Author's Note: Well, I was little disappointed that not many people reviewed the last chapter. I hope all of you liked it and weren't offended, I tried to keep it relatively mild. Anyway, here is the next chapter. Tell me what you think, as always, please. Enjoy!

-

Chapter 13: Why Have You Brought Me Here

Erik awoke to the sweetest sight he had ever beheld. Nestled against him, her brunette curls spilling over the pillow, one hand entangled with his and the other thrown up lazily over her head, lay an angel. She murmured something softly in her sleep, and Erik felt himself begin to tremble all over again when he realized it was his name.

But with the knowledge that this beautiful, angelic woman called Christine Daae was now his came the frightening question of where they should go from here. He could hardly ask her to spend the rest of her years—there being, God willing, many—in this cold solitude that he had for so long called home.

But was he ready to take his place among society? Could he return to the world after having shunned it for so long? And would the general members of humanity even accept him?

These questions threatened to shatter the peace that had enveloped him over the past hours. He had slept as he could not remember having slept in many years—for the first time since childhood in a bed and not in his cold coffin.

He resolved to burn the thing. Coffins were for the dead, and he was ready and willing to join the living now. Ghost and Phantom no longer was he.

An angel had called him by name.

-

The night had not been spent so restfully by the others connected with the tragedy of the Opera Populaire.

Several people had been injured in the chandelier crash, but no one had been killed. The Paris firemen had done an excellent job of containing the blaze. Over half of the opera house remained standing. Unfortunately, the parts that had been destroyed were those most vital to the Populaire's continuing success. Dressing rooms and rehearsal wings could be done without. But the grand foyer, the ballroom and the theater were all ruined, and they were all the most necessary and the most expensive both. The insurance from the destroyed parts would not nearly be enough to repair it.

Andre and Firmin were both enraged when the police force returned without the Phantom. There was nothing they could do, but they both swore that they would kill the man with their own two hands if he ever dared breach the surface again. To which, the chief of police politely informed them that the law had acquitted Erik of all crimes, and that they both would be answerable for any damages done to the person of said Erik.

Andre and Firmin wondered if perhaps tickets to Australia were really such a bad thing after all.

La Carlotta, once the grandest diva in all of Paris, had been forcibly removed from the burning opera house, screaming and crying for the dead Piangi.

Whether or not Erik had meant to kill him was a question unanswered, but the infallible Opera Ghost had done a fairly poor job if that had truly been his intent. Piangi lived, but his Signora Guidicelli was in such a terrible state of emotional breakdown that the doctors who were tending her wondered if she would retain enough sanity to realize that her lover had survived.

Piangi was also being tended in a local hospital for a broken rib and injuries sustained from the attempted strangulation. Intentions of murder or no, the Phantom rarely seemed to make provision for a reputation of gentleness.

-

Christine awoke with a small sigh, batting her eyes delightfully as she turned to face Erik. Touching his face lovingly, she pressed a light kiss to his lips.

Erik pulled her closer to him, tracing a slow finger down Christine's thigh and smiling at the shiver that passed through her body.

"Enough of that, my love." She shook her head at him. "There are things to be done."

Erik groaned playfully as she rolled out of bed and hastily pulled on the heavy robe that lay crumpled on the floor beside the bed. He remained where he was, content to watch her as she moved about the room, lighting a fire and rummaging through the wardrobe as calmly as though she had gone through the motions a hundred times before.

He allowed his mind to wander, dreaming of a day when she would awake in their bedroom, the bedroom that they would share as husband and wife, and bustle about their house instead of this dank labyrinth. Perhaps there would be children as well…children who would love him as Christine did, who would look upon him without fear…

"Erik, could you help me with this?"

Christine's voice broke into his daydream as she walked towards him, now clad in a fresh chemise, her corset in one hand and the robe in the other.

Erik obliged, first putting on the robe and then beginning to follow Christine's directions on how to lace up the corset.

"You'll have to pull harder, Erik. It must be very tight."

Erik grimaced. He hated the thought of her wearing this, hated the knowledge that he was hurting her when he pulled the laces tight. He hurried through the task, though he allowed his hands to linger on her waist and shoulders when he buttoned up the back of the simple gown that she had chosen from the wardrobe.

The idea that he was allowed to touch her, allowed to cause his hands to linger on her body, was so foreign and new to him that it was a cause of no small amount of delight. He kissed her again when she turned to face him, and the delight only increased when she kissed him back with equal fervency.

It was still so hard to believe that this was not a dream.

Christine broke the kiss sooner than Erik desired, and turned her attention to finding pins for her hair.

"Leave it down." Erik suggested after several moments of watching her rummage on the floor for pins that had been carelessly thrown aside the night before, and laughed at the expression on her face.

"I can't." was her only reply.

"Why not?" Erik asked stubbornly, though he knew perfectly well why not. "Your hair is lovely when it is loose, Christine."

"Are you saying that it isn't lovely however I wear it?" she teased, picking up the last of the pins and setting to work on her tangled curls. "It's simply not proper, Erik."

"Propriety isn't a word often spoken down here." Erik replied, bending to trail his lips along the back of her neck.

Christine tried to conceal the tremor that passed through her body at his touch—unsuccessfully. She could only imagine what triumphant look must be on his face at achieving exactly his desired result. "Honestly, Erik…look what a mess you've made of my hair."

"As I recall, you rather enjoyed it." He wrapped an arm about her waist and ran the other hand through the tangles of her hair, bringing the delightfully scented curls to his nose and dropping his mouth dangerously close to her ear. "As did I."

Christine sighed, abandoning her hair for a moment and resting in his embrace. "Erik, I have to go back to the opera house for a little while."

Erik stiffened, fear shooting through him. He pulled away, and Christine's heart leapt into her throat. After what had passed between them the night before…he couldn't possibly think…

His eyes told her plainly that he did. Christine sighed in frustration and sorrow. How long would it take to prove to him that she truly loved him, and that because of that love, she would never leave him again? How long would it take to overcome years of self-condemnation and feelings of unworthiness?

She put her arms around his neck, running her fingers lightly through his hair and looking up into his eyes. "I'm not going back to Raoul, Erik. I won't ever go back to him. But I need to know how the Opera Populaire fared, I need to get my things, and I need to talk to Andre and Firmin. I am still in their employ, whether the theater is completely destroyed or not. That place was my life, Erik. I need to know how things are going to turn out. I'm perfectly willing to spend the rest of my days here with you, but I can't disconnect myself entirely from the outer world, Erik. I just can't."

Do you end your days with me?

Erik stopped her with a finger to her lips. "I'm sorry, Christine. You won't be spending the rest of your life in this…"

Cold and dismal place…

"…place. I'm going to find a home for us, Christine, where we can live as a part of the outside world. I can't condemn you to live here forever. This place has been my Hell for as long as I can remember, it seems."

Christine felt pure joy tear through her being, and she kissed Erik fervently, joyfully. He was going to give her what she had dreamed of for so long—the life of a normal woman—and that life would include him.

"I've dwelt so long in Hell, Christine," Erik murmured, holding her to him. "Find us a place in Heaven, my angel."

-

A while later, after they had breakfasted, Christine was ready to return to the Opera Populaire. Erik had gone back for the boat while she had prepared the meal, and now he sat at the organ, rifling through pages of sheet music.

Christine paused at the edge of the lake. "Come with me, Erik?"

Erik stood, torn. He didn't want to see the ruin that he had created, but neither did he want to let his beloved Christine face the ravages of the place where she had spent most of her life alone.

Love won out, and he turned away to smooth the leather mask onto his face before stepping into the boat with Christine.

She frowned when she saw the mask, but she said nothing. Perhaps one day he would be able to go about in public without the unfeeling scrap of clothing that had become his shield against the tortures of humanity.

But for now, it was his only comfort besides her love. She had no wish to deny him either.

-

They entered the Opera Populaire through her dressing room, as Raoul and Madame Giry had. Christine paused, her hand going to her throat as memories assailed her. Had it only been last night that she had sat before that very mirror, touching her skin with perfume and enduring the pain of an even tighter lacing than usual? Had it only been last night that she had prepared for the greatest performance of her career?

It felt a lifetime ago.

She took Erik's hand as they left the room, her heart beating fearfully. What would they see when they entered the theater?

Nothing could have prepared her for the ruins before them. She stood at the doors, her body trembling, tears welling in her throat and eyes. Beside her, she heard Erik give a convulsive sob.

"Oh, Christine," he cried, tearing his hands from hers and burying his face in them. "Christine, why have you brought me here?"