Summery- What makes a monster and what makes a man? And who, if anyone, has the right to make the judgment? ((Sorry I know it's a crappy summery but I swear the story's good! rated pg13 for multiple reasons, PLEASE R&R!))

Disclaimer- The Phantom of the Opera belongs to ALW, Leroux, and…well some other ppl too I guess but unfortunately I am not one of them! As far as I know…hmm shakes herself out of it oh…yeah, well…carry on…

A.N. Yes another chapter, two in a row woo! I'm probably going to do another right after this one, if my muse visits me again tonight; he insists that I do my piece by this story. Lol. Enjoy!

-Woodie

Of Monsters and Men

By: Woodstock

For all the tarts (I luv ya!)

4

Battle of Wills

Erik was restless, no, that wasn't even the right word, there was no word to describe the ache inside him, the longing to escape… yet there was no hope, he was completely helpless to her whims.

"Hold still… my god…" Ange muttered, tugging at the bandage around his arm with a bit too much zealous than was really needed. Sofie was out, not that Erik had inquired as to where the shuffling little maid was but he was certain that if she had been about she wouldn't have permitted the yelling match that had preceded this moment without intervening. He couldn't understand what it was about this girl that drove him to the lowly practice of bickering back and forth… no one had ever dared argue with him, not Madame Giry, or Christine… His hands clenched into fists at his sides, oh to have the full use of his body again! He would teach this insufferable bint a lesson she wouldn't soon forget… how he would have loved to wrap his hands around her dainty little throat…

"There, finir," Ange said, surveying her work, as she wrapped up the soiled bandages and discarded them.

At this moment there came a light, almost feeble knock on the outside door. Ange never received guests while her Aunt was away, and upon the very rare occasion that someone did call, Sylvie answered the door. Therefore Ange didn't readily answer, but after a few moments during which the knocking persisted, much too both Ange's and Erik's annoyance, she did so.

Christine was all too relieved when after several minutes the door didn't open, "she must be out," she thought, turning on her heel, it was a sign, she was not meant to do this—

"Christine!" Christine wheeled about on the third step, toward Ange who looked overly happy to see her.

"Ange, I knocked and no one answered, I thought you must be out…"

"No, just tremendously busy," Christine took this as an indication that she wasn't wanted and began to turn away again but then Ange added, "not to busy for a friend though of course, come inside." Ange held the door open and Christine stepped inside, removing her own hood and placing it on the rack she followed Ange, assuming that she would lead her into Erik's room she was disappointed and yet… relieved, when Ange continued past the shut door, down the hall to the drawing room.

Ange seated herself in one of the large wingback chairs and Christine sat opposite, "it's a relief just to be away from that infernal lunatic," Ange vented, giving Christine a look when she smirked.

So he's alright then, she thought, relief sweeping over her, "so I take it he survived the initial ailments then?"

"I'm beginning to wish he hadn't."

Typical Erik Christine grinned"I feared the worst for him when I left."
"It is not a blessing but a curse," Ange found herself grinning as well, what could Christine find so grand about all this? How dare she smile at her expense, how dare her good nature rub off on her! "But come let us speak of something else, how are you?"

"Quite well," Christine lied, "and happy, Raoul is such a dear," she extended her hand to Ange, allowing her to inspect the ornate ring that adorned her dainty finger.

"Engaged!" Ange exclaimed, she found nothing exciting or romantic about an engagement, not surprising, Ange never found excitement or romance about anything, because of this she had become quite the actress, "how splendid Christine!"

Christine beamed, "who could believe it, me and a Vicomte!" her demeanor changed a bit, the natural glee that had radiated off of her felt suddenly flat.

"Christine? Are you alright?"

"I must see him." She said tonelessly, her eyes becoming dark and far away.

"See…whom?"

"Him."

Ange blinked, "you mean Erik?"

Christine rounded on her, "how do you know his name is Erik?" she positively demanded.

"I asked, Christine are you quite well?"

"Ange I've thought of little else except Erik these past days and now… well… I simply must see him."

"Very well, I'll take you to him, although I warn you, you won't find him agreeable."

"I must see him, alone."

Ange raised an eyebrow, "oh? Why?" this was all too queer, Christine was not known for being clever, and it was quite obvious she had known this man before now, but then why had she not said anything the night of the fire? This was too queer, she was at something, and Ange, damning her curiosity, knew she would have no rest until she was to the bottom of all this. After a long moment in which Christine did not answer, Ange conceded, "very well, but take care, there is little to distinguish between his bark and his bite."

"I am warned," Christine replied as though Ange's words had slipped in one ear and out the other. With that she exited a room, looking as though she were walking in a dream, and moved down the hall to Erik's door. She pushed it open cautiously. The room was lit only by the sunlight which streamed obscured by the curtains, through a window on the far wall, and it smelled starkly of stiff liquor and drying blood. The figure upon the bed lay stiffly, and half naked, a blanket thrown carelessly so that it covered neither his bare chest nor the rolled up pant leg revealing a leg completely hidden within bandages. His eyes were shut and his breathing was easy, assuming then that he was asleep she resisted the urge to race to him and take him up in her arms. Instead she moved slowly so as not to wake him with her footsteps and settled lightly into the chair beside him, "poor Erik," she whispered softly, staring down at him, "my poor Erik."

"You're not there," his voice came, thick and disjointed with sleep, "you're not really there…"

"Erik it's me, its Christine!"

"God, she's driven me mad…you would torment a tortured soul?"

"Erik please, you're not mad," she reached out her hand to stroke his cheek, his reflex was fast, taking hold of her wrist so fast it felt as though he'd struck her.

His eyes burst open and he bolted upright, "Christine! Dear God Christine…but why?" he released her wrist, looking suddenly afraid; his eyes darted to the door and then back to her, questioningly, pleadingly.

She shook her head quickly, "no, no one knows, not even Ange…"

He turned abruptly cold toward her, "why have you come?"

"I had to see you I… I had to."

"I told you to go, never to return, you were so willing to be rid of this distorted soul that preyed upon you and now you had to see me? I will not be made a spectacle of by any person, not even by one I love so dearly as you."

"Erik," he seized a hold of her wrist so suddenly and roughly that she nearly shouted, "What do you think—"

She saw a second later exactly what he was doing, he examined her ring, his eyes alight as they always were when his gaze fell upon something beautiful. "Leave me," he said quietly, returning her hand to her.

"I will not."

"If I cannot have you, I do not want you, leave me!" He shouted in an all too familiar tone, the one that sent chills down her spine and made her blood run cold, how could one man be so kind, and then turn and be so cruel?

She reached into her pocket, drawing out the mask, still wrapped in Meg's kerchief, "perhaps you now know what it is to be haunted?"

"I know better than anyone," he returned, bitter.

"Better than I?"

"Have you come to berate me? If so, spare us both, you have already condemned me, is that not enough?"

"Erik," she touched his cheek gently, "I have come not to berate, neither to condemn, nor even to make a spectacle of you, but simply to assure myself that you are well and safe, and return something to you."

He had melted at her touch like a child to the gentle hand of their mother; the lamb had overcome the lion within Erik once again. She placed the package in his hands and, stroking his hair, watched as he opened it. His reaction was not at all what she had expected; it was as a man pleading his guilt before a court, such remorse, such self-loathing..!

She couldn't bare the look upon his already wretched face, "Erik, all that lies in the past."

"Nothing haunts so as the past."

"It is forgiven, forget."

"I cannot, this is a dream and I shall awake and find you gone, or worse I am awake and you shall leave me nonetheless!"

"It is true, I cannot linger, Raoul--" she ignored the sound not unlike a growl that escaped from his throat at the mention of her fiancée, "Raoul and I are to go out tonight."

"You will not return." He said firmly.

"Is that your will?"

"My will is that you would stay entirely."

"I cannot, but I will return if you wish it."

"You cannot grant what I wish, but yes, please, promise you will come back?"

"I will."

"Promises are ties that bind."

"Then I am bound to you."

For a brief second, Christine thought he almost smiled, her breath caught in her throat, had she ever seen Erik smile? "Take this with you," he said, pushing the mask back into her hands, "if it should be discovered with me… but no one would be suspicious of it in your possession." She bent to kiss his cheek but he moved away hastily, "goodbye Christine."

She pressed a hand again to his cheek, "rest now, Erik, I will return in a few days time." She watched as his eyelids slid closed at last and lifted the blanket so that it covered him entirely and then moved back to the door.

Ange moved away from the door and had just enough time to slip back down the corridor before Christine exited the room. Behind the thick oak door she had caught only bits and pieces of the conversation, and she supposed they had spoken their last in whispers for she had heard nothing, but the dull mummer of voices. Whatever she had or hadn't heard she'd gathered this much, Christine and Erik were obviously somehow involved, and whether Raoul knew this or not she wasn't sure, although Erik had spoken of him with such disgust they must have met on at least one occasion…

There was something dark and deep rooted here, and Ange had felt almost as though she had interrupted something private and sacred listening in. Their exchange of dialogue was a mere tête-à-tête, a cover for the much deeper running conversation they were having in some other form beyond vocals. If anything these tidbits had only served to obscure the truth still more and increase her curiosity.

A.N. This chapter was a bit… difficult, I'm trying to humanize the phantom some without removing the mystery or turning him into Mr. Sensitivity over there point to Raoul in the corner in a body cast its becoming quite difficult… if he's too mush lemme know I'll change it! Thanks, please R&R! And remember I don't have my beloved editors around to save my butt so be kind about the errors, thanks.