A/N: Whew, I thought I was gonna get tomatoes thrown at me for not including the E/C action. Not only did I leave it out because of the lack of NC-17 rating, but I just didn't want to mess with a scene like that. I'd butcher it. I just thought I'd leave them to their privacy. :)

Just FYI, I went back and edited the last chapter. I thought I had included Pierre telling where E and C went, but I messed it up :smacks head: I write a bunch of different versions of each chapter, and finally settle on a certain one, but I just updated with the wrong version. It's fixed now, so go back and read it so it makes sense :)

Also, I'm very sorry for the so-slow update, and for the shortness of the chapter! This chapter was very difficult for me to turn out. I mean, I have no idea how the hell they would act in this sort of situation…

draegon-fire: Oh yes, great fun indeed… ;)

Adriaane: The link didn't show up, sorry :( I think that doesn't allow links, just put spaces in between the words in the link, maybe it will work then.

angeldreamer: Your favorite story? Awwwww! Thank you!

Theed: I struggled with the decision. Should I, shouldn't I… but there's all this emotion and passion building up between them, and I had to find an outlet for it otherwise it would just drag down everything else. It's not going to be a crazy-horny-luv-fest, though. :)

Nade-Naberrie: Nooo, don't hurt me :cowers: lol j/k. I have no intention of abandoning this story, I luv it. :)

Butlerphan666: Pierre was the driver of the carriage, and Jean was just his friend at the bar.

Chapter 15

Christine slowly awoke with lazy shafts of sunlight on her face, breaking through cracks in the heavy draperies and spilling long streaks of warm light across the room.

She let her eyes drift halfway shut again, the sun warming her face and Erik warming her body. Part of her mind started instantly analyzing the situation, working like a giant grinding wheel, but she pushed at it lazily, wanting only to bask in the sweetness of the moment.

She tucked her head in between Erik's arm and his chest, his heart beating steadily against her ear. His mask had been discarded on the floor somewhere and her eyes traveled over his sleeping face, the smooth taut skin of one cheek and the twisted, marred flesh of the other. She didn't recoil or look away – the deformity was merely another piece of him.

Her gaze drifted down to his naked chest, the expanse of skin rising and falling with each slow breath, the dusting of dark hair tracing faintly down to disappear beneath the sheet that tangled around his waist.

The sight of him lying there painted in sunlight and shadows made her breath catch. Not because she loved him or because she wanted him – that went without saying – but because he was suddenly, for the first time, completely and utterly at peace. His usually contemptuous lips were slightly parted, eyes closed, face relaxed, without an expression of scorn or anger, sadness or worry, disdain or despair.

Christine slowly reached up, traced her finger along the line of his jaw delicately, bold because he was asleep and could not observe her actions. After a moment she pulled her hand back, spreading it flat on his chest.

There were several small, strange bruises in the crook of his elbow – shadows of brown and purple, faded yellow and green. She wondered faintly how it had happened, but the thought slipped easily away as she burrowed closer into him and the tangle of blankets, her hair settling over his shoulder.

She let her eyes drift shut in the haze of sleepy pleasure, and did not see Erik's flick open. He gazed at the ceiling for a moment before shifting his arm experimentally, as if to test her weight pressed against his side, to confirm if she was really there. He was almost afraid to breath, as if the slightest inhalation would shatter the delicate warm glow that seemed to encase them.

Last night there had been something fragile in her eyes – half-eager, half-fearful, wanting but afraid to want, needing but afraid to need. It had undone him. He hadn't planned for what had happened, but the unmanageable crackling passion that sparked between them at the slightest contact had exploded like a match dropped in gunpowder.

There had always been a bond between them, an inexplicable link between tutor and master, angel and demon, man and woman. Now the tie between them seemed almost touchable, like an invisible halo surrounding and joining the pair.

Fate, destiny – it seemed a rather foolish thing, designed for dreamers and young girls to delight over with hope for a promising future.

Was this destiny? Was it mere chance that had brought them together under such abnormal circumstances? The thoughts made his head hurt, and he pushed them out of his mind.

He stretched slowly, arching his back like a cat. Christine's hair slipped off his shoulder and onto the pillow, and her eyes opened.

Their eyes met at they stared silently at each other for several long, long minutes, his jade eyes bright yet unreadable, her baby blues wide and uncertain.

"What happens now?" Christine ventured.

Erik stared at the ceiling thoughtfully. "I wouldn't know, my dear."

"I… I guess we just make it up as we go along?"

"I suppose we shall."

There was silence for a minute. Christine gazed at his profile, and suddenly realized how attractive he really was, even with the cruel disfigurement. The very force of his personality made him so striking that he was handsome, though it was obviously not the kind of handsome that would come across in a painting or photograph. It needed movement, his vibrating energy to make it work.

In a hesitant voice, she told him so.

He blinked at the ceiling for a moment. "How ludicrous," he replied easily.

She bit her lip. "Its not ludicrous."

"I hate to disprove your theory, my dear, but I'm afraid I am quite dull. Not – how did you put it? Vibrant?"

Christine flushed red, before she realized that, in his own way, he was teasing her. His face held no trace of a smile, only a gentle seriousness – but his eyes held a strange sort of contentment that seemed alien in his usually aloof face. It was almost disconcerting.

She settled her head more comfortably into the crook of his arm, his chest rising and falling with each slow breath. If someone had told her a month ago that this was how she would end up, she would've laughed. Now the idea seemed not ridiculous, but entirely reasonable. But she didn't wish to analyze it now, and ruin the golden haze in which there was no thoughts, or problems, just warm lazy contentment that surrounded them both.

X X X

A carriage rattled through the streets of Paris, the sleek black exterior gleaming in the daylight, the coat of arms sparking reds and blues in the sun. It pulled to a halt in front of an impressive stone building with the words Gendarmerie neatly carved into the face. A young man alighted, but before he could movie up the steps and into the station, a tall and imposing police officer came out to greet him.

"I assume you received my message this morning," the young man said.

"Yes sir," the policeman said briskly, "It is good news to hear we have a lead. But are you sure the information you learned was correct, not just the ramblings of a drunk cab driver?"

"I'm sure. He had no drink quite yet, and was quite lucid."

The policeman straightened his crisp uniform. "Well then, we shall proceed as soon as possible." He pulled a pocket watch from his coat and glanced at it. "Which will be almost immediately. This case has been made our first priority."

"That's good to hear." The young man drew in a deep breath. "I shall wait here until it is time."

"But, Vicomte," the policeman interjected with a frown, "I'm not sure that's quite safe."

"Safe? Safe? Do you think its safe for my fiancée to be held captive with… with…"

He couldn't quite spit out the words, and instead gritted his jaw. "I intend to come, officer."

The policeman paused, then nodded slowly. "Then please, come in. We must speak to the chief."