I forgot this on the first chapter, sigh. I don't own any of these characters. Dang it. Please note this story is mainly based on the musical, in which Erik's name is never mentioned, that's why my Christine doesn't know his name. I'm still trying to figure out this program, so please forgive grammatical errors, etc. I've tried to correct them all.

 Erik reached his underground lair, flinging his cape carelessly over the slightly damaged throne, not caring that it fell to the floor behind him. She had seen him. And called for him! It had been a mistake to see her. He had tried so hard, these past weeks, to put her from his mind. Now he knew that was impossible. He paced back and forth for some minutes, needing to vent these unwelcome feelings. Finally, he sat at the organ and began playing, pouring his heart into the music.

     Some time later, he wasn't sure how long, the door to his room opened and the man re-appeared, looking a bit sleepy. "Your skills as a host leave much to be desired," the man yawned. "I could have used a bit more rest." Erik ignored him and continued playing. "I suppose this new burst of musical creativity is due to the fact that you took my advice?"
     Erik slammed his hands on the keys, making the room ring with the discordant sound. "Yes, I saw her. And she saw me!"

    "And?"
     "And nothing! I ran. What else could I have done?"
     "Tsk tsk tsk. You ran from her. What is she to think of you? You proclaim your undying love, then send her away, and turn tail the first time she lays eyes on you in weeks. No wonder the poor girl is confused."
     "Why are you still here?" Erik roared. "I have no need for you, and your life is meaningless to me."

     "Then kill me," the man offered. "If you can."
      Quick as a flash, Erik tossed the Punjab lasso around the man's neck and jerked. To his great surprise, the man's neck did not break. In fact, despite his strength, Erik was unable to even pull the man off balance. He watched in shock as the man, with a flick of his wrist, yanked the rope from Erik's hand and pulled it off his neck.
     "A neat trick," he proclaimed, examining the rope with pretended interest, then letting  it drop to the floor. "You see, immortality has its advantages."

     "Who… WHAT are you?" Erik was finally able to ask.

     "My name is Count…"
     Alarm bells began ringing, alerting Erik to the presence of an intruder. "Are you expecting anyone?" the man asked.
     "Of course not." Erik bent to retrieve the lasso, never taking his eyes off the visitor. "But that alarm is for the Rue Scribe entrance, and only two people know of its existence." He walked slowly toward the door, then changed his mind, turning back to resume his seat at the organ.

     Momentarily someone began pounding on the door. "Please open the door!" a feminine voice cried. "Angel?"

     The man raised his eyebrows inquisitively as Erik remained motionless in his seat. "You're not going to let her in?" he inquired.

     Erik shook his head. "I've disrupted her life enough."
     More pounding on the door. "Angel!" the voice sounded desperate now. "Please, please! I know you're in there!"
     The visitor rolled his eyes, sighed, then walked quickly to the door, ignoring Erik's cry of protest. He opened it, and Christine nearly fell inside. She gasped when she noticed him, pulling back into the hallway. "You're… you're not…"
     "Unfortunately, I am not," the man answered, bowing deeply and gazing at her, much to her discomfort. "He is inside."
     Christine peered over the man's shoulder, finally spying Erik, and she walked slowly toward him. She stood behind him for a few minutes, but he refused to acknowledge her presence. Finally, she reached out tentatively and touched his shoulder.

     He jerked away from her, nearly overturning the organ bench in his haste as he strode toward the throne and sat on it. He seemed to draw strength from the ornate seat, and the pain in his eyes was slowly replaced by icy indifference. "What are you doing here, mademoiselle?" He carefully recoiled the Punjab lasso. "You know how I hate visitors."
     Christine stole a quick glance at the man, who was silently standing in the shadows, then she replied, "I came to see you-you were at my window, I thought perhaps something was wrong-are you all right?
     "I haven't been 'all right' for quite some time; you know that. But as you can see I am still alive, so now you may leave with your conscious soothed."

     She was hurt by the tone of his voice and turned to go, then she hesitated, drawing a deep breath. "I must know why you were at my apartment this morning."

     For a long moment he was silent, and she feared he wasn't going to reply, then he began, "I merely… I was out doing business, and I thought…" He covered his face, for once unable to think of a suitable lie. "Damn you, Christine."

     She was not offended, reaching out to touch him again, and this time he did not pull away. "Angel. I have spent these last weeks in torment, realizing too late the mistake I made in leaving you. When you didn't show yourself to me again, I feared you hated me, and I was too scared, and too proud, to seek you out. But when I saw you this morning, I hoped- prayed-that perhaps you had forgiven me; that perhaps you would give me another chance to prove how I truly feel for you." She felt his muscles tense, and added softly, "Can you find it in your heart to do so?"
     "My heart has not changed," he told her, his icy façade beginning to crumble.

     "Mine has," she replied. "I thought I knew what love was, now I know. And it is you whom I love."

     He turned to her, clasping her hands tightly. "How can you be sure of this?"
     "You think I don't know? I'm not a silly child any more; believing in fairy tales and stories. If this is not love I feel, than I don't know what it is. All I know is, I want-need-to be with you."

     He held her gaze for a few moments, then released her hands and walked away. "Christine," he began softly. "You have no idea how I've suffered these past weeks. I cannot go through that again."
     "I've suffered as well," she told him. "Suffered from the guilt of all the things I did to you; suffered from wondering if I'd ever see you again; suffered from the knowledge that my life is nothing without you. I swear I will never hurt you again, if only you'll give me a chance…" Tears fell from her eyes, rolling down her cheeks unheeded.

     Erik could not bear to see her cry. "Christine, my love… if you truly mean it, you know I will welcome you."
     "I've never meant anything more," she hesitantly put her arms around him, and he returned the gesture. They stood in silence for a few moments, then broke apart as the forgotten visitor approached them.

      "I am glad to see you have both come to your senses," he said, smiling. "But I must leave soon, so, my dear Erik, I must know your answer."

     "Erik?" Christine whispered. "That is your name?"
     Erik nodded as the man continued. "I think there is something else you should consider, before giving your reply. There is the matter of your… illness."
     "Illness?" Christine looked at Erik in alarm.

     "It is nothing," Erik frowned at the man. "Certainly no concern of yours."

     "I'm afraid it is. Why do think I have only now chosen to offer you immortality? Your time is short, Erik. A year, perhaps a few months more, but that is all."
     "Erik! What is he talking about? How does he know this?" Christine demanded.

     "I'm not sure," was his reply. "But don't be alarmed."

     "Why will you not believe me?" the man asked impatiently.

     "Why should I?" 

     "I will tell you…"

To be continued!