A/N: First off, let me say wow, thanks so much to everyone who has been reviewing. It's so encouraging to read nice reviews! Here are a few things I wanted to say to some of the reviewers:

erik'sangel527: Yeah I have to write Christine with some backbone... I want to stick to the character, but I don't think I'd be able write her without some guts!

Aeryn: I'm trying to stay as true to the characters as I can. I'm glad it's paying off!

PhantomInMyDreams, A. and Kytten: I'm so glad you saw what I was trying to portray. I don't think that if Erik and Christine stayed together they'd instantly be all lovey-dovey and mushy. Their conflicts wouldn't have magically disappeared. They'd have to adjust to the situation and resolve the conflicts. Just wanted to mention that, lol…

Speak Out: Vicomte is French for viscount, its Raoul's title.

Sango-2099: Will try to make chapters longer… promise!

Inkie pinkie: takes gold star and sticks on shirt

Bulterphan: Thank you so much! Your review gave me a humongous smile on my face. I can't believe your friends chose Raoul – crazy. Even my guy friends chose Erik, lol!

And another note –I researched 1870s Parisian fashion for this chapter, it was somewhat puzzling to me but I hope it all makes sense! In case it's too confusing with the dress/jacket thing, here is a little bit of what I had in mind.

http:img. the reviews, everyone said to keep updating…. Well just FYI I'll be updating almost every night. Enjoy:)

Chapter 5

Erik settled his cloak over Christine's shivering body, feeling a pang of guilt. She was used to a warm bed and a soft pillow – now she was reduced to a cold hard floor, without even a blanket or covering, her arm tucked beneath her head as a cushion.

Another pang of shame hit him in remembrance of his angry blurted words, her shocked expression. "Maybe I am not a good thing?" she had retorted. No, no, he could never let her think that! Never.

Erik slid silently from the cave, melting into the darkness like a shadow. Countless years ago he had prepared the little crevice in case of an emergency, but, never really expecting to use it, he hadn't stored any blankets, no clothes, and certainly no food. All there was were the crates with the candles and little jugs of water inside.

He moved swiftly down the dark narrow passage until he returned to the fork, and took the way up to the hidden door beneath the main entrance of the Opera House.

The passage sloped upwards here; his long legs stretched as the ground slanted gradually uphill, until he reached what looked like a dead end. He ran his fingers along the wall until he found the tiny knob that worked the door. He pressed it, and winced at the grinding noise the heavy slab of rock made as it slid back into the wall. He was doubtful anyone would've heard it, but still his senses were on alert and his body was tingling with nervous adrenaline.

Erik moved cautiously out of the passageway, slipping into the shadows cast by the huge steps outside the Opera House. It was very early morning, the sky just barely tinged with grayish pink. He jumped as the door closed on its own behind him, the flat slab of rock blending perfectly into the side of the staircase.

He stayed hidden in the shadows for several minutes, listening carefully. He could hear nothing except a dog barking faintly in the distance. It seemed that the entire city was asleep and ignorant of him.

Still, the thought didn't comfort the instinctive caution that crept out whenever he left his underground lair. Especially not now, with the police and patrons of the Opera on his heels.

He skirted alongside buildings, keeping in the shadows and under awnings until he reached a bakery. He picked the lock easily and slipped inside the darkened little shop. He moved quickly, pulling a paper bag from behind the counter and filling it with various breads and pastries.

He left the shop and flitted from store to store like a ghost, bundles piling up in his grasp and appearing tucked beneath his arms.

Christine stirred as she awoke, and before her eyes had even opened her stiff muscles were screaming in protest. She rose up on her forearms, her aching body shrieking its complaints.

She turned her head to see Erik sitting cross-legged on the other side of the cave. She would've thought he hadn't moved an inch since the previous night, if it wasn't for the new additions to the cave – several bundles and two paper bags. He was eating a hunk of bread, picking it apart almost elegantly. Her empty stomach groaned painfully at the sight of the food.

She sat up, her back to the wall. "Good morning," she said cautiously. "It… is morning, isn't it?"

Erik lifted his head and nodded, then swallowed. "Yes, it is morning." His face revealed no malice, and she wondered that his anger of the night before could be so easily laid aside. She would have to get used to his abrupt tempers and sudden mood shifts...

He picked up one of the paper bags and peered into it. "I'm right in assuming you're hungry?"

Christine slowly got to her feet, wincing at the ache of her muscles, and moved over to sit across from Erik. He held out the bag to her and she took it, delving inside and pulling out a sweet bun. She bit into it, her eyes almost closing in ecstasy as the rich sugary taste spread over her tongue. She couldn't remember ever being so hungry before.

Erik gestured to the other bag, and a little jug of water next to it. "Cheese, ham, and water, when you want it."

A few minutes Christine was full, and she finished off the meal with a swig of water from the jug. Erik watched her, then, when she set it down, said with a small smile, "I've been rather productive this morning."

He got to his feet – with none of the stiffness she felt, Christine noticed – and she realized that he was wearing a dark jacket and vest, and a black cravat tied neatly at his throat. He unfolded a bundle, and shook out several parts of a deep blue dress.

"I didn't know your measurements," he said almost apologetically. "And I do not know much about women's fashions."

Christine's heart sang at the sight of the gorgeous garments, and she took it from him with a smile. "Erik, thank you…"

He tilted his head towards her. "Now you won't be cold."

The dress was a rich sapphire, so dark it was almost black, with an underskirt of a slightly lighter shade of blue. The overskirt was long and full, drawn up in swathes with a small bustle in the back, and the bodice was almost jacket-like with a square neckline. It came with the necessary petticoats and underskirts. Christine ran her fingers over the obviously high-quality fabric, thinking I could never have afforded something like this.

She glanced at Erik, who raised an eyebrow. "Is there a problem with it?" he queried.

"No, no, its beautiful…" She floundered for a moment, then stammered "I… umm… may I change?"

He blinked several times. "Oh. I see." He coughed, then turned around, linking his hands behind his back.

Christine retreated to the far side of the cave, pressing the dress to her. She hesitated, and, as if reading her mind, Erik said in an exasperated tone, "I will not peek."

She quickly shed the wrinkled wedding gown, glad to be rid of the damp crumpled dress, though it had been beautiful just the night before. She had on only her corset, sucking in a tight breath as the cold air chilled her bare body. Her face was not chilled though – her face was flaming in a red blush, for here she was, standing nearly nude, staring at Erik's back! She thanked God quickly that her corset was already on and tied, otherwise she would've had to ask him for his assistance!

She stepped into the petticoats and tied it behind her waist, following suite with the underskirt. She was momentarily confused by the jacket-style overskirt, as she hadn't worn one like it before, but she figured it out in just a few moments and hooked up the long string of buttons in the front.

Erik flexed his fingers, stretching his arms out behind him impatiently. "Are you finished yet?"

Christine finished the last few buttons and replied, "Yes, yes I'm done."

Erik turned as she was smoothing down the front of the dress. His eyes seemed to swallow her up suddenly, those eyes of blue-green like twin seas that were rapidly drowning her. His eyes roved over her, taking her in with a burning intensity, and his mouth parted slightly.

Suddenly he snapped them back up to her face, the power of his gaze reduced to just a flicker in his eyes.

"It… becomes you," he said softly, in a carefully controlled voice. He glanced down at the sacks on the floor, and knelt gracefully, delving inside until he pulled out a long black ribbon.

Erik walked towards her, threading the ribbon through his fingers. "I regret I could not find you a brush or a comb," he said, "But with this you may be able to tie your hair back out of your way."

He moved past and stood behind her, his fingers barely brushing her neck like a butterfly as he pulled back her mass of curls, tying it all together with the ribbon.

Déjà vu swept over her – it all seemed so similar to the previous night, the duet of Don Juan Triumphant… their passionate embrace, his hands on her cheeks and neck and waist… she shivered at the thought, and Erik's fingers suddenly stilled on her neck.

The pads of his fingertips barely traced a trail along her hairline and the nape of her neck, his hands dancing along her spine to caress her shoulders. She found herself tilting her head back to rest against his chest, and she could hear it in his throat when he muttered, "Christine…"