A/N Thank you, E.M.K.81 for your continued support. And thanks to my reviewers for your constant support and feedback - as well as to those readers who chose to remain quiet.

The boxes had all been arranged with small tables and chairs. Those who could afford them would spend the evening drinking champagne that would cost a working class individual a month to afford, and eating food just as expensive. Those who chose to would do as Arabella had suggested; and do all sorts of naughty things behind locked doors and drawn curtains.

He did not know just how serious she had been with her suggestion. She sat across from him at the little table, picking at the meal he had ordered them as though she didn't have a clue what it was. He could not make out her facial expression behind the mask, but she exuded disgust.

"Is something wrong?" he worried. "I thought you liked Sole."

"Honestly, Erik, the stew you make is the only fish I like. You disguise that horrible smell and flavor with other things perfectly."

This made him lift his eyebrows behind the helmet he still wore. It was getting quite uncomfortable now, but he didn't dare remove it. He did not mind leaving the one small portion of it wide open – but he could not risk someone seeing him accidentally, even though it was highly unlikely in the locked and sequestered private box. The only place he felt safe being completely unmasked was in his home.

"Would you like me to order something else for you?" he asked. "You said you were starving."

"I thought I was." Sighing, Arabella gave up and pushed the plate away. She glanced towards the curtain keeping them from being seen by anyone else in the auditorium. "What a waste…"

"Ma belle… I know you were only teasing me earlier. I do not expect any inappropriate behavior while we are here."

Her caramel eyes snapped up to meet his golden ones.

"No… I mean…" She flushed beneath her translucent mask. "I was not teasing. I did mean it."

Erik's eyes went round behind the partially open helmet mask.

"Did you?"

"Yes!" she stiffened as though insulted. "I am not a tease, Erik. I do not make frivolous promises!"

"There was no promise made." Erik hurried to assure her. "It was a suggestion. If you meant it but are now second guessing yourself, I would never hold it against you."

"I…" Arabella glanced at the locked door of the box. "I have realized that Nadir might try to come and sit with us."

Erik shook his head, waving a hand dismissively.

"Distracted by … scandalous behavior… or not … we can ignore anything that happens around us if we wish." He stated simply. "Nadir will have to finally learn to go away when he is not wanted."

He lowered his gaze finally, feeling heat suffuse his cheeks as she began to smile. For a long minute Arabella simply watched him eat; and he polished off his food even though he was not particularly hungry. He was all too aware of when she finally pushed her chair back and slowly rose to her feet. She took a moment to sip at her barely touched glass of ridiculously expensive champagne; but then deliberately placed it down and came around the table towards him.

"All this time, I thought that I would want nothing but to dance with you all night." She murmured. "Now I feel as though three songs have been nearly enough. "

"Have I made you feel like the center of the universe already?" Erik asked curiously, taking a sip of his own champagne in order to make sure his mouth did not go dry. He was not looking at her; but he could still see her from his peripheral vision. The look on her face was the kind of expression that always made him start to tremble with excitement and emotion. "Last time I managed that, you fainted in my arms."

"I do not need insignificant stars to move about me." Arabella gave one of her all-too familiar one-shouldered shrugs. "You are the center of my universe, Erik … not a moon that circles me."

She was so close that he finally felt he had no choice but to turn and look directly at her once more. He could not help but stare as she placed one hand on the arm of his chair and lowered herself to her knees. He sat up straighter, sucking in a breath in preparation to scold her. One hand moved to cover hers; but she immediately bowed her head to caress his knuckles with her lips. It made him completely forget – for just a moment – that he had been planning to demand she get up.

It was such a simple action … a kiss to the back of the hand. But with Arabella kneeling before him and caressing his skin with her lips that way… he felt utterly distracted. It always amazed him just how alluring his wife could be. He doubted very much if she realized just how strongly she affected him doing something so generally innocent. These were not quick kisses; but it was not as though she were doing something many would consider disgusting – like, perhaps, licking his skin.

He cleared his throat, shifting again.

"Bella… stop." He croaked. "Get up, ma belle. You know I hate to see you on-"

"-No." Arabella interrupted him firmly, but she smiled at him. Her voice was tender. "It is all right, Erik. I cannot do what I would like to if I stand up."

"You do not have to stand." Erik offered quickly, his entire body feeling as though it were on fire. "You could sit here in my lap…"

He was distracted by the sudden hush that fell over the auditorium beyond the curtain. His head tilted, and he was just reaching out to find out what was happening when the voice of the opera manager Firmin came from the area of the stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" he greeted – sounding as though he, himself, had already enoyed himself a little too much. "We are proud to announce tonight that we have finally found an appropriate new leading soprano for our stage!"

Groaning, Erik turned away with a loss of interest. In that moment, what Arabella was up to was far more entertaining. She still had not risen from her knees, but her hands were at the base of his thighs and inching their way up at such a slow pace that he knew he would likely explode from simple impatience if she kept it up. She smirked up at him, shaking her head slightly to show she completely understood his annoyance with the managers. Her hands paused on his thighs and he had to shift uncomfortably.

"I hope she's better than Carlotta." She murmured.

"You and I both, ma belle…" he sighed. Firmin could simply have announced the new soprano. But, being how he was, he couldn't help but turn it into an overblown speech. "Now… as intriguing as I find your sense of adventure… I think I would much rather have you up here with me."

Arabella tilted her head at him curiously.

"Will you kiss me?" she asked; knowing he couldn't possibly do that without removing his helmet.

Erik hesitated. But then he took in a deep breath and nodded.

"Yes." He promised, reaching slowly up towards his covering. He was deeply unsettled with the idea of being unmasked in such a public area… but the curtain was closed and the box was locked. Surely he could endure a minute or two of exposing himself to the one woman who'd proven she could endure the sight of him.

"Wait." Arabella reached up and grabbed the elbow of his costume. "Erik … let me… please?"

This, at least, was nowhere near as difficult as it once would have been. Arabella had won his trust in a way no one ever had. Instantly he lowered his hand, placing both arms carefully on the arm rests of his seat so that she had plenty of room to maneuver around him. He watched as she slowly climbed from the floor to perch on his knees. He imagined it must be a very uncomfortable seat … but she made no complaint. Gently she reached up and simply slid the helmet off his skull before placing it on the table beside his plate.

It was so simply done. She was not fast about it – but she did not take her time trying to be slow or alluring in any way. He was not sure whether or not the simplicity took him off guard or made being unmasked easier. As the air cooled his overheated face, he closed his eyes and sighed in honest relief.

"Now you take mine."

His eyes snapped open again, and he stared at Arabella as she watched him. She looked utterly calm.

"What?" he demanded.

"Take my mask…"she repeated gently. "I want you to."

Sighing, Erik nodded and reached up to do as she said. Before he could take the mask, though, her hands caught his and gently pressed them to her cheeks. He was cupping her face in his hands, his thumbs close to her lower lip so he could caress it if he wanted to. Her eyes were closed, and it was clear that she wanted him to do something in particular… but didn't want to put it into words.

"Ma belle?"

She smiled softly, and simply just released his hands. She said nothing; did nothing to indicate what she wanted from him. He was left with only guesswork as to what to do … and he leaned forward so that their faces were only a few inches apart. Gently he lifted his palms from her cheeks and ran his fingertips along the edges of her mask … teasing… more like he was playing at the hem of her skirt than at the edges of a mask. He could tell that she liked that … and he smiled to himself a little smugly as he leaned even closer and pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, and he placed one hand quickly on the center of her back as his return embrace. As he followed his first kiss with another closer to her jawline, he finally pried the mask off with one hand and, very slowly, slid it off over the crown of her head. He was careful to keep from ruining her carefully fixed hair. As the air touched her skin, he heard her sigh in relief; and his smile broadened. He'd felt much the same – probably to a much greater degree – when she'd removed his helm.

"You promised to kiss me." Arabella accused in amusement as her hands slid to his shoulders to steady herself. Because he was leaning forward, she had a far more precarious position on his lap.

"That's what I'm doing…" he chuckled. "You will have to be more specific next time."
There was a sudden applause out in the auditorium, and Erik lifted his head an inch out of sheer annoyance.

"That absolutely shatters the atmosphere." He grumbled.

Arabella laughed, reaching up to take his head in her hands and turn his face back towards her. In only a moment she was kissing him … and he gave in as the applause slowly dissipated to the strains of The Queen of the Night's aria from The Magic Flute. Erik groaned even through the kiss, momentarily considering that they should leave before his ears started to bleed. Rarely was an appropriate soprano cast in that role, and most wound up screeching their heads off during the nigh notes.

When the soprano on stage began to sing, however, his body sat up completely straight and his hands – which had worked their way to Arabella's waist in only a few seconds – froze. His head whipped around towards the curtains obscuring his view of the auditorium. Arabella tightened her grip on his shoulders, breathing somewhat heavily to catch her breath.

"What-"she began curiously.

"Shh!" Erik cut her off harshly, reaching out to part open the curtains an inch or two.

"Erik!"

"Shh!" he hissed, ignoring the warning in her voice and leaning almost out of his chair to peer out at the stage. "Oh my God… it's her… it's her!"

As his eyes grew round and his body grew entirely still, Arabella pushed her way off of his lap and stood so that she could look out as well. Her arms and hands shifted until it looked like she was clutching a robe around herself.

"Christine…?" she murmured in disbelief.

Erik took in a painful breath.

"Christine…" he agreed… although the name came out a sigh of both longing and relief.

The audience was completely silent as Christine sang her aria dressed in the absolutely beautiful masquerade costume. Her technique was absolutely flawless… just as he'd taught her… even if it was clear to his sensitive ears that she was somewhat out of practice. It was not that she had not been practicing during her absence – just that she did not sing as regularly as she once had.

He wondered how long she had been rehearsing in the Opera House. He had spent so little time in the actual building unless he needed to creep into the manager's office to purloin some money. He only stole small amounts lately – not wanting anyone to start up rumors of the Opera Ghost again. He also always left the door unlocked behind him so it would seem any staff member could be responsible. He didn't want anyone chasing him while he had Arabella to care for … and he had tried to keep his promise to let the Phantom stay dead by not snooping through papers while he was there.

Arabella put her warm hands on his shoulders and rubbed gently as he became all but totally lost in the voice of his beloved ingénue. All his tenderness towards Christine came back in a shameful flood. There was nothing he could do to stop or deny it. But overwhelming even that was his absolute pride over her return. He was ridiculously proud that she'd had the courage to return to the place he'd terrorized her. She'd come back bravely, and stronger than ever … and she had her entire audience eating from the palm of her hand.

No one was as entranced to hear her as he was. He stared at her mostly stationary form, listening as she let out rage and passion and hatred through music. Never had a Queen of the Night been so all-encompassing; and he doubted it was only due to his infatuation.

Arabella said nothing the entire performance. She simply stood behind him, holding his shoulders in support and listening to the performance. He could sense that she was uncomfortable – and who could blame her? But he could not take his eyes away from Christine in order to reassure her. He could not speak and disrupt the perfect sound that enveloped him.

All he could do was reach up with one hand to cover the fingers gently working at his shoulder muscles. He felt her go still beneath his touch, and squeezed her fingers gently.

He couldn't move… as though he were compelled to stay stone still. He could not speak, as if he'd been struck mute. But he could touch her hand, and prove to both of them that no matter how possessed he felt by Christine in that moment… he had just enough agency over himself to remember that he was not alone… that there was something else to fill the empty silence when the song was over.

It did not make the end of the song any easier on him. He was freely weeping when the audience erupted into unheard of applause and adulation. All had apparently forgiven Christine Daae for once aspiring to marry one of their own high-class bachelors. In that moment, they loved her as much as he himself did. But he could not stand and applaud as everyone else did. He could only stare through the two inches of open curtain, and watch her take her bows before walking serenely off of the stage. For a long moment he sat staring at the edge of the stage where she'd vanished into the wings. He held his breath and waited for the agony to overwhelm him.

The pain did come … but it was far quieter than he'd expected it to be. It was a stream instead of a tsunami; and was dripping warm wax instead of the very fires of hell. Taking in a tremulous breath, he leaned back to wipe impatiently at his eyes.

"She sounds even more lovely than I recalled." He admitted. "And she is more beautiful… Do you think adversity is what makes someone so much more beautiful in the end?"

Arabella hesitated as he turned to gaze up at her. She was watching him with a completely unreadable expression, her hands no longer on his shoulders and instead hovering in the air between them.

"I do not know." She admitted slowly. "Why would you say that?"

"Every day I watched you fight your life … you became stronger and more beautiful." He explained, reaching up to take her hands. "Can it be that what I did to her made her stronger? Made that strength beautify her?"

"I have no idea." She insisted, glancing away and blushing. "She… she is back in the Opera now…"

"Yes." He agreed, staring up at her. He could not deny the excitement this simple fact made him feel. But he also felt terribly guilty because of it. "Ma belle… this changes nothing. She surely thinks that I am dead, or she would never have returned to the Opera at all! And because of you, I have learned to live without her!"

She gazed at him so intensely that he found it incredibly difficult to keep from squirming – breaking under her gaze. Finally, however, she squeezed his hands and offered a melancholy smile.

"I will hold you to that." she whispered, leaning down to press a gentle and chaste kiss to the side of his mouth. Erik reciprocated the action easily; always hungry for her affection. "Should we put our masks back on? Nadir is probably waiting for that dance I promised him ages ago."

Erik frowned.

"I thought you wanted to-"

"-Not anymore." She said simply; her voice deceptively serene. "I did want to … but… not anymore. I'm afraid that aria has… spoiled my mood for such things. Perhaps later… at home…"

Sighing, Erik sagged and reached for his helm.

"All right…" he conceded. "Let us go and find that insufferable Daroga. I may as well repay his money while we are all here."

It did not take long to find Nadir. Considering the Daroga was nearly always standing alone at any public event, he was not interacting with anyone. He had no lover to flirt with – at least not that he would confess to – or dance with. He had no people other than Erik he felt close enough to for him to bother hunting them down for conversation. So when Arabella and Erik approached him, his face broke into another smile. He seemed completely unaware that something could have happened to change the demeanor of his friends.

"My wife claims that she owes you a dance." Erik said succinctly, glancing one around the room to be certain there were no … distractions… in sight. Then he offered some money to Nadir. "And I believe I owe you this."

Nadir looked somewhat taken aback, but pocketed the simple amount of money without counting it. His eyes scanned the room as if trying to make sure no one had witnessed the exchange – as though he were doing something wrong. Then, he smiled again at Arabella and offered her his hand.

"May I have this dance, Madame Sauveterre?"

"If you step on her toes and bruise her, Daroga, you may find my mood quite changed." Erik warned in a distracted but only playful threat. "Take care with your clumsy feet."

"Clumsy?" Nadir looked absolutely insulted. "I will show you clumsy!"

The Old Persian led Arabella out onto the floor and they began a quadrille. The dance immediately brought to Erik's mind his first ever festival with Arabella. Their first dance at that festival had been a quadrille. It had been the beginning of one of the most tumultuous nights of his life. First he had felt satisfaction at escorting such a lovely beauty to a part and out onto the dance floor. Then he had heard that she was with child … bearing her own fathers' bastard. Then he had been racing through the town searching for help from her self-inflicted knife wound; not able to understand whether it was attempted suicide or attempted abortion.

He was distracted from watching his wife and best – only – friend walk through a dance so sedate that both looked more amused by their bantering than the dance itself. He was hearing giggling off to his right, and he knew the laughter at once. He had been around the Opera House for too any years not to recognize the voice of young Meg Giry as she prattled on excitedly and a little drunkenly with the managers.

And, of course, where the managers were he understood Christine must surely be as well. They had been following her around like bodyguard buffoons since her entrance. In spite of how he did not want to be distracted by Christine anywhere outside of the auditorium during a performance… he could not help but take several rather obvious and clumsy glances in her direction. He was not really used to having to watch someone out in the open where others could observe his interest. Usually when that had happened in the past, he had not cared who saw him staring hatefully at the enemy he wanted desperately to murder.

But this was not Persia, and Christine was not his enemy.

He had promised never to interfere with her again… but he had also ever expected her to return to the Opera House of her own free will. And she looked so subdued as the managers tried to talk around her with others who joined the crowd at random It was insulting to her status as the Prima Donna that they would fawn over her so obviously without seeming to even speak directly to her. With Carlotta there had been indecent flirtation, fawning, and groveling. With Christine they just seemed content to let the audience share their praise to keep her in place.

And she was receiving plenty of praise. No one could pass without congratulating or adulating her. But the compliments seemed to pass right through her. He was astonished at how pensive and distant she seemed. No one was asking her to dance… no one was holding a true conversation with her – as though worshipping her voice was nothing more than some kind of duty. He hated to see her in such a state of glorious disgrace. She would need enormous amounts of help if she were ever going to win the true adoration of her audience ever again…

Erik shook himself, hard.

He could not do that to Bella! He could not break his word to let Christine alone!

But… perhaps he could at least offer Christine a chance to dance?

This temptation nagged at him as he seized up a passing champagne glass on a tray. He did not know when the drinks had started being delivered to the revelers instead of waiting on a refreshment table, but this suited him just fine. He needed something to drink. He had not been excessively excited by Arabella in Box Five; but he was still suffering a bit of disappointment that their fun had been derailed. Now he was only a few yards away from the … other … object of his desire. And it was killing him.

He didn't want to lure her below again. He did not want to make her love him, or to fall to his knees to confess his enduring love for her. This he was certain of.

But he still wanted to see her smile – truly smile.

Cursing he discarded the still mostly filled goblet of alcohol and strode in Christine's direction. He was already reconsidering his foolishness before the managers saw his approach – but Christine had not failed to miss the costumed gentleman approaching her. Her eyes had snapped directly towards him – as though able to sense his presence and who he was. Or, perhaps since he was the first gentleman to come towards them unaccompanied by others, he had simply made her curious. It didn't matter. Christine had looked directly at him and all thoughts turning and racing back to Arabella for a dance left his mind.

He bowed elegantly, putting a fist to his heart, and then offered Christine his hand.

There was a beat as Christine, Meg, and the managers waited for him to say something.

When he did not, Christine took his offered hand and he led her out into the middle of the quadrille – perfectly aware that he passed directly beside Arabella and Nadir in the process. He was also aware that Meg and one of the managers had followed them – apparently deciding that Christine could not be permitted out of their reach. Erik wondered briefly if they had set a trap and were waiting for the Phantom to reveal himself to Christine…

But he was not an idiot. He was a great fool – yes – daring to approach Christine in a public venue and offering a dance. He was an even greater fool for doing this in front of his wife – who he loved so much. But he was not an idiot. He had no intentions whatsoever of speaking a word to Christine and giving himself away. He had no intentions of following her, of offering any further dances, or of inserting himself into her actual life. No … he just wanted one dance with her in the hopes that her barely existent contentment would become full blown happiness. It did not have to be more than that… he wanted her to enjoy the ball in his kingdom… her kingdom…

Our kingdom… he thought helplessly before mentally shaking himself.

Apparently his silence was all that was necessary for Christine to find him curious and mysterious. She tilted her head at him as they danced, examining his frame and how carefully he stepped. She found herself smiling at him – and it was more than enough for Erik to almost lose concentration and stop his heart.

He hated realizing in those moments that he was not over Christine. He had already known that … but the ease with which she consumed him filled him with sickly guilt.

He glanced around briefly, smiling inside his helm because he had made Christine smile… but he looked for Nadir and Arabella. They had been dancing moments before… he could not imagine them stopping just because he was dancing with Christine. This was the only dance he was going to afford Nadir before reclaiming his wife… so the old Daroga had best make the most of it.

Feeling such confusing possessiveness and drive nearly made him even sicker than his guilt at giving in to the need to address Christine in any manner.

Swallowing thickly, he took in a deep breath and concentrated on the dance. His hand squeezed Christine's briefly – and he thought she might have squeezed back, but that could have easily been his imagination. Neither of them spoke. It was enough to be dancing, even if Christine had no idea she was in the arms of her tormentor and angel of music.

The dance was over far too soon. Erik wanted to remain on the floor and offer her another… but he knew he had already risked too much with this singular dance. He bowed to Christine briefly, turned without any flourish whatsoever, and stalked off the dance floor into a side room. His eyes scanned the area the entire time – searching for Arabella.

He had given in to temptation… Just a little… but he had given in. He knew where choices like that could lead him. Now he needed Arabella. He needed his lady, his wife, his gypsy princess… He needed her to ground him and embrace him and promise him it was all right… to assure him that she understood… to keep him from turning around and running back to Christine!

But he would not do that. He forced discipline on himself. He would not turn back to Christine! He'd made her smile … and that would simply have to be enough! He would never go to see her in her dressing room. He would never leave her notes, or interfere with her life.

No... I will not do that to Bella. I will not!