I'm ba-ack...

Yes, one and all, I'm back from my spring break, armed with a new chapter! Yes, I know, you love me... ;)

Thanks and cyber-huggles to: my lovely Hero Sis (missed you!), E/MOTP (lol), trueurbanite (thank you...oh, and you'll see what I'm getting at later, but I couldn't resist...), Virginie (haha), phantomluver (thank you), PrincessSYS, QueenIsuralia (thank you for your review, and I'm glad you like it), and, of course, the readers... I love you guys!

oh...just a head's up: there's a new character that gets introduced in this chapter. and trust me when I say this: they're not nearly as "new" as you're thinking...

disclaimer: I own nothing.

chapter 5

Christine gazed pensively out the window of her room, eyes swollen from a combination of exhaustion and tears.

"You've left us again," she whispered bitterly to the surrounding silence. "You've left us again, this time for good."

Now, at least, she knew the meaning of her dream of the night before…but could she live with this knowledge? Could she live, knowing that her best friend had condemned herself to a lifetime of certain pain and suffering, knowing that she, Christine, had been sworn to passive silence?

At least she didn't have to worry about Erik now.

But that had never been the case, had it? If she really thought about it, had there ever really been a time when she'd been worried about what Erik would do to her…what Erik would do to Raoul?

No.

She didn't have to worry about Erik. She had to worry about herself.

He'd told me to be quiet, to leave him alone, so, I did. But, having nothing to do otherwise, I watched him.

I'd never seen him quite like that before. He must have really been inspired this time; otherwise, he would have left his chair and taken to pacing, sometimes muttering or humming something under his breath.

Though it's a constant challenge, he was always happiest while he composed; I suspect that the challenge is why he enjoyed it so much.

The seconds dragged like hours, the hours like centuries, but at last, he stood. His arms hung limply at his sides, and he was breathing deeply, his back to me.

I approached him hesitantly; he was always the most unpredictable after these spells of composition. Laying a hand on his arm, I said, "Erik?"

He looked at me.

"Erik, would you like something…some water, perhaps?"

He blinked a few times, saying nothing, then his eyes widened a little, almost as if he were seeing me for the first time. "What?" he said. "Oh…oh, yes, Meg, that would be wonderful."

Concerned, I hurried into the small pantry, grabbing the first thing I could find from off the shelf—a chipped mug—and poured some water from the large pitcher in the corner. Out of habit, I peeked into the barrel of flour next to it—we were almost out. I made a mental note to go downstairs and ask Mrs. Valerius, our landlady, if I could borrow some before hurrying back to him.

He took it gratefully, downing it in a matter of seconds before near-collapsing in the chair again; I noticed that he had turned it around at some point while I had been gone, so its back rested against the edge of the desk. He looked quite shaken.

"Are you all right?" I asked, now substantially worried.

"I'm fine," he said, closing his eyes.

I peeked at the pile of papers on the desk behind him, covered with music notes and strange symbols and notes in the margins scrawled in his now-familiar childish hand, before slowly lowering myself to my knees; with him constantly towering over me, I felt uncomfortable otherwise. "You're sure?"

"Are you, or are you not, able to exist without asking an incessant stream of questions?"

I couldn't help the small smile that crept upon my lips. "I'm just worried about you, Erik," I replied simply, before resting my head on his knee from where I now sat at his feet.

I believe he muttered something about "poor, unhappy Erik", but I couldn't hear him properly from where I was.

We spent several long, comfortable moments like that, and I noticed that his breathing had calmed and supposed him asleep—until I felt his touch.

I didn't notice it at first. But soon, I could feel his fingers softly clenching and unclenching in my hair, then combing through its length, then dancing around my brow, pirouetting on my scalp, his cold touch lingering at the base of my neck—

"You're trembling," he observed quietly.

"Am I?"

"Yes. You are." I could practically hear the smug smile I knew must be sitting on his face.

"Fancy that," I said weakly.

"Indeed." He made to stand, and I moved my head out of the way, only to rest it against the seat of the chair moments later; not quite as pointy as his knee, but not nearly as comfortable.

I closed my eyes and sat and listened to him as he moved about the room: neatly stacking the papers on the desk and placing them in a portfolio, setting the mug by the small stove, hanging up his coat, moving in and out of the bathroom, drawing the make-shift curtains on our only window. It was these small sounds of domesticity that kept Erik in perspective for me, reminding me that he was neither demigod, nor demon, but every bit as human as I.

My contemplations were interrupted when I heard his footsteps approaching me, and I sat up and looked at him.

"Stand up," he commanded quietly, extending a hand to help me, and I did almost immediately.

My obedience was duly rewarded with an unexpected embrace; I wilted in his arms, and it wasn't long before his ravaged lips were greedily devouring mine.

"Erik," I gasped, attempting to pull away forcefully, but his arms kept me firmly in place. This behavior, while enjoyable, wasn't like him at all, and my mind screamed for caution but my body begged for more. "Erik, please, stop."

He let go of me immediately, taking a step back before looking at me rather like a kicked puppy would. "You…you don't want…?"

"I didn't say that," I said reflexively, mentally berating myself a second later; my cheeks, traitors that they were, chose that moment to blush furiously.

The only sign of confusion I could see was his wrinkled brow; his normal suave manner had returned. "Forgive me of my presumptions, then," he said, sweeping me easily back into his arms, as my resistance had completely crumbled.

I could feel his fingers deftly working their way through the buttons of my dress that lined my spine, and panicked again, still unsure of whether or not I had any reason to. "Wait," I blurted, pressing a hand into his chest.

He paused, looking at me expectantly.

"What…what will the neighbors think?" I finished lamely.

"You don't mean to tell me," he said, "that you actually care about that?"

"I—I…no."

He sighed, appraising me for a moment before trying a different tactic. "Meg," he whispered, his lips brushing against my ear. "Meg, relax…"

"I…I really don't think…"

"Shh…" He pressed his lips against my forehead this time, resuming the unbuttoning of my dress.

"Erik, really. Perhaps…perhaps lat— oh…"

I lost practically all ability to think and speak coherently as he moved his mouth to my neck, simultaneously coaxing the dress from my shoulders to fall in a puddle of fabric around my ankles.

I knew—probably had for a while, though failed to acknowledge it—that he wanted me, that he intended to take the present situation much further, as evidenced by his hands on my waist, slowly returning to my back in search of the laces of my corset, and I silently willed him to be quicker about it; my Master of seduction had woven a spell of extreme potency and tenacity, keeping me firmly in its grasp.

But something was fighting to gain my attention and hold it, fighting through the haze of wonderful, overwhelming sensation that Erik had so carefully crafted—and winning.

The first time, it jolted me. By the time it repeated, I had regained marginal control of myself.

A knock. Several.

Someone was knocking on the door.

Of course, I panicked. But communicating my concern would be difficult, since "marginal" was stretching it, as far as my control went.

"The door," I finally murmured. "Someone…the door…"

"Mmhmm…" He'd found the laces by now.

"But, Erik," I persisted, "we need to answer the door."

"Just ignore it, Meg." The corset came off and joined my dress on the floor. "They'll stop eventually; the only thing I need you to do now is forget about it."

But he was wrong; they didn't stop. In fact, the knocking—pounding, more like it—only grew more intense, mirroring my frantic state. But Erik was so adept at countering my attempts to bring this fact to his attention that I'd just about given up, until:

"Erik! Meg! I know you're in there! Don't make me break this door down!"

"God damn that insufferable woman to the depths of Hell," he growled, kissing my neck one more time before pulling away.

I automatically stooped down, hastily collecting my dress from off the floor and pulling it on while Erik smoothed the wrinkles from his shirt that had apparently gotten there from me clinging to him, though I didn't remember that. "Help me," I whispered, and I fixed my hair while he buttoned a few select buttons that would ensure the dress stayed closed. It felt strange, not wearing a corset with the dress, but as there was not enough time, I scooped it up off the floor and tossed it under the bed, sitting down at the foot of it just as Erik opened the door.

"Yes?" he said curtly. I could almost see the anger radiating from him; I imagined how his eyes must be smoldering, and smiled in spite of myself.

"I knew you were in here," came a voice from the other side of the door; Erik rarely opened it wider than just the most minimal of spaces to peek from.

"Your persistence becomes you, Madame," he said, the biting sarcasm in his voice causing me to wince.

"Don't you 'Madame' me, I don't need it."

"My apologies, Mrs. Valerius."

"Ah, that's better; I'll make a proper gentleman of you yet. Well? Aren't you going to invite me in?"

Grudgingly, Erik moved out of the way, and the matronly figure of Mrs. Valerius appeared from behind the door. "Ah, there she is," she said, smiling at me. "Bonjour, Meg."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Erik make a face at her horrible pronunciation, but I merely smiled back. "Bonjour, Mama. Comment allez-vous?"

"Quite well, thank you. And you? Are you all right?"

"Yes," I replied, hating the way the word sounded coming from my mouth.

"What do you know! She speaks English…" Her expression looked both surprised and a little hurt.

"Not well," I clarified.

This piece of information seemed to cheer her up. "That can be fixed. But, honestly, hasn't Erik ever—?"

"I don't mean to interrupt," said Erik, though clearly intending to do just that. "But I've no reason to believe that your…unanticipated visit was for the sole purpose of discussing my wife's language abilities…" He smiled wryly. "…or lack thereof."

"Of course." She straightened up, all business now. "We missed you during breakfast and lunch…and Ms. Adams from one floor down told me she heard yelling earlier, so I decided to see if everything was all right…?"

She had phrased the last part as a question, looking at me, so I nodded.

"Good." She made for the door, Erik silently tailing her to ensure she didn't suddenly change her mind and decide to stay for another ten minutes. "I'll see you both at dinner, then?"

Erik surprised me by looking genuinely sorry. "I'm afraid not."

"You're sure? The Campanellas gave me a tremendous amount of pasta instead of rent money this month, and I picked up some fresh tomatoes today…"

"We're positive, thank you."

"All right. Oh, Meg, would you be so kind as to stop by my place tomorrow, perhaps mid-morning?" She shot a rather dark look at Erik. "And without your translator?"

"Thank you," said Erik, coming just short of shoving her out the door.

I nodded quickly in answer to her question, wishing I could say more.

"Excellent. Well, you kids have fun, then," she said, winking at me before disappearing behind the door as Erik shut it with a snap.

"You're extremely rude, did you know that?" I said as he locked the door.

"Your powers of observation never cease to amaze me."

I sighed, and he turned to look at me wickedly. "Now," he said, "where were we?"

"Erik," I hissed as he approached me. "At least wait until she can't hear us, will you?"

He paused, as if contemplating, then took the last few steps towards me, grabbing my hands and pulling me up. "No…I don't think I'll do that…"

His lips met mine, and before I lost all ability to, I reflected on how little I truly knew about this man. I didn't know where this sudden aggressiveness had come from, for example. I didn't know how long it would last, either.

I did know one thing, however: whether he intended it or not, I was going to be very sore tomorrow.