A/N - OK, firstly thanks to everyone who threw in ideas for this chapter :) much appreciated - I haven't taken them all, but I think the majority of you will be OK with what I've done ...

Just to clear up one little point; I have been told that the plot's contrived and that there's no way Christine would believe that Erik wasn't in love with her anymore. No, she's not blind and no, she's not faking it. She just has absolute zero self-esteem (after what she's been through, who's surprised?) which doesn't help as Erik's isn't exactly on top form either. Just the way I see it :)

Disclaimer; There are some references to libretto from two operas later in the chapter; the one from Aida belongs to Verdi and the one from Faust ... well, I'm not sure who wrote Faust but take my word that it's not mine!

"No pain could be deeper,

No life could be cheaper,

No point anymore,

If I can't love her ..."

If I can't love her, Beauty and the Beast

Nadir

She looked so peaceful. Asleep at last, the long days and nights of unceasing vigilance finally having taken their toll, she looked like a porcelain doll, and suddenly I could very well understand how Erik had come to love her so.

Glancing up and around the room, my eyes fell on that damned cat of Erik's. Crouched on a shelf, malevolence shimmering over her like smoke, she was staring at Christine with a sullen resentment.

Good to know she hates at least one person more than me ...

I sighed. Even relaxed in sleep, Christine looked tired and drawn; she was neglecting her own health in her stubborn refusal to leave Erik. I had come to respect her more and more during the last few days - tense and strained, it had hardly been an ideal setting for a new friendship to form, but her unswerving devotion had won her my grudging approval, and more than once, I found myself thinking with regret of what could have been ... if he were less aloof, and less afraid of exposing the old scar tissue to any further pain, and if she were less of a child ... more able to recognise her own feelings before it was too late ...

Yes, I was sure that Christine Daaé had come to love Erik with the same kind of unselfish intensity with which he loved her ... and against all my instincts, I found myself praying that she would find the courage to admit it to herself, and to him ... before it was finally too late.

Christine

I woke with a start, and looked around with a sudden panic before I realised where I was. I glanced down at Erik and tucked the blanket a little more securely around him where it had come adrift. He was finally sleeping peacefully, the fevered dementia of only a few hours ago at last receded into calm. Thank God ...

The door opened, and Nadir entered, carrying a tray. He smiled as he saw me and placed the tray lightly on a table.

"You're awake," he said. He gestured to the tray and indicated that I should sit down at the table.

"I thought you might like some breakfast."

I shook my head automatically. "Oh, no, thank you ... I couldn't."

He was silent for a moment, and I was afraid I might have offended him, but as I looked up and into his eyes, I was caught off guard by the intense compassion and sympathy I found there.

"You'll be no good to him if you waste away through lack of food," he said kindly, and despite the gentle humour in his voice, there was something there which made me realise the truth of his statement, effectively silencing my automatic protests.

Nadir turned away and walked over to Erik, passing a hand over his forehead to check his temperature.

"He looks a little better," he remarked.

I raised my eyebrows. Better ...? I lowered my eyes to my breakfast and took a sip of orange juice, wincing at the sharp flavour. I had become accustomed to Erik's unusual tea; Russian with lemon, and really quite drinkable ... provided it was he who made it and not me!

I toyed with a fork, contemplating how best to refuse the food without insulting Nadir; it was sweet of him to make it, and I truly did appreciate the gesture, but ...

My musings were cut short by the sound of Erik's voice, raised once again in anguished plea.

"Christine ..."

I rose hurriedly and almost ran to the bed. I knelt down at the side, and took one of his long, skeletal hands in mine.

"Erik," I murmured. "Can you hear me?"

He stirred slightly, and I turned to Nadir, suddenly desperate for the guidance of someone older and stronger.

"Keep talking," he said, never taking his eyes off Erik as he moved quickly to his side and lifted one thin wrist to take his pulse. Anticipating my protest, he shook his head. "Say anything, it doesn't matter, just ... don't stop talking."

"Erik ... I don't know if you can hear me ... oh, God, Erik, please wake up, we need you ... Ayesha needs you, and ..."

The ache in my throat became unbearable and impossible to speak past. Ashamed of my weakness, I forced back the tears and looked away, unable to bear the weight of Nadir's glance.

Suddenly I felt his hands on my shoulders as he pulled me to my feet and compelled me to look him in the eye. He began to speak, the words low and urgent and, despite the heavy accent which came from his unfamiliarity with my language, strangely reminiscent of Erik's.

"Will you sing for him?"

For a moment, I stared at him in stunned silence, convinced that he had gone quite mad. Would I sing ...?

"If you can't talk to him ..." he took a deep breath and seemed to finally disregard the boundaries of self-restraint which had bound him thus far into our acquaintance, and continued, "if you won't tell him how you feel, will you sing for him?"

Another moment of heavy, airless silence before I broke the spell and shook my head. It was impossible, I couldn't do it, I wouldn't do it, hadn't I already done enough ...

The refusal formed, hesitated, broke apart on my lips, as a sudden memory slashed through my mind.

I wonder if you know what happiness your voice has given me these past six months, what pride I take in your remarkable achievement ...

Happiness ... such an alien concept to him ...

No question of choice.

(A/N - Yes, I know she couldn't sing a piece like this without warming up first - it's artistic licence!)

Nadir

I have heard Christine Daaé sing many times before. Each time, she has given me the impression of an outstanding if somewhat uninspiring singer. This time, however ... every ounce of soul the girl possessed was flung, heart and soul, into her voice, and the result was as heartwrenching as any Erik had ever produced.

"Oh, how strange!

Like a spell does the evening bind me!

And a deep languid charm

I feel without alarm

With its melody enwind me

And all my heart subdue ..."

The sudden silence was deafening. I stared at her, incredulous, for a moment, before a movement under my fingers returned my attentions to Erik. He moved slightly, his face creasing and a soft murmur escaping his lips.

"Christine ..."

I heard her take a sharp breath in as she knelt by the side of the bed and took hold of his hand again. I felt her take a deep, shuddering breath, before ...

"My heart forseeing your condemnation into this tomb,

I made my way here by stealth

And here, far from every human gaze

In your arms I wished to die ...

See? The angel of death,

With shining wings, comes near,

To bear us to eternal joys

Upon his golden wings ..."

Her voice broke and she let her hair fall forward, a thick dark cloud hiding her tears. I looked away uncomfortably and caught my breath as my eyes settled on Erik's form once again. He had become increasingly agitated during her heartbreaking performance, tears forming in the mismatched eyes and slipping unheeded down his sunken cheeks at her abrupt termination to the song.

"Christine ..." I said, a little more sharply than I had intended.

She looked up, her face pale and streaked with tears. I gestured wordlessly towards Erik, racking my brains frantically for something we could do; I was no physician and Christine's nursing skills were hopelessly inadequate, but I could just imagine Erik's reaction should we betray his trust and reveal his refuge to a doctor ... I knew unquestioningly that he would sooner die than have his sanctuary made public.

She touched her fingers to his cheek in a heart-wrenching display of silent, measureless affection, her tears mingling with his. Slowly, with infinite gentleness, she leant forward and laid her lips against his scarred temple.

A fleeting moment of infinity ...

She gave a dry sob and buried her head in her arms, her shoulders rising and falling in harmony with the intense private grief which excluded all but herself and the extraordinary man before her.

His hand stirred ... slowly, painfully, his eyes opened and one emaciated hand rose to stroke her hair. She looked up slowly, as if hardly daring to shatter the illusion ... their eyes met, his curiously at peace, hers large and still tear-filled ...a moment of intense silent communication, until with a sob of relief, she fell into the arms he opened for her.