A/N: Forgive me if I spell any names incorrectly. Please read and review! I'm a bit iffy about this chapter, but I can't think of what else to do with it.

Erik

We had four days of bliss. Whether in passion or in peace, our two souls—tied to each other from the beginning—had become one. Words were inadequate for so much of what we said to each other; 'love' hardly described the depth of our emotions. That four days was to have been a week or two, after which we would travel to another city, another opera house, for my Angel to sing. But on the fourth morning, our lives took a very different direction.

I had lured her out of bed before the sun rose, and—with my mask firmly in place—was lying with Christine on the sofa, waiting in the false light for a beautiful sunrise. I think she may have dozed off, but the warmth of the sun on her skin caused Christine to open her eyes. She was delighted; it was a glorious sunrise. I was torn between watching the sky lighten and watching the rays of light throw color into the alabaster skin of her face and throat. She noticed my interest and gave me the sort of smile which welcomes a kiss; I had just settled into that business seriously when we heard a voice call out, "Erik?"

We pulled apart and stared at each other; I knew that voice.

I don't know how Nadir found me; for that matter, I couldn't think how he'd gotten in, unless he'd been paying far closer attention that I thought when I showed him how to pick locks. He must have come in very quietly; neither Christine nor I had heard the front door. Untangling myself from Christine—I was glad that our couch faced away from the door—I stood and scowled at my old friend. "Daroga, what on earth are you doing here? You are supposed to be in Paris."

He sighed and gave me a look I had seen far too often from him. "Did you kill the Baron de Reviet?" Nadir asked quietly.

I had to stare. "You crossed half of Europe to ask me if I was involved in a murder that occurred three weeks ago? Nadir, that is obsessive, even for you."

"You remember Investigator Haron, I'm sure?"

That made me frown. "Twitchy little man—there's another obsessive one for you—wasn't he supposed to be looking into certain . . .ah . . ." I cleared my throat delicately, "events that occurred around the time I left Paris?"

"He had to be ordered off the case of the 'Opera Ghost'," Nadir agreed. "But that case has been reopened—he saw a report of the Baron's death. A little investigation connected the Baron to you; he has been working tirelessly to convince the Parisian and Austrian police to let him have free reign in finding you. He will arrive in Vienna tomorrow with a warrant for your arrest and execution; if you value you life, old friend—which I know you usually do not—you must leave the city immediately."

I groaned. Why had I been so selfish? Why, why, why had I allowed myself to marry Christine? I knew something like this would happen; I knew it. She was looking up at me with large, unhappy eyes, and I sighed, gazing down at her. "Well, my dear, the choice is once again in your hands. I would rather have you safely back in Paris, but you have demonstrated that asking you to leave me against your will would be a practical exercise in the art of futile gestures. I knew my demons would catch us someday; I just didn't believe it would be this soon."

"I know that look," Christine retorted as she stood. "You are wishing that we never married."

"Because I love you—yes, I am." I took her face in my hands. "Do you know what they will do to you, what they will call you, if they realize you are with me freely?"

"Nothing worse than I would call myself if you talked me into staying safe," she spat. I sighed and pulled her into my arms, holding her tightly. Only then did I look over at Nadir.

Somehow, I don't think he was expecting Christine to be there.

The look on his face was absolutely beyond price; despite the gravity of the situation, I snickered. "Christine, you remember Nadir, though you were not properly introduced. Daroga, this is my wife, Christine." Oh, it felt good to say that.

"Madame . . .?" he said gravely, and Christine loosened one of her arms from around me in order to reach out her hand to him. Nadir kissed it as though properly greeting a woman who otherwise has a death-grip on her husband was an everyday occurrence. He raised one eyebrow at me and I realized he was waiting for one of the things I had never told him—my last name.

Christine must have noticed the look he gave me as well. "Erik claims he does not recall his name, so we are using mine," she explained smoothly.

"Madame Daae," Nadir smiled, and the real joy in his features touched my heart. Then he had to continue, "You do realize that Erik is an incurable liar?"

Christine returned his grin as though she had suddenly found a kindred spirit. "Of course, but if he wishes to carry on my father's name, I have no objections."

I cleared my throat and gave both of them a thoroughly unconvincing glare. "If you two are finished?"

"You did not answer my question, Erik," Daroga reminded me.

Question?

Ah. The Baron. I felt my voice lowering into a dangerous growl as I held Christine tighter still. "Oh, yes, Daroga," I snarled icily, "Yes, I killed him. You see, he made the rather fatal error of harming Christine in front of me." Nadir nodded in reluctant understanding; he has never really approved of my feelings for Christine, but at least he had enough sense to know that I could not be called to task for me actions when she was threatened.

Christine

They left Vienna that afternoon. Nadir stayed with them; he had convinced Erik that a party of three would be less suspect than a young singer traveling with a man who hid his face. "They know you like to kidnap chorus girls," the Persian had teased lightly.

"I have never kidnapped a chorus girl," Erik sniffed disdainfully. "I cannot believe that you would accuse me of such a thing; I kidnapped a diva."

"Who was a chorus girl before you awakened her voice," Christine had smiled. Erik had shrugged his acknowledgement and let it pass.

They traveled south. By nightfall they had checked into a room with a lock-off in Baden. After tucking their belongings around the room, Christine caught Erik's eye and drew a line with her toe between the dresser and the bed. Nadir, watching with interest from the door to his lock-off, saw Erik gesture closer to the bed. Christine folded her arms stubbornly; with a sigh, Erik nodded. "If I may ask?" Nadir questioned, curious as to the meaning of this silent little drama.

Erik made a face at his wife, who was passing back and forth between the rooms as though making certain all was in order. "Christine has banned my mask from her room; she was telling me where the boundaries of that space are."

Christine raised her eyebrows as Nadir caught her hand and kissed it, murmuring "Bless you." In a louder voice, he added, "Good night," and firmly closed the door between their rooms. Christine slipped to his side and Erik turned out the light.

Erik

The absence of Christine's warmth beside me awakened me. That first morning, I confess that I fully expected her to be gone—dressed, bathing, getting breakfast, anything—when I woke up; but she had been curled by my side, waiting quietly for me to awaken. I blessed whatever intuition in her knew that I needed her there, trustingly by my side.

It was dark still, the early hours of the morning. She must have gotten up restlessly; now Christine was standing at the dresser in her night-gown. I watched, vaguely amused, as she ran her fingers over the mask and then held it against her face. "Looks better on you," I commented softly, and she jumped. Laying the mask aside, she smiled and slid into my arms. I leaned back against the headboard and stroked her hair. "Hello, there," I whispered. "You've been quiet today."

"I haven't felt like speaking much," she agreed softly.

I touched her lips with one finger. "It was an observation, love, not a criticism." She closed her eyes, snuggling into the hollow of my throat. "You should sleep," I muttered, kissing her shoulder.

"Mmm," she sighed, then asked, "What was Nadir's wife's name?"

Nadir's family was not a subject I was prepared to discuss with her. Ever. "How do you know he was married?"

"Something in the way he looked at us. Answer the question, Erik."

"Rookheeya."

"Did she . . ." Christine hesitated.

"Die? Yes." Unwillingly, I added, "In childbirth, I believe." She didn't ask, but I could feel her eyes watching me, waiting patiently. "The boy's name was Reza," I added softly. "Will you go to sleep now?"

Christine lifted her mouth to mine in a slow kiss; I mumbled in protest when she pulled away. "There's something you're not telling me, Erik."

"Please, Christine. Leave it."

She ran her fingers into my hair. "All right."

"And don't ask Nadir, either," I warned. "That memory is even more painful for him than it is for me."

"I wasn't going to," Christine replied, sounding a little hurt. We were silent for a moment, then in a would-be casual voice, she asked, "So you knew Reza, then?"

"Christine." I sighed and gathered her close again; I didn't want to watch her face. I knew she would get this, as she had almost everything else, out of me sooner or later. "Reza was a child when I lived in Persia. He was already blind; the boy had a wasting disease that was going to guarantee him a slow and painful death, both for himself and for the adoring father who would have to watch.

"Two months before the real pain began, I went to live with Nadir and Reza. For those months, I created an illusory paradise for the both of them." Christine waited; I tightened my jaw and continued. "Then, when the beginning of the end took hold, I . . ." I had told Christine more of myself than I had told any other living soul; somehow, that didn't make saying this any easier. "I gave him a potion that sent him to his Allah quietly in sleep, rather than screaming in pain." Sighing, I loosened my hold on her. "Nadir loved him so much; he claims he's forgiven me, but sometimes I wonder whether his determination to be my conscience—since, according to him, I don't possess one—comes from that time."

Christine was quiet for a moment, then she touched my cheek. "You cared about Reza, too, Erik," she murmured.

I have never been willing to admit to myself just how much I loved that child. I hadn't been in Persia for almost fifteen years, but I could still see Reza's face clearly. "Yes," I answered finally. "Yes, I did."

Her mind was skipping tracks on me; I could tell by the way her fingers were curling in my hair. "Erik?"

"Yes?"

"Have you ever thought . . . about having children?"

"Children?" Plural? I snorted. "Love, I never thought I was going to get married, much less have children." She stiffened a little and I stroked her arm. "Any child we have would be welcomed and loved, you know that. How could I not want something of yours? I simply hadn't considered it, beloved." Christine smiled a little and yawned; I sang her to sleep.