The Letters

A/N: Somebody mentioned Jerry Maguire, and yes, I did rip a line from there. "Let's not tell our sad stories." Why? Because because because – because of the wonderful things he does dahdadadadadaduh

Sorry for updating so late, I know some of you were used to the everyday updates but school intervened. Boo! OK, guys, this chapter is most definitely R (I love saying that) but please don't hate me when you get to the end of it. It's not looking good (for now).

Shout-out to my beta Agent Sculder because of the tongue clip. Oh, yes. That one.

Erik and Christine returned to the summerhouse, arm in arm. Once inside, Erik begged off, citing tiredness and a headache.

"Are you alright? What pains you?" Christine asked.

Erik studied her, noting the genuine concern in her voice. He smiled grimly. "I will be fine. Do not worry your pretty little head about me."

Christine frowned slightly at his sharp tone, but dismissed it as Erik being Erik. He leaned forward, pressing his face close to hers. She felt him inhale the scent of her hair and shuddered slightly.

"When I awake, I want to see you. Come to me."

He drew back and Christine stared, swallowing suddenly and noting the dryness of her mouth. She looked away, forcing a stoic nonchalance into her words. "If you wish."

She was embarrassed that she had been so open with him. It was as if she was stripped bare before this man. She was still unsure of his intentions; he was so frustratingly inconstant. He lathed the pain he instilled on her with the most excruciating pleasure.

His tenderness in the maze had bewildered her, bringing tears to her eyes. She had long since steeled herself against the onslaught of emotions that bringing up her poor dead baby brought. But his silent understanding and simple question had unhinged her.

Are you happy?

It was so simple, three short words, a yes or no. But those four syllables had made her question herself. Was she happy? Was this not what happiness was? To be married to a man who adored her, live with all the refinements of bourgeoisie culture, to be close to Brigitte, whom she regarded as a sister. Was it not enough for her to have these things, things she had never before even imagined of obtaining?

Are you happy?

How she wanted to be.

Christine turned from him, adding over her shoulder, "I will be on the veranda if you need me."

A fluttering sound at the front door halted Christine. The mail was here!

"Erik, would you mind getting the mail for me?"

For a moment, she caught a flash of something in his eyes but it was gone before she could be sure of its origin.

"Of course, my dear."

Word from Raoul, she thought. Oddly, this did not excite her as it normally would. Instead, she felt as if she were a child awaiting its parent's punishment.

He returned with a sleek yellow envelopment. Right away, Christine saw that it did not bear the de Chagny crest and sighed. She took the envelope from him with a soft "thank you" and shook away the niggling feeling of guilt at her unseemly response.

She opened the envelope and brightened when she saw that the letter was from Meg Giry. She looked up excitedly to tell Erik of her comrade's whereabouts but found he had vanished.

"The mysterious O.G. is back, I see," she uttered sarcastically under her breath. Old habits die hard.

Brigitte popped into the hallway, delighted to see that the color had returned to Christine's cheeks. "News from the Viscomte?"

"No," she said quickly, "it is from Meg."

Brigitte gave a knowing "Ah," and offered to fetch Christine a cup of tea, which Christine accepted gratefully.

Christine settled on the veranda where she had intended to crochet and opened the letter, sipping her tea contentedly.

Dear Christine,

I hope you are well, for I have wonderful news. I've been cast at the Paris Opera in the corps de ballet! The managers (not Andre and Firmin, thank the Lord) have begun casting for the new season to begin this winter and continue on through summer. The first play will be "Aida" – I know what you're thinking but it is a very popular play.

I am so excited and cannot wait for you to visit once the plays are in progress. The managers seem to think that the opera house will be even more popular now that it is the replacement for the Opera Populaire and is associated with the Phantom of the Opera. They even keep Box Five open, hoping to draw a greater audience. Brilliant marketing strategy, they said. Rubbish, I say.

I hope things are good and look forward to your response.

Always,

Meg

Christine closed the letter, breathing out deeply. Had Erik not re-entered her life days before, she might have been shocked at the flood of memories Meg's letter would incite. Instead, she was somewhat still. Anything and everything to do with the Opera Populaire had been revisited in the past few days.

She looked out into the distance, peace settling around her. She did not have to look back at him today – he was already there.

…………………………………………….

Hours later when Brigitte had prepared dinner, Christine went to Erik's door. He did not hesitate to join them and it seemed his earlier gloom had lifted.

Brigitte had prepared a wonderful roast with red wine, baguettes and cheese for appetizers. Once seated at the dinner table, an awkward silence fell around them. Brigitte, of course, was the first to initiate conversation.

"So, Erik," she began between mouthfuls of bread and cheese, "What was it like in the opera house?"

Christine stiffened immediately and cut her eyes at Brigitte in a warning glance. Brigitte ignored her. Erik licked his lips of lingering droplets of wine, a motion that made Christine stare dumbly, and said, "Christine had not told you?"

"Oh, yes, of course," Brigittie blathered. "Christine and I are close as can be." Christine closed her eyes in mock despair, mentally slapping herself for not briefing Brigitte on proper dinner conversation with Erik.

Erik gave a Cheshire grin. "Is that so?"

"Uh huh," she hummed, "Like sisters."

"I had thought so," he replied.

Forcing a wan smile, Christine replied, "Brigitte, did I ever tell you about when Meg and I were trapped in the opera attic for an entire night?" Off Christine went, stretching the simple story to epic proportions and drawing giggles and disbelief from Brigitte throughout. Erik said nothing as he ate, watching coolly as Christine went about her tale.

"And Sorelli found you two dressed in those costumes? Oh, that is hysterical, Christine! You were quite the troublemaker," Brigitte laughed.

"Yes, she was," Erik said, the words rolling languorously over his tongue. He locked eyes with Christine and silence once again fell over the table. Christine found it hard to breathe.

Abruptly, Erik got up and bowed in an exaggerated yet honest manner.

"I thank you two wonderful ladies for a most sumptuous dinner. If you will excuse me, I must get something for our dear Brigitte." He stepped out of the room gracefully, leaving Brigitte and Christine looked at one another quizzically.

Erik returned with a thick, cream-colored envelope and held it out to Brigitte. She reached for it, but he snatched it away, an infuriatingly boyish grin on his face. Christine blushed thinking of how charming he looked right there and then. Brigitte rolled her eyes.

"Give this to the stable boy. Inside are instructions telling him where to go and what to do once he is there."

"Where is he to go, Erik?" Christine asked.

"That, I cannot tell you. I will say that he is to fetch a contact of mine who will be able to deliver a portion of my savings to this address so that I will no longer have to depend on your kindness." He looked at her seriously then, his voice dropping slightly. "I have appreciated all that you have done for me, Christine."

He had not deliberately said her name without formality or mocking since she had brought him here. Perhaps he did not hate her so. She lowered her eyelashes and nodded.

He turned to Brigitte, handing her the envelope. She took hold of it warily and tugged, but Erik would not let go. "Inside is the address and no one is to see it but the stable boy." His voice became feral once again. "Am I understood?"

Brigitte suppressed the urge to roll her eyes and tugged on the envelope once more. It came free and the force of her tug sent her backwards. Huffily, she marched from the room, muttering under her breath. Christine laughed into her hands, her eyes closed. When she opened them, he was gone.

She found him in his room as he had requested of her earlier. He had taken off his suit jacket and cufflinks. The collar of his shirt was slightly open and the sleeves were rolled up his forearms. Closing the door behind her and dusting off her shirt sleeves, she murmured, "You really must cease and desist the disappearing act, Erik. It is not – " She was stopped by his sudden appearance at her side. Looking into green eyes that burned, she breathed, "Attractive."

His lips were upon hers in an instant and, this time, she did not resist. Winding her hands through his hair, she pulled him close to her, closer than she thought was possible while still clothed. Forcefully, he pushed her up against the wall, pulling her legs up to wrap around his taut abdomen. Her skirts were bunched around her; Erik pushed them aside. He was at her neck, spreading searing kisses down to her collarbone. He nipped her shoulder and she moaned.

Christine was on fire. His hands were everywhere at once, cupping her breasts, digging into her hips, grasping her firm ass, all with a passion that startled her as much as it aroused her. His kiss, oh God, his kiss. It was at once forceful as it was tender. His probing tongue mimicked the thrust of his hips grinding into her core. Immediately, Christine was wet and hot, aching for him. There were too many layers between them. This was wrong, this was horribly wrong!

"Oh, God, Erik, stop."

He pulled away from her, seeing the guilty stream of tears ebbing in her eyes. Cursing under his breath, he lowered her to her feet and turned away, a hand at his temple. He would not look at her. His frame was stone.

"I'm sorry, but I – I am confused." Finding her bearings, she went on, "And I am married. You cannot just come into my life and ask me to –"

"I came into you life? I did?" He grasped her shoulders, shaking her hard as his anger built. "I did not ask you to 'rescue' me," he roared. "I did not ask you to break me free of that hell just to satisfy your guilt! And that is all it is, Christine, you pitiless, pious wench! You are nothing but a slave to your inconstant conscience, your inconstant heart!" His voice broke and he finished quietly, "Damn you and your inconstant heart." He broke away from her bitterly, staring into her eyes as they both shook from the force of his words.

"Yes," she began, her voice vibrating unsteadily, growing high in her emotional state. "Yes, I am guilty. Yes, I am sorry for what I did to you. I was naïve and young, but you! You have no right, no goddamn right to put the blame solely on my shoulders." Christine very rarely cursed; they were both shocked by her words.

"I was a girl, a girl, Erik! I did not understand what I was feeling for you." She stopped, trying to gain control. "And then Brigitte saw you and wanted me to help. She always wants to save the world, she's so innocent." She broke off, the tears beginning again. Had there been a day since she'd found him that a river did not flow down her cheeks?

"You are not innocent anymore, Christine." He grasped her waist viciously, pulling her toward him. She was very aware of his cock straining against the fabric of his pants. "Feel me," he whispered into her ear. "Do not deny me again."

Christine shuddered from the hint of threat in his voice. Pressing her hands to his waist, she pushed away from him slightly. She looked down at her hands.

"I saw that man, what he did to you."

Abruptly, Erik turned away. "Don't, Christine."

"I killed him," she said simply. "I shot him and I did not feel regret. I still do not." She walked toward him and gave him her hands. They both stared at her long fingers, milky white palms.

He kissed her, a keening need in his moans as he laved her tongue with his own. He needed her, needed this now. The shock of what she had done for him was too much. Desperately, he sought her mouth and her touch. Make it go away, he thought.

They union grew more and more desperate, and Erik frantically fought with the hooks of her dress. It was off in a hush of sound. She stood wound around him in her chemise and corset.

Erik violently tore himself from her embrace and their eyes met for a moment. He turned her around with her back to him. Confusion flickered in Christine's face but then she was drawn into his arms as he kissed her neck, starving for her touch. He undid the ties of her corset, her back still to him, his lips still on her neck. She clutched his neck with one hand, the other at her chest. Finally, she was free of the corset and he whirled her around, but she averted his grasp.

She looked at him then and his heart beat inconstantly. He saw shyness and reserve. He saw sacrifice as she slowly slid her chemise from her shoulders. She was naked before him and her eyes pled for forgiveness. It was not enough.

He wrested her to him sharply, groaning as her nude body brushed against his cock. He tried not to look at her in wonder, tried to disguise the inexperience of his questing hands. She undid his shirt buttons, tossing the shirt aside and he held her close as her warm mouth kissed his skin.

She trailed kisses along his chest with the same wonder Erik was trying to hide. Her lips closed over his nipple and he hissed.

"Now. I need you now."

She slid his pants down quickly and he walked her backwards to the bed. They fell in a tangle of limbs. He looked at her then and Christine swore she could see love. Before she could respond, his kissed her hard and long until she could not breath. The world grew dark and she gripped his back, leaving angry red scratches in her wake. He released her lips then and she gulped the air in a shuddering breath. Stars burst before her eyes and she did not care. She cared only for his body on hers and his mouth stealing her breath.

Erik made his slow torturous descent down her body, kissing, sucking and nipping at her flesh until she was practically sobbing for him. His hands were at her hips now, driving her crazy. His mouth closed around her nipple and Christine cried out as he suckled at her breast and delved his fingers into her depths.

Without warning, he flipped her around so that she lay on her front. Erik held her hands at her sides and spread her legs with his knees. She looked wonderful, entrapped like that.

"Erik, what are you – " He ended her bewildered plea as he thrust into her. She was hot, insufferably hot and slick, and Erik nearly lost control of himself inside her. This was what it was like to be inside a woman. It was heaven and hell, fire and wet flesh all at the same time. He sucked in his breath, steadying himself until he was sure he could go on.

Christine bit her lip to keep from crying out. Raoul had never had her in this way. It was foreign and debauched to her. He was still angry. Would he always be angry? Her thoughts only made her more receptive to his touch.

Releasing her hands, he grasped her hips firmly, digging his fingers into her ass. He could not see her face as he rode her but her steady moans urged him on. He looked at her then, her body thrown helplessly under him, her hands gripping the mattress and her hair obscuring her features. She was powerless, utterly succumbed to him. He enjoyed it, felt a sick pleasure from it. Just like him.

His stopped then and withdrew. Shaking slightly, he turned her around. Tears threatened to fall on her face. He was angry, so furious at himself, at her, at him.

She looked at him with fear and something close to adoration as she stroked his hair. She ran her hands along his scarred back and she understood his punishment of her body.

He pulled her legs up around him and entered her gently this time. They rocked together, the only sounds now were their sighs and moans. He had found her eyes and refused to lose them.

"Ask me," he rasped, close to release, "ask my forgiveness."

"Forgive me, Erik." Her voice was as sensuous as it was pleading.

"Forgive me, say it," he demanded.

"Forgive me, forgive me, oh God, please," she sobbed out, reaching her release. He fell into the stratosphere with her, black and whirling and weightless.

The sound of their laboured breathing was deafening. He rolled off of her almost immediately. Christine clutched the tangled sheets to her chest. They did not speak.

…………………………………….

Brigitte was humming quietly to herself as she washed the dishes. It had been two hours since she had last seen Christine. Perhaps she had gone to bed early. With the Phantom, she thought wryly.

She laughed at her own joke under her breath. Frankly, she did not think much of the poor git; he'd been annoying and not at all charming, like she was sure Christine must think of him as.

A sharp knock at the door interrupted her glee and she hurried forward. Jacques had come to check up on them, she was sure.

She unlocked the door and swung it open, shouting out, "We're alright, Jacques, no need for concern." The last word died on her lips.

Two members of the Prefecture of Police stood before her. They were dressed in navy uniforms bedecked with red tassels on the shoulders and a crisp white shirt and tie. They wore rimmed caps and the stern looking gentlemen to Brigitte's right had a shiny badge pinned to his lapel. His hair was grey under his cap and his moustache black over his frowning thin lips.

"Are you Mme. Christine de Chagny?"