Christine thanked the heavens her burns were almost completely healed. Daily bathing and bandage changes let her grow accustomed to the new patterns over her skin even if she never saw her own face. Whatever concoction it was that Erik used as ointment certainly did wonders. Now all that remained was a mass of superficial scabs across her front and arms. Despite the mottled, puckered markings across every inch, she was grateful for her otherwise good health- and the benefits thereof.

One benefit of growing her skin back was that she could dance just as she had at the opera, picking up steps from Meg and the other girls. Being the disciplined sort, she had never let her body grow stiff or lax. Her voice had suffered without Erik's instruction, but she never slacked practicing her dance steps- and she was glad of it now!

With each of 'Don José's' pleas for her to cease, she inched closer, a thrill building in her heart as Erik's molten gold eyes followed her graceful arabesque allongé all the way up, from hip to ankle. Oh, he might have been playing along with the script, but she had a feeling he truly appreciated her flexibility. She swallowed hard as he- or Don José, rather- gave in:

"I am like a drunken man, if I yield, if I give in, you'll keep your promise? Ah! If I love you…" He reached out, and she took his hands in hers, returning both feet to rest flat on the rug beneath. Christine knew how immersive music was to Erik. If they were recreating Carmen's seduction of her brigadier lover, he would take her words literally.

"Yes… We'll dance…" They were to be married; and after what the viscount had done to her, what did it matter if she offered herself sooner rather than later? Carmen seemed the most appropriate way to let him know she wanted him more than platonically. In her mind, there were no easier manners in which to tell him something like 'I've been eyeing your figure for a long while.'

At that, he leapt to his feet, swept her about so she was flush against him, and kissed her more enthusiastically than he'd ever dared, open mouthed and a little clumsy. Christine gasped and clutched him to her. The dry texture of his face was familiar now, and she ran her fingertips from temple to jaw. Any other woman might have run in terror from such an advance, but she relished it.

Erik released her so suddenly she almost fell. "Erik, what-" He silenced her with a finger at her lips. He wasn't suddenly doubtful, as she'd suspected. Instead, he had his gaze trained on the door. Somewhat miffed at having his focus stolen, she let the tip of her tongue just brush the underside of his index, more to get his attention than continue her advance.

It was almost funny how he jumped in shock. "Christine!"

She gave him her most innocent smile. He pouted in return. Then he headed towards the kitchen with an almost-purred promise of his own: "Rest assured we will continue this later, little minx."

Just then, a loud thumping sounded at the door. He must have heard someone approach from outside. When he emerged from the kitchen, he was wearing one of his spare masks. I really don't know why he bothers, there's only one person who could possibly be here…

As predicted, Nadir entered, and a now irate Erik glared most intensely at him. The Persian did not concern himself with a greeting, since the masked man beat him to it. "You have abominable timing, daroga," he hissed. "This had better be life-or-death. Or your death. Or perhaps I'll give in to my constant urge to throttle you for once."

Nadir wiped sweat from his brow with the edge of his sleeve. "It is, it is, just- give me a moment," he panted, "to catch my breath." He rested his hands on his knees for a moment. "You know- you know, I sprinted all the way here."

"Yes, yes, now don't waste your breath. What the devil do you want?" Christine had to giggle at Erik's impatience.

"I came to warn you," he said, straightening. "You have to leave Paris." He removed his cap and ran his fingers through his hair.

"What? Why?" Christine crossed her arms and walked over to where the two men stood. Nadir gave her a curious look. Why does he look at me so?

"Christine?"

"Yes, it's me- who else?" She frowned in confusion. Do I really look so different? But the thought crossed her mind that she did look quite different. Nadir's eyes avoided hers for the remainder of the conversation. Erik glowered, silently daring him to say something about her altered appearance.

"The Comte de Chagny, he's after you. I don't know how he knows, maybe he doesn't- but he's hired an investigator, and she's closing in fast."

His mouth tightened as he took stock of the situation. "How fast?"

Nadir's voice lowered, as if he were afraid his words would escape. "She's found the reports on the Russian. I've done my best to stall, but it'll just be days before the rest of the information comes by mail." The Russian? Who is this person? I knew Erik was involved in something nefarious long ago, thanks to Raoul, but…

Erik spat out what Christine was sure was a Persian curse. "Of all the things- and of all the times!" He turned to her sorrowfully, shaking his head. "I am sorry for this, Christine. If the police are so close behind me, I must go. It is no longer safe for you here."

"I want to go with you!" she declared. "Besides, where could I possibly stay?"

"You are not going," Erik insisted vehemently. Do my ears deceive me, or is that a hint of panic in his voice? "Do you understand? There are things in the world- things I have done-" he choked out, "that you must never know."

"And what- do you hide from me now, after so long?" she burst out. "I promised you I would stay no matter what, Erik. You know- I gave you my soul from the moment we met. Does that mean so little?" Angry tears filled her eyes. We'd been having such a nice evening, and now he's back to his fearful secrets. Nadir's hand on her shoulder shook her from her outburst.

"Please, Christine- this is not something we have any control over," he said gently. "If you were to travel with him, he would certainly be caught, and you with him."

She bit her lip and dropped her gaze. As much as she hated it, M. Khan was right. Erik, with all his secrets, was safest without her to hamper his hiding. The Persian ex-policeman sighed heavily and folded his hands. "You can stay with a close friend of mine, a Mlle. Biyu Li. She's already prepared for your arrival."

Christine stared at the floor. She had dreamed of a sweet world in which to live with her Erik, where they promised themselves to each other and lived in peace. Now that dream dissolved; Erik was still a wanted man, still running and hiding. It mattered not if she loved him, and it was not his fault, either. Love alone could not destroy a criminal record, just as love had no power to repair his deformed face or her scarred body.

"Christine…" Erik beseeched softly. He touched her hand.

"Erik- we must discuss plans. There are a few routes I have in mind." Nadir pulled him away, out into the tunnel, closing the door behind them. Christine was left to contemplate in the growing darkness.

…

"Would you for once in your life cease your meddling?" Erik growled as soon as the door was shut. "I will not leave her thinking I have abandoned her!" As much as he understood Christine's sudden anger, it still stung. It stung because he knew she was afraid. I would spend every minute in fear if Christine had to leave me in a like manner, running and hiding like a rat.

"Keep yourself together, man!" Nadir argued back. "She'll be just fine. Your safety is my first priority." His jaw clenched in frustration. He pulled a folded piece of paper from his jacket. "You can take the Orient Express to Strasbourg, it's the easiest way. If you return all the way east, though, any bounty hunter could be after your head, not just this detective woman."

Erik snatched the paper and looked it over. "No- any regular mode of transportation can be tracked."

"What about horseback? You could retreat to the countryside- Rouen, maybe."

"Poetic justice," Erik muttered. "Appropriate." Yes… I could hide on the train and jump off somewhere near farmland. No ticket stubs, no luggage- no way to reach me except… "What about dogs? Police have dogs, they could follow me with scent hounds."

"You'll have to leave fast enough that they don't suspect. I don't think this private investigator has dogs." An idea flashed in Erik's mind.

"Well, they'll have to spread themselves all over Europe. Have you purchased tickets yet?"

"No, you know that."

"Good." He folded the paper up and tucked it into his breast pocket.

"What are you planning? You never buy tickets." Nadir said suspiciously.

"Well I can't tell you, obviously. That detective might decide to question you again," he said with a rather resentful sneer. "Now, since you've unceremoniously ripped me from the love of my life, I think I'll return inside and attempt a bit of damage control." He made for the door.

"Erik, wait!" The phantom turned around with an eerie, luminescent glare. Nadir took a breath. "You ought to tell her- everything, I mean. The more she knows, the more forgiving she will be."

He cocked his head to the side. "And how do I know she won't run the moment I disappear?"

The Persian shrugged. "Trust her."

With an angry huff, Erik returned inside, slamming the door behind him.

…

When he returned to her, Christine was sitting on the edge of her bed, legs curled up under her nightgown so she resembled a cloth-encased ball. Her arms were wrapped around herself, as if a hug might keep her world from shattering. It broke his heart to see her so desolate. Physical harm was one thing, but sadness was an intangible hurt. He was helpless against it.

She heard him enter and rested her chin on her arms, eyes downcast. His heart wrenched when he saw the streaks of tears down her cheeks. Her sleeve was damp from where she'd wiped her eyes. "Oh, Christine…" She unfurled one arm from her tight-wound position and patted the place beside her. Erik sat, but did not dare touch her.

The bed moved ever so slightly as she rocked back and forth a bit, her usually quiet breath hiccuped with sobs. "I'm- I'm sorry I was angry."

"You have every right to be," he said softly. "It tears me to betray you like this." He felt hands at his cheeks, so he turned to face her and let her remove his mask. Once it was gone, she planted a short kiss on his unprepared lips.

"You are not betraying me," she murmured into the darkness of the room. "It's just- it's too soon. You've been with me every minute since the fire, and now you will go. We were going to marry, and now…" Erik felt a warm weight on his side as she leaned against him. "How can I enter the world without you at my side? You are my strength," she admitted quietly.

"As you are mine," he said, and kissed the top of her head, bare and marred as it was. "I am loathe to leave you to another's care." He put his arms around her, and there they sat in the house that suddenly seemed so small, holding on to each other for dear life. Something inside him cracked at last. He had known this day would come, despite how desperately he denied time's forward march. "My dearest, it is time for me to leave you. My sins have found me out, as it were, and now I must do penance." For all the inevitability of his fate, he could not seem to release his hold on her shoulders.

The calm resignation in his voice was alarming. "Why, Erik?" Christine cried. With fear that made her voice tremble, she asked: "What have you done?"

"You might be glad I am going, Christine. A man such as myself could never be worthy of a place at your side." His thumb traced circles at her collarbone. "I told you- you know there is blood on these hands that hold you."

"In the past, yes," she sniffed. Ah, she is so forgiving, my Christine! "But I love you now."

"You say that as if love erases time," he murmured. "If you would permit me, my love, I will tell you my every dark deed; then you will know why I have to go. I must take every consideration for your wellbeing. I only ask that you remember me as a man who loves you when you return to live in the light. Will you promise me so much?"

Her fingers clutched the fabric of his jacket. "Then promise me that when you come back to me, you'll never leave again. Promise!"

He promised, even though he was almost certain he could never return. And then he began his wretched tale: "I committed my first slaughter at a young age- I do not know how old I was, since my mother destroyed my certificates on the day she sold me to a gypsy circus. They kept me as one of their freaks for years, until the day I was strong enough to reach through the steel bars of my cage with a knife in hand and pierce my captor's neck. The circus had reached a port city in Italy at that time, so in my childish attempt at escape, I boarded the nearest merchant ship, hoping the wind would carry me away.

"The wind did not carry me to safety, however. The ship headed east, to the island of Timor and was captured by pirates. I only survived because my face was so hideous they couldn't resist keeping me as their good luck charm," he said, a touch of dark humor coloring his tone. "So, from what you might call childhood to near-adulthood, I was a pirate. The captain took a morbid interest in me and taught me the fighting arts, while I scrabbled for knowledge of languages, music, anything that provided an escape from the looting and killing. The sea was my only home for almost a decade. Alas, by the time the pirates shifted their hunting grounds towards Persia and the port of Chabahar, I was a remorseless murderer." A certain calm came over him as he narrated. Christine could choose to wait for his return, or she could choose to leave him and never look back on the criminal she once called angel. Effectively, he surrendered his say; whatever came to be was not in his power to control. I will give my utmost to return to her, but if she should leave, I will accept that as part of my punishment.

"Persia was so beautiful that I left the grimy, unintelligent men who raised me in pursuit of knowledge. Yes, the monster wished to know all things- beautiful things. I chased beauty all the way to Persia's capital and the Shahanshah's palace, leaving a trail of blood in my wake. I suppose in my adolescent depravity I had no concept that this was wrong. I was caught at last in the royal library by Nadir- he was a young man then, can you imagine?- and thrown into yet another cage. But, he saw some potential in me, and took me under his wing, as it were.

"I perfected the art of killing to the point where the Shahanshah's courtiers called me Malak al-Maut, after the Mohammedan angel of death. The royal head himself decided who would die by my hand- and I ended them all without regret. I even built him a deadly palace of tricks.

"Now, this Russian that Nadir mentioned," Erik said very matter-of-factly "was an innocent. All I knew of the people I slaughtered was that they were enemies: mine, the pirates', the Shah's- it mattered little, as long as his Imperial Majesty of Persia provided me with both the money and the opportunity to create beautiful things. Russia had long been a thorn in his side, but this man was little more than a tourist who'd accidentally said something rude during an official audience. I was sent to poison him that very night.

"Do you know, Christine, how it is to watch a man die knowing his innocence? I suppose you do not- how could you? You are so good, so pure, and I have never deserved you. I chased beauty once again, back west to Paris. I was so tired of the bloodshed, but I never found anything to fulfill my soul, even years after settling under the Populaire."

She hadn't moved since he'd begun his story, but now she laced her fingers with his. Erik felt his eyes sting and his heart ache with gratitude and the love he'd longed for his whole life. "Then I found you- and all the world was well. At least for a while, you have been my happiness, strength, and comfort. I can only hope you will remain so when I return."