A/N: Here's another chapter! Enjoy, and don't forget to review!

Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with The Phantom of the Opera except the 2004 DVD, the 1987 soundtrack, and a rather unhealthy obsession with Gerard Butler. I am in no way profiting in this beyond the good feeling I get from giving Erik a (generally)happy ending. That said, on with the fic!

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One year ago, Christine Daaé had been a completely different woman. Sixteen years old, a dancing career in front of her, she would never have imagined what was in store for her. If you had told her that at seventeen, she would have fallen in love, left Paris, and been married to a man she had always known as the Angel of Music, she would have politely excused herself from your presence, thinking all the while that you were insane.

Then it happened.

Now, sitting in the back of a coach, Christine Leroux was quite willing to say that this was the happiest moment of her life. In the short time that she had known Erik for Erik, instead of an Angel, she had seen many sides to him. Anger, frustration, cold and calculating; even brief smatterings of happiness. Through those times, she had always felt his love for her; he would never vent anything on her, in reality, she was sure she calmed him a little. But all those tiny signs of affection were nothing compared to the way she felt now.

She was no longer Christine Daaé. She was Christine Leroux, wife of Erik Leroux. Madame Opera Ghost, as Nadir had playfully said the other night, receiving in return a glare from Erik.

She had seen throughout the service that Erik had been terribly nervous. Nadir, who had walked her down the aisle, had whispered to her that Erik seemed even more insane than usual, a large feat in his opinion. But looking in his eyes for the first time that day, she had seen only hope, love, and an inexplicable fear. Something that Nadir had told her when she first met him surfaced in her mind:

Flashback

"Miss Daaé. Enchanté." The man was dark in every sense of the word. Dark skin, dark hair, dark eyes, even his clothes; but he emanated confidence, and the sparkle in his eye betrayed his jubilant personality.

"Christine, stay here with Nadir for a while. I must return and get some of my things. Is there anything you need?" Christine shook her head, and Erik leaned down to hug her before slipping out of the door.

"Well, Miss Daaé, it seems that Erik has left us some time to get to know each other. Would you care for some tea?"

"Call me Christine. Tea would be lovely, if it isn't too much trouble," Christine answered softly, a small smile on her face as she finally looked away from the door Erik had left through.

"No trouble at all. I hope Erik has been good to you, Mademoiselle. He can be very...intense, at times."

Christine laughed. "He is all I have ever wanted, Nadir. He makes me feel as nobody else has."

Nadir turned a searching gaze on her; she felt that if he looked hard enough, he could read her soul.

"He feels for you as he has felt for nobody else, Christine. I have known him since...for a very long time, and I can honestly say that he has never been happier. You must understand, Erik has had very little human contact in his life. If he ever seems cold, distant, it is through sheer terror that he will make a mistake that will cost him your love."

"Never!" Christine responded almost violently.

"Mademoiselle, I can assure you that I believe you. Erik, however, is not used to letting anyone close to him. His survival has depended on being distant from those who would scorn him. If he lost you, he would die of the pain."

End flashback

Now, sitting curled up against her husband as the horses thundered their way home, Christine hoped that such a thing would never happen. She loved Erik; now she had to make him believe, and not fear that she would leave...

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"Ah! Monsieur Khan! Wonderful to see you again!"

Nadir turned to see the manager of the Opéra Royale, M. Réyes, walking toward him.

"Monsieur Réyes, a pleasure as always."

"What brings you to the Opéra today? Is there anything I can help you with?"

"No, I am merely passing the time. Monsieur Leroux was married today, I thought it unwise to intrude upon him today."

"Ah, of course, your composer friend and his singer fiancée...although I suppose it is wife now."

"That reminds me, Monsieur, I have one of Erik's compositions for you to look over if you wish," Nadir proclaimed, taking said composition from his pocket with a flourish. It was a piece Erik had written for his Don Juan Triumphant, about Christine under the guise of Aminta, but it had not been a part of the final product, the Don Juan as seen by Paris. This piece had been private, everything Erik had felt about Christine, set to music. It had taken a long time and much careful persuasion for Erik to let Nadir bring it to M. Réyes.

"Perfect! Let us bring it to Monsieur Emberg, our orchestra master. He will wish to see it." M. Réyes gestured for Nadir to follow him, and as the two set off, Nadir couldn't help but think that this man seemed far too cheerful for five o'clock in the afternoon.

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When the carriage pulled up outside the house, Erik looked down to see Christine asleep against him, angelic as always, dressed in the wedding gown he had designed for her, with a smile on her face. He could not bring himself to wake her. Scooping her up in his arms, he paid the driver and made his way inside, careful not to disturb her. He somehow managed to open the door to their room and set her down gently on the bed.

As of yet, they had not spent the night together; he had always made some excuse, such as music, or that he was working on something around the house. Christine had never protested aloud, but he had seen the look in her eyes; it had almost killed him not to turn to her, but he was still afraid. Stroking her cheek, he stood slowly and started to walk back out the door.

"Erik?" The whisper was so soft that had he not had superb hearing from all those years of haunting the Opéra Populaire, he might not have heard it. Slowly he turned.

"Yes, ma chère?"

"Stay with me." She held out her arms to him, and he finally let himself give in to her. Crossing back over to the bed, he sat down next to her and she immediatly wrapped her arms around him.

He did not know how long they sat there. He was merely glad that she was not running from him; somehow, he still expected it.

Christine, on the other hand, was still thinking back to Nadir's warnings. You must understand, Erik has had very little human contact in his life. If he ever seems cold, distant, it is through sheer terror that he will make a mistake that will cost him your love. Would he then try to begin something? Christine did not care what; she had heard the older girls back in Paris bragging about their exploits with stagehands, actors, patrons- she and Meg had often speculated about what it would be like- but she knew, thanks to Nadir, that Erik would likely not even try to kiss her. She sat in silence for a few more minutes, then looked up.

"Erik?"

"Yes?"

"You don't have to wear your mask around me."

Silence. She knew that she had started something. He had made no move to pull away from her, nor to take the mask off, so she reached up and touched his unmasked cheek.

"It doesn't matter."

"It does. You should not have to be subjected to-"

"Erik. Stop."

He stopped.

"It doesn't matter. You're you under the mask, with or without it. It is not the mask that I love." There, she had said it. Now it was up to him to believe her. She could tell that there was a battle raging in his mind as he stared at her.

"...Christine..." This time it was his turn to speak so quietly that it was almost illegible. She smiled.

"I'm right here, Erik. I made the mistake of running once. I will not make it again." She reached up as she had the first time, all those months ago, but this time, her eyes locked with his. She was silently asking his permission. He closed his eyes and nodded slowly, allowing her to gently pull the mask off his face. He kept his eyes closed, not wanting to let her see the fear in his eyes.

He felt her hands travel gently over the ravaged flesh, the old scars, the old deformity.

"Erik, look at me," she ordered gently. He obeyed, and opened his eyes to her clear brown eyes gazing at him. There was no fear in her eyes, only the love that he had seen since they left the Opéra Populaire. Unable to hold her gaze for long, he pulled her closer, burying his face in her neck, and finally allowing himself to be close to her.

"Darling...my angel..." he whispered against her skin, his lips brushing gently over her neck as he spoke. She giggled.

"That tickles, Angel," she said, grinning though he could not see that.

"I apologise," a murmur this time, repeating the action. He pulled away from her neck and looked directly at her again, leaning his forehead against hers. Lifting a hand to her face, he gently tilted toward her, letting his mouth settle slowly over hers, as if to give her time to pull away, though that was unnecessary. She kissed him back, letting loose the same passion they had both felt in Don Juan Triumphant.

One hand still cupping her cheek, the other slid along her spine as her arms made their way around his neck and waist. An almost inaudible moan worked its way out of Christine's throat, as memories of his hands on her that night ran rampant in her mind. Settling herself closer to him, she shivered as he pulled back, looking into her eyes for approval. He found it. He pulled her against him again, this time kissing her harder and letting both his hands start to work on the back of her dress.

Let the dream descend...

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If there was one thing Raoul de Chagny hated, it was not getting his own way. It was mostly to do with Philippe spoiling him, though he generally chose to ignore the fact that he was indeed spoiled. Now, sitting in the small hotel room, knowing he was locked in and helpless to rectify the situation, he was getting very annoyed. The doctor and the captain were against him, he knew. In his fevered mind, it was all a conspiracy to let the Phantom continue to terrorise his Christine.

Bored and frustrated, Raoul stood and paced the room, against the doctor's orders. He had been told specifically to stay in bed until the fever passed; Raoul was reminded of Doctor Ryan, back at the Chagny mansion, who had told him the same thing. That doctor had been wrong; surely this one was as well! I need to find Christine... he thought, glancing around the room, looking for anything that would aid him.

The lock of the door clicked as someone entered. Raoul's breath caught in his throat. Christine! Aloud, he said, "Good afternoon, darling! I see the monster has let you loose!"

The maid gave him a strange glance. There had been rumours going around about the mad young Vicomte. Dashing as he was, the good looks were evened out with the madness.

"The monster, sir?" she asked carefully.

"Yes, the monster!" the Vicomte answered. "Your Angel of Music, the Phantom!"

Angels? Phantoms? The man must be quite mad.

"Christine, come, you have not greeted me as you should! We are to be married, darling!" At this, Maria decided, to hell with it! if the handsome, rich Vicomte thought she was his fiancée, she would be his fiancée.

Playing along, she answered, "I am sorry, my dear, but I am frightened."

"Frightened indeed! What has he done to you, sweet? He must be truly horrible if he has succeeded in pulling us apart! But enough, we must fly." Raoul stood from his seat near the window and picked up the bag that the captain had had brought from the ship. "Let us go, darling, we must make our way to France!" He took her hand. "But your ring, darling! Where is your ring?"

Maria thought quickly. "He took it from me."

"The Phantom?"

"Yes, him. He took it from me, he was jealous."

"But you wore it as you left me! He would not have taken it from you!" Raoul began to get angry. He pulled Christine around to face him, only to see green eyes. "Impostor! You are but another trick of the Phantom's, sent to take me farther from Christine!" Pushing her down, he ran out the door. "Catch me if you can, Monsieur le Fantôme!"

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Hours later, Raoul had finally made his way to the train station, asking around again about the Phantom, Christine, and Nadir. He finally found a woman who spent her days cleaning on the train, who had seen them.

"Headed to Montréal, sir," she told him politely. She honestly wished that she could have nothing to do with this madman, with his tales of a ghost, a singer, and a foreigner. But this young man was rich, and had offered a reward for information, and she had a sick son to think of.

"Thank you, my good woman!" Raoul exclaimed, glad to have this information. He shoved some currency into her hand that he had had exchanged; he had no real idea of the amount, only that it was substantial. Money, however, was no object when it came to Christine.

Next stop, Montréal! he thought to himself as he headed toward the ticket booth.

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Nine o'clock, Nadir thought with a yawn as he hailed a carriage. Going home was not a good idea; he knew that they would be talking, if nothing else, and he had no wish to disturb anything they might be doing. He decided to check himself into an inn to stay the night, and go home in the morning.

Once there and in bed, Nadir suddenly had a feeling of overwhelming happiness, followed by dread. Another premonition, he thought with a groan. These really had to stop. He hoped that whatever happened, happened soon, and was over soon.

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A/N: Yay, Erik's over his shyness issues -manic grin- And Raoul is over...his...well, never mind, he still has all his issues. And will end up with more, I'm sure, by the time I'm finished with him. Poor guy, subjected to my mind! ;-) Anyway, as always, I'd love to hear from anyone who happens to read this :) Reviews keep me wanting to post!