Erik

I pause. She will see me if I venture any further. Surely she has already sighted the glow from the torch…but she doesn't run. "Why aren't you leaving," I breathe inaudibly. "Why are you here in the first place?" She has never been in my lair, but she has been this far before, and I know that she does not dare go any further. Why is she here, again?

The question is fleeting; the answer is clear. If she has come here, and she is not departing when she knows I see her, she has only one purpose. She is demanding my presence. She wants to see me.

My body is still frozen. I am completely at a loss as to what to do next. I have been this close to her, and even shared a precious few words with her from my hiding places, but we have not confronted each other in years. Since she left with the Giry boy; no, since she first returned, and I held her child. We were different then…my head spins, and my mind fiercely battles with my heart. Whereas my mind tells me to back up and take another passage until I am away from her, my heart tells me to continue forward, to see her, talk to her. There is a sudden end to the argument when I realise that my heart is already torn to shreds, and it has nothing to lose.

The violin is safely wrapped into my cloak by now. I take a step forward, and then another, my anger growing as severe as my desire.

I am in clear sight of her now, but she does not glance up or acknowledge my presence. Her stern look and her avoidance of my gaze tells me one thing: she will not say the first word. You can walk right past her. It's not too late, part of me tries to warn myself…but whether that part is Erik, or the Phantom, or the Angel, I have absolutely no idea, no premonition at all—and that is, unexplainably, infuriating to my pride. The firelight dances in her eyes and warms her entire presence, casting her complexion a pale rose-gold and her hair a fiery red-gold…and all I see is colour, and heat, and fierceness.

"Madeleine," I whisper, stopping in front of her.

Her eyes do not meet mine still. "You will call me Madame."

As it resurrects pain-filled memories of our first days together, her reprimand stings, but the intensity of her eyes as she glares at the nothingness ahead of her sets my skin ablaze with a flame different than simple anger. I circle her slowly and come to a halt when I am directly behind her, and kneel silently. "How quaint of you to pay me a visit," I growl, "after so long. Welcome back to my home. I was beginning to think you'd forgotten that your Phantom has a physical as well as supernatural existence, my dear!" To antagonise her now, now that she is here, is stupid and childish, but the mere sight of her simmers fury within my blood.

Her eyes slide into my vision. "You misinterpret my intentions," she hisses, and she turns to face me; we both stand in one accord, slowly and dangerously. I am taller than she is naturally, a great deal, but as I am situated on the higher step, I've even more of an intimidating stance.

"You are a fair amount less of a mystery than that," I retort slowly, leaning toward her; she retreats an inch, though I have not touched her. She feels me, still. "You have come to discover exactly what I have planned for the little Daae girl." Her incensed eyes do not leave my unblinking ones; I keep them wide, for her. "I have seen you looking for me, Madame, eagerly watched, and have been thus far bitterly disappointed by your wasted attempts."

She steps a bit to the side; I match her move. Our bodies are drawn to each other even when she seeks to avoid me. "Then you know why I have come here." She purses her lips, as if to contain a sneer. She is the only one who dares. "And I have discovered what I needed to know, exactly as I intended, Monsieur le Fantôme…or perhaps, more appropriately, Ange de Musique?"

She knows. She heard, then. I inhale silently as she seethes in her vainglorious stance. "I must admit, I am impressed, Madame. I underestimated your courage." She heard. She heard everything. I step down to her level to bring us closer; my nonchalant response has daunted her. "Surely you've been warned of how dangerous involving one's self in the Phantom's affairs has proven to be."

Not as daunted as first I guessed. She takes the opportunity and leaves the step we both occupy for the one I removed myself from, and I find myself even with her. It is indeed a good move, except now our eyes are level, and our gaze is more in tact than ever. "I have seen your worst," she declares, and for a moment my hands ache to strike her. No, Madame, you have not! "You've always known it's no longer for myself I worry."

"But you should," I whisper gravely. If she cannot feel my desire, she is insensitive. If she chooses not to heed it—she is critically senseless.

"An Angel." Her disbelief beckons a smile; her rage suppresses it. "An Angel." Her body is rigid, and her eyes are no longer watching my movements. Instead, they are glaring into my own. But I notice how her fingers dig into her hands—her moist hands—and she swallows.

She feels my desire. She feels her own.

My head is light as I remember the last time I felt wanted by her. Madame does not fear my longing as much as she fears hers. "Yes, an Angel!"

"You don't know what you are doing, Erik," my beloved accuses in her tantalisingly low voice. Yes, I do—and you do, as well. "You will never know how much this girl's father meant to her, and how much you will hurt her when—"

"Hurt her?" With my violin in one hand, I whirl my cloak around her and pull her back onto the lower step; in the same swift motion that I draw her into me, I release the torch into a vacant frame. She wants this. My adrenaline drowns out all thoughts, and all incredulity, that for the first time in years she is in my arms. Her back is pressed up against my chest, and I move my arms around her forme, crushing her so that she cannot move. In my right hand is the violin and the bow; my left arm is wrapped around her stomach. I lower my chin to her neck as she gasps and begins to struggle. "Shhhh," I breathe, and I brush my lips against her jaw line; she inhales sharply again, and stills. "How can music—" I draw my hand across her stomach slowly—"hurt anyone?" I reach up leisurely and take the bow from my right hand, and hold the violin in position around her body. Dragging the bow down the strings, I begin to play—slowly, slowly, with a rhythm that matches my careful breath. Her hand rises just as slowly to my face, and my mind dizzies as her fingers begin to stroke my jaw. She wants this. I hum in her ear, and feel the rise and fall of her chest; her breathing begins to match my own. I whisper her name, "Madeleine," and then, as I continue my ministrations with the violin, I sing:

"I owe my soul to you

"I'm only whole with you

"Standing beside me

"In your eyes the music summons

"Whispers so soft, forlorn

"Within me, songs unborn

"Cry, 'Let me love you'

"Say that you will

"Say that you love me too."

She is in my arms, she is stroking my face, and I have dreamt of this moment forever. What, then, is this unease?

"I am yours," I whisper into her ear…but perhaps she does not hear it.

The torch flickers.

…

Madame Giry

My heart crashed within my chest.

I felt his cheek against the side of my neck, warm, and slightly rough, as if he'd neglected to shave. His breath on my collarbone—his arms tight around mine, his chest against my back…and his voice. I knew something was wrong…surely this was wrong. Get away, a voice screamed in the back of my mind. And another one urged, ever so gently, Give in. As his rich, masculine baritone caressed my eardrum, I was able to retain one thought: isn't it ironic, that the voice which screams is hardly heard against the voice which every so gently urges? The hypnotic music that left his lips with his breath froze every limb in my body, and my mind could hardly decipher the words at all.

I'm only whole with you…he said that. I'd heard it before—not, not heard it, but I knew it. My mind reached for the meaning, half motivated by…longing…and half by warning.

Slowly, the violin music died away, and I felt as he drew the instrument back into his cloak and removed it from his shoulders with a single hand, laying it gently on the ground, and that hand came around me again. In your eyes the music summons…. The words slowly began to make sense, long after he'd sung them. One hand gently caressed my neck and jaw; the other moved down to my waist, and I exhaled slowly as his fingertips sent forgotten sensations throughout my body. Inside of his whispers, I heard my name again. "Touch me, Madeleine." Let me love you. The fingers of his right hand slowly began to drag up, higher over my stomach, higher…. "I need you." I moved against him, one of my hands blindly exploring his jaw, the other covering his own and massaging his fingers while guiding him cautiously across my body. The instant before his fingers found my bosom, his left hand moved down my arm, and without warning he spun me around. My eyes flew open, and my heart stopped completely as I gazed into the brilliant turquoise gems of his own. His eyes—the Opera Ghost's eyes—dilated with rapture and disbelief. Say that you will…. His mouth was open as he, trembling, drew in air, and he pulled me even closer into his frame. I closed my eyes as he began to close his, and with a gasp of pleasure, I felt his warm breath on my lips.

Say that you love me too.

I jerked. "No!"

The Phantom pulled his head away from mine, his gaze imploring me.

I pushed violently against his body, and he released me, his arms falling loosely to his sides…his chest rising as he fought for breath, just as I did. I took several steps backwards, and fell back against the stone wall. How dare he—how dare he! How could he even—after all that I'd said—after all we'd been through, after so many years…. "What have you done?"

He stared at me helplessly, and I was paralysed by the gaze in his blue-green eyes—pure, and terrified, rejection. My heart began to break, even in my absolute anger and disgust. "What have I done?" I cried, and I sank slowly to the cold, cracked floor of the step below me, tears and sobs gushing simultaneously. This was why I left so many years ago. I closed my eyes so I wouldn't have to look into his any longer. I had learnt what I'd needed to learn and said what I'd needed to say…why did I stay? Only to give him hope again? Only to offer him a taste of what he'd longed for since I first rescued him…to snatch it away forever?

"Oh, Erik," I sobbed, my tears flooding my hands and filling my soul with shame, shame that was too deep and terror-filled for words, even. You idiot, Madeleine!

He knew not to touch me, but it was all too clear that he ached to. Through my fingers I could see him step toward me, and then step back, and lean against the wall to bring his head into his hands. A knot began to forme in my gut as I contemplated his shock and helplessness. Oh, no. I had seen this before, and I knew what to expect—and dread flooded me. "Madame," came his plea. He dropped his hands, and his fists were clenched. His eyes remained on the wall opposite him. "WHY!" The anguished roar resonated off of every wall and every step, and a shudder ran through me. I looked up at him, terrified. After his initial uncertainty came his anger, and then…. His hands were stretching and retracting like claws, and I knew he was looking for something, anything, to throw. His anger almost always led to destruction.

His eyes fell to the violin.

"Don't," I cried, but he did not hear me, and he did not need to besides. He valued the thing far too much to ruin it. I dared to hope: did he value me as much? And then slowly—silently—he turned in my direction. Silently. In his rage, silence was far from a good thing. He was silent. I looked up at him, cowering into the step behind me. "Erik—"

"SHUT UP!" he bellowed, and his hands went to his hair, twisting it beneath his fingers, and I remembered that it didn't hurt him because it was not real. His feet dragged as he made his way toward me. "You—you siren," he hissed.

Hitting against his side with every step was the lasso. Horror gripped my heart—no, my entire body—as he came closer to me, his hands clenching and unclenching, the most furious wrath in his eyes that I had ever seen. I had spat at him that I'd seen his worst…and I was to see it again. "Don't," I choked out; "think of what—"

"How could you?" he snarled, his large hand swooping down on me like a hawk; I shielded my face, but instead he grabbed up my wrist, and yanked me into a standing position. I yelped from the pain. "You knew when you came to me how much I needed you, and still you came! You knew when you were in my arms that you would deny me, and yet you remained just long enough to destroy me!" His deep growl cracked with emotion. He gave me a hard shove against the wall, and his brow rose to match a sadistic and mocking grin that left as quickly as it appeared. "Did you like what you felt, Madame? Or was it fear that kept you immobile in my embrace?" With that last word, he managed to let me go long enough to produce the length of rope from his side. Before I could grasp what he was doing, I shielded my neck with my free hand, and the rope came around me above my shoulders. "Fear of this?" he growled, and he tightened the rope; it caught on my hand and dug into the sides of my neck. The back of my hand was drawn against my eye and cheek. Only my wrist prevented the lasso from stopping my breath entirely, but my throat still constricted, and my voice was hardly audible. He is going to kill me.

My mind, what was left of it, briefly returned to a moment years before, as he stood in front of me cautiously, and his words then: "Madeleine, do not fear me."

His wide, insane gaze dropped to my neck where the lasso gripped it. "Or this?" His face plunged to my throat and he ravaged it below the cord. It was horrible—the sensations of his lips and teeth and hot breath on my skin mingling with the rough, deadly constraints of the rope. I am going to die. Just as suddenly, he left my neck and glowered down at me menacingly. His eyes no longer held the sorrow, the torment—only anger, and hatred, and I knew he couldn't see my tears or hear my pleas, as I tried to cry out for him to forgive me. "There is no forgiveness without sacrifice, Madeleine! I would take from you every last bit of what you owe me—" his left hand snaked across my collar bone beneath the suffocating lasso, and his right hand pressed into my hip and crept up across my stomach—"but for my promise before a God I loathe never to take to my bed a woman—" and suddenly, to my absolute shock, he released me—"who was not first my wife!"

I crumpled once more to the floor, gasping for breath, my sobs uncontrollable. The lasso hung limply about my shoulders, and I pulled my hand from it, the hand that had saved me.

Erik stood over me, his feet wide apart, one arm still in the air. His fingers were curled tightly around the end of the rope. His hair was wild with exertion and sweat around his face and mask, and his white shirt hung open to reveal his heaving chest. He gaped at me, his mouth open and his eyes ferocious as he beheld the scene, and I stared into the blue-green intensity, my thoughts colliding between thanking God and begging Him all at once. Slowly, the rage that had overcome Erik began to melt, and deep anguish began to pool into the brightly coloured orbs. His breath became ragged, and he stepped backward away from me, unable to speak. He stumbled toward his cloak on the ground, and lifted it clumsily, nearly dropping the violin. Steadying himself, he draped the cloak over his shoulders and straightened, his back to me.

I dared to move—slightly, and then a little more, until I was standing.

"Oh, Madeleine," I heard, as silently as anything. "Oh, Madeleine, forgive me."

After his anger, always came his shame.

I gasped for want of air, terrified to go near him, and just as terrified to run away.

"Go," came the command.

I did not need to hear it again. I turned on my heel and ran up the stairs, stumbling on every other step, afraid to look back, needing more than anything to get out of the darkness and back into the light.

A/N…Once again—lyrics above are to the melody of Learn to be Lonely/No One would Listen