Disclaimer: See Part1!

A/N: Once again, our favorite phantom is an absolute pain to write (okay, it could be the fact that this is a transition chapter, but still)! I swear he reads what I'm writing over my shoulder and glares at me if there's something he doesn't like! I keep telling him to stop or I'll make Christine run back to Raoul, but does he listen to me? No such luck.

Thank you notes (in red ink on black-edged paper) go to AshleytheStrange, Sue Raven, Olethros, Some Random Phantom, Madame Futterbly, Midasgirl, Z'yiandria, and Angelic Lawyer. Grazie molti, miei amici! Molti apprezzato!

Part Three: Appraisal of Darkness

Upon waking, Christine had to blink to be certain her eyes were truly open. The darkness was absolute, but she could feel gentle arms around her, a hand entwined in her curls, and her cheek was pillowed atop a torso that rose and fell in time with deep, quiet breathing.

Her first coherent thought was how blissfully safe and sheltering his embrace was.

Second was the realization of the absence of pain—she felt as well as ever. Better than ever, sunk in a pool of serenity that owed much to the unconscious tenderness of his arms.

The third thought was one of fear and horror, pulse racing, heart in her throat, as she realized her position. How had she come to be in such a state with Erik?!

Thoroughly awake now, Christine resisted the impulse to tear away from his arms, for it would wake him. Too afraid to move, almost too afraid to breathe…

Erik remained asleep.

As the minutes crept by, her heart slowed and her breathing evened out. It was difficult to remain afraid in such gentle security… and anyway, she remembered with a blush, she had asked him to stay… Her blush deepened at the memory of her hysterics. What Erik must think of her! The tears had been too powerful to hold back—it was as if all the unfulfilled tension of that ill-fated performance as Marguerite, combined with the terror of the choice afterward, had all spilled out at once. But he had been gentle; he had been her Angel once more, unquestioning and unwavering in his care of her. The dark Phantom who had torn her from the stage and forced such a terrible choice upon her… it did not seem possible that he had even existed!

Christine remained very still. Her fear faded away. Would this be so terrible, to wake like this every morning? Was it so awful to feel his arms around her? The feeling that nothing could hurt her while she was in his arms, the desire to remain in this warm cocoon forever… Her cheeks flamed still further and her stomach fluttered. Raoul, think of Raoul. Where was he? And how would she ever get away from here?

Erik's eyes were open and unblinking.

He had stared at the invisible ceiling for hours, torn between despair and euphoria. The soft weight of Christine's head on his shoulder, the way she had snuggled into his arms, the feel of her hair in his hands… how could he give up such a dream? And yet, how could he force her to stay? Could he truly condemn her to such a life? He had manipulated her into giving her consent to marry him… but how could he ever force her to follow through with her promise?

After depositing the unconscious Vicomte and Nadir in one of the upper cellars, he had sealed off all the entrances… there would be no unwelcome guests; all his secret doors were locked from the inside and any entry would require explosives. They couldn't remain barricaded in here forever, but there would be time to deal with that later. She had been so ill! He had panicked when she fainted and had remained at her bedside until absolutely certain she would recover.

He wondered what the Vicomte was planning. Erik was fairly certain that neither of his two "guests" had alerted the police and he was also certain that neither of them would give up so easily… which meant that they still feared what he would do to Christine. But the madness of hatred was gone, and with it all thought of hurting her. Despair welled up from deep inside, filling his entire being… What had he done?! Perhaps it was time to complete what he'd always been too cowardly to do. Poison, perhaps, or a single bullet, and it would all end…

Life is never ours to take… If you remember nothing else, Erik, remember that.

Erik closed his eyes. That maddened desperation, born of the betrayal and imminent loss of his shining angel—the delirium of those hours had been the very worst he could remember since Persia… But this time Nadir was in no position to keep him from drowning in insanity. And Christine had paid the price…

Only a lifetime's worth of control over his reflexes kept his breathing even as she stirred and then froze. He could feel her terror, but then, inexplicably, it had drained away and she once more cuddled against him. He wondered if he should speak, should move away from her. Certainly he ought to detach himself from an embrace that was certain to be unwelcome! But this paradise couldn't last. And while it did, he couldn't move.

Christine wondered if she only imagined the faint catch in his breathing, the slight acceleration in his heartbeat. There was only one way to find out…

"Erik?" Her whisper was timid, but he heard it. Whether he had been awake or not, his movements were smooth and swift—she only realized that he had extricated himself from their embrace when the cold air replaced his warmth and she was unable to suppress a soft sound of dismay.

"Christine." His voice was aloof. "Good morning." Then the candle was lit and, by the tiny clock next to it, she could see that it really was morning.

She pulled the blankets closer. It was one thing not to be afraid of him in the dark, but along with the sight of him came that faintly threatening mystery. She wished she were dressed, wished she was at least standing, that she didn't feel so very vulnerable…

"Is the pain gone?" His voice was concerned and she looked up in relief.

He was still her Angel.

"Y-yes. I mean, it is." She was well again, he would hold her to her word, she would be forced to marry a monster…

That lovely, gentle voice halted her panic once more. "Do you think you could manage some broth? Or would you like tea?"

"I—It's— Either is fine." Oh, she could have bitten her clumsy tongue. How was it that her wits deserted her so suddenly? Her mind railed at her to say something, anything, but then he was gone and there was only the play of candlelight and shadows about the walls.

Something would happen today. She was well now; there was no longer the in-between reality of her illness to spare them the reality of the scorpion… And the next few hours would be dangerous.

Shaking from that realization and from the lingering disappointment that she no longer rested in his embrace, Christine fought the urge to hide under the blanket.

Outside her room, Erik leaned against the wall with shaking hands covering his masked face.

The nightmare had passed. The interlude was over. The future loomed and both Erik and Christine were filled with terror at the thought that it would become another nightmare from which there would be no waking…