A/N: Drat it all, this was supposed to be a oneshot. It just keeps on coming, though. Grr.


It was pitch-black in the passage, and the air felt chilly and clammy. Tiny chittering sounds came from the corners, and Christine gasped, realizing they were rats. She clung to Erik's hand like a lifeline.

"I am sorry," he told her, his disembodied voice strangely calming in the pitch-black tunnel. "I don't usually use any lights this far up. When we get below, I have some candles there, that will light the rest of the way for you."

Christine made a faint noise and gripped his hand tighter. "Just… just don't leave me, Erik. Please!"

"You know better than to fear that, Christine," he answered calmly. Christine stumbled over an uneven flagstone in the dark, and he stopped. "Would you by any chance prefer to take my arm, my dear, at least until we get to the candles?"

"Oh, yes, please!"

He drew her arm through his own, and continued on his way down all the stairs, ramps, and around the corners that led to the fifth cellar. At the third cellar, he stopped suddenly and reached up onto a high shelf for something. "Excuse me," he said politely, extricating his arm from her grasp. Christine heard a tiny scrape of a striker, and then blinked at the sudden light of a candle. He held it aloft and turned back to her.

Christine saw his mouth open in shock. "You didn't tell me you were hurt," he said. He took out his handkerchief and without even thinking about it, pressed it to the side of her mouth.

Christine had been wondering whether that little tickle at her mouth was blood or not; her memory was a little hazy after being stuck the first time. She had noticed that Erik wasn't nearly as shy about touching her as he had been for all those long months of their lessons. She remembered touching his shoulder once, and the stunned look he had given her. She remembered once putting her arms around him, to tell him thank you, and he had only sighed and gazed ceilingward before gently allowing his head to rest atop hers. He hadn't even dared to put his arms around her in return.

Now, though, he had offered his hand for her to hold, his arm to take, and up there in the street, he had even offered her the comfort of his embrace. And now he offered to clean the blood from her face with his own pristine white handkerchief.

Blushing, she said, "Thank you," and took the handkerchief herself, turning away to mop up the worst of it. She didn't realize why, but she didn't want him to see her looking all bloody and battered.

"Christine?" He sounded concerned. "Are you afraid of me? I'd never harm you."

She turned back, holding the handkerchief to hide her bruised mouth. She shook her head. "Afraid of you? Oh, no! I just…" she looked down at the dusty stone floor. "I just don't want you to see me like this, that's all."

For Erik to start laughing was the last thing she expected. His laughter rolled out and echoed in the caverns, a full, deep chuckle of hearty amusement. He took her other hand, bent his head, and held her hand to his lips for a long moment.

Erik's lips were warm and moist, pressed against the back of her hand. She wondered what they would feel like, pressed against -- but no. Best to derail that train of thought. She shivered at the contact.

Without missing a beat, he pulled off his cloak and threw it around her shoulders. "If you could only hear yourself from my point of view," he replied, still smiling as he touched his mask. She was astonished at the beauty of his smile. In the dim candlelight, his ordinary white mask looked enough like a human face that she could almost fool herself that she was in the company of an ordinary, handsome young man.

Christine vaguely remembered the blackened, swollen, and twisted horror that had been his face, and was forced to smile as well. "I suppose from your point of view I do sound a bit silly," she admitted. "But still… what young woman wouldn't want to look her best for… well, for someone she…" Quick, quick, find a word! "…someone she admires."

"I am deeply flattered," came his warm, quiet response. His lips curved slightly, and Christine looked away and blushed at his gentle and sincere tone of voice. He said nothing more for a moment, as though savouring the compliment.

Suddenly he came out of his reverie and offered his arm again. "Come, though; we should get you home where it's warm, so I can treat your injuries."

His house on the lake was just as she remembered it; quiet and peaceful, filled with calm shades of blue and grey. She could still hear the gentle lapping of the waves against the edge. Erik brought her into his sitting-room and sat her down before he went around lighting the lamps. A warm glow filled the room. Erik came and solemnly took both his own cloak and her wrap,and now he sat down next to her with a bowl of cool water and a cloth.

"Tell me what happened," he ordered as he began to clean her face. "In detail: everything you remember. Did they know who you were?"

She nodded and closed her eyes as she tried to remember everything she had seen, heard, or even smelt about the encounter. Erik's touch was gentle and soothing on her face, and she leaned into it unconsciously as she talked.

"Done," he said finally. Christine had almost fallen asleep, leaning against him. "Did you have any other injuries, or just the ones on your face?"

She blushed at the question, and stammered, "N-no, I don't think so. J-just my face."

"Very well, then, my dear." He stood up and offered her a hand. "I'll show you to your room. You should find everything you need in there."

Christine found her room exactly as she had left it. She hadn't had much time to explore before, though, and now she opened the other two doors. One was a bathroom, comfortable and well-appointed. The other was a closet, holding several gowns that looked exactly her size. There was a nightgown and a dressing-gown as well, and she took them down gratefully. She changed into them, breathing a huge sigh of relief at finally being out of her corset. She took down her hair, unwinding it from its basic, utilitarian bun, lay down in the bed and closed her eyes. She left the light on.

She fell asleep before long, but it was not restful. Having to recount all the details to Erik had refreshed the experience in her mind, and she had nightmares. Images popped into her mind, unbidden. She rubbed her throat where one of the men had tried to choke her, and remembered the other hissing in her ear, "I don't know as I've ever had an opera singer before." She gasped and rolled over, putting the pillow over her head.

It was no use. "We'll have a jolly time," the men whispered to her. "We'll all have a jolly time. We'll all have a jolly time… before we kill you! Before we kill you! Before we kill you!"

Christine thrashed in her sleep and cried out in terror. "Erik! Erik!" she screamed, not knowing where she was, only knowing that he could save her.

And suddenly, he was there. "Christine, my love, what is it?"

"Erik, please," she begged, sobbing, not even knowing what she was begging for. She looked up at him with tear-filled eyes, as he stood tall and grave next to her bed. She stretched her arms up toward him. "Please!"

Hesitantly, as if he couldn't quite believe she would want him to do this, he sank down onto the bed beside her and slowly took her in his arms. She put her head down on his shoulder and wept. Her hand crept up and took hold of his shirt-ruffles as she cried, and very tentatively, his hand closed over hers.

When she finally calmed, he tried to ease her head back onto the pillow and loosen his embrace, but she clung to him and wouldn't let him get up. "Erik, please…" she begged. "You said you wouldn't leave me…" She was exhausted and almost falling asleep, but resolute.

Erik looked around in alarm. Yes, they were definitely in a bedroom. Yes, he was definitely in this young woman's bed. Staying there with her would definitely not be proper! All the same, though, Christine might continue to have nightmares if he left. Feeling slightly guilty, as if he were taking advantage of the situation, he settled himself more comfortably. Christine let out a low sigh of pleasure and relaxed against him, falling into sleep once more.

That did it. Her sigh convinced him to stay. Just as long as she doesn't wake up and find him in her bed and think that was the nightmare, he thought cynically.

"Very well, just remember you asked me to," he whispered to her with a faint smile. His own eyes flickered closed and he started to sing quietly to her just as he had before. He chose something from "La Boheme" this time, knowing it was something she had just started learning.

Before he even reached the recitative portion, they were both asleep.