Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Phantom of the Opera. (looks around) Erik, get back in the closet before someone finds you! (looks back at readers) Nope, don't own Erik at all…

AN: I'm thinking that people will get tired of reading about life with the Phantom, so there will be sprinkles of Aria's father and uncle in places of the story, just to make things more interesting…or boring, depending on the reader's POV. Anyway, enjoy, and please review!

Chapter 9: Underground:

Gregory Craven scanned the documents one again before looking up at his older brother. Roland was pacing back and forth across the carpet, his face a mixture of fear and worry. He hadn't stopped moving ever since he came crashing into the managers' office, two envelopes and two pieces of paper clutched in his hands and his red hair sticking out.

At first, Gregory had thought his brother had gone mad, that the stress of running the Opera House and of the notes from the Phantom had gone to his head. Carefully so as not to startle him, Gregory had gently asked Roland if something was the matter. The response had been worse than expected.

"He's taken Aria!" Roland cried, waving the papers in the air.

Gregory had taken the papers from him and read each of them over. Hours later, the two brothers still did not know what to do next. Calling the law would get them nowhere; after the Don Juan incident five years ago, most of the police force had tried searching for the Phantom, and all had failed to locate and arrest him. By now, most had attributed the incident to a miscalculation during an opera stunt, and had refused to come back to the Populaire to waste their time on more searches.

"He says he still wants his payment," Gregory stated with disgust.

Roland turned and looked at him. "If it's the money that he wants, then he will receive it," he snapped. "I'll sell Aria's jewels and get the money to pay him off."

Gregory could only stare at him in shock. "Now Roland, let's not be too hasty," he said. "After all, paying off the Ghost is no guarantee that he will return Aria to us."

To his shock, Roland reached over and grabbed him by his lapels. "I don't care if you think paying off the Ghost is 'hasty,'" he growled in the back of his throat. "If paying the money ensures that Aria is kept safe and well, that is all that matters."

All Gregory could do was nod in agreement as Roland released him and stomped out of the office. He still thought it was a bad idea to pay the money, but Roland was right; even if they did not get Aria back in exchange for the payment, at least they knew that the Ghost would keep her alive. Even as a hostage to the Ghost's will, Aria was sure to be cared for until her return.

Sighing, Gregory sat back in his chair and reached for a bottle of brandy.

Following our brief lunch and his offer to bring me some of my clothing, I had left Erik to his composing and sought out the treasure trove of that lay within his library. After picking up a lone candle and lighting it from one of the many standing around the caverns, I pushed open the door to the library and began a thorough look through the volumes lining the walls.

As my eyes wandered over title after title, I realized that there were far more books here than I previously thought. Some manuscripts were quite old and valuable, and should have been in the library of either a wealthy man or a library in a government building. Where had Erik obtained these precious texts in the first place? Could he have stolen them from somewhere?

'No, I doubt that he would leave the Opera House to steal books,' I reasoned as I passed by a shelf which held medical books.

In my imagination, I just couldn't see him breaking into a rich man's house to steal from his library; after all, Erik (or should I say, the Opera Ghost) had never been seen out in public, and he did not seem like the sort of person who would actually go out into the world for any reason except for an emergency. But how else could he get these works if not by theft?

A sudden thought hit me: what if he did steal them, just not from where I think he might have?

When the Opera Populaire had burned down, the Paris city council had sent several large groups to the rubble in order to assess the damage. To their surprise, there were very few books and documents discovered amongst the wreckage. As expected, most of the paperwork concerning the Populaire had burned up in the fire, but the library had mostly been spared; evidently, the section housing the Populaire's books had been entirely made of stone, to lower the risk of fire. However, very few books were actually found, and after I had read about it in the papers, Papa had waved it off, saying that people had probably looted the place before city officials could get there and rescue what was left.

'Apparently the Phantom got to it before they did,' I thought, shaking my head. 'At least he managed to save the books from fools who would probably burn them for fuel.'

In the back of my mind, I found that it was odd to think of Erik as the Phantom of the Opera. Over the years, I had read many articles in the gossip papers, and had tried to imagine what, exactly, this man was like. Thus far, I had pictured the Phantom as a cold, calculating man who obsessed over money and lusted after beautiful singers even as he terrorized the Opera House with his pranks.

'Well, he is obsessed with money, but only because he has no other means of supporting himself,' I thought as I chose a Jane Austin volume off a shelf.

Yes, Erik was an artistic genius, but both he and I knew that if he tried to promote his work in the world, no one would take him seriously. He would simply be shunned because of his face, and he would no doubt become a beggar in the streets. If he tried, he could become a 'reclusive artist,' but someone on his working staff would surely see him, and before he could stop it, gossip would flood the society columns of the paper. Either way, people would cast him out and ruin him.

'At least in his life in the Opera House, people learn to fear and obey him, though I'm not sure if that is much better.'

Of course, if he were to be feared, it would probably be better to have people running to do your bidding instead of them coming to destroy you. It had happened eventually, though, when the mob descended into the caves to hunt him out, but only after he had abducted his singer.

'Which only furthers my imaginings of the Phantom only loving his money, his tricks, and lovely singers,' I thought with a shake of my head.

Well, I certainly wasn't a singer, so I had no worries about him obsessing over or falling in love with me! Luckily, I had no singers in my family either; singing happened to be one of the few artistic talents that had skipped everyone in our family, for which I was truly thankful! I knew that if my girl cousins had been graced with a lovely singing voice and been asked to come visit me here, I would now be very terrified for them. Just the thought of one of those girls being brought down here made my blood freeze in my veins.

Well, they weren't here, and I was. So, pushing all thoughts of unpleasantness aside, I took my book and candle and approached the seats by the fireplace. Setting aside the book, I took the candle and lit the lamps that hung above the wood mantel and the oil lamps that stood on either side of the chair I had chosen. After I had finished, though, I realized that I felt a bit chilled, and began to start a fire. Thankfully, there was already wood and kindling in the grate, so I had little trouble getting comfortable and losing myself in my book.

As I lost myself in the story of the Bennett family, my ears picked up the steady flow of music drifting through the walls. Stone may surround me, but the door was made of wood, and stone tends to help sound reflect and echo amazingly well. Enveloped by music and possessing a delightful book, I lost myself in the realm of an avid reader.

Closing his leather work folder, Erik sighed and stretched out his muscles. Wincing as his fingers, arms and shoulders cracked, he released another sigh and slumped down on his organ bench. The sounds of dripping water filled his ears, and the fading scent of food cooked hours ago reached his nose. It was then that he remembered he had a guest, one that he hadn't seen for quite some time.

Jumping from his bench, he glanced at a nearby clock and was surprised to see it in the mid- to late afternoon. He had left Aria Craven alone for nearly the whole day, and who knows what sort of mischief she might have gotten herself into by now? Frowning, Erik began a search of his home, some unknown emotion twisting his stomach into knots. What was it about this young woman that made him want to tear the caverns apart to find her?

'I must be going mad,' he thought as he began opening random doors.

The first one was a mistake to even touch, as it held a shrine dedicated to his Angel. When she had left him there, weeping in the darkness, Erik's heart and soul had been shattered. How he had managed to gather his thoughts and will together in order to flee, he did not know, but he had. When he had returned to his home, Christine's precious replica had been spared destruction.

Perhaps the mob had feared to ruin the image of an angel such as her, or perhaps they just feared its uncanny likeness to the soprano. Whatever it was, Erik was glad to see it still whole when he returned. He had stitched together an ordinary white gown for it and placed it over the replica in order to make it more lifelike. He had then stored his creation in this room, dedicating the small, empty space to the only woman he had ever loved, covering the walls and floor with dried roses and sketches of her.

Closing his eyes in pain, Erik pulled the door closed. 'Why did I look in there?' he silently asked himself. 'Of course Aria wouldn't be in there! If she had opened the door, she would have used her good sense and run away from it.'

Glancing around the cave, Erik managed to deduce which room she was in by the light coming underneath the door. Of all the other rooms in his home, the library was probably the only room in which she could truly amuse herself and pass the time. Reaching for the knob, he quietly turned the latch and pushed it open a crack, careful not to make any noise and attract attention.

There she was, happily curled up in one of the comfortable chairs with a book in her lap. She was clearly halfway through the text, and appeared to be enjoying every moment of it. Her lips were pulled up into an amused smile as she turned the page, her eyes swiftly devouring the words as firelight danced across her features. Her hair hung loose, as she had nothing to tie it up with, but he would not wish for her to; her brown hair sparkled with red and gold flickers that rivaled the fire crackling nearby, and he couldn't help but think that perhaps she was of the fire herself.

He shook his head at his foolishness. What sort of woman was she, making him think such things? Everything he had seen and studied about Aria Craven declared that she was a perfectly ordinary young woman. True, she was of a wealthy family, but that shouldn't make him think of her like some divinely inspired artist! Why was he thinking of and admiring her like this?

When her eyes drifted up to meet his with a true, friendly smile settled upon her lips, Erik felt his heart answer his questions. He was lonely. Although he had always known this, it was one thing to know something, and another to admit it to ones self. Thus far, this aristocratic woman had been the only person to genuinely greet him with a smile when he entered the room. Madame Giry had first spotted him within a cage, a look of horror and pity on her face as she brought him to the Opera House. After that, as soon as he had entered the same room as she, Madame had always worn a look of surprise or exasperation. When he had revealed himself as the Ghost to the workers in the Opera House, cries and screams filled the air as people milled around like sheep, trying to get away.

He kept his movements slow and careful, as though he were moving towards a doe instead of a doe-eyed woman. Erik watched her expression as she watched him approach her chair; at the first sign of fear or discomfort, he would excuse himself and return to the music room. Inside, though, he prayed that she would let him stay here with her, enjoying the warmth of the fire instead of the cold loneliness of the other cavern. He longed for company, and perhaps she would talk with him about something, anything at all, as long as they talked to one another. Erik quietly settled into the chair opposite her and waited to see which one would have to break the silence.

Just then, his prayers were answered when she spoke. "Are you finished with your composition?" she asked in a soft voice. It was the same tone she had used with her visiting cousins.

Leaning back in his chair, Erik let his eyes fall upon her book instead of looking at her directly. "No," he replied, also keeping his voice soft. "It is not finished, though I hope to complete it soon."

Inside, he was congratulating himself on answering her question without stumbling over words or losing his temper. Rarely in his life had he engaged in conversation with another human being, and it was rather nerve-wracking on one so inexperienced with it. Thankfully, he was spared from having to speak further by Aria's voice breaking the silence.

"Your home is very beautiful," she said, blushing slightly. "You have very good, very elegant tastes in furniture and cloth. Not many men can claim that."

Her compliment was so surprising that it startled a smile out of him. "Thank you," he said, nodding his head in gratitude. "However, I'm afraid my skill in choosing cloth comes from observation rather than natural instinct or experience."

Aria tilted her head to the side, obviously puzzled and in need of an explanation. The act made her look quite pretty and endearing, which was something Erik had never thought about in a woman before. In fact, he had never thought of anything as endearing, not even Christine. It was rather unsettling, but the warm feeling he had inside made all other unpleasant emotions vanish. Instead of dwelling on it, though, he answered her unspoken question.

"I learned about style by watching what the male audience members and the managers were wearing to the Opera House for performances and parties," he explained, enjoying the fact that she was truly listening to him and not feigning interest. If she was acting, then she deserved a high place amongst the chorus girls! "Whatever they were wearing tended to be in fashion, and I learned about their mistakes by what people were saying about each other's outfit. It was quite educational."

She surprised him again by laughing. "It's a pity that most men and women do not learn the same lessons that you did!" Aria replied, still giggling. "I must confess to 'accidentally' spilling wine on a few young men, all because of their horrid clothing choices!"

Now it was his turn to laugh. Oh, how good it felt to actually laugh at something without it being forced, or because of some trick he'd done! He hoped she would make him laugh more often during her stay; he rather liked the warm feeling that genuine laughter and amusement gave him.

If she did manage to keep him feeling this way, he might just keep her for longer than intended…

Erik's laugh had to be one of the most wonderful things I had ever heard. It was so deep, rich, and musical that I wanted to swoon right there, but I dared not. I was not the sort to swoon over anyone, not even the handsome, charming noblemen Grandmother kept trying to introduce me to. No, I would not faint at his feet, but I would treat him like a man should be treated.

'When was the last time he laughed?' I silently asked myself. 'It can't have been very recently; he looks like the sort of man who takes things seriously and personally.'

I suppose I would have to stay on his good side, then, by making him laugh and smile as much as possible. He could not have had an easy life, so perhaps I could try and help him, if only a little.

"What would you like for dinner?" I asked once he had calmed down. "I can make anything you like; you have but to request it."

For a moment, he merely stared at me. "You are…asking me?" he whispered, as though my question had been an act of his imagination.

Careful so as not to appear patronizing, I gave him a gentle smile. "Of course," I replied. "I saw some nice roasted beef in the pantry, and if you'd like me to make a stew of some sort, I could do that quite easily."

Watching his face, I sat and waited for his reply.

Would the woman sitting before him ever stop saying or doing the unexpected? He highly doubted it, but then, it was nice to receive something that was more of a good surprise than a bad one. Erik tried not to overreact to the simple courtesy that she had shown, but he could not help himself. As she sat there looking at him, he tried to answer her question.

"A beef stew would be fine," he said.

To his relief, she smiled at him and rose from her chair. "Well, if it is to be stew, then I had better get started now," she stated, though not unkindly. "Shall I fetch you from here when it is done, or shall I find you in your music room?"

Erik shook his head. If she was doing something for him, the least he could do was return the gesture. "I will be here later, but first I must fetch you some clothes," he replied, also rising from his chair. "Is there anything…particular that you would like?" Even though he towered over her by at least twelve inches, he felt rather small in comparison to the kind person before him.

She frowned for a moment, chewing her lower lip in thought. "Well, I do have a few sensible dresses that Papa bought for me," she said. "They're mostly made of strong materials and tend to be used when my younger cousins come to visit, as they tend to leave messes that are hard to get out. I put those in the lower drawer of my wardrobe in my room, so if you could fetch those, I would be much obliged." The grateful smile that graced Aria's mouth made his stomach flip.

No, he could not be feeling anything for her! While he would gladly accept something akin to friendship or kindness, anything more than that was not to be permitted. His heart had already been torn apart by one woman; he would not let such a thing happen again!

"Very well," Erik replied with a nod before he turned and left the room.

Once I was sure he was gone, I sighed and made my way to the kitchen. It would take a few hours before the stew was done, and it would take quite a bit of work as well. When I reached the kitchen, I rolled up my sleeves and got to work chopping meat, vegetables, and herbs I had found in the pantry. After cooking the ingredients for a few moments, I put them in a pot of water over the fire, added salt and pepper, covered it, and then sat down to think.

Why had Erik turned so cold all of a sudden? I hadn't said anything offending that I could think of, and yet he had gone from amused to somber in an instant. Granted, he was a complex person who had experienced a difficult life, so I suppose I would have to tread very carefully around him. I had heard about what Erik had done as the Phantom when he was angry, so it would be in my best interest to try and not provoke him; I did not want to end up like that stagehand in Il Muto!

Sighing, I sat and waited for supper to finish.

The evening meal was over with, and Erik had managed to not get too emotionally close to his guest. He measured his success by being able to stay distant but civil to Aria without making her burst into tears. He hadn't been cold, but he had allowed himself to be just warm enough so as not to wilt her spirits. Apparently his act had worked, as she was now smiling while she cleared away the dishes. Or perhaps she was smiling now that she had some of her clothing here with her.

"Once you are finished with the dishes, you may join me in the music room," he suddenly blurted out, much to his shock. "I must practice and a new audience would be welcome."

Why had he said that? Now he would have to spend more time with her! 'Of course, since she lives with you now, you might as well become used to her presence,' whispered a voice in the back of his head. 'Avoiding her is impossible.'

"Thank you," she replied. "I would be honored to hear your music."

Swallowing heavily, Erik waited until she was finished washing before leading her to the music room. He settled her down into a chair, his feet then carrying him to his bench and sitting himself down at his organ, his fingers pressing themselves to the keys. As music filled the air of the cavern, Erik could feel something else join the music as it echoed about the cave. It took him a moment to realize that it was the feeling of having another person's company, and that it made the music sound so much sweeter.

AN: Kind of fluffy, but not too much, I hope. Please leave a review! Thanks!