A long hour passed on the rugged floor of the bathroom before the dense fog of her shock and misery cleared enough for Ang to regain her faculties. She had little recollection of getting out of the tub, but given the delightfully warm fire and the towels around her, she could easily guess. Curled in a loose heap, she lay with her weight against his side and leg, almost in his lap, her head pillowed against his chest. His voice rumbled against her ear in song. It wasn't anything clear; more like an absent-minded hum, something that came as naturally and automatically to him as breathing and she wondered if he was conscious of it in the first place. His guard was down and he was entirely relaxed, at peace. His arms were wound protectively about her, cradling her close to his body. He's holding me. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

As Erik sang, she remained still and allowed her mind to wander, reflecting on her past. After everything she'd already faced as a child - the laundry list of foster homes, the horrific abuse at the hands of foster parents, uncles, and siblings, the bullying at school, the dark days of contemplating suicide simply so she could escape the seemingly permanent pain in her life - Ang had genuinely believed that the worst was behind her. She was an adult now. She'd graduated at the top of her high school despite everything and everyone that had sought to drag her down. She taught herself every technical aspect of the backstage world and was now a card-carrying IATSE member, the union for techies who worked behind the scenes of stage and film. She had a steady job that she loved and was good at, and made pretty decent money for someone her age. She had her own apartment; it was small, but it was hers.

With her track record, Ang didn't make close friends easily; in fact, she really only had work buddies, acquaintances that she kept at arm's length. She'd gone on a handful of casual dates, but none ended with more than an awkward kiss good-night. Her colleagues were kind and invited her to post-show drinks and once or twice, she even joined the touring casts for their closing night parties before they hit the road for the next city. She was an abysmal flirt; it was something she'd never developed a knack for. A couple of the dressers back stage had had to practically hit her upside the head to make her realize this guy or that was interested.

Mac's ruddy, bearded face came to mind and she smiled faintly. If she had a single, actual friend in her life, the closest thing to it was the Scotsman. They had a brother-sister, harass-one-another-out-of-love type of relationship. Only on a single occasion had Mac shown an authentic concern for her, and that was when a drunk college student had followed her out of the bar she was at, refusing to take her 'no' as a final answer. Mac had swooped in, yanked the kid back by his collar, and sent him sprawling across the pavement of the parking lot. The giant oak tree of a man had wrapped up her tiny, trembling form in the warmest hug she'd ever gotten and held her until the shaking subsided. Once she'd collected herself, he'd leaned back and peered straight down into her face with a promise.

"If'n ye e'er need mae, Lass, any time, day 'r night, I'm bu' a phone call away," he'd promised before kissing the top of her head and driving her home, himself.

What wouldn't she give to have her phone with her now with Mac on the other line, his familiar brogue chasing away the invisible demons that plagued her.

No, she didn't have her Scotsman. But she did have a rather infamous Frenchman, and he was every bit as formidable as Mac.

Part of her found it a little odd that she hadn't, even for a moment, considered that Erik could have assaulted her while she was unconscious, using her the same way the men above had. He was several times stronger than she was and it would have been simple to overpower her, even if she hadn't been in a weakened state. He could have done whatever he wanted to her, yet deep down, she knew with certainty that he hadn't. It was an impossibility. To be sure, he was capable of many atrocities, but for some reason, she just couldn't fathom rape being one of them. Perhaps it was self-preservation, a refusal to believe she was still in such danger with no way of escape this time. Or perhaps it was in the way he so carefully handled her.

"I believe you," she finally whispered, seemingly out of no where.

Her voice, quiet though it was, shocked Erik and she felt his entire body jolt. His arms released her as if she burned him, his chin lifting quickly from its place atop her head. "U-um, pardon?"

An unexpected pang shot through her at the sudden absence of his embrace, though she remained exactly where she was, unwilling to let go of him just yet. "I said I believe you, that you'll keep me safe, and wouldn't hurt me." Lifting her head, she looked into his eyes, the only part of his face she could see clearly, and she smiled softly. While he didn't return the smile, there was something within his gaze that softened.

His eyes weren't as dark as she'd supposed the first time she looked at him, perhaps because there was more light here. And rather than the glowing yellow eyes she thought she'd read about, they were hazel with flecks of gold that ignited when the firelight caught them just right. His skin was pale, not quite albino, nor translucent, but about as pale as one would expect from a being who spent a good portion of his existence away from sunlight. Even beneath the mask she could perceive that his face was incredibly thin, his features sharp and pronounced.

"Y-you are doing it again, Mademoiselle."

Her brows rose in question.

Erik cleared his throat. "It is very rude to stare, or do the English lack the manners they so wish others to believe they possess?"

Ang chuckled, and slowly pushed herself upright with a wince, adjusting the towels conservatively. "First of all, I'm not English. I'm American. Secondly, staring is less rude than locking someone in a cage. Don't you think?"

His mouth opened to protest, then he snapped it shut. "You are quite correct," he mumbled. "I... apologize."

"An actual apology from the- you," she commented with a grin. "I'm impressed. Thank you."

Silence stretched again. Erik glanced around the room before rising gracefully to his feet with feline-like grace. He stepped over to the vanity table to retrieve the sleeping gown he'd found for her, and he carried it to where she sat. "Are you in need of assistance?" he asked as he held it down to her.

Ang nipped at her lower lip in brief consideration before answering him. "No, thank you. I think I'm alright." She took it from his fingers, and scooping his discarded gloves from the floor, he turned to go. Irrational panic surged within her at the prospect of being left by herself, and her hand shot out after him before she commanded it to do so. "Wait!"

The terror in her voice made him whip around to stare down at her. "Mademoiselle?"

She ducked her head in shame and embarrassment, debating on even speaking at all. "Don't- don't go." Pausing a moment, she continued. "I don't want to be alone," she confessed.

He stared down at her in disbelief. She wanted him to stay? Had that ever occurred, someone asking him to remain somewhere? Normally, it was a shrill scream that banished him from their presence, not a meek request for him to keep one's company. Bowing his head in silent acquiescence, he turned his back to her again, though this time he stood in place, his hands wiggling their way back into the slightly damp gloves. The hum returned to his lips as he waited.

The nightgown was unfolded and she found within it a pair white knickers with lace cuffs. Save for a comfy pair of house slippers, which she doubted they had, he'd thought of everything he could for her comfort. Casting a furtive glance at the Phantom's back, Ang let the towels drop and pool around her hips as she shoved her arms into the sleeves and yanked the garment down over her head. Her full leg was fed into one side of the knickers, and her eyes went wide as she realized the crotch was left wide open without a single stitch to attach it to the other leg. He won't wait forever, she thought and hurriedly slid her shorter limb into the opposite leg, lying down on her back so she could arch her hips up off the ground to slide it beneath her bottom. Ang took a moment to bend in half to try and get a look at the strange pair of pants. What in the actual hell..?

"These drawers are missing something," she muttered as she sat up.

Erik paused, confused. "I assure you the clothing is quite complete."

She shook her head and took one last dubious look. "Whatever you say." Glancing in his direction, she noticed the subtle sway of his body, in rhythm with the song in his brain. Ang couldn't help but watch a moment, transfixed by the way his body seemed to radiate music, and like before, she wondered if he'd done so intentionally. Catching her thoughts, she cleared her throat. "I'm done; you can look now."

He turned in place, the picture of control and cool sophistication. It was hard to believe this was the same madman of legend and fiction, a maniacal genius whose temper was violent, uncontrolled, and unchecked. Subconsciously, one hand lifted to lightly cup her throat.

Erik inhaled sharply and turned away from her, his shoulders bunching as one hand raked over his hair, black and glossy as a raven's wing. At his sides again, both hands clenched and unfurled over and over, his form stiffening as if at war with himself.

"Come. I should return you to bed so you can rest." His words were clipped and decisive. He strode to her side and plucked her off the floor without any further preamble, his gaze refusing to focus on her as her arms wrapped instinctively around his neck.

Tension radiated from him in palpable waves; Ang wisely remained mute as he carried her back the way they'd come hours before. When he passed through the grand chamber which held his instruments and music, she dared to break the silence.

"Monsieur? Um, rather than going back to bed, could I- um, would you mind- That is, if it's alright... and you can say no, but if it wouldn't, um..."

He'd slowed once she began stumbling over her words. "Allez, allez," he bit out impatiently. "Speak, woman."

"Would you play for me?" she rushed out.

He stopped short, and Ang wished she could disappear into thin air at the abrupt way she'd asked. It was a thing of intimacy, his music, not something he'd share with just anyone. After being by himself for decades, she was fortunate he didn't just toss her back onto the street where he'd found her just so he could have solace once more.

But rather than return her to his room, he pivoted smoothly and carried her across the open cavern to a low sofa that sat at the bottom of sweeping stone steps, at the top of which stood the organ she'd heard him play at that very first day. Taking a knee, he settled her atop the cushions and drew a blanket up over her. One index finger pointed at her face in command. "Not a word," was all he said before he rose and walked with ever-present elegance and grace up the steps.

Rather than playing the organ as she'd supposed, he surprised her by picking up a violin that lay on the ground nearby, and tuning it. It took half a minute before she remembered. There was a scene in a movie or something where he played a violin, pretending to be the spirit of Christine's deceased father, wasn't there? Of course, being a musical genius, he probably played any number of instruments and mastered every single one of them. The first strains of music flowed from the instrument, and her thoughts ceased.

The notes surrounded her, caressed her, filled her soul and radiated outward to the tip of every limb. Her body relaxed into the sofa without her permission, her limbs melting like butter until she was limp as a rag doll. The ache in her head eased; the sting and discomfort of the raw skin around one knee ebbed and was replaced with an impossible warmth. The earlier desire to watch him dissipated and her eyes fell heavily closed, lashes kissing the tops of her cheeks. Her heart and breathing slowed. The most beautiful and peaceful of visions overtook her mind, as if she were fully dreaming yet still awake. Even if she'd wanted to, she couldn't fight it, and quite happily she let the music carry her away.

Her eyes drifted open and she glanced around, taking stock. Her head still hurt but it was more of an ache than the throbbing agony it had been some time earlier. Her body didn't feel quite as stiff or sore, and to test the theory, Ang carefully sat up, twisting to sit against the back of the chaise lounge. Dim firelight that radiated out from each one of the hundreds of candles both warmed and lit the cavernous space. Spread out on one side was sprawling lake of obsidian water, smooth and reflective as glass. She paused as thoughts took form, and slowly twisted round to survey the area behind her.

There it was: the free-standing cell she'd been locked in. Her gaze landed on the silver platter she'd used to knock out her captor the week before, still laying where she'd dropped it. Dread pooled in her stomach. He hadn't forgiven her, had he? Granted, she wasn't sure she'd forgiven him either. Yes, he had literally saved her life above ground, but that hardly excused his abuse.

Biting at her lower lip, one hand absently ran along her throat as she thought. Should she ask to be released? Would he let her go even if she asked? Where would she go if she could? She still didn't speak the language. Plus, she already tried to live above on her own and it had ended in catastrophe.

"I should not have injured you in such a way." He'd approached without her awareness, and his voice startled her. Ang whipped around with a gasp. "In any way. It was a shameful cruelty against you, and I plead for your forgiveness."

She blinked in surprise. His body language declared his unease: his shoulders were bowed forward and he rocked a little on his heels, hands fumbled with one another, his eyes refused to meet her gaze. How long had it been since he had admitted doing something wrong? Clearly it made him uncomfortable, yet he stood here, offering his sincere apologies.

Ang nodded slightly. "I forgive you, and I'm sorry, too. I grabbed at your mask, and I knew exactly what it would do, how it would make you feel. I'm sorry for running away like I did. For tricking you and hurting you." Her head hung forward. Naughty girls get punished, the hated voice from her past whispered to her mind; she deflated and sighed. "None of this would have happened if I'd stayed put. It's my fault. I deserved what happened to me."

At that, his head shot up and he swooped down to his knees before her, seizing her by her arms, spitting angry French into her face. Ang jumped and automatically shied away while Erik leaned to look her fully in the face. "Never say that," he growled, making sure to speak this time so she understood. "Nothing you could do makes you deserve a punishment as you have endured already." It dawned on him then how fearfully she held herself back, and his grip on her arms lessened, becoming almost endearing. Ang relaxed beneath his touch and while her hands itched to reach forward to connect with him, she held them together in her lap.

For a pregnant moment, stillness reigned over both. Gold flecked amber clashed with stormy grays as they stared at one another, scarcely blinking and hardly daring to breathe. His gaze flicked down at her lips, and her lips parted on a soft gasp, pupils dilating.

Erik didn't act on the impulse, and instead rocked back on his heels and released her, a hand lifting to anxiously adjust his mask. "Are you hungry, Mademoiselle? It has been some time since you've eaten."

"It's Ang," she corrected. "My name is Ang. I guess we should probably be on a first name basis now."

"What manner of sorts is a name like Ang?" he asked, perplexed and a little off-put by the harsh sound of her name.

"It's a nickname. My name is Angelique, but it's stupid so I don't use it."

He stilled, and stared at her hard. "Angelique?" he repeated, his accent thick.

Ang nodded. "Yeah. Angelique Chanson. But like I said, it's- it's dumb. So, Ang it is."

Angelique Chanson. She is an angel! Erik's spirit soared. "Angelique is a beautiful name, and it suits you perfectly, I think," he replied, trying to hide his elation behind a calm and level voice.

She snorted. "Yeah, right. I sound like the heroine in some steamy, supermarket paperback." At the quizzical expression she perceived in his eyes, she coughed. "Um, nevermind. I just meant that it sounds so... I don't know. Not me."

He considered, before answering curtly, "You are wrong." He leaned forward on one knee as his hands and arms slipped beneath her knees and behind her back; in one fluid movement, he was on his feet with Ang across the front of his body.

She huffed her disagreement and was determined not to engage with him further. However, when he took a different hall, her curiosity piqued. "Where are we going?" she asked.

He remained silent as he walked resolutely onward.

"Where are we going?" she tried again.

Still, he walked mutely.

"Monsieur, where are you taking me?" she asked a third time, fear tinging her voice despite her best efforts to the contrary.

"Supper," he answered. "You are in need of nutrition, Mademoiselle."

She sighed. "My name is Ang; we just had this conversation," she scolded.

"You are too much a lady to use a name such as Ang," Erik retorted, the short nickname coming out like something distasteful on his tongue.

Ang snorted. "You're way too proper."

"Parisian."

A/N: Thank you to all who have followed my story and joined me on this bizarre journey of writing discovery, and hello to new friends! -Waves excitedly- As always, a huge hug and thanks to my beta, PhantomBove - love you, girl!

To Coffee Biscuit - HA! Well, I can't promise no more cliff hangers; they make people want to read more! Isn't that the working theory? However, you can always PM me if you're particularly worried about the end of a chapter. :p I'm a stay at home mama so I'm around A LOT! And thank you for your sweet compliments; I sure appreciate hearing that I'm not utter rubbish at this writing thing. lol

Blessings all!
Nika