The slow rocking pattern of the brougham drew Christine into a deep slumber, and after watching her rest for a few moments, Erik's eyes traveled to the window not too far from her. Quietly he watched the passing scenery as he let his mind travel. Reflecting. It was only the night prior, yet the memory seemed like an eternity ago.

It had become a habit for him, the rubbing of his masked face against his arm. Stemmed from his youth in an ill attempt to soothe the sting from his mother's smack or the raw press of the uncomfortable mask. There had been a pause within the story, exhaustion taking its toll upon the both of them, regardless of the tea they had consumed earlier. She laid near, close enough where he could feel the gentle brush of her skirts along his elbow. Laid comfortably upon his stomach he cracked his eyes open and followed the length of expensive cloth. A powder blue so pale that it was almost white, it did well to bring out the shade of her hair and eyes, exactly the reason why it had been made. "You like what I have purchased you?" The answer was obvious: she wouldn't be wearing the dress if she didn't enjoy how it looked and felt upon her.

The tipping of his head brought a few false, stray strands to cascade against a bare temple, drawing her attention and urging back the bit of leeriness that laid within her breast, and she eased closer, one delicate hand raising to hover just above the strands. The nearing of her fingers lured his eyes to a close, and he exhaled a pent breath when the hairs shifted, and along with them came the gentle caress of warmth over the curve of his earlobe. Her fingers were trembling, he could feel it, and see it once he had opened his eyes to focus upon her arm. Following its length to her face, he studied her quietly, only to close the eccentric gaze once again. "Yes," she finally stated, the word drawing to a whisper as he tipped his head kittenishly toward her hand. His half-concealed face held no expression, though inside he was willing her hand to travel further. "Would... Would you like some tea, Erik?" She glanced to the pot that he had settled nearby, then lowered her eyes to him again as he shifted.

The urge to take her hand and place it to his skin was strong, and while it was one of his greatest desires, it was also one of his fears. Such conflicting things. He had heard her question, but he didn't answer it, not right away. His mind was off on another tangent and finally... the question came to his lips. "Do I repulse you, Christine? Do you fear me?" Cracking open his eyes, the dulled amber gaze settled upon her, studying her quietly. It was a sudden leap, asking something like that, mostly because he wouldn't know if she was lying or not. There were times where he could catch the tales, but when she was already shaken, it made things difficult.

His words had caught her off guard so much that she nearly dropped the tea cup that she had gathered. Managing to settle her fingers, her eyes were on his in an instant, watering but not tearing as badly as the other times they had had similar confrontations of their emotions. They unnerved her, those simple questions. Either way she answered would she be judged? Of this she had a certain feeling. She almost thought it would be better to say nothing, but he was waiting for an answer, though it seemed an eternity before the words came out. "I am not afraid of you, Erik." Her voice was as steady as she could manage to make it. "Nor do you repulse me... You've been nothing but good to me; how could you ask that without knowing my answer?"

"Then why... Do you shy away from my touch?" That was the tougher question. He almost didn't want to say it, but it was going to plague him for the rest of the night if he didn't. At least it was a step... he could have very well followed his pattern and brooded without asking the meaning behind her actions. Tucking his arms beneath the width of the pillow, he adjusted its lay, bunching it up toward the center, hugging it to the upper portion of his chest and neck. He kept his eyes upon her face, studying its expression, her eyes as well. Moistening his lips, he exhaled gently, preparing himself for the answer that was to come as she lowered her tear-filled gaze from his. This was too much. More emotion than she was used to dealing with in this manner, too many conflicting thoughts and feelings. How could she begin to answer? Tilting her face away, she closed her eyes. "I don't know what answer to give," came her murmur a few moments later, trembling off of her timid lips.


"Any answer is better than none." For a moment it felt as if his heart had traveled further down into his stomach, threatening to land somewhere around his ankles. While he was persistent, he wasn't overly so. If it truly bothered her, more than she'd be able to handle, he'd drop the questioning and simply...fester. It just didn't make any sense. She said that he didn't repulse her, and that she didn't fear him, yet she couldn't bring herself to accept anything beyond the most necessary of contacts, or brush her own fingertips against his skin. He loathed to think of the final reason, but it flickered to his mind: Raoul. It had to be because of him. Did they rekindle their little past love so much that she'd feel guilt just from touching another man, even in an innocent caress?

But, alas. If it had been easy enough to caress Erik innocently, she might have done so by now. But no touch felt innocent with him. Perhaps it was his own caution in touching her that influenced her behavior towards touching him in return. Then again, it could simply be the fear of his face that kept her in place, and that was more difficult to explain to him, for she didn't want to hurt him. More than she possibly had already. Her cheeks were quite pale as she drew her eyes to him once again, trying to read his expressions. What did she mean to him? "I don't know, Erik," she breathed, wetting her dry lips as her gaze shifted just faintly to the cheek she couldn't a moment ago bear to touch. "You always hesitate... I don't know what you want or don't – you confuse me." Her eyes were filling at this breathed confession, though every word was true. "You want me to...?" She could barely ask it.

Looking up at her, he weighed his answer carefully. What would she say if he told her? Would she laugh, maybe think that he was mad? Or would he tell her, get his hopes high again, only for them to be shot out of the air? Another dampening of his lips and he slowly nodded. "I...do, yes. I..." trailing off, his articulate nature just took a nose dive into stuttering. "I ... have never known a kind touch." The moment the words slipped from his mouth, he regretted them. It would be pity that drove her actions now, he knew it. Swallowing gently to wet his throat, he closed his eyes again and curled his fingers against the edge of the pillow.

At those words, pressure seemed to unwind from Christine, fear melting into pity so easily, every emotion so intertwined with the next. Reaching out, it only took a moment before her fingertips began to touch the curve of his cheek, curling them so delicately so that her thumb rested a mere inch from his lips. If it was only a "kind touch" he wanted from her, it was easier to give than a loving caress. And the mere fact that he said aloud he wanted it was the largest part of the reason she did it. Even still, her touch was light, gaze studying him with those large, tear-filled eyes. "Never?" came her soft echo, sadness filling her tight throat.

Though it was borne out of pity, he didn't shun it, but leaned into the touch of her fingertips against his cheek. Another swallow, this time to get rid of the harsh knot that suddenly had formed its way into his throat, he slid a hand from beneath the pillow to hover just over the back of her hand and her pity nearly overwhelmed her. Then he laid his palm down; cool skin against her warmer, urging the press of her fingers to become more than feather light. Her question was answered with a soft shaking of his head. "Not until now," he finally responded almost a full minute later. She leaned close, her lips quivering with the emotions wracking her soul. She couldn't bring herself to speak. Erik looked incredibly small then, as if it was not he who had ensnared her with his music and held her captive but she him. She made no movement for what seemed a few eternally long minutes, before her free hand moved forward to press gently over his hand. And the saddest of smiles bloomed on her lips. As if to tell him that if she could erase his pain, she would do so.

He remembered the feel of their twined fingers from the night prior; the reflection evoked by the sandwiching of his hand between her own. Curling his fingers he partially tucked them beneath her palm and closed his eyes against the overwhelming wash of pain and joy at the same time. If only she had touched him before he said anything of knowing no kindness. Then perhaps she would be doing it for the simple need of wanting to, instead of being driven by her emotions. His heavy exhale blanketed against the smooth underside of her wrist, and turning his head, his cheek grazed along her fingertips and most of her hand that wasn't shielded by his own. By the way he held it, it was as if he thought she'd pull away and he'd never have this chance again.

It was terrible, the way her heart yearned for him at that moment. If only to ease such lifelong pain of not knowing what it was to be touched; she would have given herself to him for pity alone. But was it pity that led her to stay as she was, unmoving and quite willingly touching him? Was it pity that moved her heart so that it seemed to tremble in her chest? Pity that brought those tears to her eyes? That brought her other hand to his just a moment ago? Leaning in, her thumb gave a tender stroke against the rise of his cheek. Her head tipped to the side to watch the emotions pass over his face. "What has the world done to you? Is this how your life has been?", she breathed, her very voice trembling.

The questions brought the oddest response. He began laughing; a gentle giving that held all the bitterness of the world. They also brought the sting of tears within his eyes and he turned his head away, resting his brow against the pillow below. Her hands were now trapped more than before, but only because that turn brought them between his cheek and the silken feel of the pillow. Dragging in a slow breath he shook his head. "Darkness, Christine. Utterly and incomprehensible darkness. So much that it frightens me." His shoulders shook faintly; more laughter? Sobbing? There was no sound to tell. "Oh Christine, you are barely scraping the surface of what I am. Who I am and what I am capable of."

"Erik..?"

Refocusing upon the present, he turned his head slowly to look over toward her. The moonlight that snuck its way within the carriage was bright within her gentle eyes, and for a moment he had forgotten that she had stated his name in question. She wanted something. "Mm?" Glancing away from him she looked out of the window briefly and returned her eyes to him again, a soft smile upon her lips. "We are here." If it hadn't been for the jarring of the carriage to a stop she wouldn't have woke, but she was a bit curious as to where he was. He might have been sitting but a few feet away from her, but his mind was a million miles away. It was a habit with him, she'd noticed. During times of utmost silence, she often caught him staring off into blank space, his amber-hued eyes focused upon some point that only he could see. He had that very same look just before she'd stated his name. Three times.

He glanced out the window noticing that they were, indeed, down the street from the opera house, and not too far from her home. "So we are." And yet they didn't move. The brougham shifted. The driver, becoming restless, wrapped his blanket around him, shielding him from the cool of the air as well as the new wave of light flakes that fell from the sky. He mumbled faintly beneath his breath, yet the two within didn't pay him any mind. So much had happened within this night; things that should have had Christine running, yet later...falling so completely into him that she would simply forget the Vicomte. Neither happened, though, doing nothing but confusing him further. Her as well. The silence weighed heavily within the carriage, and neither of them did anything to break it. Gloved fingers curled slowly within the dark cloth of his cloak, crinkling the heavy velvet and silk as he forced himself to refrain from pressing back the taunting, coiled lock at the side of her face. Perching precariously against her cheek, it practically pleaded for him to move it. For a moment he had believed she had predicted his urge, and her hand swept up to press it back along her ear.

"Thank you for taking me to the park, Erik," she finally stated, and he nearly breathed out a sigh. How could something so simple as his name sound like a prayer upon her lips? Perhaps he was becoming soft as that little cynical voice always reminded him. A man who had thought of, and accomplished, murder without so much as hesitation or guilt now waited on bated breath for her mere glance. What need had he for that bloodlust to return around her? She was a soothing balm to his wounds even if, in the same breath, she was the one that tore asunder the tender flesh of his heart. He nodded faintly, and turning his head he leaned closer to the door for his fingers to slip into the handle. The press of it was paused by her soft touch resting upon his wrist. "Wait..." Raising a brow beneath the porcelain, he brought his eyes to her again at both the gesture and the word. Wait? For?, the quizzical gaze seemed to say, but she didn't explain herself immediately. Instead, she leaned back again, gathering the cloth of her dress to knead at it, making wrinkles into the layer of silk lace and cotton.

Could he hear the strength of her heart and its rapid beat? She was sure that the driver would be able to, for it resounded loudly within her own ears, and after a slow breath she rose her eyes to his. The moment they met, a light chill ran up the length of her spine. Intense wasn't the word for the regard he held upon her. Searing, yet coolly indifferent at the same time. He was a confusing man, and this thought alone evoked a light smile across her lips, which did nothing but make him more curious than he already was. Shaking her head gently, she pressed her palm against the bench seat and scooted closer to him until their legs were almost meeting. She looked so small at his side, and it was times such as this where she felt so insignificant in his presence. Did he have any idea of just how intimidating he was? How majestic and magnetic? Raising her hand, his eyes were attracted to it, and as he had done before, he watched it silently as she touched the hem of his cloak's hood, then drifted past it to ease the cloth back off of his head.

"Lean down?" Touching the rough surface of his jaw she was unaware of his tensing beneath the layers of ebony cloth, but fully aware of the odd look he was giving her. She only smiled and nodded gently to him, urging him to comply. Pulling his hand from the door finally, he placed it upon his lap and hunched his shoulders, bringing him down a few inches at a time until she had lifted her hand to rest her fingers at the top edge of his mask, and his breath was abruptly held. Infinity could have passed as they both sat there, her fingers partly tucked against the lip of the porcelain, and him leaning within a slightly uncomfortable position, though he didn't seem to notice at the time. The only thing he noticed was how dangerously close she was, and the warm feel of her touch through her gloves against the surface of his cheek and brow. He then felt the strap press against the back of his head, tighter than usual, and a cool rush of air drift along once covered flesh. By the time he had realized that she had eased the mask from his forehead, the chill of the sneaking breeze was replaced with a warmth; her lips. Tenderly they pressed against the skin, bisecting distorted and smooth alike, and he closed his eyes, swallowing back the painfully tight, burning knot in his throat.

It made no sense; only an hour ago she had been terrified to remove the mask, or to even lay such a touch upon him, yet she was there, close enough where he could feel the gentle warmth of her body, and the searing press of her mouth. There was no explanation within her actions, she couldn't come up with one even if she had desired to. It simply seemed...like the thing to do. He had been so kind to her, neglected of a kind touch beyond the one she had bestowed days ago. Her heart wrenched at the shuddered sigh he released against her chin as the tension eased from his form and he lightly pressed his brow closer to her lips. It was but a few moments, all too fleeting and simultaneously felt as if it had lasted a lifetime. Easing back from the condemning kiss, her cheeks flushed, she lightly fumbled with the hood to replace it the way it had been found. A silly gesture, but it was something to keep her occupied while mentally beating down the flutter of butterflies within the pit of her stomach. He was stone still, his eyes closed until his face was shadowed by the confines of the hood. Tentative her smile, she nodded gently, kneading her dress again between her slender fingers. "I am ready now."

Realizing that she had stated something to him, he returned the nod, barely bringing movement to the hood, then turning he took a hold of the handle to press the door open. He reached down next, gathering the latch of the stairs to have them fall free with a shick of metal to metal. Though he might have assisted her out as he had done before, he wished not to be seen before the house, and she knew this. Raising from her seat she eased by him to step down the stairs, and once her boots crunched within the snow covered cobbles, she glanced back into the carriage. If it hadn't been for the glaring white of his mask he would have vanished completely from sight. "Good night, Erik," she whispered quietly, quite sure that his keen ears would pick up her soft voice. Her thought was proven correct when his ethereal voice slipped from the confines of the brougham. "Good night, Christine." Pulling up the steps, he closed the door afterwards and leaned back among the cushions of the carriage then lifted his hand to brush his fingers against his brow, savoring the last lingering sensation of her lips.

"Where to, Monsieur?", he heard, and glanced to the wall before him where the driver was seated upon the other side. He could have exited the carriage here and walked back to the secret entrance, but his thoughts were changed. He no longer wished to return to that underground world. Not at the moment. He had felt the fresh air upon his face and wanted more to indulge within that rarely felt pleasure. The crisp air as it filled his lungs within the park was a reviving feeling. The nighttime was beautiful; the moon's light brought a glint to every bit of hanging ice. Now, if only he could recall what it looked like during the day...

"Bois de Boulogne." Though they had just come from there, the driver said nothing and snapped the horses to attention and with a sharp jarring trot, they started off to their next destination. Lowering his hand to his lap, he closed his eyes, reliving that sole memory time and time again, settling it firmly to his mind. It had to mean something, didn't it? While such a gesture may be simple for others, it wasn't for him. It meant more than she could possibly ever fathom. It, alone, mended the fractures that she had placed there with her prior rejection, strengthening his love for her; his desire and yearning. She could so easily destroy him with a single word, and yet he could not rid the woman from his mind, could not erase her face from his dreams. He was enslaved by the young woman. Shackled, and they were invisible chains he did not wish to slough off. Ever.

He was hers; wholly and completely.

And come heaven or hell, she will be his.

Fin


Yes, that's it, Ladies and Gents. There's not going to be any more chapters, no sequel. This :Cough: small fic was inspired by a section in a much larger, especially the walk through the forest.

If you wish to read the "sequel" might I suggestyou read Amor Vincit Omnia? It's a rewrite that combines elements from the books (Leroux/Susan Kay) the movies (random) and the musicals(ALW, Ken Hill). It takes a deeper look into the thoughts and feelings of the characters.