A/N: At long last…sorry for the delay. :) Thank you for the wonderful reviews and continued interest - (for this story and for the others)- please keep the comments coming! :) Again, I'm taking some artistic license here in forming my story to fit the times while keeping the theme a fantasy to fit with Erik's previous experience in APCC…

Decided

Chapter XXXVIII

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"No."

His decision made, Erik studied his young wife's face, noting the stubborn tilt of her chin and determined gleam in her eyes. He recognized that look of challenge and wryly knew from experience he had an oncoming skirmish on his hands. A battle of wills - and she had proven to be a contender of equal fortitude. However, at the moment, he had no desire for verbal sparring.

He held out his hand to her. "Come, Christine. We must talk."

She hesitated, as if determined to stand her ground and insist on her way, then gave a little nod of consent and laid her hand in his. He drew her with him toward the organ and sank to the bench with his back to the instrument, pulling her down to sit beside him.

"If you're worried it will interfere with my duties at the opera, it won't. We could visit Tina Monday morning, before I'm needed for afternoon rehearsals," Christine began hopefully. "You must know where she lives since you walked there with the Spirit, as you told me."

"It would be best to put aside all such ventures at this time."

She pouted. "Why, Erik? What possible reason could you have for not wanting me to visit a small child?"

He let out a soft breath through his teeth. He had hoped to have more exclusive time with his bride before he must bring in external matters to disturb their haven of togetherness, but undoubtedly she would persist or sulk if he did not speak.

"There is something you should know before I take you above…" He looked at her hand that he held atop his leg, cupping his other hand over hers. Lightly he stroked the back of it with his fingers before again looking at her. "Madame has informed me that the Prussians have vacated the barricades surrounding the city. With the recent unrest and no governing authorities in control, Paris could be on the brink of a revolution."

She looked at him blankly and shook her head a little in confusion when he didn't continue. "And?"

"And …I cannot speak from experience, but I've read historical accounts of previous uprisings. None of them emerged or concluded without considerable turmoil, even bloodshed."

Christine tried to make sense of what he told her. Such cautionary words seemed distant, not a part of her world at all…

From the age of seven her life had been a never-ending stream of fables composed of lessons, practices, and performances to be cognizant of the fact that outside the opera house a harsher world existed. She knew little of its intrigues other than snippets she'd overheard in passing or what she glimpsed during the rare occasions she stepped outside its doors. Her brief excursions usually took her to a remote fringe of the city and the cemetery there, full of mythological statues guarding the souls of those long dead, among them her father. A land of dark fantasy in itself, many statues were replicas of those found within the opera house, giving silent tribute to stories of mystery and legend, and causing her to feel that the boundaries of the opera world had extended to that lonely stretch of stone and land.

The outside world, to her, was as steeped in magic and whimsy as the theatrical world in which she lived. The nation's affairs had never been a visible issue in her life, and she didn't see why they should make a difference to her routine of living now. She knew she was selfish to wish to forget such troubles truly did exist and live under a pretense that all was normal. But now she had Erik as her husband and at long last they lived out their shared dream, their perfect fairytale. She did not wish to hear or even think of an incident that could harm what they'd found together. Better to wish away any outside difficulty and pretend it did not exist…

When in all reality, at this point, it didn't.

The knowledge boosted her conviction that in his constant desire to safeguard her, her dear Angel made too much of the situation.

"From what you've told me no uprising has begun, if it even will..." she said carefully.

Erik could see where this was leading and resolved to put a swift end to the subject before she could reach that destination.

"The city is a boiling pot of confusion, uncertainty and distrust. I don't want you out on its streets."

She brought her other hand up to cover his. "Mon Ange, these past months I have learned to confront the darkness even while I fear it. Surely you have seen that? I have learned to stand up to my adversaries. I don't wish to hide inside the opera house because of what might occur. There is an equal chance it might not, and I prefer to believe that."

"Living in games of make believe will not eliminate the truth, Christine." His voice was firm.

She cringed that he had so easily read her intent to forget, and her words came a trifle insulted. "I'm not a child any longer, Erik."

"No, you're not. So cease in thinking like one."

His curt rejoinder had the opposite effect and made her all the more determined to stand her ground.

"Even should an uprising occur, what makes you think the opera house will be any safer?" she insisted.

"In all likelihood, it won't be. If the Commune should come into power and there's a threat to your safety, on that day you will stay below, protected, here with me."

"And what of the others? What of Meg and Madame and … "

She hesitated and he sneered. "The Vicomte?"

"Your brother," she countered softly.

"The de Chagny spawn is a noble, which makes him an enemy of the Communards and, yes, for that reason he would be in danger," he said the words without feeling, showing no remorse. "He would be wise to leave Paris before a revolution can start. The others will not be harmed."

She looked at him in concern. "You're a noble," she whispered. "The true heir."

"No one knows that wretched truth but us and the detective I paid well to guard my secret. No one above regards me as anything more than a Phantom."

"Then …" She smiled in weak confidence. "There's no need for concern on my behalf either. I'll be safe."

His grip on her hand tightened. "I don't want you outside the opera house doors, Christine."

"But like Meg and Madame, I'm thought of as a commoner - a former chorus girl - I won't be in any danger. Surely an hour in the city before I'm expected onstage won't present a difficulty. If the situation doesn't change before next week, the likelihood that anything will happen while I'm outdoors during that one short hour is slight - practically nonexistent."

"Damn it, Christine!" He shot up from the bench and took a few steps away then whirled to face her, throwing his arms out to the sides. "Why must you make everything so bloody difficult?"

She also jumped to her feet. "Tell me the problem, Erik! If there's no present danger, why behave as if there is?"

"I never said there was no danger. There are perils apart from those connected with a socialist party. The city has undergone starvation. No doubt there has been looting and other criminal activities enacted by those desperate to survive."

Survive…? Starvation?

She shook her head in curious puzzlement. "There has always been enough to eat…"

"Yes. Those living within the opera house have had enough because of Monsieur Girard's association with thievery and smuggling."

"Smuggling?" She blinked in surprise. "The chef - Pierre Girard? That Monsieur Girard?"

He gave a tight nod. "His family has connections outside the city and Pierre has been part of that since the new year. A route below ground connects to hidden corridors that run within the walls near the kitchens, similar to the tunnel I carried you through when we escaped from the chapel."

Stunned that she was just learning all of this now, Christine recalled all she'd heard of the legendary Opera Ghost who for years had laid traps to waylay those who dared search for him.

"And you allowed this?"

"I would not see you starve. There was no danger of discovery to me. The tunnels of this underground maze run widespread in all directions. The water canal that was used leads undetected outside the city and is far from my domain. A secret entrance there does give access to these chambers but one would have to know what to look for to find it."

"But..." She sank back to the bench in shock. "Why did you not tell me!"

"I saw no reason to trouble you. Very few knew of it. The matter was kept secret."

"And were you also a part of this?"

He scoffed. "I do not concern myself with the trials of the wretches who dwell above."

"But you just said -"

"Though I agreed to a truce with the new managers," he said more slowly, "I still consider this my opera house, not theirs. This has been my home for over two decades and I wish no ill fortune to befall it. If that meant I must turn a blind eye thrice a month so that those within were fed in order to see that accomplished, so be it."

Ill at ease, he averted his gaze to the still, green water.

Christine stared at his tall, erect form. Even barely clothed and disheveled he wore authority like a mantle. He had always considered himself a ruler, issuing orders to be obeyed through his notes and his powerful voice, ever since she could remember - the great irony being that with his secret and deserved title, he did have that privilege to oversee matters since the family of his birthright were the patrons. But as he spoke the last she detected a softer note manifest in his voice. She sensed his purpose to give aid by not thwarting Monsieur Girard's plans ran deeper than just seeing to it that she had enough on her plate, and she wondered if his disturbing night with the Spirits had also led to his decision.

"Are you sure there wasn't more involved?" Her words came as quiet as his, her thoughts slipping out before she realized it. When he didn't respond, she continued. "You were Madame's friend in childhood, and I know, though you never told me, that you're the one responsible for Tina's mother reclaiming her job as one of the top seamstresses. Not Madame. Perhaps, on some small level, you have come to care…?"

"Do not fashion a few weak moments into more than they are, Christine," he said gruffly, never taking his eyes off the water. "This is no emotive fairy tale of redemption. I am not the evil rogue who grows a conscience at the end of the story. I bear no high regard for the wretches of humankind - I never will - and I am certainly no benevolent angel."

"There are those who would disagree," she said quietly. "Myself. The girl, Tina -"

"You - I would do anything for you…" As he spoke he absently motioned toward her with one arm, abruptly striding away. "As for the child, she is naive and blind to the truth."

"I don't believe that for a moment; I think she must be very intelligent. But a visit with her will no doubt prove who has formed the correct opinion."

"Bloody hell!" He spun to face her. "Will you not let this go? I want no misfortune to befall you! Can you not understand that?"

"But nothing will happen to me! You will be with me and be my safeguard." She noted the muscles in his jaw tense as he drew close. "You promised, Erik. You told me that you wouldn't stop me from going above when I desired it and if I ever wanted to visit outdoors you would take me wherever I wished to go."

He gave a short, biting laugh, his eyes storm clouds of green sluiced with gray. "I never promised to take you into the city."

Christine frowned, unable to contradict him, since it was true. She had hoped at some point to persuade him to join her outdoors for short excursions and had hoped to speak with him when he was calm and more receptive to hear her reasoning. But the moment had blown in on her with the strong gust of his temper and now she blindly pushed forward.

"You've come with me before. So tell me, what is the difference?"

"What do you mean? When have I ever …"

"I know, Erik." Her eyes regarded him steadily, her voice now calm and certain though her heart beat fast in her desperation to convince him. "I know that every year I visited the cemetery on my birthday you were there."

He briskly turned away and she stared at his rigid back.

"You followed. I sensed you with me, watching over me. At first, when I was little and Madame would accompany me I wasn't certain … But on my fourteenth year, I knew. I cannot explain how. Madame was not with me then, but I sensed you. Of course, at the time I still thought of you as my Guardian Angel - one of Music. Once I knew you were a man, I was even more convinced that you followed me in past years - when I didn't feel you near me on this last occasion I went. I felt so alone and abandoned…"

"When was this?" His eyes sharpened on her face as he slowly pivoted toward her again.

"After the Bal Masque. When you misunderstood all you'd seen on the rooftop and closed yourself off from me. I felt as if my world was shattering and needed to seek comfort and the knowledge of what to do from the only other person I've ever completely trusted and loved. My father."

Erik scowled, feeling helpless to rail at her when she spoke of the man, to whom he had vowed to protect Christine. A vow unnecessary once his feelings for her began to flourish inside his heart and the need to safeguard her had become personal and vital to his existence. He had assumed she would visit her father's grave on her birthday, as she had every year, except this one. To learn that she'd ridden there earlier infuriated him. He wasn't sure who he was more angry with. Her, for undertaking such a reckless venture alone at such a volatile time. Or himself, for the distance he had forced between them during those endless miserable days, thus allowing her to slip away without his knowledge.

Christine shook her head as if wishing to forget. "I don't want to think about then. But I do want you to come with me, Mon Ange. I want you to sit beside me in the carriage and be a visible presence as my husband, no longer as the protective ghost who shadows me…"

Her dark eyes shimmered with love for him and he struggled to maintain his resolve after hearing her sweet words. "The matter is settled, my dear. You are not going anywhere but on stage and elsewhere that you are needed in the opera house."

"At least agree to see what occurs," she beseeched softly. "If Monday comes and there are no worrisome incidents with the socialists and all is well in Paris, surely during that one short hour we shall be away, nothing will happen then either."

He inhaled harshly, determined not to lose his fast dwindling patience a second time. With her new audacity and unending doggedness, he wouldn't be surprised if once she returned above she hired a carriage for that blasted hour, without telling him of her plans. A concise note of warning to the coachman delivered care of the Ghost should prevent the occurrence… unless she sought help from a lackey outside the opera house…

Such as the intrusive Vicomte.

He clenched his teeth. "We will speak no more of this. It is time for your lesson."

She let out a dejected little sigh at his terse words, her shoulders wilting, her brow furrowed in dismay. The distressing sight mellowed the hard edge of his irritation.

He shook his head in resigned lenience and moved toward her, of late finding it impossible to remain in an ill humor with his angel. Crooking his finger, he slipped it beneath her chin.

"I will consider it. Do not ask for more than that."

"Thank you." She barely nodded with a faint smile and stepped away to take her position at the organ. As she moved past, Erik looped his fingers around her upper arm and pulled her back to him in one smooth motion, his mouth going to hers and kissing her firmly. She gasped, her hands moving to cradle his head. Once he softly pulled away, she kept her eyes closed a fraction longer.

"What was that for?" she breathlessly asked, looking up at him.

"I need a reason to kiss my wife?"

Her smile came easier at his attempt at levity, but he could see past to her heart.

"Tell me what still distresses you so."

"It is nothing." She shook her head a little, breaking away from his steady gaze, making her words a lie.

He regarded her somberly. "Then tell me this, Christine. Why do you suddenly wish to avoid your lessons with me?"

She gave a little jump of surprise, her eyes flicking up to his, their cautious expression proof that he had guessed correctly.

"Promise you won't get angry?"

He cocked his brow. "It's as bad as that?"

"Not bad, not really. It's just…" She lifted her hands, stepping away as she sought for words. "I don't wish to lose any of what we've found this week. It's been so … perfect. More than I ever dreamed…"

He turned to look at her where she now stood by the bank facing him. "You think that resuming my role as your teacher will change what we've found here together?"

"It did before. That is, when we first made our feelings known to one another, you … changed." She shrugged in helpless explanation. "You've always been strict with me, I cannot imagine you any other way, nor do I wish it. You were right. It was your rigid approach that compelled me to become more than I ever dreamed I could be, what you always knew I would be … But you went beyond your usual austere attitude and became … harsh each time we met for lessons. Dreadfully so. In that awful room with those endless mirrors you acted as if you despised me."

"Despised you?" He curbed a wry laugh and walked toward her, grasping her arms. "I was faced with more than was humanly possible to challenge - at least for a man of my ilk, who has lived a lifetime of solitude behind empty stone walls. To suddenly inhabit the same room, day after day, with the woman of my dreams was torture. Sweet. Desired. But torture nonetheless. I now admit it freely." At her apparent confusion, he went on, "You are stunning, mon amour, my constant temptress, even in your innocence when you are not aware. Each moment with you, lesson or not, soon became a grueling endurance of a passionate encounter on the verge of occurrence."

She moistened her lips, recalling those few breathtaking eruptions. "I wouldn't have minded…"

He chuckled. "Yes, my dear, quite. Among the more honorable reasons I could not continue to allow that to happen, not that I claim any shred of respectability, we would never have made progress in your training if I had made love to you then, Christine. The outcome that I once could only surmise, I now know in full, and the satisfaction, while extreme, is temporal. Once I have you in my arms, I never wish to let you go. Based on the experience of this week, it is expedient to say that had we succumbed then, you would never have been prepared to sing the lead on opening night. In all likelihood, I might have forgotten an opera even existed."

She felt a blush and grinned shyly, strongly doubting he could forget his own opera, but she acknowledged the truth of his words. Each time they came together kindled her appetite for more.

"And now?" She hoped he might tell her they could dispense with the lesson for one last evening and seek those more pleasurable avenues of entertainment. She loved to hear him play as much as he loved her to sing but her outlook had become undisciplined after long days and nights of rapture. The thought of standing in a rigid position for hours of meticulous training paled in comparison to the warmth of Erik's lap.

"Now …" His hands slipped down her arms and clasped her hands. "You have accomplished what we have set out to attain from the dawn of your twelfth year, ma chérie. You are a star on the horizon, glowing brightly as you move toward your zenith, where you will long remain a source of continual wonderment to all who behold your beauty."

She smiled at his poetic words. "Papa once told me the stars could sing."

He lifted his brow in curious interest. "Another tale?"

"No, I don't think so. When he grew too ill to leave his bed, the minister came to visit. He told Papa of scripture that speaks of the morning stars singing together and the angels shouting for joy. Perhaps he did that to give Papa peace and prepare him for his eternal reward. But I like to believe it was more. Papa would so enjoy hearing stars that could sing…" The slight melancholy in her tone was a match to the bittersweet look in her eyes. "And here on the earth, we are heaven's mirror. I am your star, singing brightly for you, and you are my Angel, joyful in the triumph that is ours to share…"

He shook his head in tender amazement. "Such an imagination … Never lose that childish wonder, Christine. Never let the world seize it from you. It would be criminal."

He traced his fingertips along her jaw, his words sad but quiet with approval and she could not help but wonder about the boy in the cage who had been horribly robbed of so much. Despite that, he had managed to rise above his pitiful beginnings into a genius to be admired. Her Maestro. Her Angel…

She should be continually grateful that he singled her out on that night in her twelfth year, taking an interest in her voice and no other, creating her into his Angel of Music - and not yet again attempt to find excuses to evade further instruction, no matter his previous ill treatment. He had made her into the dream of what she yearned for since her girlhood days when she sang and danced to her father's fiddle on the street corners. Still, she could not help the little wistful sigh that escaped. Bravely she attempted a smile.

"I suppose we should now return to our roles of teacher and student…"

Her lackluster response led him to believe that she hoped he still might change his mind. It did not please him that despite his earlier confession she still dreaded the night's lesson. Next to each other, music was their shared dream. He did not wish for her to begin to think of any part of it as a nightmare.

"Perhaps a change is needed," he amended thoughtfully, "now that our roles have also altered. Instead of no more than orders, perhaps … a reward. An incentive to guide you."

"An incentive?" A spark of interest lit her eyes. "What incentive…?"

"Yes…" He nodded slowly, drawing out the word while meditating on the idea. "If you manage your lesson well and give me no grief or argument, not even the slightest hint of rebellion, I will grant you whatever one thing you most wish for." He lifted her hand to press his lips against her palm.

Her body gave a little shudder, her face now glowing with anticipation. "Anything?"

He twisted his lips into a half smile. "Yes, my dear. Anything."

Given their earlier words, he could imagine what she would ask for. He still disliked the idea of her crossing the city at such an unstable time, but he doubted she would surrender with her latest mission, to meet the little waif, Tina. And despite his loathing for public places and speaking to the people who populated them, he would never allow her to journey alone.

"I think I like this idea of an incentive," she said with a secretive smile.

He raised his brow in dry acknowledgement. "No doubt. But it works both ways, Christine. If you give me less than the perfection I demand of this lesson, or if I must correct you more than three times, you will give me what I ask." He lowered her hand to press it against his chest and the beating of his heart. "Are you up to the challenge, Mon Ange?"

The swift change in his manner caused her own heart to skip a beat. Never breaking eye contact, she trailed the tips of her fingers down his skin to his sternum, where the lapels of his robe intersected, this time causing him to shiver.

"Always, I am up to a challenge with you, dear Maestro. Shall we begin?" She tilted her head in demure but flirtatious seduction and moved out of his view.

Erik kept his stare fixed ahead on the closed iron gate and took an unsteady breath, letting it out softly.

He imagined that Christine would find it amusing to learn that he was suddenly just as impatient for the lesson to end, but was not about to let on to his desire. As her Maestro, he must demonstrate control and prioritize. As her Angel he would skillfully lead her through the chords of his music…

As her husband he wanted nothing more than to take her against the organ where she now stood, a beautiful siren wrapped in shimmering yards of loose gray velvet he wished to tear from her smooth shoulders …

It was going to be a long lesson.

xXx