Author's notes: You are so going to like this one, people. Not only is it regular, but I actually gave you people some phluff here, so really be grateful. Heh, kidding. I hope this didn't come out way too phluffy, because it wasn't supposed to be that phluffy to make you squeal, squee or make any other similar noise that damages the hearing of dogs. Anyhow, on with the story! There's still several chapters to go!

PS – I enjoyed writing the Madame Giry part. I think she's an important character, a bit of an OG in her own way, at least in the musical. Always observing, always knowing everything.

X X X

Chapter XXXIII

X X X X

While explaining to Christine what had happened to the unfortunate Carlotta on-stage, he was forced to remember just how thankful he should be to Nadir, who had helped him get out of Persia in the first place. Should be, Erik thought wryly. The daroga had let him go and yet bound him with a promise that he would not kill again. Not intentionally, anyway, and it didn't exclude self-defense, but it still wasn't very enjoyable. His own words were thrown back at him. Killing is an addiction, like opium, he had said. It was true.

Not that a party of armed men bursting into his apartment anytime soon wasn't unexpected, considering that things had been going downhill for a long time, but he hadn't been expecting it that particular night, least of all when he was about to bathe. Still he managed to snap at Nadir: "It is customary to knock first before entering." And equally politely ask why the hell he came so late and uninvited.

"This is not a social visit," Nadir had said loudly and clearly, like an actor would from the stage, "I come here in my official capacity, as chief of police in this region, to arrest you for treason. You must prepare to leave at once."

Naturally, Erik had proceeded to laugh.

Fortunately, they had managed to communicate wordlessly and in about a minute, both were playing the same game, fooling the others present into believing that it really was a normal arrest. Meanwhile, Nadir had quietly gathered any portable possessions of value in the apartment that Erik handed him, finding a lot of jewels and random objects that had belonged to others, most notably the Grand Vizier.

The problem Nadir had been dreading came when he had to persuade Erik to let him bind his hands. And even as he proceeded to fasten the rope, the Persian was very much aware that Erik's fists were clenched tightly. And not even that needed to remind him that only the trust that had been created between them was now keeping those hands from being at his throat.

During the journey to the prison, Nadir sent their escort to inform the guards of their arrival. Once the horses were out of sight, he freed Erik and ordered him to follow the coastal road and leave Persia while he could. None of Erik's persuasion that the shah would punish him, even if he believed the tale of an escape due to magical skills.

"Why are you doing this?" Erik demanded, perplexed.

Looking away, Nadir gave the answer that had the most unexpected effect on Erik – it broke him. "My son would have wished you to live ... all that I do tonight, I do in memory of him."

"Oh, God…you will never be reconciled, will you? You will never forgive."

But Nadir replied that his soul was at peace and it was time to consider Erik's. Even now, Erik regretted pointing out that Moslems believe infidels have no souls. Nadir had effectively appointed himself as the keeper of his conscience from that moment on and made him promise he would no longer kill. He was too determined and had an answer for everything, it seemed.

"You need have no fear for my life," Nadir had assured him. "I'm not quite the innocent at intrigue, you know, I have made my plans. The body of a Babi dissident will be left upon the Caspian shore, dressed in your cloak and mask. By the time it is found, scavengers will have rendered it identifiable by no other means. I am convinced the shah will be sufficiently satisfied to spare my life ... and should my estate be forfeited for negligence ... well, you have taught me to grow weary of Persian ways. Perhaps I shall go to Europe and settle in a country where queens no longer amuse themselves with torture chambers."

"Even in Europe you will need to eat," And with that, he had given the Persian a handful of gems and the Vizier's diamond. "I suppose I should not burden your squeamish conscience with that. I can't pretend it was very honestly acquired. But the rest you may quite safely take ... there is nothing there that need cost you any sleep."

"Erik, this is not ..."

"Take them! I have already agreed to your damned eccentric terms, have I not? At least permit me to make one gesture of myself towards my keeper ... and my friend."

There was a silence that allowed those final two words to sink in, for both of them to realize what they meant.

"Take care of yourself, Nadir. Take very great care ... your tiresome health has become very dear to me."

And from then, it had been a pretty monotone journey.

Erik didn't want to think about Nadir, however. His mind was at times filled with visions of what might have befallen the kind daroga when he had returned to his lord, what punishment he probably had to go through. Those weren't very productive thoughts… nevertheless, they hadn't allowed him rest, at least not in Asia, and thus he returned to the western world, where murder was not so tempting and he had a treasure to recover.

"So you managed to get bits of metal sewed into her dress and used a… magnet? Magnet, yes. And managed to pull her down?" Christine asked after he finished.

"In short, yes. But it was a far more subtle thing than that. You see, were it a crude magnet, an ordinary one, every metal object nearby would have been pulled to it. This was a carefully thought out trick."

"So how did you do it?"

"Christine, Christine, have you never heard that a magician never reveals his secrets?" Erik remarked with a smile. Somehow, it was easy to smile around her. Natural. It was strange, but it felt right.

Knowing that it was useless to argue and still slightly dazed that Erik was really there, Christine shook her head. She then heard shouts of "La Daaé!" outside and overly enthusiastic knocking, so she turned her head briefly, then dismissed it.

Erik raised an eyebrow. "Not eager to see your admirers and would-be-suitors?"

"It makes me wonder whether they admire my voice or my visage." Christine confessed, "Besides, with you here, who needs them? Since I got back, I would have gladly exchanged all the suitors in the world for you. They are nameless and faceless people. You are my angel… and please don't remark that you would rather be faceless." She quickly said, seeing that he wanted to make a cynical remark. "Remember that if you had been born with a different face, we would have never met. So say no more, lest I'll be forced to assume that you would rather never have met me."

Erik's expression changed from amused to horrified. "Never let such blasphemous lies exit your lips again, Christine. Never."

"And how would you stop them if they would?" Christine asked, looking down, trying to stop the flush filling her cheeks. She, a proper girl, bringing up such things! But on the other hand, after so much arguing and time in the opera, smart comebacks were a necessity.

Had she looked up, she would have seen the horror drained from Erik's face, replaced by disbelief mingled with a feeling she had not yet experienced – desire. Slowly, his hand reached out to her cheek, stopping just an inch away, but when she didn't move away, he brought it close enough to touch. Coldness went like a flash through Christine's skin, but she ignored the shiver.

"Christine, remember what Nadir had once said when you allowed me the same liberty last time?" he whispered, "He said… he said that we should leave the country as soon as possible and…and marry."

"I remember." Christine said, her throat sore, still staring at the carpet.

"And you… you would…"

"I have waited for several years, Erik. If you want to ask that question, please ask it. I have my answer ready, and you knew what it would be before I even brought this up."

The slight harshness of her whisper hurt him, but at the same time only confirmed to him what truly seemed impossible for the past few years – Christine Daaé was going to say yes, she was willing to stay with him for a lifetime, with him, whom others wanted nothing to do with for more than several seconds, when it came to anything at all.

"Then… Christine… will you marry me?"

"Yes." she said simply.

X X X

Outside the dressing room, pandemonium reigned. Everyone seemed to have forgotten Carlotta's incident and was far too keen to congratulate Mlle. Daaé in person. Cast, crew, audience, managers – all were stuck in a corridor together, debating, congratulating each other for a fantastic performance. Most of the audience was attempting to spot the diva and shower her with roses, but her dressing room was sealed tight.

Madame Antoinette Giry shook her head. She was a very precise woman and disliked any kind of anarchy. However, a slightly less rational woman would have gone mad and started shouting hysterically at the sight of all of the chaos. She was keeping an eye on the door to Christine Daaé´s dressing room and at the same time, trying to calm the crowd.

Meg pushed herself through the crowd to her mother. "Maman, the girls are mostly scattered, I cannot gather them right now."

Madame Giry nodded. "Very well, Meg. You go rest, they'll get one hell of a training tomorrow, they were a disgrace tonight! Even more so than usual!"

The girl nodded. "Oui. Congratulate Christine for me, will you? We were talking when you burst in." she explained when her mother gave her a quizzical look. Then at once she disappeared in the crowd, her blonde hair waving behind her. Again, Giry shook her head. While Daaé seemed nicer than the usual prima donna, she had her reservations about opera singers, sopranos in particular. The higher the voice, the larger the pride.

After half an hour of closed doors, leaving flowers at the closed doors and cries of "Daaé! Daaé!", the diva still didn't surface from her dressing room. Not that Madame Giry blamed her. However, the crowd seemed to finally get the hint – Antoinette rolled her eyes – and began to clear out, some with some of the ballet rats.

There would really be one hell of a training for them the next day.

Once the corridor was finally empty, it was night. By that time, Giry began to worry about the girl. She couldn't possibly spend the night in a dressing room. Perhaps she was worried the suitors were still there. And letting a young girl walk the streets at night was against common sense.

Giry knocked on the door softly, but received no response. She knocked harder. Again, nothing. "Mademoiselle Daaé?" she called, "Mademoiselle, you can come out now, they are all gone." Nothing. "Christine, are you alright?" Any diva would have snapped at her for using her first name. But there was no sound from the dressing room.

Finally, Antoinette lost her patience. A little worried, she used one of her keys and opened the door. The dressing room was completely dark when she entered, only one candle alight on the vanity. Her eyes surveyed the empty room. For once, even the rational Giry was perplexed. Where had the girl gone? There was no way she could have used the door, the window was locked and there was no other way out.

Giry sighed. A runaway prima donna meant publicity in the eyes of the managers, so she decided she wouldn't inform them. After all, if the girl wanted to be friends with Meg, perhaps she was like they said she was.

Her eyes fell upon the single blood red rose on the vanity. Raising an eyebrow, she picked it up and examined it, almost like a detective would. No card, no pompous decoration, only a simple black satin ribbon. Giry understood. She had seen enough girls run off with lovers, but this struck her as suspicious. Christine had never run off before. Never before had an accident occurred.

She smiled – an uncommon thing for her. If this person made a nice girl happy and got Carlotta out of the picture at the same time, she had no objections, assuming she was right. And somehow, she knew she was. After all, as said before, Madame Antoinette Giry was a very rational woman.

She found she liked this prankster already.