(a/n) I really want to apologize for taking so long to update. As a reader, I know how frustrating it can be. However, my muse has not been nice to me. Now, it seems a little more attentive than before, so hopefully I can get out my chapters faster. In fact, I almost want to promise this next chapter will be out before the end of the week. So keep tuned, I do hope you haven't forgotten what's going on since its been so long.

There were many things I meant to get to in this chapter, things I just didn't get around to. However, I promise loads of action in the next chapter grins

Oh, and drummroll: I actually got this chapter betaed and the masses rejoice so that added a few days onto your time. The beta is Rosemask on Aria. Three cheers for her.

I love you my reviewers, never doubt it. Thanks to angelofnight, erik'sangel527, Amandam17, Leesainthesky, unseenhope18, jlauren1224, Jinxd n cursed, Mini Nicka, The EarthSong, LostSchizophrenic, Sue Raven, Fingolfia, Ziroana, monroe-mary, SabrinaFair, Padme Nijiri, longblacksatinlace, kate, ae28, Redheaded woman, LoverofBalto, and JennyWren

Angelofnight: Are you afraid you scared me off::grin: Don't worry you won't get rid of me that easily! I'm glad you don't think its as bad as you thought.

JennyWren: Thank you, its such a tribute, especially when someone reads all the chapters at once.

LoverofBalto: Thank you! I'm glad you like the characterizations.

Fingolfia: Sorry . . .

Redheadwoman: Thanks! I'm glad you like Erik and Belle together, I have really enjoyed writing their interactions.

Ae28: I'm glad you like this chapter! You want some help posting? Email me if you like.

Longblacksatinlace: Welcome to the bandwagon! I hope you enjoy the ride.

Padme Nijiri: Awww melodrama, how I love thee.

SabrinaFair: Thanks for noting the typo, glad you liked the chapter.

Monroe-mary: Glad you enjoyed the last chapter, if you can remember it, I put some Erik reflection in here. Oh, and if you recall, Christine spoke to Max while she and Reggie were at dinner, and they were pretty familiar already.

The EarthSong: I'm glad you like my story! I'm glad you like backbone, and giving Christine a story of her own is exactly what I wanted to do. I am definitely partial to a Kay Erik, especially if I am writing him. Oh, on the handwriting, I guess that's an after effect of the movie, in which his handwriting is quite nice I believe. Also, I guess I think his little notes would lose power if people had to squint to decipher the handwriting.

Thanks to all of you again, I really want to reply to everyone, but the reality of time intervenes.

I hope you guys aren't too let down after waiting so long, but here it is.

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Erik

Christine's tears had ceased, her breathing had grown less frenzied, and her body more relaxed. But the more relaxed she became, the tenser I became; I was steadily becoming more and more aware of her soft body pressed up against mine. Her measured breathes caressed my throat, her fragrant hair tickled my cheek, and her rounded curves connected with my body in the most tantalizing places.

I tightened my arms around her.

She responded by nuzzling my neck, sending shivers of sensation through me, and I wondered if she knew the thoughts she was rousing in me. Then she pressed a warm kiss on the tender skin just below my jaw, and I was sure she did.

My body was flooded with warmth, and I could feel "a strange kind of sickness" coming on, only now perhaps there was a balm, a strange kind of balm, that both soothed and excited the inflammation.

I held Christine away from me a little, anxiously searching her eyes. She stared up at me, her soft brown eyes intensified by amber flecks that seemed to sparkle, unashamedly revealing her passion and desire to my gaze.

I drew in a breath, and, tipping her head up, brought my lips so close to hers we were almost touching, our breath intermingling. For just a moment I remained still, afraid to speak or move for fear all this wonderful beauty would vanish, like a broken silence. Then with one accord we moved together, our lips meeting in a tumultuous kiss, as unlike the moment before as a storm that follows an eerie calm. Christine met my every move with one of her own, and there could be no doubt that she wanted this just as much as I.

No one desired to bring this encounter to its natural conclusion more than I, but a niggling thought intruded upon my drugged state, and I reluctantly pulled away from Christine's clinging lips.

"Christine," I said huskily, "We don't know when they will be back."

She sighed audibly, moving her hands down my shoulders. "Yes, you are right," she said, her voice filled with regret, and I could not help but be gratified by her obvious disappointment.

Bringing my hand up, I gently tucked an errant curl behind her ear, before trailing my fingers lightly over the curve of her cheek and down along her jaw line, tracing the ever fascinating contours of her face.

"I would do this the right way Christine, with no fear of interruption, no distractions."

I heard her drew in a deep breath, but her only response was to turn slightly and lean back against me, finding my hand and entwining her fingers with my own.

We sat there together, comfortable in each other's embrace, well . . . moderately comfortable. My mind was naturally drawn to Christine's revelations, and I briefly thought of how I had misjudged the boy, but could not really find it within me to feel guilty over my recent intrusion on his life. After all, he had come to no harm.

Instead, I reflected on Christine's nameless perpetrator, the man who had torn her innocence from her, forcing her into a life of . . . my mind quickly glazed over this thought, as it was wont to do, focusing instead on the source of her unhappiness. I wished now to have this man under my merciless hand, almost as much as I had wished for Christine to love me so long ago.

This thought brought to my mind the center of Christine's revelations, the center that had been swirling just under the surface of my mind ever since the words had emitted from her mouth. Vividly I remembered my desperate plea to God, "Please, God let her love me and I promise to be good forever. . ," and just as vividly I remembered her subsequent betrayal with that boy on the roof. At that moment, I had hated God as never before, but now it seemed that God had granted my wish. He had completed his end of the bargain, but in such a twisted way that I could not find it in my heart to be grateful.

She had returned to me. The very next day she had come to find me, and I had not known, had not even considered the possibility. So instead we had spent nine years apart, nine years during which I had believed the woman I loved had rejected me. However, perhaps the cruelest blow of all was the fact that I had lain in a passageway for three days, so near to her and yet so far away. How could God have allowed such a cruel mischance? Perhaps it was the same malicious sense of humor that had given me my voice, and deprived me of my face. Yes, this was the God I knew.

Even now I was unsure, unable to fully accept that, for once, fortune might be smiling upon me. Insecurity still gnawed at my mind, and despite all the evidence I found it hard to believe that Christine might love me. It was almost easy to accept that she had loved me nine years ago, in comparison to believing that she loved me now. The past was abstract, but this, this was reality. In my reality, Christine had never loved me.

Even now, she had not said so, and it worried me. I told myself that there had been no time and that she was overcome with her tears and emotions. As evidence, I presented myself with her affectionate behavior towards me, her willing kisses, but the doubt was always there, just at the back of my mind. All my life I had been suspicious of affection, an insidious habit, only striking when I dared to imagine someone might care for me.

It presented to me foolish reasons for Christine's show of affection, but I admit that I am not always reasonable. I was reminded that Christine had always earned her living in this manner, by offering herself up, and that I was easier prey than most, asking less of her than all the rest. A less hurtful explanation, but just as fatal, was that she wished to have me as a father for Belle—that she encouraged me for the girl's sake, and not her own.

I resolutely pushed my doubts away—time would tell the truth. Instead I frowned as I thought about Christine living under the Opera house, true it had only been a few months and I had lived there for years. The Christine of so many years ago had been delicate, and I could not imagine her living alone in a dark, dank cellar, with only her undoubtedly depressing thoughts for company. She had, however, and as I gazed down at her head I imagined that dwelling under the Opera House had been one in a long series of events responsible for creating the complex creature I was holding today.

Suddenly I wondered if she had ever returned to the house in the fifth cellar.

"Christine . . ."

"Hmmm?"

"Did you ever return to the cellars, well after . . ."

I could feel her heart beat quicken against me, and although I was slightly puzzled at first I attributed it to the reference to past events..

"No, have you?" she asked slowly, and it could have been my imagination, but I thought I heard an undertone of apprehension in her voice.

"No, I could not before, but I now I think I could bear it, and perhaps it might even be a good idea to try and banish some of the ghosts of the past," I suggested, trying to see if I had only imagined her uneasiness.

"Oh . . ." Christine uttered, "I don't know, it seems unnecessary . . . and it could be unstable or something, oh and just think of all of the diseases down there . . ." she trailed off, giving a convincing shudder.

My lips curved upwards ever so slightly; the little actress! I was now certain that for some reason Christine did not want me to return to the cellars, and I did not believe fear of disease was the source of her concern. My curiosity was piqued—now I had to go down once more.

"My dear, I helped build those foundations. Trust me, they are fine. As for the diseases I lived down there for years. Don't you remember?" I asked, allowing my amusement to seep into my voice.

She gave what sounded remarkably like a huff to me, and said, "At least promise you won't go without me Erik."

"What? Just a moment ago you didn't want me to venture near the unstable structure and diseased air, and now you wish to accompany me?"

"Well, maybe it will be fine near your house," she suggested vaguely.

"Not convincing at all Christine, you can't turn sensible after you shudder like that."

At this she started up, twisting her head round to look at me, "What exactly do you mean by that?" she demanded.

At that moment there was a knock on the door.

"I'll get it," Christine said, disentangling herself from my embrace, and shooting me a glance that declared our conversation was not over, before leaving the room.

In the hall I could hear voices, and soon divined it had merely been Belle and Madame Giry; no doubt the wise lady had wished to give us warning of her return.

Now, I thought, would be an excellent time to pay the Opera House a visit. I just needed some candles and matches, and I would be set. Stealthily, I made my way to the kitchen and deprived the pantry a box of candles and a box of matches. I could still hear Christine engaged in conversation with Belle, and I was about to depart through the back door when I remembered the chill of the cellars. I needed my cloak, and my cloak was past Christine, by the door.

I listened carefully, and soon heard steps on the stairs; I couldn't tell if two or three people had mounted the staircase, so I nonchalantly strode out into the hall to investigate.

The hall was empty.

Cautiously I approached the parlor, and briefly glanced in to ascertain that it too was empty. Conscious of the need to depart quickly, I grabbed my cloak, swinging it over me even as I exited.

XXXXXxxxxXXXXX

Christine

Emerging swiftly from my hiding place, just beyond the door of the dining room, which connected to the parlor, I hurriedly donned a hat, and glanced down ruefully at my unsuitable dress. It was not fit for walking, however I needed to hurry, and at least it would not matter if it was ruined in the cellars of the Opera House. Just before leaving I grabbed the purse of money from the front hall drawer, placed there for our convenience should any little errand need to be dispatched.

I quickly left the house, turning down the street just in time to see Erik's billowing form turn the corner. At least I did not have guess where he was headed, I was fairly certain of his destination: the Rue Scribe entrance. While I had resided under the Opera House I had always used the exit that ran over the lake and out through my dressing room, however I had known that at least one exit led directly from Erik's house to the outside world. Indeed, he had taken me that route on the night we had visited the Bois, but because of the lock and, I confess, fear of the relatively unknown, I had avoided it.

This exit led to the Rue Scribe, and this was why I was following Erik. I could probably have detained him, and hopefully descended to the cellars before him later on, however I had no wish to navigate the lake after so many years. At the very least, the boat had probably rotted and sunk years ago.

No, I needed him to lead me in through the Rue Scribe entrance, and I thought I could achieve my object far more easily by stealth.

I was determined to retrieve those dreadful letters before he discovered them!

I had written those letters out of the depths of my soul nine years ago, using them as a way to pour out all of my despair and longing. I did not want Erik to read them—especially now that we already had a relationship of sorts. For one, he did not need to feel any more guilt than he might already harbor, and secondly I could hardly even remember what foolish sentiments I might have committed to paper. If I ever let Erik see the letters, I certainly did not want him to do so before I had the chance to reread them. Hopefully they had all rotted away!

If I knew Erik, he might let me read them first, but he would certainly insist on reading them no matter what my sentiments were.

By now I had turned the corner and once again had Erik in my sights, I panted, slightly out of breath, and wondered if he would walk the entire way to the Opera House. He appeared to have read my mind, because almost immediately he stopped and waved down a cab. It was late afternoon and the cabs were out for business in abundance, most devoid of passengers as they waited for the social flurry of the evening to begin, so Erik had no trouble hailing a cab. Neither did I, although I felt remarkably foolish ordering the man to the follow Erik's cab. However, I had pressed money into the driver's hand the moment I had stopped him, so he made no protest.

As we traversed the busy Paris streets, I could hardly keep from anxiously looking out the cab window to make sure Erik was still just ahead. I didn't think we had lost him, but all the cabs looked so much alike that I could not tell. I had to trust the driver to keep on his track.

When the cab stopped, I cautiously looked out the window, worried that Erik might see me, but also worried that his cab had stopped minutes ago and that I would lose him. As I looked out the window I clearly saw that we were on the Rue Scribe side of the Opera House, but I saw no trace of Erik, and my heart fell. Then I saw a gate loosely held by an open lock. A few stairs led down beyond the gate and then disappeared into darkness.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I quickly exited the cab, pressing additional funds upon the man, and telling him he need not wait. Glancing around me, I approached the gate. As I neared the iron bars I could see why the lock was open: it was rusted through and would no longer close. I had thought it odd that Erik would leave a gate unlocked, but this explained the matter satisfactorily.

I opened the gate, careful to loosely fasten the lock again, once on the other side. As I was about to immerse myself in the darkness, I realized with dismay I had not even considered the need for a light. Did I dare go down this passage with no illumination? Even as I pondered my predicament my eye was drawn to something lying on the ground just inside the passage.

To my relief, I saw it was a candle and a box of matches. Had Erik left it there? He must have, and although I was somewhat puzzled as to why, I could only suppose Erik had his reasons, he always did.

Gratefully, I picked up the candle, struck a match, and brought the flame up to the wick, watching it flare to life. Although a single candle, the soft glow made all of the difference in the dark passage. Holding the candle in one hand, and the box of matches in the other, I started down the passage. At first I proceeded slowly, but as I grew more confident and remembered the need for haste I quickened my pace. The passage was certainly unpleasant, but I repressed my qualms, determinedly moving forward. In addition to my determination, I suspect the knowledge that Erik was within increased my feeling of safety greatly.

The passage seemed to go on forever, and the candle's wax was dripping uncomfortably onto my hand. I was beginning to think that the end would never come, when I perceived a slight difference in the darkness ahead of me. It started to appear less inpenetratable, and repressing my urge to hurry my steps, I slowed, determined to remain undiscovered by Erik for as long as possible.

I snuffed my candle out before creeping up to the end of the tunnel. Once there I could see no lights, and although I had hoped to see some indication of Erik's presence, I was not worried. A light inside Erik's house was very hard to detect from outside.

Confident that Erik was within the house, I stepped out from the tunnel, only to have a strong arm snake around my middle and pull me against a hard form.

Instinctively I screamed, before feeling warm breath against my ear, "Really my dear, such theatrics. Sadly there is no audience—no one can hear you down here you know."

"Erik," I exclaimed, attempting to jab him in the ribs. He had no right to frighten me like that!

"If you wanted to be alone with me Christine, I'm sure we could have made a much more comfortable arrangement," he said, his voice teasing. Reluctantly, I felt my anger begin to defuse.

"Why would you do that to me?" I asked with half-hearted indignation.

"Why were you following me?" he retorted, a challenge in his voice.

"Why did you sneak out of the house?" I returned triumphantly, determined to put him in the wrong.

"Why were you watching to see if I would sneak out of the house?"

"Humph! You're the one who cleverly avoided promising not to come down here without me!"

"Well you, my dear, are obviously the one with something to hide. What can it be I wonder?"

Now the questions were becoming decidedly uncomfortable, but I swiftly sought to cover my uneasiness.

"I wonder why you assume I had anything to hide. I was just naturally concerned for your safety."

"Oh, is that why you snuffed the candle out before you left the tunnel? To make sure the light didn't hurt my eyes?" Erik asked, sarcasm tingeing his voice.

"Well you snuffed out your own!" I replied rather childishly.

"Speaking of, I do hope you brought the matches because neither of us has any light at the moment." Erik said. I was very thankful that he had changed the subject, but still more than a little wary. Suddenly I had a thought. He must have left me the candle on purpose—in fact he must have known I was following him! While it was perhaps chivalrous to provide me with light, it was also very frustrating. Did the man know everything?

I handed him the box. "I suppose you left these there because you knew I was following you."

"Aren't you even going to say thank you? And I thought I was being so chivalrous," he said mockingly as he lighted his candle, the flame illuminating his features eerily—casting his white half mask into ever greater relief.

Mutely, I held out my candle, watching as his flame flickered and licked at the wick, before engulfing it entirely. He drew his hand away then, and I could feel his eyes upon me, so like the golden flames of our twin candles. I shivered, although not from the cold, and swiftly redirected my thoughts.

"Shall we go into the house?" I asked, repressing the urge to run in and throw my body over the coffin. That was where I had left all those letters . . . in the coffin.

"As you wish, my dear," he murmured, offering his arm. I took it and we strolled up to the door like any normal civilized couple

(a/n) Cheers, I hope you like it! Leave me nice reviews and I promise to update quickly. J/K Leave me whatever kind of reviews you like and I make no promises (although I really am going to try, I don't want to lose momentum) (a/n)