Thank you guys for the reviews! Well, this next chapter is half fluff and half drama. At the end of the chapter you may think that I've made things too easy for E/C, but there is still quite a bit to go before we reach the end of this story. More drama ensues.

Secondly, Erik is going to be fairly, eh, nice in this chapter. I promise that you'll see his darker side again before the story is over...probably more than one time. Anyhow, read and review!

Quickly Erik shifted his gaze away from the covered chamber, as if ashamed the life size figurine even existed. It had always been a distant dream to have Christine in every sense of the word. Even after she told him that she wished to be with him...that she saw him as more than a monster, he convinced himself that she only wanted his companionship. And yet she had implied that she desired something he himself had never even known and had never expected to experience. No one wanted such things from a gargoyle. Those feelings were either quelled completely or forced into the angry chords of his music.

Of course, he could not expect her to do the same for her entire life. It would be like keeping her in an emotional prison, devoid of intimacy. "Erik?" her little voice rang out behind him, waiting for him to tell her what he had started to say.

"Christine, I do not want to bring shame upon you by our living conditions."

"You shall not bring shame upon me, Erik. It is not as if anyone will even know who we are. Where else would I go?"

"What I mean to say is that...perhaps it would be easier if...we...became legally..." he sighed and turned away from her in frustration. Certainly the Vicomte had never had this problem. He could picture the damned boy gracefully getting down onto one knee and proposing to her with that accursed ring. Christine's face would no doubt light up with a big smile and a rosy blush as she accepted it onto her finger. Of course, the Vicomte would then swiftly rise up from the ground and delicately brush her lips with his own.

To his surprise, he felt a hand clutch onto his narrow shoulder. Whirling around, Erik saw that she had managed to hop on one foot from her place on the divan to where he now stood. His sudden movement almost caused her to lose her balance, but he grabbed her by the arms before she hit the cavern ground. "What do you think you are doing, Christine? Do you wish to break your ankle for a third time?"

She gripped onto him tightly. "Erik, what is it that you wish to ask me?" He froze beneath her and met her eyes with his golden ones.

"I wish to ask you to join me as my wife. You do not have to answer now."

"But I want to answer now. Of course I shall be your wife." It was said without any hesitation or doubt, and he could only stare at her as she leaned in to kiss him again. A warm euphoria raced through his icy body as he wrapped his long arms around her shoulders and returned her kiss. After a moment, she drew back quickly, and he looked at her in surprise, his lips still tingling.

"What is wrong?" he asked, his insecurities creeping up on him again.

"Erik, it is so horribly uncomfortable kissing you with that thing on," she complained, gesturing toward the mask with her hand. "Do you really think I would leave after everything...only because of your face? Do you think that little of me?"

He turned from her, a coldness returning to his eyes. "Worse has happened because of the sight of it. It is in everyone's best interest if you do not bring it up again." Reluctantly, she heeded the warning and kept her hand at a distance from the porcelain piece. Seeing her dismay, he softened his expression and scooped her into his arms.

"Where are you going?" she asked, her face brightening up again. He didn't answer but carried her up to his organ and sat her carefully down on the side of the bench. Once settled in front of it, Erik positioned his slender fingers over the keys. For the first time in many months, she heard his mesmerizing voice reverberate off of the catacomb walls.

You have come here, in pursuit of your deepest urge...

Wrapping herself in the entrancing words, she allowed herself to be swept away by the haunting duet that was meant solely for her. When Christine's turn came, she automatically began her part. Even after all of the weeks since rehearsals, she had not forgotten the sensual words. They came naturally to her, and their voices blended in a perfect harmony of passion. Their hearts raced throughout the piece as one... as he had intended.

We've passed the point of no return

"What happens next?" Christine asked, trying to catch her breath as she sat beside him. He turned to look at her.

"As I told you before, it would have depended on you." She turned and met his lips.


The Vicomte had begun his ascent of the left stairwell of the Ames manor, the soles of his shoes echoing emptily against the marble steps. No one else seemed to be around, and he could not help but have the unpleasant feeling that something was amiss. As he was about at the top, Raoul encountered one of the maids making her way downstairs with a handful of laundry. Her aging eyes widened slightly when she saw him. "Oh my," she said softly.

"Hello Madame," said the Vicomte, eyeing her curiously. "Is something wrong?"

The woman bit her lip and hesitated before speaking. "Please Monsieur. Allow me to get the Master."

"That will not be necessary," replied Raoul quickly. "I have come to see Christine. I do not need to bother Laurent." The maid said nothing but shook her head and rushed down the stairs. The Vicomte watched her depart momentarily before beginning his way back up again with a shrug. Within seconds, though, he heard the soft click of heels behind him and turned to see Monsieur Ames standing on one of the lower steps. An odd expression lay upon his friend's face.

"Laurent," began Raoul, apologetically. "I did not mean for her to bother you. I am back and have only come to see Christine."

Laurent Ames shifted nervously and averted his eyes. "Raoul, I am afraid that there was a bit of an incident while you were gone."

"Incident? What are you talking about?" The Vicomte slowly began making his way back down the steps. Laurent tugged nervously at the collar of his shirt.

"About a week ago, I am afraid that Christine...well, cuckolded you, old friend. One night, a man came in and literally carried her off. I did try to shoot the bastard for trespassing...but damned if he was not fast." Monsieur Ames chuckled nervously as the Vicomte's face contorted in anger and worry.

"What the hell are you talking about? Christine has been kidnapped? Have you not called the police?"

"Monsieur, it was not a kidnapping. Your little doll did not scream out for help once. She was gripping on tightly to him and telling the fellow to hurry. Furthermore, I am not getting myself involved with the police. After my little business scheme last year, I should not even be back in France!"

Raoul approached him, disbelief and rage twisting his normally smooth features. "I trusted you to look after her, and you do not even call the police! How dare you-"

"Do not get angry at me, old friend," Laurent interrupted. "I am not getting myself arrested just because your fiancée is a whore..." He did not get any farther. The Vicomte laid a rough blow across his face, sending Laurent reeling backward and into the wall.

Raoul approached him. "Listen, damn it! Tell me now what this man looked like, or I shall take you to the police myself."

Clutching his cheek, Laurent glared up at him but gave in. "I could not tell what he looked like. It was dark...plus he had a white mask over part of his face. Listen Raoul, forget about her. She is a chorus girl, for God's sake."

Slowly the Vicomte backed up, shaking his head. "You do not understand, Laurent. You have all but placed her into the hands of a monster." Turning around quickly, Raoul rushed out of the manor, slamming the door shut behind him. Laurent shook his head in disgust and went to find some ice and a mirror. Now he had a purple bruise forming on his cheek to match the dark blue ones that graced his neck.


As the sun began to set beneath the horizon, Private Inspector Darley shuffled the last of his papers and prepared to go home for the evening. He heard three of his men laughing with each other in the back room and smiled to himself. They were no doubt content over their most recent exploitation.

As he started to go back to tell them it was time to close up, he heard three loud knocks upon the door. Quickly he ran to the window and peaked out, his heart skipping a beat as he saw that it was the Vicomte who stood upon his doorstep. By the young man's expression, he knew that there would be trouble tonight. Cursing to himself, he opened the door. "Monsieur de Chagny!" he exclaimed with a false smile. "How may I help you?"

The Vicomte stared back angrily. "Do not play games with me tonight, Monsieur. I have come to tell you that I do not think that your corpse was the man I was looking for. My fiancée has been kidnapped and before I go to the police and have you arrested, I have some questions."

The private inspector's eyes widened, and he closed the door slightly. "Do you have proof of what you say, Monsieur? How do you know that it was your Phantom that did it? Do not lay blame so quickly." By that time, the other three men in the office had come out of the back room. With one hand behind him, Monsieur Darley motioned for them to remain where they were.

The Vicomte grabbed the knob to keep the door open. "Monsieur, my fiancée is in danger as we speak! Tell me now! Was everything that you told me that day true? You caught a masked man near the opera house?"

The private inspector could not stop the small smile from crossing his face. "You are the one who identified him, Monsieur le Vicomte. Why don't you tell me?" By the devious look in the private inspector's eyes, Raoul now knew the entire thing had been a ploy. The Phantom was quite alive-and he very likely had Christine.

"You have robbed me, Monsieur!" he yelled furiously. "Right after I tell the police of my missing fiancée, I shall tell them of your little exploit! You shall be behind bars before soon."

"What shall you tell them? That you paid me to commit murder, and I did not succeed? I am sure that they will love to hear that."

The Vicomte was silent for a moment, knowing inside that he should walk away and leave the heated situation. He was so furious now, though, that he continued the dialogue. "I have connections within the law," he said quietly. "No one has died, and the man that I am seeking is possibly wanted for murder and kidnapping. It will be you, Monsieur, who faces punishment."

As the Vicomte stalked away, the private inspector pondered his last words. They were likely true. The damned aristocrats could get away with about anything from what he had seen. He would likely be in jail within twenty-four hours, and all of his dubious activities would soon be discovered. The Vicomte posed quite a problem for him.

Quietly, the private inspector turned to the three men behind him and held open the door widely. "See that the Vicomte does not get far."