Erik tucked Christine's hand into the crook of his elbow and stroked it tenderly with his other hand. "Forgive us while we catch up on the news, my dear," he murmured. He motioned to Gerard to follow them over to a private corner.
"All right. What happened?" Gerard asked in a low voice.
"I helped Ledoux escort Choletti to the police carriage outside, and Poligny was there. Ledoux was telling him all about Choletti's nefarious habits when I left and came back in. Have you found Ledoux's other two men?"
"No, not yet. So poor Ledoux and Poligny have a lot to talk about, I guess."
"So it would seem."
"Why, what happened?" Christine wondered aloud.
"Choletti has been arrested for blackmail and criminal negligence, and been taken away by the gendarmes," Gerard offered.
"Leaving Gerard once again in charge of the opera—the way it should be," Erik clarified.
"Oh, my!" Christine exclaimed. "This is… astonishing! Does Carlotta know?"
Gerard and Erik looked at each other. "You know, I never gave her a thought," Gerard said. He heaved a big sigh. "I suppose, though, as manager of the opera, she is somehow my responsibility now. I'll go find her and let her know what happened." He smiled at his son. "And that should allow you to spend some time with your lady. You did ask her to a ball, after all; it might be nice if she actually got to do some dancing."
Christine giggled.
"Ask her to dance again," Erik recommended. "That's bound to cheer her up!" He snickered, remembering Carlotta's terror at dancing with what she thought was the phantom, earlier.
Gerard shot him a quick glare and turned heavily away, shoulders slumped at the thought of the unpleasant duty that lay before him.
"Shall we go in and dance, then, my lady?" Erik asked Christine.
She nodded eagerly.
They went back into the ballroom and danced two more dances, but by that point Christine was breathless and begging for a break. Erik, too, had had more than enough of the crowds and was feeling claustrophobic.
"Come with me," he suggested. "I know somewhere we can go, to be alone and away from all these people. Would you like to?"
Thinking he meant his house below the opera, Christine nodded with a relieved smile. She was surprised, therefore, when he began leading her up stairs instead of down. The last staircase was long and narrow, and when he reached the top and pushed the door open so she could see where they were, she gasped.
Paris spread out before them, gaslights shining from windows and moonlight shining down from above. He led Christine over closer to the edge, and showed her the glorious silhouette of the city, outlined black against the dark purple night sky.
"Oh, Erik, this is lovely!" she cried, peering down at all the lights shining.
She edged closer to him, and he obligingly put his arms around her and drew her against his chest. She tipped her head suddenly and brushed the side of his neck with her lips.
He drew in his breath in a startled hiss. His angel grew bold in the dark!
"I hoped you would like it."
"I do! How lucky you are, to be able to live here all the time and to see this whenever you wish!" She turned away again, to better see the city.
Erik smiled a little behind his skull mask. "Christine," he said.
She turned back to him, sliding her arms easily around his waist. She rested her head on his chest, and he wrapped his red velvet cloak around her to keep out the chill. She smiled with pleasure, hearing his beautiful, deep voice rumble in his chest beneath her ear as he went on talking.
"I brought you up here with a very specific question to ask you, my dear."
"Yes, Erik? What is it?" Christine asked, tipping her head up to look at him. She frowned a little. "Erik, no one is around but us; you don't have to worry about anyone seeing your face. Won't you take off your mask for a few minutes?"
Realizing that he still wore the skull mask (and that it would prevent him from claiming a kiss from his beloved if he wanted to) he hesitated a scant instant before nodding and sliding it off over his face. "Better?" he asked, not quite able to eliminate the cynical edge to his voice.
Christine ignored his tone and simply nodded. "Much. Now, what did you want to ask me?"
Grey eyes boring into hers, Erik spoke seriously. "Christine, you must know by now how much I love you. You are the embodiment of everything I have always admired most, and the fact that you have come to care for me as well means more to me than anything else in the world."
She dropped her gaze, but tightened her fingers on his upper arms. "Yes, Erik?"
"I know… for who could know better?… that I have a face like a demon and can never, ever show it in public… and that I have done terrible things to try and protect myself… and that I live in a tomb of a dungeon five cellars down… but Christine, I would dare anything if you were with me! I know I don't deserve you, and that I am presumptuous even to ask… but Christine, I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Please, my dear—will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"
Eyes filled with tears, Christine could only nod and repeat, "Yes, Erik."
He blinked a couple of times in stunned amazement. "Y—yes?"
She nodded, smiling up into his eyes. "Yes." He still stared at her in shock, and Christine, a little embarrassed, looked out toward the city and said, "Erik, you have given me so much. You taught me to sing like one of God's own angels, you saved my life and my honour, you gave me your music--and if that wasn't enough, you opened your life to me, you trusted me with your secrets, you forgave my betrayal, and you gave me your heart. Oh, Erik, it's I who don't deserve you! Don't talk to me of presuming, for I'm presumptuous to accept you!"
"Never."
She nodded. "Yes. Yes, I am! I know I don't deserve you after all I've put you through… but Erik, I love you, and I don't want to ever leave you. Not ever!"
And then there seemed nothing to do but to seal the agreement with a kiss.
Fifteen feet above them on the shoulders of Apollo, Philippe gaped down in astonishment, feeling like he'd just been punched in the gut. Christine had thrown him over for the Phantom of the Opera? Suddenly it all made came together and made sense: Gerard's bastard son, being somehow deformed and having to hide out in the bowels of the theatre, gaining a reputation as the opera ghost.
He grinned darkly, finally understanding what Erik had meant when he'd said he was more of a behind-the-scenes sort of man! That also explained how he'd happened to begin teaching Christine to sing. It did not explain how they had fallen in love—Philippe had heard Erik's remarks about his face, but he couldn't quite see it from up here, as it was dark and Erik was bending down towards Christine—but having met him and come up against the awe-inspiring intimidation of his manner, he could easily see how Christine could have been swept off her feet, deformity or no.
The only thing that didn't make any sense was the dichotomous humility of his manner when he proposed to Christine. "Face like a demon," and "can never show it in public" seemed completely at odds with his cool arrogance from before. He had heard the self-loathing in Erik's voice when he mentioned living in a tomb, and having done terrible things to protect himself, and he nodded. He would have had to protect himself, wouldn't he? Even kill, if he had to, but it was obvious that Erik hated himself for it.
Without meaning to, Philippe began to feel an odd sort of sympathy for the man. What a life he must have had, shut away from everyone, denied the blessing of human companionship—no wonder Christine had stolen his heart so utterly. Her natural warmth and sweetness would endear her to anyone, even a monster. He found it difficult to hate someone whom life had treated so poorly--and who had done so much for Christine.
What had Philippe done? What had he offered the woman he claimed to love?
In a rare moment of self-examination, he objectively compared himself with the man Christine had chose. Philippe had found her at the country fair and sent her to the opera house, but it was Erik who had stepped in and actually given her the voice lessons Philippe had promised. Philippe had taken part in her shining success at the Bistro, but it was Erik who had worked with her faithfully before then, teaching her and preparing her for the Bistro--and even providing her beautiful gown for that evening. Philippe had hired two men to bring Christine to him, but it was Erik who had rescued her when the plan went wrong. Philippe had been suspicious of her behaviour ever since her debut, while Erik had trusted her enough to allow her to have a private dinner with his rival. Philippe had kept a string of mistresses from the opera for the last several years, but it was obvious that Christine was Erik's only love.
Filled with self-recrimination as he recounted all the ways he had failed her, Philippe resolved to do better. Christine was gracious enough not to blame him for any of it, but Erik was another matter entirely. Philippe knew the man would never trust him, but for Christine's sake he resolved right there and then to do better, to prove him wrong. As long as Christine kept Erik's secrets, so would Philippe.
A/N: I keep finding myself switching around people's roles in this fic. Not quite sure why, but I did think it would make for a delightful irony to have Philippe be the one up on the roof, eavesdropping on Erik and Christine's declarations of love for a change. Review, SVP!
