Disclaimer: I still don't own the Phantom of the Opera: musical, book, film or otherwise, saavy? Very well then...

Chapter 5

Tired of Games

Christine locked the door after her suitor as he left with his escort to his carriage. An escort! She rolled her eyes and shook her head at his cowardice. Although, Erik is a rather intimidating specter. She giggled, I wish I could have seen Raoul's eyes bulge to twice their size when Erik threatened him. And seeing his hair mussed really would have been a change of scenery.

Christine...

She whirled around. "Angel?" Her eyes darted around her room, looking for the form to which the voice belonged.

"Am I?"

Erik stepped out from behind her dressing screen; how he got there was a mystery only he could answer.

"Really, Erik, I had hoped that you would behave yourself and not endanger the life of one of your opera's finest patrons."

"I could easily compensate for his loss of financial support; as for his loss of life, I hardly consider that a loss."

"Erik!" He's right though...

"Christine!" Erik explained, repeating her tone of voice. "I don't know what you see in him, he obviously has the intellectual abilities of a pigeon, not to mention his foppish behavior and tendency to be ever present and yet ever unwanted."

"I've already told you there's nothing between us, master."

"And what do you take me for, Christine? A fool? I see more than you think."

"Then perhaps you had better look at the right people, monsieur, for I am sure you have mistaken me Raoul for another couple."

Erik's eyes flashed in anger for a moment, then resumed their previous keen-eyed stare.

"Perhaps you had better learn to set your affections on one man, I tire of this game." He turned to go.

"Wait!"

He paused, then slowly turned towards her.

"Erik..." The wheels had begun to turn in her mind, "Will you meet me here tomorrow? You could bring some Vodka, perhaps, and we could just talk, after our lesson, of course."

Erik stared at her for a moment in shock. "Vodka, Christine?" he asked slowly, "Isn't that a bit strong? I do not think that it would take you more than a glass before you were rendered unfit for intelligent conversation."

"The Vodka was more for your comfort than mine, it would relax you after our lengthy lesson tomorrow...you know how I tend to make you tense with all the mistakes I make."

Erik agreed with her softly. "But you are improving." He added.

Christine stepped towards him and cupped the left side of his face, making his heart rate accelerate at her touch. "Thanks to you."

He placed his gloved hand over hers and closed his eyes, savoring the warmth of her touch on his face, reveling in the fact that he was being touched by her, that she would dare and desire to touch him in a loving manner with kind words.

"Christine..." he murmured. He placed his hand gently on the back of her head and the other around her waist, inclining his head towards her slowly, hesitantly, as if at any moment she would break free and scream, reminded of his horrible face hidden beneath his mask.

But Christine did not break free. Instead, she placed her arms around his neck, burying one hand in his hair, welcoming his warm, tender kiss, surprised at how it affected her. For a moment, she could have sworn that she too was in love.

When they parted at last, Christine gazed into Erik's eyes and he into hers. His blue eyes were filled with love, but there was something else there...longing...and pain. Pain because he knew that she could never really love him, that he had deceived himself...pain from the knowledge that she would kiss his rival the same way the next day. Her eyes told him that she loved him, but no words had ever been said to that effect, and her eyes had deceived him before.

"Good night, my angel." he breathed.

"Good night, Erik."

Erik slowly turned and disappeared the way he came.

Christine stood still for a moment, then put her hand to her forehead. So many feelings! What was that, that feeling she had felt when they had kissed? Love? Impossible! But why? Why so impossible? They shared common interests, they complimented each other. But he was a murderer, a cold-hearted killer, a possessive, deformed maniac.

That's not true, she reminded herself, he is more than that, the life he chose was almost chosen for him. He doesn't kill for a hobby, he kills to survive. His past has been so difficult. No...there is more beneath his mask than his scarred face...there is a heart and a soul...how could I have not seen that?

And Raoul? What of him? Raoul was a fop; a shallow, rich young man with nothing more to offer than the aforementioned. She had never felt anything when she kissed him, his childhood friendship with her had been a naive one, puppy-love, a schoolgirl romance, nothing notable. She agreed with Erik...this game was getting dull. It was time to decide.

She had her picnic with Raoul the next morning, a basket breakfast in the park.

"Raoul?" She asked him sweetly, "Would you care to have supper with me in my dressing room this evening?"

"Of course, my dear, I am always happy to spend time with you."

The feeling isn't mutual, but at least you're falling for my little scheme...

"Wonderful!" she sighed happily, "You may bring a bottle of champagne and I will provide a fine supper."

"Very well, my darling, I look forward to it."

So do I...