Christine

She was begging shamelessly and she knew it. Christine's midnight blue eyes met her husband's lighter ones, silently pleading for a second chance she knew she had no right to ask for. They remained locked into each other's gazes for a long moment; then Christine saw his quiet, noble heart break a little more and he nodded. "Charles, your mother had a very special dressing room when she lived here; it was her favorite out of almost every room. Would you like to see it?"

Charles paused in his recital of places he wanted to go and smiled with the full and present joy of a child. "May we go now?"

With a laugh that was very nearly a sob, Christine held out a hand to each of her boys. "Of course we may." The dressing-room would be empty, she knew; one of the only requests Raoul had made of the management over the years was that her old room be untouched. As no respectable singer would want such a lost dressing-room anyway, they had readily complied.

The room was dusty and stale when they entered, but Christine didn't mind. She only had eyes for the great mirror. "Raoul, do you remember . . .?" she asked. He nodded and searched the mirror for the tiny button Nadir had shown him on that night over five years ago; with a click, the counterweights released and the mirror sung inward.

Charles was fascinated. "Who made the mirror like that?" He demanded, coming over from where he had been examining Christine's old dresser.

She smiled and picked him up in her arms. "Let me tell you a little more about the Angel . . ."

Raoul

He listened half-heartedly as Christine's voice carried back to him stories of Erik. In the dressing-room, Raoul had seriously debated following the mother and son into the darkness, but he had found himself unable to let them go alone. Now, following them, he was just as deeply contemplating allowing them to continue without him. Erik might not even be at the house by the lake, and he both hoped and feared what a private talk between Erik and the Chagnys might accomplish. Would it bring about resolution? Closure? Or would it spark abandonment, or be only the pointless reopening of old wounds? He could not tell. For a minute Raoul actually stopped, letting the candle Christine held grow distant as he stared after it.

"You are utterly exasperating."

He turned to face Erik in the shadowy darkness. "No need to be insulting," Raoul said mildly. "Wouldn't it be easier for everyone if I just . . . disappeared?"

Raoul could have sworn there was a teasing note in Erik's voice when he replied, "Don't tempt me." The golden eyes closed. "Easier for whom? The wife who depends on your steadiness more than you know? The son whose world revolves around you? Easier for me, when I was concentrating quite thoroughly on being dead to avoid this very situation? For you, who, despite what you may believe, is incapable of abandoning either of them without knowing their certain fate? No, my dear Comte; while excruciating, a little talk between the three of us might do some good."

"He's your son."

Raoul did not know what had made him bring that to light so abruptly; the darkness around them further stilled, echoing with his words. Finally Erik answered, "If you believe I am unaware of that, monsieur, you are mistaken indeed. But I would prefer that he remain ignorant of it unless there is no other choice. I never knew my father, but I can imagine how much it would hurt to lose a father such as you have been to him at so young an age, and I will not inflict that pain upon him without very good reason."

Raoul bowed his head; at the sputtering of a lit candle, he followed the man he had once thought a heartless monster into the depths of his Opera House.

Erik

Christine and Charles were waiting for them by the boat; before he stepped into view, he could see the flicker of doubt in her eyes—she never had been able to find the hidden craft on her own. If Erik truly did not wish to speak to her, all he need do was leave her standing on the edge of the lake.

Did she not know he could never do that to her?

"You lost something," Erik murmured conversationally as he came up beside her; he had doused his own candle, and Christine's looked frail in the gathered shadows. She raised the light to see him, and Raoul following close behind him; the corners of her mouth lifted slightly, but there was no joy in that smile. Christine knew that the three of them had what likely would be a very unpleasant interval ahead of them.

The boat was located and all four of them—Charles nearly hanging off the prow, restrained from falling into the icy water only by his mother's firm grip on his shirt—were soon crossing the vast black cavern in silence. With both Erik and Raoul rowing, their little party reached the other shore far more quickly than usual. Raoul picked Charles up and headed towards the house, leaving Erik to help Christine from the boat. It was so simple; the pressure of her hand in his, as though they had never parted, her dark eyes questioning him as he gently aided her efforts to avoid the water lapping around them; she stood close, too close, when they was again on solid ground. He wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms; exercising his remaining self-control, Erik simply tenderly squeezed her hands and withdrew.

"Erik."

He could not resist; he turned back to her and quietly answered, "Beloved?"

Tears that had been threatening to fall since he appeared behind her on the stage were finally spilling down her cheeks; he reached forward and gently stroked them away with his thumbs, his long hands cradling her face. "Why?" Christine whispered, her arms hesitantly locking around his neck. When Erik neither answered nor resisted, she edged closer, touching her forehead to his shoulder. For a moment, just one moment, he allowed himself to hold her near, his arms tight around her, before gently moving away.

"Your husband is waiting." He took her hand and kissed it, then used it to lead her forward.

A/N: Hope you're enjoying this. Review please!

Mominator124: I love it when I surprise people! I want what I'm going to end up doing with this to be a surprise as well . . . oh, don't worry, there will be -much- conflict.