a/n Here it is—the sequel! I'm going to try to have this not revolve around original characters too much to stop confusion, but there will be a lot of Gustave and Isabella. Just to clear up confusion from last time, Erik and Chrstine now have five kids. Gustave is the oldest, then Tristan, Mathieu, Angelique, and Eve (not pronounced like Adam and Eve, but with a soft "e"). For the most part, this story takes place in Vienna. Um… I can't think of anything else.

And a quick aside to a couple of people who were wondering (I can't remember who all wanted to know), French letters are condoms. Just don't ask me why they're called that. Also, speaking of condoms, this chapter gets kindaraunchy at the end. If you don't want to read that part, stop reading after Erik tells Angelique goodnight. I'll try to warn you about that stuff from now on.

CHAPTER 1—LADIES OF THE STAGE

Perhaps it was cruel to work the girl so hard, Erik thought, but she seemed to want nothing more than to sing until her exhaustion forced her to sleep. It amazed him, really, that he was finding a great deal of fatherly affection for the daughter of his once arch rival. What was even more ironic was the relationship blooming between the young diva and Gustave.

It seemed to content Gustave to spend a great deal of time at his father's side, walking about the opera house and checking to make sure that everything was in order before heading up to rehearsal. Although the theater was between shows, a number of the cast had asked permission to put on a small production of Handel's oratorio, Semele. As Erik and Gustave entered the theater, Isabella de Chagny's clear voice was ringing through the room as she sang "Where'er you walk." Her voice reminded him of Christine's. She lacked the fullness that Christine had achieved, but he knew that it would come with time, practice and age. Her voice was beautiful, however. It was clear and controlled, and had beautiful tone. As she worked her way through the song with the accompanist, she reached the run toward the end of the first section. Her voice faltered to a stop and she gave a sheepish smile as Erik approached with his son.

"Sounded good so far," Gustave said, smiling at her.

Isabella shook her head. "It sounded horrible."

Erik laughed at this, jumping up onto the stage beside her. He reached down for a music stand from the orchestra pit and placed it in front of her to rest her music on. Standing behind her, he placed his hands on her waist. "Stand up straight." She instantly straightened, glancing down at her music. Erik reached a hand up to lift her chin. "Don't look," he said. "You know this song."

"I can't get that run, though."

"You know the run, Bella," he said. "The problem is that you're thinking too hard. Don't think about it. Just let it come to you."

Although he couldn't see her face, he knew she had to be rolling her eyes. Gustave stifled a laugh and sat down in the first row. "Mind an audience?"

Isabella shook her head. "As long as you don't mind my mistakes."

Erik tightened his hands around her waist, tickling her. "You won't make any mistakes." He nodded to the pianist. "Proceed."

After the short piano entrance, Isabella began to sing. Erik did not miss Gustave's entranced expression, nor the tensing of Isabella's body as she progressed through the song. "Relax," he said softly. "You can't sing if you're tense."

He felt her forcibly relax her shoulders. As she approached her run, he put his hands on her again tensing shoulders so that they could not tighten. She began to look down at her music, but he quickly snatched it from in front of her. As she scowled at him, she went right through the run perfectly, not even realizing it. Then her eyes widened and she stopped singing to squeal with delight. "I did it!"

Laughing again, Erik released his hands from her shoulders. "I told you you could. You weren't thinking about it. You were too busy being annoyed with me."

She scowled again at his smirk and he patted her head. "Keep practicing, child." He looked down at his son. "I assume you would prefer to stay here?"

Gustave shook his head. "I'd love to," he said, smiling at Isabella, "but Jean said he needed my help backstage. Something about a ripped piece of backdrop."

Erik nodded. "He mentioned it to me last night," he said. "He also said that you've not been working like you should. I didn't let you leave school early so you could waste time…" He trailed off a bit awkwardly, knowing very well what his son had been up to. He cleared his throat and said, "Fraternizing."

In seventeen years, Erik had never seen his son turn such a shade of red. Feeling that his duty as a father was momentarily fulfilled in the embarrassment of his oldest child, Erik headed out the door to look for his wife. After fifteen minutes of searching, he found her in the ballet dormitory, tending to the ankle of a young ballerina that Erik recognized as the immigrant girl from Russia. "What happened here?" he asked.

Christine looked up. "Hello, darling," she said, smiling as he dropped a kiss on her forehead. "Nothing serious. Zoya's only twisted her ankle. It should be fine in a few days."

Looking over the girl, Erik noticed a small bruise on Zoya's right arm. It almost looked as if someone had grabbed her. Erik knew little of the girl and he looked at Christine. "Does she speak German?" he asked.

Christene shook her head. "Hardley. She speaks Russian and Dutch."

Erik heaved a sigh. He knew she would understand Russian better, but his Dutch was better—he had spent the better part of two months in Holland with Christine on a vacation several months ago. He looked down at her.

"Hoe kwetste u zich, kind?" he asked in Dutch.

The girl's blue eyes widened. "Ik ben zeer onhandig, de heer. Ik val vaak."

A frown creased Erik's brow. If he had understood correctly, she had said that she was merely clumsy. He knew this was untrue—he had never seen a girl of her age move across the stage with such grace. "Niemand duwde u?"

Her bottom lip trembled. "Nr, de Heer Dussek. Ik zweer het."

Christine was frowning now. "What is it? Why is she crying?"

"I don't think this was an accident," he said softly. "I asked if she was pushed. She insists she was not, but…" He trailed off, looking back at Zoya. "U te hoeven niet me, Zoya vrezen. Als iemand u berokkende, zouden zij moeten worden gestraft."

Zoya burst into tears. Christine enveloped the girl into her arms. "What happened?" she whispered.

"I don't know," he said. "Zoya, wat gebeurde?"

"Dat mens, Heinrike—hij is gedronken, de heer. Hij trok me naar hem en probeerde…" She shuddered and broke off, sobbing into Christine's skirt.

Christine had caught the name of one of the stagehands and was instantly suspicios. "What about Heinrike?" she asked.

"She says that he pulled her to him when he was drunk." He looked back at Zoya, fearing the answer to the next question. "Raakte hij u tegen uw wil?"

The girl gasped for breath and nodded. "Ik liep van hem, maar in mijn haast, verdraaide ik mijn enkel. Ik vrees hij me zou verkracht hebben als Christine niet was meegekomen." She broke down entirely.

Wide-eyed, Christine reached a hand toward Erik. "He didn't rape her, did he?"

"No," Erik said softly. "But he tried." He glared back at the theater. "It was Gustave's job to watch that man," he growled. "I've been afraid he would try something like this to one of the girls. No doubt he was occupied with Isabella."

"Erik, don't blame Gustave for this," Christine said desperately, but Erik was already back on his feet and storming toward the theater.

"Uncle Erik!"

Erik turned to see his nephew hurrying toward him with a roll of canvas under one arm and a can of paint in the other hand. "What is it, Jean?"

"Have you seen Gustave?" Jean asked. "He said he was going to help me fix that rip, but I haven't seen him in at least an hour."

"Did you look in the theater?"

"Yes," he said. "He wasn't there."

Erik scowled. "No doubt he can be found in Isabella's dressing room."

Jean nodded. "I was just on my way there to check."

Forcing a smile onto his face, Erik said, "I shall look for you. Where can I send him?"

"Tell him to meet me in the workshop," Jean said. "They moved the whole backdrop in there, but it's still hanging up and I can't work on it by myself."

Erik nodded and turned toward Isabella's dressing room. He knocked once, but did not wait for a response before he burst in.

Isabella had been reclined on the couch with her head in Gustave's lap, but she sat up as soon as she saw Erik. Blushing, she patted her hair and said, "Good afternoon, Count—"

"Isabella," Erik said between clenched teeth. "You will please excuse my son and I." It was not a request.

Looking nervously from Gustave to Erik, Isabella nodded, standing up and exiting the room. Erik waited until the door had shut before he rounded on his son. "You said you wanted to pursue a career in the theater," he said in a softly dangerous voice. "If I pulled you from school before you were finished, you said, you would promise to work hard. Not be late. Do as you were told."

Gustave was on his feet now. He looked both confused and annoyed. "And I do," he said indignantly. "I come to work every day. I—"

"A girl was nearly raped," Erik rumbled. "Do you know why, Gustave?"

Eyes widening in horror, Gustave shook his head.

If Erik had been angry before, it was nothing to what he was now. "Because you were not doing what I told you to do! I asked you to keep an eye on Heinrike to make sure he did not make unwanted advances on anyone, and the only thing that kept a girl from that fate was your mother!"

Gustave did not move. He was shaking, but it was hard to tell if it was from shock or anger. Judging by the red hue his face was taking on, Erik judged it to be from the latter. "What am I supposed to do?" he asked. "Stalk him?"

"At least spend some of your time shadowing him," Erik roared. "You speak as if there was nothing you could have done to stop him when it was your job to watch him in the first place! Instead, you were 'busy' with Isabella!"

"I'm sorry," Gustave said quietly.

Erik said no more, but turned and left the room. He barely noticed Isabella standing outside the door with tears running down her cheeks. "Go practice," he muttered, waving a hand toward her. He heard her burst into sobs, then the door to the dressing room slammed and her crying was muffled.

Gustave did not eat dinner with them that night. Christine had tried to speak with him after Erik left, but the boy had been unwilling to listen to her, which had prompted more yelling from Erik as he told his son to respect his mother. Gustave had not said anything to this, but had stormed from the living room, slamming the door and causing baby Eve to burst into tears. Mathieu and Tristan had said nothing, but immediately returned to their game of Chinese checkers. Tears had come to Angelique's eyes, and she had attached herself to Tristan's leg. After a while, Tristan had also become agitated and told Angelique to let go of him, which had caused her to burst into tears and scamper toward their mother. Christine had then reprimanded Tristan and sent him to his room until dinner. Now opponentless, Mathieu had retreated to the music room to practice piano while Christine attempted to calm her wailing daughters and Erik stewed in his chair.

So it was that dinner that evening was missing Gustave while Tristan poked unenthusiastically at his food and Angelique sniffled. Christine periodically got up from the table to check on Eve and Erik glared down at his steak, cutting it with more roughness than was necessary. Christine seemed to have noticed this, but knew her husband well enough to know better than to annoy him further when was in bad temper. The third time she returned from quieting Eve, Erik glared over at her and gestured to his older daughter.

"Can't you make her stop crying?" he barked.

Christine gave her husband a stunned look. Erik seldom acted like this in regard to Angelique, normally trying to quiet her and cheer her up with magic tricks and music. "No, I can't," she said quietly as the sniffles increased in intensity. "I can't help it if you're scaring her."

"Stop crying, Angelique," Tristan said angrily. "Can't you see you're annoying Papa?"

Angelique disintegrated into sobs again and ran from the table.

"Tristan Alexander!" Christine said. "Go apologize to your sister this instant!"

"Why should I apologize?" he asked huffily. "It's Papa who's upset her." For a moment, no one moved. Christine 's fork had stopped midway to her mouth, and Mathieu's eyes had widened. Just as Erik's face turned an angry shade of red and he opened his mouth to let loose on his son, Tristan jumped slightly and glared over at Mathieu. "That hurt," he hissed.

"Serves you right," said Mathieu.

"That doesn't mean you had to kick me," Tristan said angrily. He threw a piece of broccoli at his brother.

There was a thud as Christine slammed her hands on the table in fury. "That's it!"

Everyone remaining at the table turned to look at her. Erik had never seen her look so angry before. "You—" She pointed at Tristan. "You will apologize to your father right now, young man!" Her face booked no refusal.

"I'm sorry, Papa," Tristan said quietly.

"Now go tell your sister how sorry you are that you upset her, and then go to your room."

Tristan scampered from the table and Mathieu slumped down in his chair, quelling beneath his mothers angry gaze. "You shouldn't have kicked your brother, Mathieu," she said, but her voice had lost some of its rage. "Finish your dinner then go apologize."

After Mathieu had finished his potatoes and departed, Christine rounded on her husband, anger back in full force. Erik's first reaction was to follow Mathieu's lead and slump down in his chair in fear. "I don't know what's gotten into you tonight!" she cried. "You never act like this toward the children! It's not their fault that you're in a bad temper because you can't accept that hormonal teenagers make mistakes! I don't recall you being perfect!" She sat down irately and returned to her dinner.

After several minutes she was still silent, and Erik began to sweat. Somehow, her bittersilence was worse than her rage. He gingerly reached a hand out to take hers. "I'm sorry, my love," he murmured, kissing her fingers. "I'll apologize to the children. All of them," he added when she looked up at him.

Heaving a sigh, Christine stood up again. "I don't know if Gustave will listen to you," she said. "But you can try."

Erik stood up and squeezed her hand before he let go. "I love you."

"I love you, too," she said, giving him a small smile. "I'm going to bed. Will you be up soon?"

"As soon as I finish with the children." He left, feeling her eyes follow him out the door. He stopped at Mathieu's room first, knowing it would be easiest to speak to his youngest son first. Mathieu was already in bed when Erik entered, his arm hanging off the edge of the bed and his mouth hanging open.Erik gently tucked the blankets around his son, whispering an apology and chuckling when his son groggily told him not to worry about it. Next, Erik headed into Tristan's room. Tristan was sitting by the window, staring out at the small stream that ran across the back of the grounds. He accepted his father's apology, telling Erik that he was sorry that he had thrown broccoli at Mathieu and made his sister cry.

Predictably, Gustave did not answer the door, even after Erik called an apology through the door. He merely called out, "I bet you're only saying that because mother told you to."

Entering Angelique's room, Erik's heart nearly broke as he saw the little girl curled in a shaking ball on the bed, still dressed. He rested a hand on her back and she rolled over to look at him. She immediately tried to hide her tears, but Erik lifted her into his lap, cradling her to his chest the way he had done when she was a baby.

"I'm sorry, bel ange," he gently, rocking her back and forth. "I did not mean to upset you further. You know I adore you." He kissed her tear stained cheek and tickled her side slightly.

Through her tears, Angelique gave a small giggle at this. "Is it my pretty eyes?" she asked, looking up from her father's chest.

"Your pretty eyes," he said, resting his forehead against hers. "Your pretty face. Your pretty smile."

"Am I reallypretty, Papa?"

"Everyone says so. Iwalk about the opera house after productions and people will ask me, 'Erik, who is the beautiful child running about dressed like a princess?' And I tell them, 'That is my precious Angelique.'" Erik stood up, carrying her to the dresser. Setting her down, he took a nightgown from the dresser as she pulled her dress off. "Arms up." He pulled the nightgown onto his daughter, and then took her hand to take her back to her bed. She climbed beneath the covers, and he smiled down at her as he tucked them around her tightly and sat down on the edge of her four-poster bed. "You know what your mother said when you were born?"

Angelique smiled, all traces of tears now gone from her brown eyes. "She said I looked like a baby angel," she said proudly. It was a story she knew well.

"And we called you Angelique, because you are our precious angel." Kissing her gently on the top of the head, Erik turned down the lamp. "Now sleep, my darling."

Angelique leaned up to pull off her father's mask and kiss his marred cheek. "I love you, Papa," she said beforeputting the mask back. It was a something that she had done since she was very small, andwhile he had never understood itentirely, made Erik adore the child all the more. She closed her brown eyes and gave an enormous yawn. "Goodnight, Papa," she said sleepily.

"Goodnight, baby."

Shutting the door quietly, Erik made his way to his bedroom. Christine had already changed, and was wrapped up in a bathrobe as she sat at her vanity combing her hair. She smiled at him in the mirror as he slid his hands down her arms. "Did you speak with the children?" she asked, not looking away from her reflection.

"Yes," he said. "And of course, Gustave did not let me in."

Christine sighed, and then asked, "Has Angelique stopped crying?"

He mumbled an affirmative as he leaned down to kiss her neck. "Come to bed," Erik grumbled into her skin.

She stood up and stepped away from him. She gave a stretch and an exaggerated yawn. "Oh, I don't know, Erik," she said. "I'm so very tired."

Erik stepped toward her, kicking off his shoes and loosening the cravat around his neck. He wrapped an arm around her waist and began to untie her robe with the other hand. "Are you now."

The robe fell from her shoulders and Christine stood before him in all her nearly-naked beauty, the sheer, black floor-length lingerie that he had bought her for their anniversary four months ago clinging to her form beautifully. Erik smiled, remembering the night she had appeared in the doorway of the hotel room with this very piece hiked up to mid calf, legs spread, hair down, and commanded him to undress. Now, however, he slid one strap down her arm and traced his fingers over one perfect shoulder. He let his lips roam over the skin there, biting gently. She gasped and reached up to run her fingers through his hair. "Are the children asleep?" she whispered desperately.

He had to work to find his voice. "Yes," rasped, pulled his vest off and casting it aside rather carelessly.

"You're—" She gasped again. "You're sure?"

Erik pulled her backwards onto the bed. "Yes." He kissed her again. Her fingers moved to the buttons of his shirt as he kissed her, undoing them with expertise. He pulled the black nightgown off of her, and leaving her lovely body completely exposed to him. In spite of himself, Erik managed a smirk and said through clenched teeth, "I thought you said you were tired."

"I lied," Christine moaned as he his kisses fluttered across her neck. It had been over a week since they had explored each others bodies to the fullest. Lately, one of them would feel too tired, or one of the children had a nightmare and demanded to sleep between them. In one way or another, Fate would throw some obstacle in their path to pleasure. Now, the children were sleeping peacefully and Erik had remembered to lock the door on his way in. Christine lay atop Erik on the bed, completely nude, while he still had his trousers on. She quickly noticed this and pulled them off of him, giggling as she came back up to meet his lips softly. Pulling his mask from his face, she whispered, "I love you."

Erik flipped his wife onto her back. He pulled away from her as she tried, in vain, to pull him on top of her. Seeing the annoyed look on her face, he kissed her stomach before making his way to the sensitive spot between her legs. Her sigh of delight told him that she was, in fact, rather pleased with his course of action. He traced his tongue over the length of her sex before plunging his tongue into the warmth that would soon have her calling out to him. He searched her with his mouth, finding that wonderful spot that made her moans escalate by octaves at a time. Finding the swollen nub, he desperately wrapped his lips around it, sucking and licking until she was calling his name in breathy tones that made him feel remarkably human and... male. There was something in Erik telling him she was close to her release, so he quickly pulled his mouth away, licking his lips tenderly.

Sitting up impatiently, Christine pulled him up to her and kissed him with great ardor. Their tongues engaged in the heated and forbidden dance of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. He grasped her legs, pulling them around his waist and guiding her to him all at once. That one passionate kiss broke when Christine gasped as he slid into her. He rolled onto his back again, pulling her with him, and she began to ride him at a steady, normal pace.

He gazed up at her as she threw her head back, her curly brown tresses cascading down her back. Her brown eyes were rolled back in her head and her mouth was just hanging open as she gasped for breath. Leaning up, he pressed his face between the valley of her breasts and kissed there lightly. He moved to one, grasping the erect, pink nipple between his teeth and biting playfully, making her cry out pleas for more.

Slowly, he moved them to where she was against the soft duvet and feather pillows. He kept the pace steady and claimed her mouth as his own once more. The kiss stayed passionate and full of desire until he felt her walls clench around his length. He tore his mouth away to let out a deep, very guttural groan. Her own moans raised in pitch until she had to stifle her screams into his shoulder. The feel of her teeth scratching the flesh on his shoulder only pushed him further. With a few final thrusts, Erik felt Christine's form shake and convulse with long-awaited release and he soon followed, spilling every ounce of his seed into her.

She fell back into the pillows, her dark hair fanning out around her flushed face and making her look simply angelic. Pushing himself up on his elbows, he slid out of her and smiled down at her. She smiled back, twirling a long strand of hair around her finger. Reaching up, she pulled him down beside her and rolled over to put her back to his chest, snuggling close to him. Smiling, he placed a sweet kiss to her temple and wrapped his arms around her waist protectively.

"I love you too," he whispered in her ear as she drifted into a sound sleep. Erik slept, truly slept for the first time in a week with Christine in his arms.

a/n Dear God. Thanks to Remy's Writer for helping me with that last part. (Yes, I did have to have my first truly raunchy sex scene co-written. I think it turned out pretty good, though.) You're my hero!

Here's a translation of what was said between Erik and Zoya (I tried to slip in what was going on, but I'm throwing this in for kicks anyway).

How did you hurt yourself, child?

I am very clumsy, sir. I fall often.

No one pushed you?

No, Mister Dussek. I swear it.

You need not fear me, Zoya. If someone harmed you, they should be punished… Zoya, what happened?

That man, Heinrike--he is drunk, sir. He pulled me toward him and tried to...

Did he touch you against your will?

I ran from him, but in my haste, I twisted my ankle. I fear he would have raped me if Christine had not come along.