A/N so it turns out i will never be happy with this chapter so i'm just going to post it. in good news future smut should be on the way!

Christine burst into her dressing room, ignoring the looks of the stagehands as they wondered what the prima donna was doing on her day off in such a hurry. Brushing the curls tumbling over her flushed face, she paced towards the mirror. With trembling hands, she fiddled for the secret hatch, and after hearing its reassuring click, she eased open the glassy surface slowly, exposing the blackness ahead. As she stepped in, she knew she could not turn back. It was now or never. Taking a deep inhale, she pushed herself into the darkness, letting it blanket her and consume her senses.

The tunnels were so familiar to her now, even without Erik's guiding hand, and she ran her fingertips along the cool, stone walls to navigate the sudden bends and sharp turns. Left, left, right, left, right… down, down, down. Her breath was racing, her footsteps echoing in the labyrinth. Soon she could taste the dampness in the musty air and knew she was nearing the lake. As she came out onto the ledge, the still, clear water beneath her feet, the boat floating gently on the other side, Christine couldn't help but stamp her foot. He must have heard an alarm by now, but for whatever reason she had not been attacked by his shadow.

Well, no matter. I will come to you then Erik!

Frantically, Christine began to flick open her bodice, taking off her shoes. Her skirts, the bustle, her petticoats, laying them all the ground in a careful pile. Unlacing her corset, she eyed the lake, shivering in her chemise and drawers. She had swum in wild, cold seas as a child, but even as she reminded herself of the icy waters of the north, she felt trepidation. The fire in her stomach burned brightly, however, smothering her fear. Filling up her lungs and sending a silent prayer, she leapt.

….

Erik lay sprawled upon the loveseat, hearing the alarm bells rattle insistently. He closed his eyes against the headache piercing through his skull, wishing he hadn't made them so loud.

Let them find me, then. Let the Vicomte mount my head on a wall. What does it matter now?

Sure, he may be able kill one or two, but a mob would rip him apart, limb from limb. One less demon on earth… God, and even he, should be thanking them. But as the bells began to die, as if they knew their warnings were not being heeded, he heard the unmistakable sound of soft feet padding into his home. What was that, with no yells of hatred and bloodlust? Who was that? Sitting up, Erik fetched the Punjab lasso that had been dangling lazily off the velvet cushions. He pricked his ears, trying to locate and identify the noise, standing and approaching the door to his lair slowly. The rustle of the doorknob, the squeak of it turning and opening.

Ivory skin shining from tendrils of water dripping from an elegant neck, from the tip of a delicate nose, the ends of sooty eyelashes. Her slight form was wracked with shivers, the thin fabric of the chemise clinging to her gently sloping breasts, her inward waist and curved hips. Curls a clumped mass, her little bare feet white from the cold. Her eyes, oh, her eyes, they sparked like precious jewels, they burned,dear God, they burned.

Erik knew he was dreaming. Perhaps he had indulged in a rather generous administration of morphine, but what an image he had been blessed with! The flitting ghost, the sweet mirage took a step towards him as he stood still, lost in a trance at the sight. Those paling, bluish lips trembled as she inched into his chest, shaking violently, until a wet cheek was laid over his pounding heart. Dumbstruck, Erik slowly touched the crest of her head, reality beginning to shed light into his mind. She was here. It was Christine. She was here.

"E-Erik, I'm so c-cold." The little quivering voice made him abandon his dizzying, racing thoughts which screamed to caress her, to hurt her, to lock her away, to shriek at her to leave. As she melted further into him, he realised truly how cold she was, an iciness so brutal it even was searing his own frigid skin underneath his dampening clothes. Rationality pricked into his delirium. Had she…swum the lake?

You need to get her warm. Forget everything else. You need to get her warm.

Tearing his mind away from his endless questions, his rage and shameful longing and the exposure of having his horrid face to her, he knelt swiftly and bundled her delicate, shuddering body into his arms. Barely conscious of what was happening, he carried her to the bathroom, propping her up on the tiled floor as he quickly turned on the hot water, flooding the porcelain tub and filling the small room with steam. His hands were shaking, focusing on every precise action intently as to not slip under the crimson shock, the bubbling tension pulsing in his throat. When the bath was full of warm water, warm enough to bring colour back to her skin but not enough to sting her numb flesh, he rose and stood over the huddled Christine.

"Stand." It was a curt order. She wobbled to her feet, grasping her arms tight around her. He avoided her constant gaze, suddenly unsure of what to do. She was undoubtably waiting for him to leave, the letch that he was, but something in those sapphire eyes had transfixed him when he succumbed to their stare. With a tremble, though never breaking his eye, she unwound her arms.

"Erik…" She called quietly, reaching out a pale hand to him. But in that sacred second, as startled as a wild animal, he darted from the bathroom in a sudden flurry, leaving Christine alone in a silence only disturbed by the random drips of the bathtub faucet.

Erik paced in the living room, unable to still the shake in his bones and white wasps of hysteria swarming in his chest. He could hear the faint gurgle of the water being drained. His head was spinning. Had she come back to mock him with an official goodbye? Why had the foolish girl swum the lake just to have an audience with him? Why had she pressed her lovely face against him, let him carry her like a bride, called his name? Was her cruelty truly so severe? She did not have the excuse of ignorance now, no, she knew what these temptations would do to him!

Christine emerged, tightly wrapped in a white robe. Her cheeks had colour once again, a bright flush that Erik blamed on the steam. That warm, earnest look in her eyes shone even brighter. All he could see was her cowering from him in the dark street, struggling in revulsion against him. He swallowed hard and pushed the image from his mind.

Neither knew what to say first, Christine fiddling with her hands.

How to say it? How to explain it to him? Where to start without him losing his temper?

"Why do you torment me like this?"

Christine's gaze snapped up to his in pain but found that he was revealing nothing, lips pulled into a neutral frown. She had thought that he might have put on his mask and wig while she was in the bath, but instead he was baring his distortions to her, perhaps out of spite than trust. Christine walked to him pleadingly, reaching out again, but he simply snarled and turned, stalking away.

"Erik, please, I-"

"Have you come here to bid a final goodbye to your pathetic old maestro?" It hinted with something painful, and Christine grimaced.

"No, I-"

"Have you come here to tempt me? To test my restraint? Because Christine, I do not think there is much of that left." He growled menacingly, approaching her slowly with considered, daunting steps. Despite the venom vibrating from his words, Christine found she could not be afraid of him. He did not wait for her reply, instead seizing her by the upper arms, drawing her against his hard, shaking form. His sinewy hands trailed up her spine like spiders, his breath hot as he stooped to force his face into the bed of curls by her neck. She dared not move, prey to his rage as she was. Knowing that she could not stop the anguish rolling off him until he had said and done what he needed, she simply let her eyes flutter close and savoured the feeling of his closeness.

"I could destroy you. I could…I could…" He felt his anger beginning to give way to a hopeless melancholy. She was so warm, her skin smelling so sweet as he pressed his horridness into that beautiful spot by her clavicle. Maybe he could just exist here, never to face her terrified eyes or feel the tremor of disgust in her delicate body. Alas, he could feel it. He pulled away, but suddenly little hands flew up to hold the back of his head, urging him to stay.

"Destroy me then. Touch me, ruin me, love me." She whispered desperately into his ear with a boldness she had not known, unshed tears in her voice, her fingers lacing into the fine strands of his hair. Erik was trembling in her arms, wordless except for a sharp gasp of breath she felt against her throat. She stroked his now tensed back soothingly, though her hold fell away as he hesitantly withdrew himself, bending to maintain her eye as he searched her for meaning. She had to give him an answer. Closing the small distance between them, Christine enveloped her hands around his tortured face and, treasuring the flicker in her heart, she leant up to press her lips against his.

He was motionless as she gently persuaded his unmoving mouth with soft kisses, the sensation making her blood hum in contentment. It was strange and foreign yet so fundamentally natural, and there was something lovely in how his billowed lips felt, so tender and tasting of rich wine and an intriguing cinnamon muskiness that must be purely Erik. Dizzy with delight at such a thought, Christine smiled against his mouth and peeked up to see his golden eyes wide and filled with a paralysing shock. Abandoning his frozen lips, she kissed carefully up onto his bloated cupid's bow, his marred cheek, the warped skin of his temple and forehead. Every contortion of flesh, every glassy scar, not ceasing even as hot tears suddenly struck her butterfly-light path.

"Christine…" He croaked, those exquisite aurelian eyes staring blindly into her, not quite seeing anything. Pride and questions were forgotten as he crumbled to pieces under her lips.

"Erik…" She cooed in reply, but she was robbed of further words by his mouth abruptly crushing to hers in a fumbling, delirious kiss, as if he was trying to drink her in and consume her. Christine flung her arms around his neck, letting him overwhelm her. Oh, dear God, her fairytales hadn't mentioned how it felt, how his unsure though caressing lips pulled breath out of her lungs and made her chest sing. Panting, he lay his forehead against hers, seeking an unknown permission in her hazy eyes. When he believed he had found it, he dipped to place reverent kisses along the column of her throat, making Christine shiver in delight. A secret part of her was thrumming, a music inside her starting to tune itself to his.

"Why… why are you…" He tried to rasp, unable to form coherent thoughts as he was intoxicated by the delicious taste of her skin, of how she was melting in his arms, his lips still burning. As if in a reminder, he claimed her mouth again in another frenzied kiss, those supple lips so soft and yielding. How could this be happening? How could she not be a figment of a dream? His body seemed to have taken over, leaving his mind reeling with every impulsive touch.

"Forgive me, Erik. Please, forgive me for it all." She breathed once they had parted, blinking up at him through tears with intense sincerity and remorse. Erik was sure he had stopped breathing, though he could feel his bursting heart, flooded with passion and yearning for hope. A shudder ran down his spine, his chest aching.

You do not know what she means, you do not know what she wants, what she truly wants…she could be tricking you, she could be using you…oh, but she kissed me, and God, I have never…but no, she could simply run back to her Vicomte and leave you so that your wounds never heal, so that she kills you for certain with her façade. She could be mocking you, she could bring a knife down into your foul flesh…but oh, dear God, what if I let her? What if, just now, I could forget?

"Ange…" She soothed sadly, stroking her fingers along his mangled cheek. His eyes were closed in conflict, his body rigid against her. It was only her gentle touch that urged his tongue despite a screeching voice within willing him to not ask, to just pull her against him and let go. It would be so easy to let go…

"What does this mean? Christine, why have you come? If you leave me again, I…" He could not think of what he would do if she left him after this, lest his rage taint the beautiful cloud of tenderness and desire that had wrapped itself tightly around them. He could only grasp her hands in his, holding them to his chest. He had to know. If he did not ask, he would die when he inevitably found himself alone in the darkness. She would leave, yes, she would leave. And what could he do? Keep her here against her will? No, he never could. She was the only person who he could not bear to hate him. Oh please, he wished she did not hate him. Oh God, he wished this all might mean…something. Christine's eyes were bright with tears, and he watched in self-loathing as they fell onto her perfect, blushing cheeks.

"Erik, I love you. I might have always loved you. I just wished I had not hurt you so much." Her whimpered words soon caved into heaving sobs, arms winding around her middle as she felt a great release of the soul overtake her. She felt all the sorrow she had suffered and brought upon him, the wasted love, all the scars she had seared upon her skin and his. It crashed upon her and she could not breathe through the wave, but even as she felt her knees give way a strong grip was whisking her into the air, light as a feather, and taking her against a strangely warm chest. As he sat them on the loveseat, enveloping her up against him, trembling even with his embrace so tight, Christine felt her heart steady and release its weight. Curling up into him, she sighed heavily through the lingering tears. She could live in eternity here.

"My Christine, my songbird…" Erik whispered though his limbs shook, residue tears of his own falling into her curls. It all felt so otherwordly, but the comforting weight of her on him with her little face burrowed into his shirt, began to cement the reality. He could feel the curves and contours of her beautiful body through the robe, but nothing could be stirred within his core through the suffocating delirium. Her words, after long seconds, finally dealt their impact.

"I love you…"

Had anyone ever said those cherished three words she had confessed to him? Had anyone sworn their devotion to him, the demonic carcass that he was? He had read them in epic romances, he had heard them drawled by drunken stage-hands to half-naked women. He had heard them uttered in many languages, had heard them echoed in rhapsody or shredded with a silent reply. And now, they were being spoken to him by a weeping angel in his arms.

But even as Erik began to feel his soul, that wretched, beaten down soul that he had long thought was non-existent or dead, sing in a pure ecstasy he had never known, a darker voice drowned it.

She does not mean it. How could she love such a grotesque beast? She is saying it to appease you, she is saying it so she can kill you easier, or worse…or worse, you have made her love you. You have tainted her heart. You have cursed an angel to fall to hell so you can consume her.

His arms began to hesitantly withdraw, but Christine was quick to sense his fears. Sitting up and hands moulded around his face, she leant to gift the lightest of kisses onto his forehead. She knew he was listening to something painful and angry within him, she could tell by the way his eyes had scrunched close, his brow twitching. It was a sight she had caught many glimpses of.

"Erik, listen to me. I am not marrying Raoul, I cannot because my heart is yours. I love you Erik, please, I swear it on my father's grave. I have not come to hurt you, I have only come to love you. I will not hurt you, never again, please ange." She promised breathlessly but with a desperate conviction, still holding his face. Erik's eyes opened to stare into hers, a reservation blanketing the fiery passion swimming in those golden pools.

"You will leave." It was not a question. He could not look at her small, hopeful smile, feeling sick with it all, the shock and suddenness, and with the aversion of his eyes the smile fell. Her hands dropped slowly to fidget, and then wrapped around herself self-consciously. A distance seemed to grow between them. The air became heavy.

"Unless…your feelings have changed." It was said in a voice so quiet and heartbroken that Erik's screaming inner dialogue was immediately shattered. Almost in a spasm, he pulled her crushingly into his arms and held her steadfast, as close as he could until he was certain they had all but melded into each other. He cherished the little squeak she gave in surprise, the way she gripped his shirt with her fingers, how she sighed in such happiness as he laced his hands through her silken hair. It was if a floodgate had opened and washed away the sting in his heart. This was his Christine, his sweet angel, the one who had time and time again healed jagged and torn parts of him with her honest empathy, her understanding smile and never-ending warmth. She was gentle evenings and she was soft sunshine. She was here in his arms, giving herself to him. She loved him…

"I will stay by your side always, always, if what you say is true. Oh, Christine, say it is true…"

"It's true. It's true. I love you Erik, I love you, I love you." She swore again and again, into his chest, into his neck, into his ear as she pressed her cheek to his. There was so much that needed to be said between them, but words were lost when Erik claimed her lips, his grip inadvertently tightening with a tremble in her hair, pouring out every apology, every fallen tear, every secret joy that they now could share. And, like being caught in a blissful current, Christine let the tide take her out to sea…