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: Okay, before we go on, I'd like to say one thing: I don't like Christine. Not only did she break poor Erik's heart, but she's kind of borderline naïve-stupid-innocent…naively, stupidly innocent, actually, if that makes any sense. Therefore, I am going to try and be nice to Christine, but I'm mostly going to be of mean, in a way. I hope that doesn't offend any Christine-lovers out there. Review!

Chapter 15: Revisiting the Past:

Upon leaving the Opera House, Raoul escorted Christine back to their hotel in the heart of Paris. It was, of course, the finest room in the finest hotel; Raoul spared no expense when it came to providing for his wife. After the difficult life that she'd led after her father died, Christine deserved the very best that he could offer her, including gifts, trips around the world, and a lovely house by the sea.

When their carriage arrived at the door, Raoul scrambled out in order to offer Christine a hand, as he did not like the idea of a valet doing it for him. She accepted with a smile and took his arm so that he could escort her to their room. A few of the employees waved or nodded their head respectfully as the de Chagnys passed by, since they were nobility and deserved to be recognized as such.

However, in spite of their social standing, it had taken time for society to accept Christine as one of their own. She had been the daughter of a violinist, and after he died, Christine was left with nothing but the honor of being Gustave Daae's orphaned child. It was still difficult for members of the aristocracy to forget that the new Countess had been raised (and danced) in the Opera Populaire since she had been seven-years-old. Some still remembered her as the soprano who performed in Hannibal and Il Muto, and the woman who had been nearly seduced onstage during Don Juan.

Needless to say, Christine had been forced to put her lovely face, her sweet demeanor, and her elegant, charming manners to the test for the past five years. In the end, though, she had been accepted, if only for her beauty and sweetness. However, Raoul knew there was a hidden strength there, and he loved her all the more for it. If she had not been strong in spirit, Christine would never have won over the upper class, nor would she have been able to overcome the nightmare that the two of them had lived through all those years ago.

Biting back a sigh, Raoul led his beloved up the elevator and on to their rooms. There was a hot bath waiting, as well as a servant to take their orders for dinner that evening. While Christine entered the bathing room, Raoul ordered a roast beef supper for the both of them, as well as a bottle of Italian champagne to help them both relax afterwards. It had, after all, been a long day.

Christine managed to keep her silence on the situation until after the last supper dish was cleared away. Once the door shut behind the last servant, she turned fearful eyes towards her husband. Raoul, she knew, was worried as well. They both knew what might happen when it came to the Opera House, its managers, and the young woman who had been abducted.

"What could he possibly want with her?" she asked, presenting the one question they were both probably thinking.

Raoul shook his head. "According to her father, Aria Craven has no musical talents whatsoever," he said, sitting back in his chair with a glass of champagne in his hands. Unlike most aristocratic men, Raoul was not one for strong liquor, except for when he was at social gatherings with friends.

"But you don't believe him," Christine said, raising her glass to her lips, hoping that the alcohol in the bubbly liquid would calm her nerves slightly. With her low tolerance for liquor, the champagne should help her sleep tonight.

Her husband shook his head, blonde hair tossing back and forth along side his face. "Why else would he take her if she had no talent for music?" he asked with a sigh. "True, he could use her as a bargaining chip to get what he wants, but that would only work for so long. If her father became desperate enough, he would hire men to go down there and fetch her, and having his home invaded by armed men would be the last thing that the Ghost would want."

"Perhaps it is because he longs to have someone with him as a companion in the darkness?" Christine slowly asked while barely fighting back a shiver.

How could the poor girl live down there for so long? Christine herself could hardly stand more than a few hours down there, surrounded in shadows and cold while candles barely fought the blackness all around her. When she had finally seen his face, she had been terrified of the strange man who had stolen her away, that same man who had tricked her into believing he was the ghost of her dead father. True, he had been kind to her at first, but his violent temper had frightened her beyond words.

'When he had first appeared in the mirror, I had thought it a miracle,' Christine thought as she gracefully sat back into her chair. 'I had thought that…well, I don't remember what I thought, but for a moment, it had been a wonderful vision.'

And then her Angel had shown his true side. His anger, his horribly ravaged face, and his cold, dark home were more than enough to shock her back to her right mind. When she had seen that horrible mannequin made to look like her in a wedding gown, she had fainted. Upon waking and seeing his mangled, misshapen face, it had been enough to convince her that the man she had thought an angel was, in fact, a monster. When he had yelled at her and cursed her for prying where he thought she did not belong, she had seen what he truly was.

But his voice was still in her head, though very faintly. At first, after she and Raoul had gotten married, she had heard the Angel's commanding her from inside her mind, but had managed to go against those wishes. Over time, the voice had faded, though its presence was still there, chiding her in a faint whisper that only she could hear. It was horrible, but she had Raoul's brave, strong presence to help her; Christine highly doubted that Aria Craven would have someone like Raoul to help her.

"Oh, Raoul, what are we going to do?" she cried.

"Hush, my sweet Lotte," Raoul cooed as he left his chair and knelt before her, taking her glass so that he might hold both her hands in his. "I doubt that the Ghost merely wants her for company in the dark. After all, what sane woman would want to live down there in the cellars with the rats? No, I think it is because he means to make Mademoiselle Craven his next star, much like he tried to do with you. If he does this, then there will be no way to free her from him."

Christine couldn't hold back a gasp of fear. "Raoul, we must help her," she said, clutching his hands as though afraid to let them go. "I cannot let what happened before happen again!"

"We will save her, my Little Lotte," Raoul declared, his voice filled with determination as he embraced her.

For a long time, the two of them sat there, wondering what horrors poor Aria Craven was suffering through at that moment.

Needless to say, both Erik and I were in a state of shock following our kiss. Of course, our declaration of love to one another only made the atmosphere even tenser, and after we had professed our love for one another, Erik had fled the room in a panic. I had stood there, alone, for several minutes before realizing what had just happened; then I, too, had fled the library for the safety of my own room.

As I walked passed Erik's bedroom, I had heard him muttering and walking around, saying things I could not understand. It was also in another language, so I assumed that, whatever he had to say, it couldn't be expressed in French. It certainly explained why he had moved on to another language in order to vent his emotions. What he was trying to say, I did not know, so I decided to leave him be and focus on my own thoughts and feelings as I got ready for bed.

While brushing out my hair in preparation for bed, I tried to think about what I knew. I knew I was in love with Erik, of that I was certain. He was so good, and so kind to me that it was impossible not to feel something for him. At first, I had thought it a rather close friendship, one that could easily explain why I felt so comfortable around him and why I enjoyed his company. Erik certainly treated me as an intellectual equal and not like a stupid, empty-headed woman like others did. Even Papa occasionally acted as though he wanted to pat me gently on the head and send me on my way whenever I asked what he called "too many questions."

But Erik wasn't like most men. He was the most brilliant man I had ever known, and he had been kind enough to share his gifts with me. It did not matter that I was not musically or artistically talented; he was merely happy to play his music for me and to show me the beautiful pieces that he had been working on. Sometimes it felt as though he were asking my opinion about his work, and when I went back to look at it, the changes I had suggested were right there, carved into stone or painted onto an easel.

I had gone to bed that night dreaming about the kiss we had shared, and when I woke, I swore I could still feel his hands and arms around me. I had felt safe and warm until the moment I opened my eyes, and when I did, I was greeted with the black lace of the curtain, the warmth of my body the only comforting thing in the bed. Not wanting that wonderful warm feeling to leave me, I had gone back to sleep, closing my eyes against the world so that I could once more be in Erik's arms, if only for a little while in my dreams.

I awoke a second time with the strangest feeling of something caressing my forehead. My eyes fluttered open to meet orbs of the softest emerald green looking down at me. The thing brushing against my forehead was Erik's hand, and he looked unusually worried. His hand suddenly stopped its movement, his palm against my head as though feeling for a fever.

"Are you alright?" he whispered, as though he feared speaking too loud would frighten me off the bed and out of the cavern. "It is nearly noon. When you did not appear to make lunch, I…"

My eyes blinked at him. It was noon? "I'm fine," I whispered back. "I was just tired, that's all."

"I…understand," Erik replied, keeping his voice soft as he looked away. "I'll leave you, then, if you wish to rest longer."

I quickly reached out and grasped his hand before he could pull it away from my head. "Erik…" He stopped and looked down at me. "Erik…I love you."

The expression on his face as I kissed his palm was priceless.

If there were a way to preserve this moment for all time, he would do it. The kiss pressed to his palm was like liquid fire, and he could feel its effects down to the very edge of his body. What sort of power did this young woman have over him? She claimed it was love…

'But is it really love? How can she truly love me?' he asked himself, raising his eyes to stare into hers once more. 'Can this kind, warm, caring woman truly love a monster?'

How does a woman fall in love with a Ghost? Or was he even a Ghost at all? For so long he had been without love or kindness, without pity or compassion, without the gentlest caress or the smallest kiss…without those experiences, he had deemed himself a monster, a creature that no human, man or woman, would ever want to look at or touch. He had long thought himself as something distant from humanity, and therefore was no longer part of it, if, in fact, he had ever been part of it before.

Only once had he ever felt something truly stir within him, and that had been when a little girl-child by the name of Christine came to the Opera House. Her sad, lonely voice had called out to him, begging for a love she had lost when her dear father died. That need to be loved had revived a part of Erik's soul that he had long believed dead, the part that desired to be wanted by another person. In Christine, he had found someone who both wanted and needed him in her life, and with that need of hers grew a need of his own. In Christine, he had thought he had found his salvation, the one who could take him out of his darkness and into the light of the world above. He had patiently waited as both she and her talents in song grew to the point where he had thought her mature enough to know who and what he truly was.

But love is blind, and Erik had been ignorant of the fact that Christine's mind had not developed as well as her body and voice. She was innocent in every aspect of the word, not even knowing that there were consequences to her actions whenever she did something wrong. He had been a fool, and had only realized it after he watching his Angel sail away with her beloved Raoul. When she left him, alone and broken, he had thought never to feel that way again.

And then, by some other magic he did not understand, another angel entered his life, the one who now sat there with her shimmering brown hair mussed with sleep and her brown eyes staring at him full of love and warmth…

He leaned forward and kissed her, slowly, just to be sure this was real and not some beautiful torture brought upon him by his own twisted mind.

I could feel the desperation in Erik's kiss as he pressed his lips against mine. I knew that he longed to be sure that I truly loved him, to know that this was not some sort of strange dream that he had been experiencing this past day. His hands were now tightly wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer against him as he kissed me. I could taste his tears as he wept, and when I put my arms around his neck, the dam burst.

It was so sudden, and yet so expected. I held on to him tightly as Erik pressed his face into the crevice between my neck and shoulder, his tears soaking my nightgown as he softly pleaded for me to tell him that this was really happening to him. I could only hold him as he cried, his sobs slowly ebbing to nothing as we kept hold of one another. After a few moments, his cries had ceased, though we still gripped each other as though for dear life.

"Tell me you love me again," he whispered into my ear. "Tell me that this is real, and that everything you say is true."

A small smile tugged at my lips as I replied. "I do love you, Erik," I said, keeping my voice soft as I spoke. "I truly do love you, and yes, this is quite real." I smiled a bit wider. "If you like, I could pinch you, just to be sure." I waited, just to be sure that I hadn't done anything to upset him.

To my relief, Erik laughed a little and pulled back, though he still kept his arms wrapped around me. "You are so good," he said, raising one hand up to gently touch my face. "How can you be so good to a monster like me, to a man with a face like mine…?"

I watched as his hand shifted from my face to his own, pressing against the white leather mask. Slowly, I reached up and pulled his hand away. "Your face does not bother me," I said, looking deep into his eyes. "I never even notice it anymore, and it does not make me love you any less. You are a man, Erik…a good, brilliant man who had been dealt some horrible things in his life, but you are still a man. I see that, even if no one else does."

Emerald orbs looked down, away from mine. "But you have not yet seen the horror that I was born with," he said. "If I show you…"

"If you show me, then I will still be here," I firmly replied, the tone of my voice causing him to look up at me. "If you do not show me, I will be here. I am no fool, Erik, and I will not force you to show yourself to me against your will. If or when you choose to remove your mask, it will be of your own hand, not mine."

"So be it," he whispered with a bow of his head.

Then, before I could stop him, he lifted his hand and removed his mask.

Closing his eyes, Erik waited. He knew what would come, and he dreaded it. Now Aria would come to her senses and tell him that they could never be together, that she could never love a man with such a twisted, horrible face.

"Well, I was right," she said. "It's not as bad as I thought."

Erik's eyes flew wide open. "What?" he blurted out, wondering if he had heard her words correctly.

Aria's face was calm and, strangely enough, she was smiling at him. "I said that it is not as bad I had thought it would be. Really, it looks more like a terrible sunburn than anything else. Have you tried putting a soothing lotion on it? It looks as though it has been irritated by the mask you wear, and irritation to the skin would make it appear worse than it actually is."

All Erik could do was gape at her. Was she serious, or was she merely mocking him? But he could see no wicked gleam in her eyes, and she seemed perfectly at ease with his unmasked face, so perhaps she was being truthful with him. It still puzzled him that she could be so calm, but a small part of him knew she was right about one thing: the mask did irritate his skin, and tended to rub his face raw, since he wore it so often.

He was so lost in thought that it took the feel of gentle fingers rubbing a cool ointment onto his skin to bring him back. Glancing up, Erik held still as Aria gently applied the aloe burn lotion he kept in the kitchen. Beneath her fingers' gentle ministrations, Erik could feel some of his pain fading into nothingness as he lost himself in bliss. If Heaven were on Earth, he was already there.

AN: Review please!