December came in gray and chilly. Christine had twinges of homesickness now that Christmas was drawing near, but for the most part she was more than content with Erik beneath the opera house. Paris was becoming festive amid the lights and exquisite decorations of a Joyeux Noel.

She decided one morning to do a little Christmas shopping for her friends and family in Gettysburg. It had been a week since she'd been out of Erik's house and she was looking forward to a few hours above ground. Walking was preferable to her and she needed the exercise and fresh air. He insisted on accompanying her, but she could tell he wanted to get some work done at the piano instead. Kissing him goodbye, she started for the door.

Before she made it, the phone rang. It was Bernard letting Erik know the papers he needed to sign were still at his house. He was tied up in court and would be late bringing them by. Erik in his usual imperious manner with the solicitor, wanted them much sooner so Christine offered to stop by his house and bring them home with her.

The lawyer didn't live all that far from the opera house, but it was still a good distance for her to walk. On a previous excursion above, Erik had pointed out to her where Bernard lived. She was curious about Montmartre and the street of the martyrs and he took her there. She loved all the quaint shops and the artistic flair of the area. The rue des Martyrs went straight uphill to the stunning Sacre Coeur basilica. There were also bakeries she wanted to investigate before returning to the house on the lake.

She loved Paris- walking its streets was no hardship for her and she had a pleasant time Christmas shopping. She even found the perfect gift for Erik. In a cluttered little music shop she found a mandolin for sale. It was used, but had been beautifully kept. The wood body had a sunburst design, its rich sheen presently dulled by a thin layer of dust. The shopkeeper proudly revealed to her that the instrument was solid spruce. Erik had a number of musical instruments that he played for her. His expertise was the piano and violin, but he was proficient on many others as well. The mandolin was an instrument she reckoned he would enjoy, and she couldn't wait for his reaction Christmas morning.

She hoped to make their first holiday together one they'd never forget. The shopkeeper had given her a good price, and after leaving the store, she set off for the nearest bakery, intent on getting a fresh baguette and some pastries in hopes of tempting his appetite. The afternoon had been pleasant, but Christine was more than ready to return home. She headed for Bernard's house, clutching the paper with his address in the rue des Martyrs where she just spent some time exploring the quaint shops.

The weather was still holding, but she didn't care much for the clouds starting to build, the deepening chill causing her to pull her coat and scarf tighter. She found the house number she was looking for, and walked up to the front door of the well-kept two story home in the busy neighborhood. She rang the bell and waited patiently, holding her parcels close, and finally heard footsteps approaching the door. When it opened, an attractive dark-haired woman stood there looking at her suspiciously.

"Oui?" she said, looking her up and down.

"Bonjour, Madame Prideux." She spoke slowly and distinctly. "My name is Christine Daae. I'm staying with Monsieur Reauchard and I'm here to collect some papers he needs. Your husband said you would know which ones."

The suspicious look was replaced with one of contempt. "I understand you perfectly, mademoiselle," Celine said condescendingly. "Bern told me you would be around for them."

She gestured Christine inside and left her standing in the hall while she went to fetch the papers. When she returned she thrust a manila envelope at her.

"Thank goodness you are the one that came for these." She scowled as she studied the blonde girl with curiosity. "I do not care to have that man in my home."

Madame Prideux didn't notice when Christine's eyes began to take on an angry glint.

"Bernard told me about your care of M. Reauchard while he was ill." Celine hesitated only a moment, and whatever her motivation was to warn this young woman, she would not allow herself to speculate on. "He's not a very nice person, mademoiselle. I keep my children well away from him." She dropped her voice. "I suggest that you do the same and distance yourself. His past like his appearance is unsavory."

Christine listened impatiently to the other woman's words and finally could stay quiet no longer. "You keep your children away from him? Why? Erik would never harm a child!" She stubbornly turned her mind from the disturbing image which rose unbidden, of a burning car in Tehran. Swallowing hard, she glanced quickly around the hallway and lowered her voice. "He's not the boogie man. Why do you dislike him so much?" Her annoyance was giving way quickly to animosity.

Madame Prideux shook her head in agitation. "You obviously have no conception of who you're dealing with, do you? Don't be so naive, mam'selle! He's done things that would horrify a girl such as yourself. Why, he's murdered..."

Christine cut into this rant with antagonism. "Why are you even saying these things to me? We've just met and I don't think it's right to be slinging mud at your husband's main client!" She shifted her packages to her other hand. They were growing cumbersome, but she barely noticed. "And I suppose next you'll be giving me all that jazz about his face." Ha! This isn't going very well, is it? Just met her and already the claws are out. Detente, Chris. Ever heard of it?

Bernard's wife merely stared at the unpleasant young woman, thinking that perhaps her and Reauchard deserved one another after all. Celine only wanted her gone, but Christine wasn't finished yet. "I wonder what your husband would say if he could hear you now? He does work for Erik, you know."

She stood facing Celine Prideux trying to calm down. Celine for the life of her couldn't understand anyone, let alone this woman feeling the need to defend Reauchard. She looked warily at the young American.

"Bernard earns every euro he is paid. He does an excellent job for Monsieur Reauchard, and I see no reason for my candor to jeopardize my husband's employment. Mademoiselle, if I may be bold. What is he to you?"

Christine looked the older woman in the eye. "Not that it's really any of your business, but I'm certainly not going to hide it. We love each other. I do know Erik's past- much more, I think, than you do. And I'm not going to stand here while you make him into some kind of monster." That's a bit of a stretch, isn't it? So far, he's been reluctant to share his past with me. She probably does know more. But even so, why is she going out of her way to be rude? What's that all about? If I can accept his former occupation, why can't she? Whether she liked it or not, it put the bread on her table.

Her voice had risen, but two of the Prideux children had shown up in the hall, staring wide-eyed at her, and she forced herself to calm down. Her anger though was still very much apparent to the Frenchwoman. "Thank you for your time," Christine said stiffly. And go to Hell while you're at it! No wonder he wants to live five cellars down with nitwits like you around.

Celine stood gaping at the young woman, a curious child on each side of her. She hadn't liked Erik Reauchard from the moment she first met him. His tall, looming presence and the feeling of menace which emanated from him; the cold stare from those strange eyes which had always disturbed her. His face well hidden behind that impassive flesh colored mask didn't encourage friendliness, and those bestial yellow eyes seemed to look through her at times. But that voice was something else entirely.

It made her shiver, whether from fright or, mon Dieu, pleasure, she would never allow herself to consider. Those long, pale fingers of his could be utterly graceful and so very clever. She had felt an unhealthy fascination with them on those occasions he was in her house. He performed cunning magic tricks for her children, entertaining them in a careless, offhand way, and they had been charmed by him.

Celine considered him intuitive and highly observant. Too observant. Compelling as well, in a bizarre way; he always managed to steal her poise and self-confidence when he was in the room with her, making her feel flustered and gauche. She would hastily excuse herself from the room, when without warning, she imagined his long legs entwined sinuously with hers amidst tangled sheets. The image would creep into her mind and refuse to leave, and she would feel vulnerable and exposed to those knowing eyes of his. Disgusted with her monstrous fantasizing, she pushed thoughts of him back down into the stygian depths where they belonged. And now this distasteful American woman was arguing in his favor.

And that was shocking in itself. A pretty young woman in love with a disfigured murderer. She had been able over the years to piece together what kind of man Reauchard was; her husband said very little, but Celine knew he was not decent by any means. She felt a moment of disquiet when the Daae woman mentioned love and the masked man in the same breath. She had surprised herself by trying to warn the young woman away; she usually felt no compunction to advise others of folly. She sometimes thought Bern should find another client, but stopped short of saying anything. Reauchard might be a killer...

But he paid well.

She wondered if the girl had slept with him. Or seen beneath the mask. Disfigured without a doubt; she had no clue as to what was hidden from view. Bern knew, she was sure, but out of misplaced loyalty he wouldn't tell her. Whatever it was, handsome it was not. She felt on safer ground when she remembered the mask- he was certain to be hideous. And Celine was partial to a handsome face. Feeling better, she realized the mademoiselle was correct. Her husband worked for Reauchard and he did pay Bern a very generous wage. Perhaps she had been too hasty with her words- Bernard would not be pleased if he found out.

But before she could say anything more, the woman turned and went out the front door and started down the walk. Christine's eyes had softened looking at the children. With one last cold glance at their mother, she turned and left the house, pulling her collar up against the cold drizzle that had started falling from a pewter sky.

She fumed as she walked. Talk about biting the hand that feeds you. She realized his personality was a little lacking and he could be threatening to someone not used to him. But he was so very tender with her. She snorted. Oh yeah, Christine. Make him into some kind of cuddly teddy bear, why don't you? He was a paid assassin, for cripe's sake. Hardly teddy bear material. Still, it angered her when someone chose to think of him as less than human. She felt the need to defend him, even though he was more than capable of doing it himself. Had been long before she came along.

All the same, he would never have to fight his battles alone anymore. Uh huh, I'm sure he'll feel so much better knowing I've got his back. I've seen him at work and he sure doesn't need me to add to the body count.


He sat at the piano trying to get some work done. After months of no interest in music, he was once again hearing the melody in his head and wanted to get it down on paper. He was working on a surprise for Christine, and soon it would be ready for him to present to her at Christmas. He could only play it while she was absent from the house which wasn't often. He should be taking advantage of her absence now, but found his attention wandering.

In addition to the surprise he was working on, he had a legato melody to finish that was written for Christine's voice, the very same one he began working on after returning here in July. But he found it hard to concentrate. He was used to having her near when he was at the piano, but now he was restless and easily distracted with her gone. How soon one becomes used to the domestic noises of a beloved other throughout the day- how very precious sharing his life and space with her had become to him. To lose it now, would be the same as removing the air from his lungs. After an hour of very little actual work, he sighed and got to his feet. He put his mask in place and went for his overcoat. Some fresh air and a stretching of the legs would be a good idea he decided, as he settled his hat low over his eyes and pulled the door shut.

He walked up the passage leading to the rue Scribe, thankful that his leg had finally healed, and decided to head in the general direction of Montmartre.


Christine walked to the end of the street, stopping to shift her packages again, her teeth starting to chatter from the cold drizzle. Her and her dumb idea of walking everywhere. She squinted down the street seeing a tall figure walking in long strides toward her. She was pleased to see him, and quickened her steps until he was close enough to reach out and pull her into his arms, bags and all. Feeling her trembling, he shrugged out of his overcoat and wrapped it snugly around her despite her protests.

"This has got to stop! I seem to wear your coats more than you do! And it's way too long for me, Erik," she said laughing.

He took some of the bags from her, amused when she wouldn't give up one in particular. They walked the rest of the way back to the Avenue de l'Opera mostly in a contented silence, Christine's hand swallowed in his. She looked sideways at him, feeling the warmth of desire that was nearly always there of late. She wanted more than just kisses now, and she could tell he felt the same. She shivered with a little fear and a lot of anticipation, wondering what it would be like with him.

They entered the large door and he turned and locked it. When Erik swung back around, he looked into her eyes seeing his own hunger reflected there. He stepped closer to her, his breath already coming lighter and faster. He framed her face with his hands, his cool mouth descending on hers in an impassioned kiss, which she returned just as eagerly. Her arms went up and around his neck, one hand sliding under the back of his shirt collar stroking with light, feathery touches, forcing a groan from him.

He tugged her close, skimming his hands down her sides where they settled on her bottom, pulling her up tight against him. He walked her slowly backward to the wall, and his mouth never leaving hers, pressed her up against it with his length. She shivered, her stomach muscles quivering with excitement and ran her tongue along his lower lip, grinding her hips into him. The sweet pressure was building, and she grabbed his hand, placing it over her breast and holding it there.

Erik's heart was pounding wildly. "Christine..." he whispered.

With one last hard kiss, he broke away, and picking up the parcels, he grabbed her hand and started walking quickly down the passage to the house on the lake. Holding tightly to his fingers, she struggled to keep up with his longer strides. Once inside his house, he turned to her in the foyer, hungry for her mouth again and the hope for much more.

But she was wet and chilled. Gritting his teeth, and tamping down his impatience, he gently pushed her toward the bedroom and a hot bath. Christine hid the mandolin under the bed and headed for the bathroom. The excitement she had felt was still there, merely embers now, but one touch from him and it would burst into flame brighter than ever. Soaking in the tub, she contemplated where they would be in their relationship by tonight. If she had her way, it would be a helluva lot closer; she had the seduction of a certain Frenchman in mind. You and I are going to become horizontal very soon, babe. We're burning those bridges tonight. You want it and so do I. What are we waiting for?

She loved him. She wanted to take the next logical step, but they seemed to be at an impasse. He wanted her- she knew he did, but he was becoming adept at backing away at the last minute. Well, no more, dear heart.

With a curious mixture of nerves and confidence, she rose from the tub and toweled herself dry, then slipped into the pair of black boy shorts and matching camisole she bought that day during her shopping trip. She dabbed rose scent on her pulse points and between her breasts, brushing her hair until it shone, and went looking for Erik. She found him sitting in his leather wing chair in front of a warm fire, a pot of tea and two cups sitting on the glass coffee table. She by-passed the tea and went right for his lap.

His mouth fell open as she walked toward him looking delectable in black lace, her slender legs catching his eye, and traveling slowly upward to her trim stomach peeping out of the cami. He managed to close his mouth without drooling, and put his arms around her, his hands feeling a luscious expanse of warm skin. His grip tightened as she reached up and slipped the mask off, setting it on the nearby end table. She followed the movement with her hand, caressing his poor face and then kissing his cheeks, forehead and lips, feeling the excitement building, already knowing how the night was going to end.

Christine loosened Erik's tie and unbuttoned the first few buttons of his gray shirt, reveling in the sharp intake of his breath, knowing she was enticing him and not caring. She placed moist kisses on his bared chest and felt a shudder go through him.

"You're wet," she whispered in a voice nearly breathless with excitement and nerves. She smoothed the damp hair at his nape. "You need to get out of these clothes right away." She felt empowered by the way he responded to her lightest touch. Definitely a turn on, but be fair- he has the very same affect on you. Sometimes I feel like my very bones are liquefying from his lips or fingers.

Erik growled and lowered his mouth to hers, threading his hand through her soft hair, pressing her ever closer to his body, his need slowly driving him mad. In one fluid motion, he stood with her, and never breaking their kiss, started for the bedroom. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back feverishly. He put her down on the mattress, his graceful movements becoming jerky and forced. He removed his suit coat, tossing it over the chair and sat on the edge of the bed to remove his shoes, then stopped...

Unsure of himself, he sat and stared at the shoe he still held in one shaking hand.

Christine reached up and ran her hand up his thin arm grasping it gently. "What's wrong?"

He hung his head in humiliation, an emotion that didn't sit well with him. "I have a confession to make. It pains me to say it..." He paused and finally looked at her, his eyes bright and full of shame. "I have no experience in this. I don't want to hurt you. I... I only wish to please you."

She watched as he reddened, the blush sitting oddly on the blasted landscape of his face. She loved him so very much in that moment. He was trying very hard to put her needs before his own, and she knew intuitively he had never done so before. How could he? He'd been a loner his entire life. Her hands trembling only a little, she reached for Erik and pulled him down into her arms.

"Then we'll learn together," she whispered.


She would look back on that first time with him as the true turning point in their relationship. Up until that moment before he entered her, she thought her love for him could not become greater. She was wrong. Their first union had been very short in duration-awkward, painful- wonderful.

It also sealed her bond to him. It occurred to her on occasion while she dated throughout high school and college that having sex with a guy she liked wouldn't have been so bad. Even Raoul, whom she dated more than anyone else, had maybe expected it of her, but she always hesitated. Though she had come close once or twice, she never went through with it, and tonight she was very glad that she hadn't.

She would have been cheating herself. This night was what she had waited for; she wasn't sure how she knew- the knowledge was simply there. They were hesitant at first, their movements clumsy and uncertain, but passion has a way of sweeping its participants along in a heady rush, and it was no different for them. They explored one another's bodies, hesitantly at first, then becoming more confident as the silence gave way to sighs of sharp pleasure that left them trembling and completely besotted with each other.

Christine felt the old scarring on his back and chest- had explored the ridges with tender fingers, and resolved to try and make him forget until the hurtful memories faded, even if the scars did not. What had caused them she refused to dwell on, only wanting to give him all of the love of which she was capable.

When they finished, Erik thanked her again and again, until she reached up and placed her hand over his mouth. "Shh. I fully intend to get just as much out of this as you do. I love you." I love you, I love you, I love you. She replaced the hand with her lips, then laid her head on his bony shoulder.

"I love you more than you can ever realize," he whispered. What you have given me tonight has no price. I will give you anything you want. Anything.

He gathered her close, loath to let go of her even for a minute. He would remember this night clearly for the rest of his days. His mouth and long fingers had elicited responses from Christine that had been the sweetest music in the world to his ears. She had given him so much happiness and made him feel like any other man. He was able to lose himself in her body, her hands working magic on his scarred flesh, until he thought he would die from the incredible feelings she aroused in him.

From the blackness of despair to the heights of absolute joy. He settled beside her with a feeling of complete well-being, his arm around her waist, his hideous face buried in her hair and slept.