A/N: -waves exhaustedly- Aah, this chapter was a headache! My cousin, Sandy, and I labored over the lyrics to the Erik/Christine lullaby for HOURS, making sure the rhyme scheme and syllable patterns matched… words were in character, not too sappy or redundant… lol. I now have an IMMENSE appreciation (even bigger than before!) for the Andrew Lloyd Webber/Charles Hart team— way to go, boys! –standing ovation- Also, hugs, kisses, and truckloads of love and gratitude to my cousin for co-writing and betaing this chapter. (And, of course, to my incredible beta, Em, whom I love, because she catches my silly OOC moments!)

Oh… and I know I'm going to be questioned on this. I purposely excluded Madame Giry's Tale. This isn't because I didn't like the scene, but because I thought it unrealistic. I mean, think about it! If Raoul trounced off after Madame Giry, leaving Christine alone in her room, why in the WORLD would Erik stay to hear his own life story? My answer: He wouldn't. –shrugs- Besides, I've thrown in several references to his childhood, the gypsies, etc. and there will be more where they came from, I promise!

Disclaimer: -heavy sigh-

Strenuous as the evening's events had been, I did not sleep that night.

I alternated between being irked and amused as Madame Giry tugged the indignant, disheveled Vicomte through the staircase just above my head. The boy plagued her with incessant questions, but Giry brushed him aside dismissively.

"But who is he? Where did he come from?"

"You mustn't ask me, Monsieur. Please, just return to the lobby. Your fiancée is waiting…"

I bristled at the mention of Christine, briefly squeezing my eyes shut in frustration. We had been so close to rekindling the embers of a passionate flame. The smoldering desire in her eyes had left me breathless and longing for her warm touch, but the second my eyes had fallen upon the ring, unbridled jealousy had reared its ugly head.

Control… you must learn to control your damned temper!

I deflated slightly as the horrified look on her face hit me for the first time; in my rush to escape, I had ignored her wounded doe eyes and fled. Now the consequences of my actions sunk in, and I cursed vehemently under my breath. I fingered the ring I had snatched from her pale neck, pursing my lips thoughtfully. It was certainly one of the most extravagant pieces of jewelry I'd ever seen in my life; the band was made of solid gold, and the gem itself was a tremendous diamond, studded with a rim of smaller jewels. The ring boasted of an interminable fortune— a blunt promise of wealth and prestige, a luxurious mansion on a sprawling estate. In this, the Vicomte had me beaten; although I had saved much of my salary accumulated during Lefevre's tenure, I could not have matched the de Chagny family's prosperity even if I wanted to. Years ago I had purchased a small, run-down cottage on the outskirts of Paris just in case an emergency arose that necessitated that I leave the Opera house, but I never truly intended to put it to use. If… no, not if… when I reclaimed Christine's heart, I doubted she would care to live in the sewers of the Opera Populaire for an extended period of time; I would need to purchase a suitable dwelling for my young bride.

But I was getting ahead of myself, I realized, shaking the thoughts away for the time being. First, I needed to find a way to apologize for my brash actions. Much as I hated to do it, I would need to don the façade of the Angel of Music yet again; I feared it was now the only way to coax Christine back into my arms.

I sighed deeply as I spiraled down the bleak, lonely tunnels toward my lair. It would take awhile for the ruffled visitors to file into their carriages and leave for the night; I doubted there would be any further dancing or socializing after such a jarring interruption, though gossip would undoubtedly run rampant for the next week or so. Christine would soon retire to her room for the evening, and I would be there to present my apologies in the best form I knew. In the meantime, I was nearly suffocating from the heat of my costume, and I desperately needed a drink.

Within seconds of entering my home, I had shed nearly all of my clothing and collapsed into an armchair, sprawled out like a cat in the sun. Fortunately the frigid December air cooled my burning skin in only a few moments. Sighing in relief, I rose to my feet and stepped over to the pool of filtered water. I stared in annoyance at my hideous reflection; the heat had flushed my cheeks a feverish, blotchy red, and the brown locks along the front of my hairline were matted with sweat. I quickly dipped my cupped palms into the pool and splashed open handfuls of the icy water onto my face and neck, allowing rivulets to stream down my bare neck, back and chest. For a moment I considered delving in entirely, but the recollection of my lack of a towel quickly dismissed the idea. I sipped some of the water in my desperate thirst, but didn't dare drink much; even when filtered, Parisian water carried deadly plagues.

After splashing my face a few more times, I climbed back to my feet and retrieved a clean outfit from the bedroom. The elegant silk tuxedo was light and luxurious against my skin, and I found myself moving with a corresponding grace, falling into the mindset of the character I had so meticulously created. I spent the next few minutes perfecting my suave appearance— I combed through the matted, damp tangles of my real hair before securing the sleek black wig, polished my leather shoes, slipped the ivory mask over the right side of my face, and finished off the outfit with a silk cravat. Standing before the full-length mirror, I was an entirely different man than the one I had seen in the water.

The Angel of Music stared back at me, his blue-green eyes dancing in the flickering candlelight.

With a small smile and a twist of my cloak, I swept off to the gondola. I deliberately took my time as I poled across the lake, gradually warming up my vocal chords with the aid of the cavern's flattering acoustics. Occasionally I would throw my voice at a gargoyle and listen while it sang with unmoving lips, just for practice and amusement. Ventriloquism had always been one of my favorite tricks. By the time I reached the opposite shore, I was calm and prepared to face Christine again.

I passed the hallway to the mirror of her dressing room, heading instead for the ballet dormitories. As I drew near to the younger girls' rooms I overheard several giddy bits of gossip concerning my appearance; I couldn't decide whether to be amused, flattered, or enraged when I heard one of the bolder ballerinas insist that I had been "devilishly handsome" in my Red Death costume. Blushing heatedly, I bit my lip, unable to smother a grin.

Let's just hope Christine thought the same thing, I mused. Shaking my head to rid myself of the distracting train of thought, I hurried off toward her dressing room.

I slipped silently through the trap door to the wooden crawlspace in Christine's ceiling, settling comfortably on my stomach for the time being. Little Meg had apparently worked herself into quite a fit, and was feverishly pacing the room.

"An Angel? An ANGEL, Christine? The Angel of Death, perhaps…"

She sighed. "Meg, please…"

"No! Christine, you followed him to his lair! Do you have any idea what could have happened?"

"You sound like your mother."

Meg continued as if she had not heard. "He could have killed you, or worse! You saw what he did to Buquet!"

Christine's voice trembled slightly as she spoke. "Yes, Meg, I know." I closed my eyes, wondering if the same memories had permeated her mind when we had stood so close earlier in the evening. Obviously Christine had not shared the details of that night with Meg, and I could not help but flush irritably at her presumptuous claims. Young Giry was almost as bad as the Vicomte when it came to putting ideas in Christine's head about me. I would have to speak to her mother about it.

Meg sighed shakily, sinking onto the bed next to her friend. "You are not yourself, Christine," she said quietly. "I saw the way he looked at you… the way you looked at him. " She hesitated. "It was almost as if…" Her voice faltered, and it took a few seconds for Christine to press her to continue.

"As if what?"

"As if… you were in love with him." Neither woman spoke. I could almost feel the tension crackling in the air between them. After a moment, Meg rose from the bed and gathered her toiletries from the dresser. She paused at the door, adding a hesitant, "Then again, I might have been imagining things. It's silly, really… thinking you were infatuated with a ghost." She laughed hollowly. "Goodnight, Christine."

"Goodnight." Christine's voice was barely a whisper. The door clicked shut, and a heavy silence hung over the room. It was several minutes before her smothered, bitter sobs reached my ears. I clenched my teeth, fighting desperately to quell the urge to run down to her and envelop her in my arms. More than anything in the world, I hated it when my beautiful little student wept. Indeed, it had been the burning urge to soothe her tears that had moved me to sing to her that first fateful night in the chapel. Some things would never change, I mused.

Closing my eyes lightly, I began to sing. It was a wordless, haunting melody, which soared smoothly from note to note. I caressed her soul with the power of music, whisking her away from the ballet dormitories to lie in the embrace of the angels. Feather light, tender notes poured into harsh, sharp ones repeatedly, each time with fewer and fewer of the latter, as if gentle music was gradually overcoming pain itself. Finally the entire melody was composed of lingering whispers until it slowly ebbed into silence.

Christine's sobs had ceased while I sang to her, but as the music subsided she let out a whimpering cry. "Don't leave me, mon ange. Please, don't leave me!"

The muscles in my throat tightened painfully, and I swallowed hard against the tension. How could I refuse the request to remain in her company? Once again we were kindred souls, longing for one another's love. There was no greater feeling in the world.

I did not need to ask which song she wanted to hear.

Hush now, my angel,

And listen to the night,

Let me sing to you,

Shield you from the light

Let me ease your pain,

With our sweet lullaby,

Let it dry your tears,

Please, angel, don't cry.

It was the same gentle lullaby I had sung to her when she was a small child, calling out for her angel in the night. She had been so afraid of darkness, I remembered— she saw monsters in every shadow, and had, ironically, been terrified of the ballet rats' stories of the Opera Ghost. Within the first year, however, she had grown restless during the day, knowing that with nightfall came her Angel of Music. Her nightmares had ceased for the most part, aside from the occasional dream of her father's death, but she loved her lullaby and still asked tirelessly to hear it. Eventually she had developed a musical response of her own, and she sang it quietly now, her sweet voice filled with nostalgia.

Please sing me to sleep

With our sweet lullaby

Dry all of my tears

I don't want to cry

Your voice calms my soul,

Soothes me gently to sleep,

Caressing me-

Into slumber so deep

Our voices rose together in a duet, and my heart swelled with love and pride in this remarkable young woman.

Angel of music,

Sing our lullaby-

Let it surround us,

Both you and I

Together once again-

Our songs combined

Our souls meet as one

Our voices entwined

My voice sounded empty without Christine's accompaniment, but I continued gently, picturing her beautiful face alight with joy at the familiar song.

Listen to me, child,

Your angel and your guide

Let music calm you,

Leave the past behind.

I will protect you,

As your mentor and friend,

Come to your angel,

Let music descend

Christine had gained confidence as I sang to her, and now her voice was full and rich, flowing over the notes like liquid gold.

You eased my torment,

My doubts and my pain,

When you sang of love,

And whispered my name.

So sing me to sleep

And free me from the light,

Calm and comfort me,

With your music of the night

We sang together one last time, our voices softened by mutual love— of a child for her guardian, and a teacher for his remarkable student. There was no trace of the insatiable lust and passion that had passed between us earlier in the evening. For now, I was happy to remain her precious Angel… the last remnants of her beloved father.

Angel of music,

Sing our lullaby-

Let it surround us,

Both you and I

Together once again-

Our songs combined

Our souls meet as one

Our voices entwined

We both allowed the last note to linger softly in the air, reluctant to say goodnight. I opened and closed my mouth several times, trying to find the words to express my remorse and implore her to forgive me. Before I could speak, however, a knock sounded at the door. I listened with mounting frustration as Christine stepped over to the door and opened it.

"Oh, thank God!" she exclaimed, her voice breaking with a sob of relief.

"Christine, are you alright?" the Vicomte's concerned voice answered, followed by the brief sound of their lips meeting. Why was it that every time the two of us had a tender moment, that damned boy interrupted?

"I'm—I'm fine," she lied. Raoul seemed to sense the hesitation in her voice.

"I saw that monster corner you on the stairs. Don't worry, my love; we'll go out tomorrow and buy a new ring… a better one!" I balled my hands into fists, biting down on my tongue to hold back a scathing remark. Amusing as it would have been to see the expression on his face if I had belted an enraged "I heard that!", the boy would undoubtedly insist on removing Christine from the room. Instead I contented myself with the fact that mere moments ago, his fiancée's soul had been entirely mine, and there was nothing he could do about it.

"Yes, yes of course," Christine replied distractedly. I heard the bed creak as the two of them sat down.

"You needn't worry about him harming you, Christine," Raoul said quietly. "I'm going to sit by the door all night." He kissed her again and sang, I'm here, with you, beside you, to guard you and to guide you…

I gagged, clenching my teeth until my jaw cramped. Apparently she did not have the heart to tell him that her Angel had already paid her a visit— let alone the fact that I certainly did not use the front door. For all his valiancy, the boy was painfully naïve.

"Thank you, Raoul. You're very sweet." She kissed him, and I glowered at the wall. "Goodnight, my love. I'll see you in the morning at mass."

"Goodnight," the boy replied with a kiss of his own before walking to the door. "Don't hesitate to call if you need anything. I'll be right outside."

"I'll sleep soundly, then, knowing you're there."

The door closed with a click.

Christine was silent for a moment before she lay down on her bed with a sigh. I stayed with her for hours, listening as she recited her bedtime prayers. But she did not sleep soundly as she had assured the Vicomte; she tossed and turned restlessly the entire time. I was still upset with her for flaunting around shamelessly with the boy during the masquerade and their brief encounter in the room, so I remained stubbornly silent, refusing to sing her to sleep.

Judging by the dim light that filtered through the cracks in the wood, it was about an hour before dawn when she rose quietly to her feet. I had almost dozed off myself, lulled into a kind of trance by the silence and lack of movement. When Christine suddenly got up I jolted out of my reverie, listening curiously as she headed directly for the door. Stretching my cramped muscles, I followed suit, crawling out of the wooden tunnel and down through the trap door to follow her toward the back of the opera house.

I was surprised to see her emerge in the stables. The grooms had just started their shifts, by the look of things, but the sun was not yet peeking over the horizon. Where would she be going, alone, at this time in the morning?

She approached a short, ginger haired man called Curly and placed a small sack of francs in his hand. "Monsieur?"

"Where to, Mam'selle?" he asked politely, his voice gruff and groggy with sleep.

"The cemetery," Christine whispered with a nod before stepping back into the Opera house. She hesitated before slipping inside the rear costume room, fingering through some of the darker outfits before settling on an elegant black dress and cloak. While she stepped behind a changing screen, I crept back outside to the stable yard. Curly was almost finished hitching up a pair of sleek black hackneys to an open carriage.

A smirk pulled at my lips. This was almost too perfect… I knew Christine went to the cemetery every Sunday, but never before had she left so early. Raoul was sleeping outside her door, snoring loudly enough to wake the dead (so much for being her gallant protector!), and there could not have been a more opportune moment to meet her again, face-to-face. I knew her routine by heart; she would undoubtedly ask for her father's guidance, on her knees before his grave, and I would be behind the tomb, ready to take her back into my arms. The plan was foolproof!

While Curly fumbled with the straps and buckles to the carriage I picked up a shovel that a stable hand had left propped against a stall, and approached him from behind.

With a single, deft whack of the wooden handle against his skull, I knocked him unconscious. Fortunately, no one was around to see us as I dragged his limp body to the nearest abandoned stall and shoved it inside. As a second thought, I took his cloak, wrapping it tightly around my shoulders and the right side of my head. I loped over to the carriage and finished hooking the horses to it before climbing into the driver's seat. I listened to Christine's approaching footsteps, but did not turn to look at her until she was settled in the passenger seat behind me.

"To my father's grave, please," she said. I nodded and turned back to the horses, chewing my lower lip thoughtfully. I had never driven a carriage in my life; I always either walked or rode César on short distance trips, and took the train on tediously long ones. But honestly, how difficult could it be? Certainly if the Vicomte could figure it out, so could I!

I slapped the reins experimentally on the horses' backs, as I had seen others do countless times. I nearly heaved a sigh of relief as they trotted forward, tossing their heads excitedly. Eager to leave the opera grounds as quickly as possible before anyone noted Christine's absence, I gave another sharp flick of the reins, urging the horses into a brisk canter.

We left the gates to the Opera Populaire behind, clattering off with all due speed into the misty morning.

A/N: -crosses fingers- I hoped you guys liked it!

Mmk, the collective decision of my phaithphul reviewers was that I SHOULD go ahead and write "NOWL." Sorry to those of you who hate, loathe, abhor, etc. the song (You know who you are!)… you can always just skip that chapter! I promise I don't mind!

Inkie pinkie: LOL! Well, hello, it's ERIK! He might have a great deal of self-control, but he's a man too…

Haizea: Hehehe, yes, ahem… it was such a CHORE to watch it so many times! LOL. You're right; there's no such thing as watching it too many times. Glad you liked the details. :D Aww, I want an Erik teddy bear! Your friends are nice! Haha.

Shadow Fox Forever: Haha, well it was bound to happen eventually. There are only so many ways of saying "It's good; I like it." But hey, I'm always thrilled to hear it!

Kat097: -joins you- MWAHAHAHA! Yep, they were scared outta their pants! (Well, no, not ACTUALLY… I don't want to see Piangi pant-less) LOL to the Raoul comment… yeah really. Swashbuckle away, oh foppish one!

LilyEvansPotter4456: Yeah, I try to give Erik as much of a sense of humor as possible without writing him OOC. He has more of a sense of humor in Kay than in Leroux, but I've always thought his witty notes to the managers were hysterical in the ALW musical.

RainsPhantom: -giggles- Well, thanks. I CAN and I DO overdo things sometimes, but your faith in me makes me continue writing. Ahh, you've found my weakness! –can't refuse Erik's puppy eyes or pout- Alright, updating, updating!

Moonjava: Thank you! Always good to hear. :)

Venus725: -nods- Yeah, I looove "Why So Silent," and it was fun to write. The scene I'm looking forward to now is "PonR". –squee!- Have fun in HP Land; I'll be devouring the book myself as soon as I can get my paws on it. ;)

Hriviel: Ooh, eerie. –gapes- Maybe we're actually real-life clones of one another, Jen! LOL. ;) Yeah, I did notice it… so I kinda purposely kept the movements of his hands arms vague to make it somewhat believable. He IS a magician, remember. "POOF! Here's my opera!" XD Haha, yep, I like to tie in little nods to Kay whenever I can. Oh, thanks SO much! I had a vague idea of where it would tie in, but not precisely. Very helpful— how many times can you save me in the course of two weeks? LOL.

Electricdragon: LOL! That's probably my favorite line in this entire story. –giggles- Well, he IS! XD I'm glad you're enjoying the insults. They're fun to write… but a great deal of credit goes to ALW and Charles Hart, I'm afraid. ;) I'm not THAT ingenious!

Ever Rin: -smiles and bows- Thank you, thank you. XD Yeah, my friend Hilary pointed out that the room with the mirrors might be the torture chamber, so I ran with it. LOL… I'm surprised how many people don't know what "No One Would Listen" is! It's the deleted scene from the movie… an Erik solo. It's on the special features DVD if you have the special edition two-disk set. If not, borrow it from someone! Hehe.

Squirrel Maiden of Green: LOL, well I'm glad I could make your day. He seriously IS, though… hehehe! MUAHA, I love making parents give their kids weird looks! Mine have certainly raised a few eyebrows when I nearly fall out of my chair laughing at someone else's phic. ;)

Marianne Brandon: -still giggling- I think that might be one of my all-time favorite reviews, Em! Your post-11:30 babblings are MOST amusing. XD –GASP!- I forgot to give you a review response? –reverts back to last night- "Happy dagger, this is thy sheath! There rust, and let me DIE!" BAD me:( Yep, you're right about the "overly made-up face"… see why I'm in constant need of my trusty beta? –bows to your genius- As for NOWL… I think you were outvoted, love. –cringes at prospect of your "disaster beyond my imagination"- But you have NO OBLIGATION to read it whatsoever! Ok?

DaydreamingTurtle: Woo! I love making people giddy— but you knew that. ;) LOL… wow, everyone liked the "portly manwhore" comment… I wasn't expecting such a great reaction over that line! –beams- Haha, that was a very lukewarm vote over NOWL… "Uhhh, sure?"

SubtleFighter: Well, thank you! –does new reviewer dance- Mmhmm, Erik does love his power… not to mention insulting his enemies to their face while they stand there, completely dumbfounded. :D Haha, thanks for being honest… and the flattery was much appreciated! LOL. Nope, my beta also HATES "NOWL" with a passion. Unfortunately for you two, I think the majority ruled "yes," but I must reiterate that you can just skip over that chapter and pretend it never happened if you wish!

Adlyb: -waves happily- Welcome back! I know how depressing it is to go without computer/Internet access. My sympathies! LOL! "A collection of deleted scenes" You're making me blush. It's not all THAT good! Haha. :D Well you made my day. Thanks! LOL… and noo, I'm not going to kill Raoul in the swordfight! XD If you want some Fop-killing action, read my E/C. He's dead within three chapters. Haha.

Tink8812: -nods- Ohh, believe me, I'm Gerry OBSESSED! LOL. The funny thing is every time I see him, his eyes are a different color. Watching the movie yesterday, during Music of the Night in particular, every single time he moved, his eyes were a different color. Sea-foam green one moment, sky blue the next, iron gray the next, emerald the next… lol. It's one of my favorite things about him… his eyes are like the sea, constantly changing hues. I just chose blue because… actually, I don't know why. Lol. –shrugs helplessly- But thanks for the attention to detail— and kudos from a fellow Gerry fanatic (er… phanatic!). ;)

BONANZA: Haha, actually, it's somewhat intentional… I throw in a few wisecracks here and there to lighten up the incessant angst. –shrugs and smiles- LOL… this is hysterical… I'm glad people liked the "portly manwhore" line. XD Yeaaah, isn't it sweet when he melts? –melts at him melting- Hehe. Yeah, that was a bad excuse for a metaphor, you're right. ;) I do appreciate the constructive criticism, so thanks for being honest!

Erik's Dark Lullaby: -doubles over laughing- Why IS it that everyone commented on the "portly manwhore" line? XD XD Glad I could make your night; I've been reading your story compulsively for the past few days (one chapter a night, to make it last longer before I reach the end!) and I'm in love with your style. :D Aww… -blushes deep red- A gem? MY story? Awww… LOL. You're so sweet. Loved the toy-in-the-cereal-box analogy, even if I must object wholeheartedly. –shifty eyes- But so many of you have threatened to Punjab me if I keep dissing this story, so I think I'll wisely shut up. ;)

Joanieponytail: -happy sigh- Ah, Joanie, if only you could see the grin your reviews bring to my face! "Yes, if the girl had half the sense God gave grapefruit." OMG I was laughing so hard I nearly toppled out of my computer chair! And you had me beaming and blushing like a maniac with your compliments, as usual. :) Thank you, thank you, thank you, from the bottom of my heart! –bows elaborately and disappears in a flash of flame-

Sandy: -bows over and over and over again to your genius- Thank you SO MUCH for letting me use your lyrics, my love. Sorry I changed them so much; you know I love you! –huggles- Omg our sleepover was so phun… we need to do stuff like that more often! –SNORTS- Ahem, I believe I already showed you several pictures of Gerry with blue eyes to make my point, Little Miss Em-Is-Always-Correct-So-Screw-My-Cousin! LOL. ;)

Bea: Sure, I'll send you the story as an attachment as soon as I post this chapter. –nods- You're very welcome… I love Kay's style and depth. Hope you enjoy it. As for this story, -sighs- I know… it will KILL me to write those last scenes when Christine chooses Raoul. I'll go through several boxes of tissues, I'm sure:(

Chocobo Surprise: Aww, I'm glad! While watching that scene for erm… the sixth time?… I noticed that he looks pointedly at someone off-screen while saying "her teacher," and I was like OOH! Erik/Giry opportunity! Honestly, the woman is so awesome. :) I wish I could write more of her, but as it is I've included her probably too much. Glad you're enjoying their subtle relationship… more of Giry coming soon, I promise!

Sakume: Haha, it's okay, you're not the only one to ask. "No One Would Listen" is the deleted scene from Phantom. It's on the special features disk if you have the two-disk special edition. If not, you can read about it in this phic. –pats your head- It's alright, hon, you haven't failed as a phan! You just probably bought the one-disk DVD like I did (still bashing myself for it), so you wouldn't know. Have fun hugging Erik!

Becky: -does new reviewer dance ecstatically- Wow… you read that WHOLE thing? –stunned- If that's not devotion, I dunno what is! Thank you so very much! HAHA! Well I must say you and my friend Hilary were probably the only two that were HAPPY I made them stop in Ch 23! LOL. At least I pleased someone. :D