Thanks for your reviews! And thanks to Lizzy for being so awesome and editing for me. Any mistakes are from me.

Rose19

"You little viper," Erik said as he rolled onto his side.

Frustrated, Christine pinched the back of his hand, which immediately garnered Erik's full attention. He stared at his hand in disbelief, his power over her nonexistent.

"Not that again," she groaned. "Honestly, I will not listen to your mantra all over."

"My mantra?" Erik snapped. He sat up and straightened his waistcoat. "You swore to me that you would not remove my mask."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did."

"No, I didn't, and even if I did I never attempted to remove it, did I?"

Erik stammered just as Christine expected. "You implied."

"You are an aggravating man," Christine said under her breath as she picked at her fingernails. "A pleasant, talented, but completely aggravating individual."

"Then it appears we are at an impasse," Erik replied rather loudly as he pushed the covers away.

"Because you're afraid?" Christine pressed.

Erik sat motionless, aside from his grinding teeth. The visible left side of his face was taut, his green eyes turned dark at her words.

"I fear nothing," he said through his teeth.

Christine considered challenging him and requesting that he remove his mask, but she guessed his reaction. The violence with which he had risen from the organ bench the first time she had removed his white mask still hung heavily in her mind and she had no desire to see him lash out again.

Rather than instigate another argument or attempt to prove him wrong, Christine did the only thing she could.

She kept quiet.

Erik looked away from her for a long time. He was breathing heavily, a mixture of anger and unrequited passion. Watching Erik sitting beside her on the bed made Christine realize that she was also breathing heavily, her stomach aflutter. She wanted to tell him how she felt, but in doing so would draw the attention away from the topic at hand.

"Is it a macabre delight?" Erik asked at last. He didn't turn to face Christine, but she sensed the ire in his tone. "Is that why you removed it the first time?"

"No, it wasn't," Christine replied. "Please look at me when you speak, Erik."

"A spectacle?" he continued with his back to her. "A freak show you could view for free…save for the nightmares that will surely ensue."

"If I wanted to harm you I would have gone to the managers and told them where you lived," she countered. "Imagine how pleased they would be to discover a man, not a ghost, living below their opera house. A problem easily remedied by due force. And then what would have become of you, hmm? Do you think they would allow you to stay? To live?"

"Then you are my martyr," Erik said dryly.

Christine struggled to keep her composure. She didn't want a fight and she gathered that Erik didn't want to argue either. Glancing around, she saw the home of a very lonely soul, of a man who could have been a fascinating addition to the opera house, to the world, even. If only he could see past his own mask. If only he would allow her to see who stood behind a white piece of molded leather.

"You are the only one," he whispered at last, his voice lacking strength, his shoulder sagging as he kept his back to her. His outburst had ended, and just as she had seen before, the rage he felt was swiftly replaced by remorse and self-deprecation.

Christine wrapped her hands around the satin sheets to keep from reaching out to him, knowing that the moment she laid her hand upon his shoulder that he would not tell her what he meant.

He'd never guess that she wanted to be closer to him, that she needed to understand who he was and how he felt.

"I should never have brought you through the mirror, Christine," he continued, before he paused and rested his head in his hands. "The illusion has been shattered. The relationship we had…it will never be repaired. I am not a ghost. I'm a terrible fool. I should have kept it as it was… perfect, wasn't it?"

"There was nothing between us," she said gently. "You were not real to me."

Erik bowed his head and Christine wondered if she were telling him the truth. Though he had masqueraded as an angel, part of her—especially when she was older—wondered if he were something more than a voice behind her mirror. He spoke to her often of his travels, of distant lands she had never heard of. As much as she wanted to believe that he was a guiding voice she started to wonder if he were the one who was lost.

"No, I wasn't, was I?"

Erik sighed heavily and nodded at last. He still sat with his back to her, leaving Christine to wonder if anger showed on his visage.

"Do you want me to be real?" he questioned.

"Of course I want you to be real," she whispered. She smiled to herself, hoping to lighten the mood. "If you're not real and I'm sitting in the opera house basement having a conversation to with myself, then something is terribly amiss."

Erik made no reply to her light-hearted words. He rose to his feet and walked away from the bed, leaving Christine to sit awkwardly alone, unsure of where the conversation left them. Had she chosen the wrong words? Should she have coddled him, given in to his demands, or asked for his forgiveness?

She caught sight of a sketch laid out across a chair and her lips parted. It was her on the stage during Hannibal. The most spectacular evening of her night, when she finally proved herself as a singer, was caught in careful lines and rich colors.

"Then look at me, Christine. See what is real," he said, exhaling a ragged breath.

Christine pulled her eyes away from the sketch and turned to face him again. He offered her his white mask, his hand trembling as it passed from his grasp to hers. She studied it a moment, her gaze drawn to the eyehole, which she carefully traced with her finger. This was the window he peered through, the shield he had given up.

It took a moment for Christine to muster the courage to look him in the face, as she didn't want to disappoint him. She'd seen a mere glimpse of his face the first time, a half-second that was not enough to know what he looked like. Her concern was not centered on his appearance that night but on his anger and then his remorse. Nothing could have frightened her as much as his temper.

Hearing his harsh breathing, Christine met his eye. His face was twisted, not in deformity but in agony as he awaited her reaction. Swallowing hard, Christine slid her feet off the edge of the bed and left his mask on the pillow. Without a word, Erik watched her pad across the room and stand before him, his gaze darting across her face.

"Burns?" she whispered as she stepped in closer.

He shook his head.

"Torture?"

Again he shook his head, his eyes blinking quickly as he forced himself to stare back at her. Christine stood so close that she could feel him breathing. Her heart was beating wildly, though she felt a sense of relief in knowing that her dear phantom had not been tortured and maimed.

"Birth?"

Hesitating, Erik nodded and their eye contact was broken. As gently as she could Christine placed her hands on his shoulders and ran her fingers down to his wrists and up again. He didn't move, not even when she pressed her palms against his chest. By his tight-lipped expression Christine gathered that he was doing everything in his power to keep from weeping.

Tears pricked Christine's eyes as she studied his scarred face. The worst of his birth injuries were centered around his right eye and along his nose. She understood why he kept himself hidden, why no one had ever seen him -- much less his face.

Inhaling sharply, Erik stared her in the eye again. A tear, a single drop of emotion, rolled down the right side of his face and landed onto his cravat but he didn't look away. He wanted to know how she felt, if a scream would emerge once reality settled in and she realized that she had kissed a monster.

"I will not look away," Christine said as she smoothed his shirt collar. "Or faint or scream or do anything else ridiculous," she promised.

"Then you are very brave indeed," Erik replied, his tone still guarded.

"This has nothing to do with bravery," she replied as her fingers gently traced his jaw. "Long before you showed me your face I had your voice as company. I didn't know you, but I knew of you, and if you allow it I will know the rest of you."

Erik caught her hand by the wrist and gritted his teeth. "There is something more, Christine," he said, his voice breaking. "But you were correct: I am afraid."

"Of what? Of me?"

Spreading her fingers, Erik placed her open hand along his hairline. "Of this," he whispered.