Okay, you don't REALLY have to mind the rating. Not yet, anyway. I got ahead of myself. :)

Happy reading!

-Nico

Erik fumbled with the red silk at his neck, undoing the third crooked knot he had tied.

Exasperated, he tugged sharply at the fabric, throwing it down atop his ridiculously lavish wardrobe vanity, dropping his head into his hands as he often did when trying to quell his nerves.

"It doesn't matter what you wear," a familiar voice informed him. "She's too blinded by your light to notice something as frivolous as a tie."

Charles Daae leaned against the doorframe of Erik's enormous bathroom, smiling as always.

"Charles," Erik addressed him brusquely, once again having a go at the stubborn cravat.

Charles walked behind Erik, smirking as he caught his ghostly reflection in the vanity mirror. "That's the worst part of being dead," he quipped, motioning to the now outdated suit he wore. "We are simply not up on the latest fashions."

Erik stood, brushing past Charles.

"That was funny," Charles complained. "Are we not in a laughing mood today?"

"Not at all," Erik said, quickly selecting a long black coat from his wardrobe.

"Going somewhere?" Charles suddenly downshifted. "My, my," he said, his voice teasing. "It's awfully late to be heading out…"

"You know where I'm going, Charles," Erik said stiffly. "Was there something you wanted?"

"Such a tone!" Charles chided. "Surely you have a few moments for me, Erik."

Erik paused, looking at the shadowy man expectantly.

"Thank you," Charles said. "I've come with a warning," he said, his voice suddenly becoming serious.

"What sort of a warning?" Erik asked, his curiosity now peaked.

Charles smiled. "Would you look at that? I've suddenly become useful again," he jibed.

"Charles," Erik said, his voice carrying a warning tone.

"Your actions tonight will not go unnoticed," he said, serious once again. He reached into the folds of this suit jacket and produced a small, silver key. "Take this."

"What is it?" Erik asked, looking at the tiny key in the palm of his hand.

"It will open the locks to the manager's office upstairs," he explained quickly. "Bring Christine here instead of the chapel."

Erik looked at the man.

"Who knows?" he asked darkly.

Charles remained silent for a moment.

"Charles, tell me," Erik demanded.

Charles's eyes went soft. "The first rule of a secret rendezvous is to never map out your plans in writing, my dear boy."

Erik cursed under his breath. "Damn that Merry," he hissed. "And damn Athena too."

Charles nodded. "You must watch yourself, Erik," he said solemnly. "Just as in your former life, this life holds no guarantees."

Erik slipped the key into his pocket. "I understand," he said, feeling bad that he had been so curt with his very own angel earlier. "Thank you," he said earnestly.

Charles smiled. "You're welcome."

Erik looked thoughtful for a moment, his hair hanging into his eyes as he lifted his head to look at the ghost. "May I ask you something, Charles?"

"Of course."

"This will actually be the second time I've asked you," Erik said quietly. "Why are you doing all this for me?"

Charles merely smiled.

"It's a quarter to midnight," the ghost replied. "And as luck would have it, Christine is running late." He looked up for a moment, as if listening for something. "If you hurry, you can beat her carriage to the Opera."

Erik nodded. "Thank you," he said again.

But Charles had already gone.

Erik felt like a stalker as he watched Christine's carriage pull up to the Opera Populaire. Luckily, the streets of Paris were empty, save a random vagabond or prostitute.

Certainly no one of importance was watching the dark cloaked man who waited patiently for the sleek black carriage to pull up to the Opera's steps…

Yet, that is.

Erik threw a bag of coins to the driver of Christine's carriage.

"You were never here," he said to the young driver sternly.

The driver nodded and looked away as Erik opened up the door to Christine's carriage.

"Erik!" Christine exclaimed, shocked to see him waiting for her.

"Come," Erik said, extending his hand. "Quickly; we are being watched."

Christine's face paled as she quickly grasped his hand and allowed herself to be pulled by Erik, barely noticing the break-neck speed with which the carriage tore away.

Christine was sure Erik could hear her heart pounding against her chest as they crept silently through the darkened hallways of the Opera Populaire.

She knew that beneath her feet slept nearly a hundred stage hands and cast members, yet here, up on the main floor of the theater, it felt frighteningly desolate.

"Erik," she whispered, following him up a narrow stairwell past the lighting booth. "Where are we going?"

He turned back to her, pressing a long finger to his rosebud lips.

She bit her bottom lip, hoping that it was too dark for Erik to see the heated blush on her cheeks.

Finally, they came to a large oak door Christine recognized as the Managers' office. "You'll never get in," she whispered. "They keep it locked up."

Smiling devilishly, Erik pulled the silver key from his pocket.

"Where did you get that?" Christine asked.

"A friend," Erik replied quietly.

With just a turn of his wrist, the door easily unlocked.

"After you," Erik whispered, sending a chill down Christine's back.

Christine hurried in with Erik behind her.

She jumped a bit when he closed the door, allowing them to fall back into darkness.

Erik brushed up against her, clasping her hand in his as he led her to the back of the offices, having stalked around these large rooms in search of manuscripts and supplies dozens of times in his previous life.

Once in the back room, Erik lit an oil lamp so that it burned dimly.

"What's going on," Christine asked once she could make out Erik's features as they were bathed in the orange glow of the lamp. "Who is watching us?"

"Athena," Erik said, not seeing any reason to hold the truth from Christine.

Christine nodded. "She found out about us," she said glumly.

Erik chuckled. "Us?" He asked. "What about us?"

Christine bit her lip. "Well…er…the other night…when…um…we…"

"Kissed?" Erik supplied, his breath raspy.

Christine held her breath as he moved a bit closer to her. "Yes," she nodded. "When we kissed."

"Athena does not know about that," Erik said.

"Are you certain?"

He nodded. "Even if she did, it would have no bearing on my decision to meet you tonight."

Christine looked up at him. He was looking down at her with the same dark intensity he had carried just before he had kissed her.

"Why did you want to meet me tonight, Erik?" Christine asked, her voice tight in her throat.

Erik brought his hand to her face, gently tracing the outline of her cheek with a piano-callused finger.

"Perhaps I couldn't wait until Friday to see you again," he said softly.

"Erik," Christine said, moving his hand from her face. "We can't."

She turned from him, biting her right thumbnail.

Erik followed, placing his hands on her shoulders, allowing his large hands to run down the sides of her arms.

"Can I ask you something, Christine?" He whispered into her ear.

Christine's eyes slid closed as she nodded.

He turned her around gently, seeing the tears that were forming in her eyes.

Gently, he placed a finger beneath her chin. "When I kissed you, why didn't you pull away?"

Christine closed her eyes again, pushing the tears down her cheeks.

"Because," she whispered. "I wanted more than anything to taste you."

Erik's heart lurched at her candid reply.

"And do you regret your actions?" He asked quietly.

Christine wiped a tear from her face.

"The only thing I regret is letting the moment end," she said, now sobbing.

Before Erik knew it, his lips had found hers again, stifling the small shriek of joy that tore at the back of her throat as she lifted herself shamelessly into his arms.