A/N: You can think of this chapter as the half way point of the story, or the lead up to 'Act II', haha. It's more or less a filler, but it acts as a transition between the 'Acts'.

In other news, I have now officially joined Tumblr, so if anyone wants to go check it out for all things Phantom (and other things, haha), my username is the same as it is on here.

As Christine took an unprecedented seat at the piano, she felt relaxed for she knew that she was alone. Erik, at this moment, was out delivering the letters she had written and had handed to him. One letter had been addressed to Mamma Valérius, asking for her permission to stay with her in a few weeks' time, while the other had been addressed to Meg and her mother, explaining her situation to them as best she could.

She had approached Erik that morning rather quietly, almost shyly. It was a strange change after their growing intimacy and courage. Or, perhaps her actions were justified after the ordeal of the previous night. They had greeted each other timidly, speaking slowly, yet edging closer. Behind her back, Christine had been twirling the two envelopes around and around and it was a miracle that she had not dropped them. Not wanting to dwell in the moment any longer than she needed to, Christine clutched the letters before stretching out her arm in offering. A few seconds went by before Erik had raised one arm and reached for them.

Their eyes had locked, their gazes unwavering, but as his hand had touched the paper, one of his fingertips had coyly brushed against hers. Perhaps it had been a case of misjudged distance, or perhaps it hadn't. The sudden coldness of his skin had parted her dry lips, daring her debauched mind to crave another touch.

Even now, as her hands clumsily fumbled around the keys on the piano to find coherent chords, her skin still tingled at the memory of that little, insignificant moment. Her betrayal ran down her spine in a curious wave which caused her head to lull forward, a dulcet sigh on the tip of her tongue as she waited for the sensation to pass.

Clearing her throat in an attempt to distract herself, she once again turned her attention towards the keys below, the melodies not coming as easily as she struggled to remember the correct notes. Her teeth caught her lower lip in frustration as a horrid false note echoed around the room. She even found herself condemning Erik's ability to make playing an instrument appear simple. Simple! A short laugh, contained, yet mirthful, merged with her phrasing as her ears fell victim to yet another blundering mistake.

Irked, yet not discouraged, Christine clenched her jaw and began to repeat the troublesome phrase over and over again, wincing when she pressed down on the wrong key—the slight discomfort in her wrist more prominent at these moments—and breathing a sigh of relief when she succeeded.

All in all, though she was not as accomplished as she ought to have been, her playing was not too disastrous. She merely lacked practise, or at least that was what she told herself when bony fingers suddenly appeared out of her peripheral vision and gently encased her left hand.

"Oh," she said, her voice nothing more than a whisper as she felt Erik's jacket brush against the back of her dress. "I did not hear you return."

"I did not wish to disturb you," he murmured into her ear, the tiny hairs on her neck raising as his breath teased her skin. "Why do you not play more often?"

It was incomprehensible how even the most innocent of words could incite such a wickedly foreign feeling within her. Erik was certainly not the handsomest of men, nor was he the most saintly. Her better judgement would have forced her far from his arms were if not for the wild beating of her heart—the heart which beat for him alone.

Meeting his gaze, her chest softly heaved as she swiftly recovered from the proximity of their faces. "Were you not listening?" she breathed, skirting her eyes over his relaxed features before landing on his intrusive mask. "'Poorly' does not even begin to describe my playing."

"Hmm," he said, lightly manoeuvring the fingertips beneath his to the correct placements on the keys before pressing down on them to create a harmonious sound. "But do you not remember how your voice first faired before my tutelage?"

Christine sighed at his subtle, yet haughty words and slipped her hands away from his, allowing him to access to the keys. She leant back against him, her head falling to the crook of his neck as he began to play. "How can I forget?" she said, frowning at the unpleasant memory. "I am still surprised you managed to find something worth moulding and caring for."

At this, Erik's playing quietened and he moved his long fingers along her sleeves before coming to sit beside her on the bench. His quivering touch met the warmth of her cheek as he smiled shrewdly. "I could say the very same for you, my love."

Coyly, Christine returned the smile, but she could not find it in herself to voice her disheartening troubles. The night before had been a painful reminder of Erik's capabilities, and how easily months of progress could simply vanish in a matter of hours. Yet, she still held out hope for a change in him, for clarity to strike and make him see sense. She believed now that only he could save himself and she prayed that he would one day have the strength to see that.

Clearing her throat, she looked away, back down to the silent keys which ached to be touched. "Did you manage to deliver the letters?"

Erik mumbled a confirmed reply, but was suddenly fixated on the steady rhythm of her pulse, visible at the base of her neck. Leaning forward, he very lightly stroked the little patch of skin, his fingers almost recoiling as the pulsing quickened to a soft throbbing under his touch. She turned to look at him then, her eyes as wide as his shadowed ones. "Are you... pleased?" he asked, trailing his fingertips along her collarbone before letting them fall to his lap.

With her weighty gaze, she followed their descent briefly before frowning. "What do you mean?"

"Are you happy that I have delivered the letters; that you are one step closer to leaving?" he clarified.

His tone was incredulous and Christine found herself thinking on the various meanings behind his words. After a moment's pause she replied, "I am not happy to be leaving but I am pleased that you have agreed to this."

Unable to resist the temptation any longer, Erik leant into her hair, tentatively placing his hands on her shoulders, pulling her to him, but freezing when Christine tenderly reached up with her own hand and began stroking his knuckles with her thumb.

"If you are pleased, I am pleased," he whispered against her.

The sensation of his breath on her neck again was a cause for distraction, she mused, and in a haze she managed to murmur, "You really should be resting, Erik. Your wounds cannot have healed overnight. I feel terrible for letting you leave today, but you were so... insistent. Do you know how obstinate of a man you are?"

"I am perfectly fine to be walking about," he replied. "Circulation is a good thing. I should not sit around doing nothing all day. But what of your wounds? How are you faring?"

She glanced down and brought her bandaged wrist closer to her body. "My scratches can hardly be called wounds, Erik, and I do mean it when I say I worry about you. You are so quick to ignore your own health and I wish you wouldn't. Please do not disregard my concern."

"Then do not disregard mine," Erik said, his tone serious, but his eyes glinting with mirth.

Reaching forward, she stroked the hardness of his jaw. "Why do I love you?" she asked, echoing his words from the night before.

"I do not think there will ever be an answer to that," he replied, raising his hand to cover hers, "but I am thankful every day that there is cause for the question."

o0o

The days seemed to blend together after that and Christine soon learnt that she would always forgive Erik for his misdoings, no matter how enraged she was or how dreadful the crime. Self-hatred would always follow her acceptance and though he never again appeared with mysterious blood stains on him, or did anything that would cause her sense of morality to disappear, she would still worry every time he was out of her sight. Like a child, he needed someone constantly there beside him, to teach him, to supervise him, but above all, to care for him. And care for him, she did. It was no wonder then that she began to feel anxious when the new year approached.

Mamma Valérius had agreed to her request to stay with her and had settled on the day after the new year for her arrival. The old woman was rather enthusiastic about the whole idea, detailing in her shaky penmanship how thrilled she was. Madame Giry's reply had been just as enthusiastic, though she was simply pleased that Christine was finally seeing enough sense to live elsewhere.

On Christmas Eve, Erik gave in to her request to attend a church service, but since he did not entertain the concept of religion, she found herself travelling alone. Grateful yet disappointed at the same time, Christine prayed for his soul diligently as the comforting drone of hymns echoed around her.

The next day was rather tranquil. The walls were not decorated in colourful trimmings and there was no sign of a freshly cut tree, but when Christine had begun to sing a carol, Erik had felt his heart warm. Presents were exchanged later that night. Although he had not requested anything, nor had he even mentioned the idea of gift-giving, Christine could not help but fall into her old routine.

The week leading up to Christmas, she had spent every moment of her spare time creating her gift. Using any piece of spare material and thread that she could find, she was determined to make something that he would appreciate and that he could use and think of her whenever he looked at it.

After a hearty dinner, Erik had led her to the music room, his bony features pulled up in a modest smile as he positioned her in a chair, ready for a performance. A glorious prelude on his violin was his gift to her, and afterwards a concerto in three movements, every note enriching her senses, making her heart feel as light as air. Tears of happiness silently ran down her cheeks as she listened and, when he had finally finished and had stood as still as stone, she had thanked him with a deep kiss. His arms had come about her then, wrapping round her body and pulling her close, his hands threading through her hair, as tentative and as curious as the first time they had embraced.

When it was Christine's turn, she had approached him shyly, her hands behind her back, hiding the gift from this eyes. He had not questioned her but merely stared at her hands when she finally revealed to him what she was hiding.

"This is for you," she stated, blushing as his slender fingers reached for the object and set it down on his lap. She had then sat down beside him, eyes darting between his lap and his face in apprehension. And suddenly, she wished for the strength to snatch it back from him and flee. His face, though bare, had not moved at all since laying eyes on the object, and Christine could feel sweat begin to gather on the palms on her hands. "Is... Is it to your liking?" she asked slowly, unsure of herself.

Erik gazed down as his fingertips ghosted over the gift. A thin layer of silk lay across his legs, covered lovingly in intricate embroidery. Hand sewn red roses bloomed on vines, twisting left and right, a few petals were pictured having fallen to the ground, while others were captured in mid-air.

"It is a pillow case," Christine explained as she became nervous by his silence.

"Yes," was all he whispered.

"You do not like it," she concluded sadly with a shake of her head.

Defeated, she was about to rise when his hand suddenly shot out and caught hers, making her stop in her motions and turn towards him. Gently, he urged her to sit beside him once more before casting a glance into her eyes. He raised her captured hand up to his mouth and kissed it, his lips lingering on her soft skin. "I do, my love, I do! I only... Erik has never been given a gift before," he told her before bringing the small case to his lips. "Thank you, Christine. Oh, thank you."

o0o

When the day finally came for Christine to leave, they found that they did not have much to say to one another. Throughout the day, they had stayed together, silently shadowing each other's movements. Neither wished to face that void; neither wished to face that loneliness which would soon follow. With the time they had remaining, they simply basked in each other's company and delighted in the strange comfort it brought them.

That evening, they shared their last duet together. He played beautifully, but even his skill could not mask the tremors in those phrases that his hands sought desperately to conceal.

The carriage that had brought Christine to her guardian on her birthday was the same one that would take her back now. Her suitcases were deposited next to the driver as Erik helped her into the warmth of enclosed seats.

All was silent during the journey, save for the rattle of wheels and the sound of the wind. It seemed to sing their lament. Christine had so much to say to the man beside her but her words never saw the light of day. The silence between them was thick and it became an oppressing force. They sat but a small distance apart and both were aware of how little it would take for them to succumb to each other's arms, indulging in their own whims and delight one last time. But not once did they attempt to close the distance between them. Erik, however, could not bare this and so settled for reaching over and holding her hand. He held it with a fierceness that had Christine wishing for their gloves to vanish so that she might feel his skin on her.

When the carriage stopped, Christine could hear the driver climbing down, dragging her belongings along with him. With doleful eyes, she leaned forward and started to reluctantly pull her captured hand away when Erik turned and kissed their entwined fingers. Seconds later, his knuckles brushed against her cold cheek, guiding her head around slowly until her lips met his in ardent defeat.

"Be safe, my love," he whispered, their breaths mingling.

"Be good to yourself," she murmured in reply as he leaned in to press another kiss against her mouth.

Knowing that she would not leave the carriage otherwise, Christine tore herself away from him and opened the door, stepping out to see her suitcases already waiting at her feet. She turned and took one last look into Erik's gleaming eyes before she closed the door and stepped back, shivering as the black carriage was swallowed by the night.