AN: Sorry for the delay, guys, but I wanted this chapter to come out well so I didn't force it to come quickly. Quality over speed, I guess. Hopefully you'll think so too. Since my beta still hasn't surfaced, this hasn't been edited, so let me know if you see anything that needs fixed up.

Disclaimer: Since nothing miraculous has happened since I started this story ten months ago, I still don't own Phantom. I find it surprising, don't you?

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Christine thrashed against the restraints on her wrists, but to no avail. The knots were well secured and with the water to her waist she could not use her feet to get a decent grip. She directed an angry glare at her captor.

Christine had entered her dressing room in Madame Giry's company, and the ballet mistress had left shortly thereafter to see to various other members of the cast. No sooner had the elder lady left than Moreau had sprung from behind her mirror and grabbed her. With her mouth covered, Christine had been unable to shout, but she had struggled against his grasp and knocked several vases to the ground, hoping the noise might draw attention. Due to the packed opera house, such small sounds had not been heard over the many voices. As Moreau had dragged her back, she made one final attempt and kicked at the glass of the mirror with all the strength she possessed. It had shattered, but that too went unnoticed.

The descent had not been any easier. When Erik had brought her to his house after the first performance of Don Juan, neither had truly desired to harm the other. With no such restraint now, Christine fought violently against Moreau's hold, even leaving several long and angry scratches from below his right eye to the corner of his mouth. That injury had provoked his formidable temper, and he backhanded her viciously. Christine crashed into the wall, stunned, and he took advantage of that, carrying her to Erik's domain. Before she had been able to collect herself, she had been bound to the portcullis. In her thin costume, with water swirling around her, she was rapidly becoming chilled. If she was left there much longer, she would likely find herself quite ill.

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Erik could see the tremors that wracked Christine's thin frame, telling him that he had no time. No elaborate plan would be prepared quickly enough, which left only the most direct approach. He would have to fight Moreau. For whatever reason- knowledge, perhaps- Moreau's hand remained at his face, thus eliminating the possibility of using the Punjab lasso to remove him quickly. Erik loosened his sword in its sheath. Reaching for his pistol, he paused as Moreau charged into the lake and grasped Christine's jaw.

"Where is he!" the madman demanded.

Christine shook her face free. "I imagine he is summoning the gendarme, or he would be here already."

"No!" Moreau shouted. "He would not go to the police. No, sweet songbird, he would come first for you, and well you know it. NOW WHERE IS HE!" Spittle flew, speckling one of Christine's cheeks.

The young soprano recoiled slightly. "I do not know! I was never shown all of the secrets of this place. There may be a thousand ways he might approach!"

Moreau's eyes narrowed to slits. "No… no. He is already here." He suddenly drew a pistol himself and jammed it against Christine's pulse. "Do come out, dear Erik!"

Erik closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then stood and walked to the steps of the small dock. Moreau's gaze followed every motion. "I am here."

"I have your fiancée," the ex-Marquis taunted. "What will you do to ensure she survives?"

He met Moreau's gaze evenly. "Whatever I must."

"No!" Christine protested. "Erik, no! You have to leave!"

"Not without you," he replied. "I have lost you too many times; I will not lose you again."

"He will kill you!" She threw her weight against the ropes, but only succeeded in further chafing her wrists.

"That is a risk I must take."

"Throw aside your weapons," Moreau ordered. Erik slowly tossed aside his sword and lasso. "All of them! I'm sure you have others!"

The once Phantom removed the pistol and threw it away as well. The small handgun skidded across the stone and fell into the lake, immediately useless. "That is everything."

"Lies!" the man hissed.

Now the hand that had remained against his cheek all this time slipped, and Erik glimpsed what laid beneath. Four long and vivid scratches tore across the skin in raking lines, and there was blood enough to suggest that they had gone deep, perhaps deep enough to scar.

"So," Erik said quietly. "The madness of your soul is now reflected in your form as well. How… fitting."

Moreau growled. "And your madness? What of that?"

"My madness was created by my face, I assure you. Had I been permitted a normal life, I suppose I would have remained quite sane."

"Ha! You are still mad, whether you will admit it or not!"

Erik shrugged with elegant grace. "Perhaps you see it in such a way. I do not. My mind has healed and I am at peace."

"Peace!" Moreau repeated, eyes bulging. "Peace! You rob me of my birthright and destroy all that I have worked to achieve, and you are at peace!"

"Birth does not dictate the course of life; I am ample proof of that. It was your own poorly chosen actions that stripped you of both title and fortune. And what you worked to achieve? I find it difficult to believe that you can even speak those words. You achieved naught. Instead, you basked in the glory of those that had, stealing it from them as surely as a robber may take jewels or coin. You sought to deprive those with gifts of their freedom, even their very lives."

"And you! You, who would kidnap a woman that wished to wed another! You are not one that may lecture me!"

Erik met his rage with ice. "I will not lie and say that I did not do such a thing. You are correct; I did commit that crime. However, it occurred while madness blinded my mind and left me bereft of logic. At least I may say truthfully that I have learned from the errors in my past and do not seek to repeat them."

"You are no better than I!" Moreau screamed.

"Is that so? Then explain why, if your quarrel is with me, you chose to abduct an innocent, to threaten her life merely as a tool to wound me." He gestured at the pistol still pressed menacingly to Christine's throat. "She is not the one you wish to harm. Release her."

"Oh, no," Moreau laughed. "No, I do not think I shall. Perhaps now that you have so kindly joined us I will kill her. Would that hurt, Erik? Would watching her die tear your heart asunder?"

"Seeing her die would do all that and more. Is that not why I came?" Erik glared. "If you harm her, even slightly, I will hunt you to the very ends of the earth. I now have the means to do so, you must realize. My father would back the attempt, as would my brother. There would be no place where you might be safe from my wrath. If you killed her, I would not grant you a merciful death. You would suffer for as long as I contrived to draw it out before I finally let you die. Every bit of pain she has been forced to endure because of you would be returned a thousand times over, and before the end you will be begging for mercy that I will not offer."

He very slowly stepped down into the lake, but Moreau jammed the pistol against her pulse harder. "Do you want her to die?"

"No. I want you to release her and send her to the surface. After that, we will settle things between us without interruption."

"I release her, and you would vanish moments later to set the police upon me!"

"This battle is personal. I do not intend to involve the gendarme."

"I don't believe you," he hissed.

"Believe what you will." Erik continued forward until he stood in the center of the lake. "I cannot easily reach any passages from this point, and I do not intend to move until after Christine has gone."

Moreau paused and considered before aiming the pistol at Erik's chest. "Untie her. Slowly."

Erik knew it was a trap. More, he intended to step into it. Christine realized it as well.

"Don't!" she protested again. "Erik, just leave! I promise, I'll be all right!"

His gaze met hers, and his eyes were calm. "You know I could not simply leave you."

"Erik, please," she pleaded. "I could not bear it if you died."

"Your life would go on," he answered. "You have friends, and you know that Monsieur le Vicomte loves you still. If I lost you, I would lose everything." He crossed the remaining distance in measured paces and caressed her cheek for one sweet moment. "I would do anything to be sure you were safe."

"I know," she whispered.

His hands shifted to the knotted ropes as he carefully loosened the bonds holding her in place.

A soft scraping sound was all the warning he received. Pivoting sharply, Erik interposed his body between Moreau and Christine as the madman swung his newly unsheathed weapon. It cut deeply into Erik's torso. The once Phantom collapsed without a sound, vanishing into the clouded waters.

"No!" Christine screamed, pulling desperately at her restraints, trying to free herself in order to reach him.

Moreau laughed. "And now he is gone! He will never interfere again!"

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Sound was dulled by the pressing water, but Erik heard what was said. His wound burned viciously as his lungs began to protest the lack of air, but he forced the weakness away and focused. First, something had to be done for the wound- it was bad. The slash had crossed just beneath his ribs, ricocheting off one, and Erik suspected that if it had not he would already be dead. Grasping a piece of half rotted cloth from the bottom of the lake, he folded it into a thick pad and pressed it against the injury. The pain only increased, but he was confident it would slow the bleeding.

He knew only a little time remained before he would be forced to surface. In such a disadvantageous state, Erik had to be sure that he could strike quickly, or his rapidly waning state would make him an easy target. Moreau was not likely to fail a second time. He focused on his position.

Moreau's legs were not too far away, Christine's just a short distance beyond. Erik slipped around so that he was behind Moreau as he turned and waited for his voice to sound once more.

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'Dead bodies would come to the surface,' Christine realized a moment later. 'They float. Erik… is not dead?' If Erik was not dead, he needed an opportunity. She could distract Moreau's attentions.

"Let me go!" she shouted. "You killed him! Erik!"

Moreau rounded on her. "It's no more than he deserved, fool girl. He ruined my life!"

With those words, Erik leapt from the water, hands closing around Moreau's throat. Moreau staggered back several paces, but he followed, grip never faltering.

"How can you still be alive!" the ex-Marquis snarled as he fought the choking hands.

"I live because I have something to hold me here," Erik responded coldly as he drove Moreau back further. "And now I will kill you for threatening that."

With his strength rapidly fading, Erik was not strong enough to snap Moreau's neck as he so deserved. Instead he kept his attention on maintaining his grasp. Force of will was all that kept it in place.

Struggling, Moreau managed to reach a concealed dagger, but his vision was fogged by lack of air. Flailing wildly, the knife connected, and silence fell for one long second.

Without aim, the blow had sliced through the band holding Erik's mask in place and scored a thin cut against his left cheekbone. His head had dropped immediately, but he lifted it again as the mask fell into the lake, blue eyes burning. Moreau was so shocked that he did not notice when Erik's grip momentarily grew slack.

Rather than the disfiguration he had seen before, nothing was there. The skin of Erik's cheek was smooth and unmarred save a few faint scars, and his eye did not sag. Moreau stumbled back as Erik followed.

"How is that possible!" he gasped with what little air remained in his lungs.

A deadly smile curved Erik's lips. "A miracle," he answered.

Though his words were filled with bravado, Erik was not sure. His strength was fleeing quickly and his mind was beginning to lose its grasp on reality. He feared he would lose consciousness at any moment. If he could not kill Moreau first… well, he had little doubt he would not awaken again, and Christine's fate would be dire.

The once Phantom made a herculean final effort, using every remaining ounce of his power to increase the pressure on Moreau's throat. To his surprise, he felt something give way against his assault, and their foe shuddered in his grasp. There was no hiss of breath now. He had crushed the other man's windpipe. He released the dead man and took a step back, watching as his form fell into the water. Even if he still survived, it would not be for long.

Christine, who had continued to work against her restraints after Erik had begun to loosen them, broke free as Erik slipped to his knees. Before he could fall into the lake entirely, she was there, supporting his weight as best she could and keeping his head above the surface. Her face paled as she saw the blood tingeing the water.

He lifted one hand, though the movement made his wound burn viciously, and touched her cheek. "At least… you are all right…"

"God," she gasped. "Erik! My God… are you…?"

"I do not intend… to die just yet…" he answered, but his voice was weak and his eyes closed. "He cannot hurt you… again…"

His body became still and Christine had to struggle to hold him in place. "Erik! Erik! Oh, God! Help!"

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Raoul grumbled. "We cannot see a thing."

"As Erik intended as much, I am not surprised," Giles said. "No doubt Monsieur Khan is in a similar situation."

"Why would he send us here if we cannot see what is occurring!"

"He did not want us to be able to see below. We might be visible to the Marquis, or we might interfere and disrupt whatever he is doing."

"What if he has killed them both!" Raoul demanded.

Giles lifted one brow. "From what I am told, you and Monsieur Erik are not on the best of terms, yet you seem quite distraught."

"Christine is down there too," Raoul reminded.

"Yes, but I do not think that is all that concerns you right now. I think you might be cross the distance between yourself and your brother."

The Vicomte sighed but nodded. "He is not the same man. He is… calmer, I think. Certainly he is happier. He does not frighten me any more." A shout echoed through the air, and he tensed. "That was Christine!"

Giles listened. "She is saying… help? She is calling for help?"

"What else!" he demanded.

"Monsieur Erik's name and help. I have not heard anything else."

Raoul fumbled for the concealed lever to open the door. "We need to get to her."

Giles blocked him. "What if Moreau is still alive!" he snapped. "We could get them killed."

"Christine needs help!"

Nadir appeared behind them. "You heard that?"

They nodded, but Raoul paused and frowned. "I thought you were sent through another passage."

"Erik taught me the secrets of this place long ago. Each of the paths connect if you know where to look. I heard Miss Daaé calling for help, but I could not hope to see them from my location. However…" the Persian depressed a hidden trigger and a small window swung open. "Now we might be able to find out what has happened."

Raoul, the closest, peeked through. It took only a moment to locate Erik and Christine, alone in the center of the lake. "I do not see any sign of Moreau, but Erik is not moving." He froze. "There is blood in the water."

"Erik!" the Daroga shouted as he hurried to unseal the door. A moment later he took stock of the situation. "He is wounded badly. Giles, Vicomte, help Miss Daaé move Erik closer to the steps, but do not remove him from the water. I think it is all that is keeping him from bleeding out. I want the rest of you to find a litter or some other way to carry Monsieur Destler to a bed once a doctor has arrived. I am going to inform Madame Giry."

The men hurried to follow his orders. Raoul and Giles splashed out to Christine, and she looked up at them with tears in her eyes. "Erik- is he…?"

"I do not know," Raoul answered gently as he grasped one of his brother's arms. "Monsieur Khan has gone to Madame Giry. She will bring the doctor."

Giles took the other and together they carried him to the steps of the dock. Christine followed and held him again. "Can somebody get me a cloth to staunch the bleeding?" she called.

One of the stagehands hurried to one of the fallen curtains and used a dagger to tear away a large section. He passed it to her, and she folded it into a thick pad and pressed it against the wound. Erik flinched but did not wake up.

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Nadir tore up the passage and leapt into Christine's dressing room with a clatter. Madame Giry was there at once, demanding to know what had happened.

"No time," he snapped, cutting her off. "I am sorry to be rude, Madame, but I cannot speak now. Fetch the doctor and lead him to Erik's home immediately. He is wounded."

The ballet mistress nodded sharply and raced through the halls, her daughter at her heels. Throwing open the door, she took the steps to Erik's box two at a time and burst in.

"Messieurs," she gasped, "pardon my interruption, but I am told one of you is a doctor?"

"We both are," Dr. Edwards replied, startled. "Dear God in Heaven, woman, whatever is the matter!"

"Monsieur Destler has been wounded," she explained shortly. "I was sent for help."

Edwards and Douglass leapt to their feet. "What happened?" Douglass asked.

"I have no details, Monsieur. I beg you to hurry- I fear it must be quite bad or Monsieur Khan would not have been in such a panic."

Edwards nodded, all business. "Will medical supplies be available for our use, or must I send for my own?"

Madame Giry shook her head. "Erik keeps such things. I will bring them to you once we have arrived. We must hurry!"

"Of course. Douglass, do you stay here?"

The elder doctor shook his head. "He's a good lad. I'd like to see myself that he'll be well."

"If you wish. Mrs. Giry, if you would lead us to him? Is he in his flat?"

"No," she answered shortly as she proceeded down the steps to rejoin Meg. "He is in the catacombs beneath the opera house, in his old home."

"At least that is a small mercy," Edwards said as he followed her. "The chill may put him at risk of fever, but it will also slow the bleeding if he is wounded. He has a strong constitution, so he should survive."

"I hope so, Monsieur."

She led them to Christine's dressing room, and they paused to observe the broken vases and the mirror.

"What happened here?" Douglass asked.

"An enemy of Erik and his fiancée abducted her just after the performance."

Edwards sighed. "I was afraid that something would happen soon."

Madame Giry paused. "You knew?"

"Yes. I have contacts in the darker places of Paris. They brought word of danger, knowing that I was acquainted with Mr. Destler."

"I imagine the man will not cause them grief again," said the ballet instructor. "We should continue. The path is long."

Through fortune, Moreau had not located any of the controls for Erik's traps, so the way was primarily safe. A few, traps that he left active at all times because they were unlikely to prove fatal, remained but they were simple to avoid and caused no difficulty. They reached the edge of the lake unharmed, and the Daroga met them there.

"The boat was damaged during Moreau's occupation," he informed Madame Giry. "I can lead you to his house another way."

"How is he?" she asked as they followed him. "Does he survive?"

"I know very little of his condition, Madame, save that the wound is likely terrible. Miss Daaé is unharmed that I can see, and she is supporting Erik. I thought it best to move them closer to the house to expedite getting Erik treated. They are resting on the steps of the dock."

"But will he survive?" Madame Giry pressed.

"That I cannot tell you. It is for the doctors to decide."

Edwards spoke up. "I can say nothing certain until I have seen the wound, but Mr. Destler has a great deal of strength. He passed through a complicated surgery with no difficulty and has survived many other near-fatal wounds. I would be very surprised if this should prove different."

"Yes, Erik has survived a great deal," Madame agreed, "but he has grown unaccustomed to the cold and the damp of the catacombs. That may be in his favor where his wound is concerned, but a fever could take him just as easily."

"That is true enough," Douglass agreed, "but Jonathon has a fine skill for medicine. If there's a way to do it, Jonathon will save the lad."

Nadir glanced back at Edwards for a moment. "You must be the surgeon Erik went to see a month past. Would you be the one responsible for that change to his face, then?"

"That I am," Dr. Edwards answered. "He wished to keep it secret until he knew the results. I did a final evaluation just last night."

"And the fool said naught," muttered the Persian. "Had he but mentioned it then, or even earlier today, we might have been able to properly celebrate the news. Now it is vastly eclipsed by the current state of things."

"Worry over it later," Douglass suggested. "Now it is of the utmost importance to see that the lad survives to enjoy his handsome new face."

The passage Nadir led them through, the same Erik had taken himself not too long before, terminated in the library. He took the men ahead as Madame Giry hurried to locate Erik's medical supplies. Edwards looked about and took command of the situation.

"Use that litter and get him to the nearest bed. The cold has done all it can, and now we must warm him before fever sets in."

"My room is closest," Christine contributed even as she shivered and stared worriedly at Erik's pained expression. "Just up the steps to the right."

"That is a great help, thank you, Miss. Quickly, men. If you value your employer's life, you had best heed my commands." Edwards' orders allowed for no argument, but he was calm.

Several of the stagehands had to work together to shift Erik to the stretcher they had located. Christine would not relinquish his hand as they carried him to the swan bed and set him against its red velvet sheets.

Douglass caught her shoulder. "It's most clear by your actions and his that you are devoted to one another, but right now you must think of yourself as well. You're soaked to the skin, lass, and it would not do if you collapsed and forced Jonathon to divide his attention."

"What?" She blinked a few times before realizing that he spoke truly. "Oh, God, you're right. I cannot hope to help him if I become ill as well. What do I do?"

"Get yourself dried off and change into something warm. You needn't stay in this cold place. We will send word to you of his condition."

Christine shook her head. "I can't leave. Not when he risked everything to save me. I have things here."

"Well, see that you change, lass, and be very careful. Take the other girl with you so she might warn us if you go into a swoon."

She looked about and spotted Meg's fair hair. "Meg. Yes, she can help. I just have to gather some dry things."

Meg came when she called and assisted her in choosing a warm gown from her wardrobe before ushering her away, informing her mother that they would be making use of Erik's quarters. The older woman nodded before her gaze turned once more to Christine's chamber as the doctor cared for the wound and did his best to return warmth to her brother's frigid limbs. Raoul joined her moments later.

"I went to my parents," he said quietly. "I thought it best they heard it now rather than in the morning's news."

"And what did they say? Do they mean to ignore the plight of their eldest son?"

Madame Giry could not ease her condemnation of the Comte and Comtesse. Had they given more credence to the tale told by herself, Erik, Christine, and Raoul, they might have taken a hand in preventing what had occurred that night.

The Vicomte sighed. "Erik did not want their assistance, you must realize. When Father offered he turned them down. He said that he had spent so long on his own that he did not require another man's aid to protect himself and those near to him."

"Had your parents been kinder those years might not have been passed in isolation."

"True," he admitted, sadness heavy in his tone. "Still, they say freely that it was a terrible mistake to treat Erik as they did. Father is making arrangements for Erik to be transported to the estate. He can rest more comfortably there."

"Rather than worry over where he might recover," Madame said finally, "we had best pray that he will need a place to do so and not a grave. The doctor's expression did not bode well when he was able to look at the wound closely."

"Did it not?" Edwards asked tiredly as he stepped from the room. "My apologies, then. I did not mean to worry you."

"How is he?" the Daroga demanded as he reached them. Christine looked up from her place at the organ bench. "Will he live?"

"With any luck, yes." The doctor raised his hands against several voices speaking at once. "I cannot make any guarantees. To be quite honest that wound should have killed him. Miss Daaé, was he moving in any way as it occurred?"

Christine nodded. "He turned. His back had been to Moreau."

"It is a very good thing he did, or he would not be alive now. Had the blow connected as it was intended, it would have severed the spinal column. Perhaps with a great deal of good fortune and immediate medical attention he might have survived, but he would never have been able to walk again."

She swallowed. "What must we do to be sure he lives?"

"There is little that can be done now," Dr. Edwards answered. "I have cared for the wound and done what I could to prevent any infection, but I will not lie and say all will be well. The water's chill kept him alive long enough for me to reach him, but it was not clean and I will not be surprised if he develops a fever."

Madame Giry began to say something, but Christine interrupted. "Then we must make sure he is as comfortable as possible, and someone must be with him at all times. I would love to do so, but he would not want me to abandon what we have worked so hard for. Someone must be able to care for him if I cannot."

"Father has made arrangements to transport him to the family estate," Raoul contributed. "With a full staff, we could see to his comfort and be sure he is not left unattended."

"No," she disagreed quietly. "Erik would not want a stranger to be near when he wakes. It must be someone he counts as a friend, as someone he can trust."

"I cannot stay away from my practice for long," Edwards said, "but I can stay with him for a day."

"Actually, Jonathon, if you've no pressing need for me, I'd be happy to monitor the lad. You must care for the practice, I know, but I am not needed there. I can care for him until he is well again," Douglass suggested.

"That would suit nicely, I think. Monsieur le Vicomte, I suggest that every arrangement for Monsieur Destler's transport is seen to before we even consider moving him. What way would be the swiftest from these tunnels?"

"For safety, the passage you came through," Nadir told them. "For time, it would be the path to Rue Scribe, but that is heavily guarded because it is easily found."

"Is there any way to disarm the traps?" Raoul asked.

The Persian shook his head. "If there is, only Erik knows the secret. There are some things he kept even from me. However, if you know where to look, they can be avoided with relative ease."

"Would you know?" Edwards asked Christine.

"No. I never entered this place without Erik to guide me."

Meg laid a hand on Christine's shoulder. "You are behaving admirably, but surely you must be upset?"

"Upset?" Christine laughed tiredly. "I am frightened, Meg. Very frightened. I just cannot give into my tears until I have said whatever may be of use to Erik."

Douglass joined the girls near the organ and patted Christine's head. "There now, lass, you've done all that you could, and we'll see to the rest. If you've a need for tears, there's no shame in indulging now. Will you be coming with us?"

She nodded. "For tomorrow at least I will stay with Erik as well, but I cannot abandon the opera."

"Erik would understand," Raoul protested. "You do not have to force yourself."

The young soprano sighed. "It is not that simple, Raoul. The Populaire has suffered because of our scandalous reputations. If this opera does not succeed… This has been our dream for so many years. I cannot let it be destroyed now. Tomorrow my understudy may sing Aminta as I take the time to clear my mind, but the people are paying to see me. The Populaire will not fail because I was weak."

"That is very admirable, my dear," Madame Giry said with a wan smile. "Still, I am glad that you will take a day before you return. I will see to matters here."

"Thank you, Madame," Christine agreed before bursting into tears. Meg joined her on the bench and held her close as she cried.

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AN: So? Thoughts? Any thoughts? All thoughts? Come on, guys, throw me a few bones. This chapter cost me several hours of sleep when I couldn't get it to come out just the way I wanted it to. The confrontation was tough. Please review! Please! Till next time!