Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading, and for the lovely reviews! A combination of other writing projects and some difficult plot points has made this take a little longer than I expected, but I do hope you enjoy it.

Thanks again for reading!

Chapter Fourteen: The Composer and the Magician

Erik awoke to warmth. He smiled, his hand grasping the blanket, drawing it closer until a feather brushed against his face…

His face!

He gave a cry, and his eyes flew open, the events of the previous evening flashing vividly through his mind.

"Erik?"

Christine's concerned face appeared above him. His heart slowed. Despite everything, she was still here.

"Christine."

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine…I think." He propped himself up on one elbow, glancing at the suitcase which still lay open on the floor. He was suddenly aware of pale light shining through the small window. "What time is it?"

"A little after nine." She smiled. "You slept for a long time, Erik."

"Oh God." Erik threw the cloak of feathers aside. "I need to get ready."

"For what?"

"Gerard. He'll send for me."

"I'm not so sure about that. I suspect the company were out quite late last night." Christine reached for her cloak.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going to get us some breakfast."

He stared at her. His world was imploding, he would probably have to leave the theatre if he didn't agree to show his face to an audience, and Christine was talking about food.

"I'm not hungry," he lied.

"Neither of us have eaten since before the show last night. I know I'm hungry."

"But I need to…"

"I'll be as quick as I can. You can get ready while I'm gone."

He wanted to protest, but his stomach was aching with hunger. He sighed. "All right."

Christine smiled, and left the room.

Erik jumped to his feet and began to pace in circles. Occasionally he would glance at the suitcase. Perhaps it would still be for the best if he left now, while Christine wasn't there to dissuade him.

But he couldn't do it. Christine had stayed with him, and he trusted her. Erik had never really trusted anyone before. Now, she was trusting him not to run, and he knew he couldn't betray her trust.

He sighed again. As hard as it would be, he had to stay.

He spent the next fifteen minutes cleaning himself in his small porcelain washbasin, and changing into a fresh shirt and waistcoat. He replaced his mask, which he found propped up against a pile of books on his desk.

There was a soft knock on the door.

"Erik? Could you help me, please?"

He opened the door and Christine entered, carrying a brown paper parcel in one hand and a slightly battered coffee pot in the other. A delicious smell of toasted bread and meat drifted towards him.

"Hot bacon sandwiches," she said. "I thought you would like something warm. I've brought coffee, too."

"Where did you get a coffee pot?"

"I borrowed it from the dancers' dressing room. They won't mind as long as I return it before the show tonight." She smiled. "Sorelli always says she needs it to power her pirouettes."

They sat on the couch and ate in companionable silence. It almost felt normal, as if last night had never happened. But surely Christine must see him differently, now she knew what his mask concealed? Her face didn't betray what she was thinking. When he dared to catch her eye, she just smiled at him.

He wouldn't ask any questions. If she thought him hideous, he would rather not know.

They had almost finished their meal when there was another knock on the door, more forceful this time.

Erik locked eyes with Christine. "A little sooner than I expected," he said.

He stood up, smoothing down his clothes. Christine reached for his hand and squeezed it. "It'll be all right. You'll see."

He nodded, even though he didn't believe her, and opened the door.

Gerard blinked at him blearily. The impresario looked a little worse for wear. Apparently, Christine was correct, and last night had been a late one.

"Ah, Erik! I'm glad to find you up." He noticed Christine, and his eyes widened with surprise. "And Miss Daae! I trust you're both well this morning? Or that you feel better than me, at any rate…" He rubbed the side of his head and grimaced. "May I come in?" Erik stepped aside, and Gerard sank onto the couch. His gaze alighted on the coffee pot. "Ah, coffee! This visit just gets better…"

"I'll pour you a cup," said Christine.

"Oh, you're too kind, too kind…"

Erik folded his arms. "I would like to get this over with, Gerard, if it's all the same to you."

Gerard nodded. "Of course…"

Christine raised an eyebrow. "Come now, Erik. Mr Gerard has time for some coffee, doesn't he?"

"Thank you," said Gerard, as Christine passed him a cup. He took a sip, and smiled. "Gosh, that's better."

Erik glowered at him. "I know why you're here, Gerard, and I'd like to save us both time and trouble by stating categorically that I will not perform without my mask. It is a condition of my contract that I remain masked at all times during my performances, and I suggest we stick to that condition."

Gerard looked taken aback. "What are you talking about?"

Erik regarded the impresario suspiciously. "That's why you're here, isn't it? You've seen my face, and now you want to incorporate it into my act. I will not have my appearance exploited for monetary gain."

Gerard blinked. "What? No! My dear fellow, I have no intention of asking you to show your face."

Now it was Erik's turn to feel perplexed. "I…what?"

Gerard bowed his head. "I'm here to apologise for the appalling scene last night. Robert is no longer in my employ, and I want you to know that anyone else in my company who displays that sort of behaviour will be fired with immediate effect." He glanced at the suitcase, and then met Erik's eyes. "I'd also like to beg you not to go. You and Miss Daae are the biggest draws my theatre has ever had."

"I…appreciate that," said Erik.

"So you'll stay?"

Erik looked at Christine. She smiled at him, the expression full of hope.

"Yes," he said. "For now."

"That's wonderful news." Gerard seemed to sag with relief. "I meant what I said last night about developing your act. Although I realise the setting wasn't exactly conducive to business discussions."

Erik's mouth twitched. "Indeed."

"I still think we should seriously consider the possibility of a tour."

"I have no desire to parade myself around the country, Gerard."

"I feel the same," said Christine. "I've only just settled in London."

The impresario looked momentarily disappointed, but then he took another sip of coffee, which seemed to help him regain his equilibrium. He smiled. "Well, what about a few extra performances here in London? We could do an entire programme devoted to you both, and your talents. Singing and magic. What do you say?"

"We would have to expand our repertoire," said Christine, looking thoughtful. "We may require another visit to the music shop."

Gerard winced. "Well, I suppose financial sacrifices must be made. Erik?"

Erik wasn't sure how he felt about spending even longer onstage. His unmasking in front of the company had shaken him, and he had no desire to attract yet more attention to himself.

And yet, if it meant more opportunities to sing with Christine, more duets…

"Thank you," he said, staring at the coffee pot. "I'll consider it."

2.

Christine watched from the wings as Erik sang his aria from The Pearl Fishers. His voice was as technically beautiful as always, but there was something about his performance that was…off. He seemed restrained, holding himself back from the audience. He stood very still, his hands clasped awkwardly by his sides, no longer employing the expansive gestures which usually conveyed such emotion.

Ever since Gerard's visit that morning, Erik had been quiet and guarded, eyeing the company members with suspicion. Last night's incident had clearly unnerved him, and it saddened her to see the confidence he had slowly built vanish like an object in one of his illusions. But he had been a confident performer before, and he would be again. His next lesson was that night, after the show. They would start right away.

After the performance, Christine returned to her dressing room to change in preparation for Erik's lesson. She was just pinning up her hair when there was a knock on the door.

"Come in."

Simon stuck his head into the room.

"I beg your pardon, Miss, but there's a gentleman at the stage door. Says he wants to see you."

"Oh? What kind of gentleman?"

"Very posh. French, I think. Name of De-shannay."

Christine felt ice curl around her heart. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, and saw the colour start to drain from her face.

It was a moment before she could speak again.

"This man…is he young?"

"Yes, miss. I'd say mid-twenties."

Christine's heart thawed, relief coursing through her veins. But then the enormity of this news struck her, and she felt a deep, soul-aching sadness.

Sadness, and anger too.

Why had he come? Hadn't she told him to let her be?

"Miss Daae? Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine, thank you."

"Should I send him away?"

"No, no…I'll see him."

She followed Simon downstairs. Time seemed to slow, and her feet felt heavy, as if she was walking through mud or deep water. Her thoughts whirled. She did not want to see him. But of course she did. He could not be here. Perhaps Simon was mistaken, and there had been a misunderstanding…

Then, suddenly, she was standing in the tiny stage door office, staring at that familiar, pale, handsome face, those intense blue eyes…

"Christine!"

His face lit up with a smile like sunrise. He stepped towards her, arms open.

"Raoul…"

She burst into tears.

"Christine" His arms were around her, and it felt so warm and so right, and she just wanted to rest her face against his chest and cry, but she couldn't, she knew she couldn't. "Christine, what's the matter?"

"What's the matter?" She freed herself from his grasp and stared at him. "What are you doing here, Raoul? I told you to leave me be."

His eyes widened. "I know, I know. But I'm in London visiting my aunt, and I just had to come by and see if you were all right. After I read your letter, I couldn't bear the thought that I'd driven you out of Paris, driven you to a life in a place like this." He glanced at the peeling paint and faded show posters, and grimaced.

She folded her arms. "I'm fine. And I like it here. In some ways, it's nicer than the Opera."

"You can't possibly mean that." His eyes were sad. "Oh, Christine, I'm so sorry. I didn't want any of this to happen. But things are so much better in Paris now. I've spoken to Philippe, and he admits he was wrong…"

"Really? How very generous of him."

Raoul flinched, then forced a smile. "You can return to Paris, sing again at the Opera. We…we could resume our engagement."

"Resume our engagement?" Christine's anger flared, her hands clenching by her sides. "Raoul, I have a new life here in London, a life which I've built myself, because your wretched family made it very clear that I didn't belong with you, or at the Opera."

"Christine…" He reached for her hand. She backed away.

"You can't just expect me to drop everything and go home with you because it suits you, and because Philippe has decided it's acceptable!" She felt fresh tears rush to her eyes. "My God, Raoul, I thought you had more sense than this."

He was silent for a moment, staring at her in astonishment. Then he bowed his head, looking chastened.

He sighed. "You're quite right. I'm sorry."

"Yes. I should hope you are."

"Can't we at least meet and talk before I go back to Paris? We were friends, once, before we were anything else."

"Oh, Raoul." She wiped her eyes on the lace cuff of her gown. "Things have changed…"

"What's going on?" The voice cut through the air, startling them both. Christine turned to see Erik standing at the foot of stairs. He moved so quietly that she had not even heard his footsteps. "Christine, what's the matter? Why are you crying?"

"I'm not," she lied. "Erik, this is an old friend of mine. This is Raoul, Vicomte de Chagny."

Erik's eyes widened behind the mask. Then his gaze slid onto Raoul, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

"Raoul, this is Erik, our star magician."

"A…pleasure," said Raoul, in slightly laboured English.

"Charmed, I'm sure," said Erik.

The two men stared at each other, dislike emanating from them both. The atmosphere in the small office was suddenly stifling.

"Raoul has just called by to see that I'm well, and I've assured him that I am," said Christine, in English, wanting nothing more than to free them all from this situation. "He's leaving soon."

Erik looked at her. "Are you sure you're all right?"

She closed her eyes briefly, suddenly feeling terribly weary. "Yes, Erik, I'm fine. I'll be along presently. Could you give us a moment?"

Erik continued to eye Raoul with distrust. But then he nodded.

"Very well." He gave a formal bow, a movement which somehow contrived to be both polite and sarcastic. "Delighted to make your acquaintance, Raa-ooul."

Raoul blinked. It was clear from his expression that he knew he had been insulted, but he did not know exactly how, or why. "I…likewise."

Erik turned on his heel, his long coat swirling around his ankles, and ran lightly upstairs.

Raoul watched him go.

"Christine," he said, when Erik was out of sight. "Who is that…unpleasant person?"

"I told you, he's Erik, the magician. I mentioned him in my letter. I'm giving him singing lessons."

"You're teaching him to sing?"

"Yes. Is that so extraordinary?"

"He seemed quite rude. Quite rough. And what's the reason for the mask?"

"I think Erik would say that's none of your business," said Christine. "And I think I would agree with him."

Raoul shook his head. "I just don't like the thought of you being forced into the company of such…common people."

Christine frowned. "Don't be a snob, Raoul. It really doesn't suit you."

He flinched. "Sorry."

"No one is forcing me to do anything. And Erik is very far from common." She felt her mouth quirk into a smile. She did her best to suppress it. "He's very gifted."

"Oh, well. I suppose if he's…gifted." Raoul grimaced. "Just…be careful in this place, won't you?"

She sighed. "Yes, Raoul. As I said, I've built a new life here. I have friends." She looked at him, at his evident bewilderment, and felt herself soften. "It is good to see you, Raoul. But I need to move on now. I think we both do." She took his hand and squeezed it gently. "I'm glad to see you looking so well. You know I care about you, and I wish you nothing but happiness."

Tears gathered in his eyes. "Thank you. As I said, things are better. I've even started composing again."

That made her smile properly for the first time during their meeting. "Oh?"

He nodded. "I've finally started work on my opera."

"That's good news, Raoul." She turned towards the stairs. "I'm very glad to hear it."

"Christine, wait. Please."

"Yes?"

"Could we talk before I return to Paris? As old friends. I think my aunt would be delighted to see you. She's always liked you, Christine." He reached into his coat pocket and held out a calling card. "This is where I'm staying. You can call on me any time you wish. I'm in London for a month, composing."

Christine stared at the card, torn between memories of their great friendship, and of their failed love affair.

Finally, she reached out and took the card. "Thank you, Raoul. I…need time to think about it."

Raoul's mouth twisted sorrowfully. Then he bowed. "As you wish."

When he had gone, Christine stared at the stage door for several long moments. She realised her hand was pressed to her throat, where her engagement ring had once hung on a chain. It was no longer there, of course. She had not worn it since she had left Paris. It was in her bedside cabinet in her room at Mrs Giry's, still wrapped in a handkerchief.

Perhaps, if she saw Raoul again, she would finally be able to give it back to him.

Christine wiped her eyes once more on her sleeve.

Then she went to find Erik.