantly, he felt Christine snuggling up to his side, and once comfortable, she asked, "So what do we do now?"

Erik sighed, turning on his side in order to see Christine better, before beginning to run his hand through her hair. "I think that once this assignment is over, we should do things properly; I don't believe now is a good time to try and plan a wedding," Erik said, explaining what he had thought through the few hours he had been alone.

"Oh…alright," Christine said, uncertainly, not knowing what else to say. She couldn't tell Erik it was for his own good that they set a date now, but what else could she do?

"However, I was thinking that for now, we could set the tentative date in the spring, and see how that works with our schedules…" Erik began, causing Christine's face to brighten. Did he actually sit down and set a date? "Or, I was also thinking we could just get married at City Hall with a few of our closer friends, and get this over and done with sometime next week. We can have a full wedding reception after this assignment is over."

Christine pounced on her fiancé, kissing him everywhere she could on his face, before hugging him furiously. "Thank you, Erik! God, I love you!" Christine exclaimed happily, giggling at the thought: she could become Christine Destler in a week! No paparazzi, no shouting fans—just a quiet ceremony. It was perfect!

Snuggling into Erik's chest, Christine closed her eyes happily, before suddenly sitting up on the bed, giving her fiancé a look. "I 'practically shoved you off the stage… with pies"?