Raoul was eating his lunch, enjoying the quiet of his own house after speaking with his brother and renewed fiancée, when the Phantom's letter arrived. He stared at it for a few minutes as he finished his coffee, and then picked it up, breaking the distinctive seal and pulling out the letter.

Dear Vicomte:

Please find enclosed one piece of lost jewelry. Your first lesson will be held today in the main set storage area. I shall expect you no later than one o'clock in the afternoon. O.G.

Unsure of what he would find, Raoul tipped the envelope, spilling the contents onto the table. A ring tumbled onto the tablecloth. Raoul picked it up, examining it carefully. After the night of Don Juan, he had bought Christine a new ring, very similar to the one she had lost. That had been the ring he had thrown off the roof last night. This was not that ring. This was the Swarovski ring the Red Death had pulled from around Christine's neck. This was the one she had been wearing when he found her beneath the opera house, and had not been wearing when he helped her into the boat.

"How am I going to give her this?" he muttered. "How can I possibly explain this?" He turned the ring to reflect the light, the sun streaming in the windows making each of the diamonds sparkle madly. "What have I gotten myself into?"

Christine did not love him. She would never love him, not without the help the Phantom offered. Was that help what he wanted? Would it be worth it, to become more like the man he had hated, even if it was only on the surface? He didn't know. All he knew was that he loved her. He pocketed the ring, a look of determination flashing across his face. He loved her, and to have her love him would be worth anything, no matter the reason. He could not just give her up to his brother.

Now
"Foolish. I'm so foolish. Such a child."

There's a cool hand against his forehead, strong and calming. It strokes his hair, trying to give comfort. "Hush Raoul. It's a dream."

"Couldn't see. Couldn't leave well enough alone. So much smarter to have gone away. Never agreed to any of this." He opens his eyes, glares accusingly at the face before him. "What were you thinking? How could winning her have helped? Both of us, neither of us, it's just the same. Miserable."

He is lifted up, and something warm and sweet is poured down his throat. It hurts to swallow. He chokes, and a much more recent memory rope and water and cold tries to force its way up into his thoughts. His head turns almost involuntarily and he grabs hold of Erik's arm. "No!"

"You need to drink this, Raoul."

"No! It burns."

"Now you are being childish. Drink."

Raoul glares at Erik, but does as he is told. He lays back afterwards, the taste still sticky in his mouth, and stares absentmindedly into his friend's face.

"That is quite disconcerting, vicomte."

"Why? I love you."

Erik looks away. "You need to sleep."

"I'll just dream about you. About the past. I'd rather be here."

"Being here does not help with your fever. You need rest, and you must stop talking! I'll gag you if I must."

"No you won't. Madame Giry would throw you out." He can feel himself fading away. Drugged. "Sing to me, then. I like it when you sing."

Erik's song follows him into his dream.

Then
"You're late."

"I had to get directions from a door opener. Why are we here?

"I am here to teach you. You are here to learn."

"I meant here." He gestured expressively. "In the set room."

"Because it is not often visited and because it provides a magnificent place to hide things." The Phantom stepped behind a garden scene and remerged with a small wheeled piano. "I've often thought of hiding a body here to be discovered, but the opportunity has never presented itself."

"Monsieur, if you thought to bring me down here and threaten me!" Raoul's hand went to his sword.

"Quiet down, little fool! The last thing we need is a chorus girl hearing us and telling tales of the vicomte who talks to ghosts. For the last time, I do not mean to harm you." He stared at the younger man for a moment. "Forgive me if my statement scared you."

"You do not frighten me, sir."

"Of course not. Now, to begin." He sat down behind the piano, rifling through a folder of sheet music Raoul had not noticed a moment ago.

"But why not at your house? After all, it's not as if I don't know how to get there, and no one would hear us."

"I value my privacy. Of course, we will not be able to have our lessons here for very long, but I much prefer a changing classroom to having you in my home again. Now if you would." He handed Raoul a piece. "We'll see how far we have to go." He started to play.

"Wait."

"What is it now? Did you or did you not come here to be taught, monsieur?"

"Yes, I came here to be taught. But... I can't just call you Monsieur. Not if we are to be working together. You have a distinct advantage over me, sir. You know my name."

"Ah, but you have such a wide variety of names to choose from. Monster, Animal, Creature, I believe those are some of your old favorites, are they not? What of simply Phantom, or Opera Ghost?"

"It would not be gentlemanly to call you such."

"No, but it would be honest."

Raoul shook his head at that, knowing he could not argue. The Phantom was more of a monster than anything else. Two men were dead to show that. This was a business deal, and he would do far better to think of it as such. He looked down at the music in his hands.

"I can't read this."

"You can't read Italian? Your education has been neglected."

"I can read Italian. I can't read music. Not anymore."

"The patron of the Opera Populaire can not read music. How fitting. You could at one time?"

"A little. Papa Daae taught me the violin, and a little about music. Then, after my parents died, Philippe didn't think noblemen should play music. He just liked to listen."

"I don't have time to teach you to read music."

"Then I'll just learn to sing. I'm not training to be a professional."

The Phantom looked at him for a long moment, and Raoul began to wonder if that face was capable of registering anything but disgust. "To begin without the theory... Very well. As you say, you will never be a professional. Repeat after me." He began to sing.

It was only a few scales, and Raoul repeated them perfectly. Then came others, until they had found the limits of Raoul's range, which was considerably smaller than Erik's. Then Erik began to sing, really sing, and Raoul had to concentrate fiercely on remembering the tune, and not just enjoying the music. Whatever might be said of the man, the voice was divine. He realized, rather suddenly, that the music had stopped, and learned that the face could indeed register something other than disgust. That expression was pure amusement.

"Do you wish me to repeat myself?"

"No," Raoul shook himself, returning to reality. "No, I've got it."

"Then sing it, vicomte."

"As you will, phantom."

Any excuses I could make about this post taking so long would be just that- excuses. I'll save us all a bit of wasted time by not trying to make any. Now, to answer some important questions:

The format of the story, showing both ends and not the middle, isn't meant to be cruel. Things will explain themselves in time, I promise.

The world Iwork in is one of my own. It owes quite a bit toWebber, butKay and Leroux may show up from time to time.

Other than that, thank you all for your comments. It is really amazing to know that people will be less happy if you don't keep writing. Your input means a lot.