Disclaimer: see Chap 1

CHAPTER TWO

A week passed like that, awkwardly, as they learned each other's habits and routines. Erik learned that she was quite an impertinent young lady, and he enjoyed the banter they shared. Each evening, Mme. Giry would come down to the lair and make sure that they were both still alive.

"We start your lessons today," Erik announced, as Selene was making breakfast on the tenth day. Somehow she'd insinuated herself as cook and housekeeper, and Erik was starting to get used to being taken care of. He was also eating better than he'd ever eaten in his whole life. But now it was time to get to work.

They put in hours' worth of practice as he coached her through the difficult passages of a song, and then put her to practice. She was a good student, and he had to admit she had a good ear for the music.

"We'll resume tomorrow," Erik said, nodding to her. "Do not expect to see me until the evening, I have some errands to run." He had not been to the opera house above for four days and he needed to oversee rehearsals.

"Where are you going?" Selene asked curiously.

"The opera house."

She nodded slowly. "Monsieur Erik, where are we? In relation to the opera house, I mean?"

He sighed. She was a smart girl; he knew she'd have figured it out eventually. "We are under the Opera Populaire, mademoiselle."

She smiled, satisfied. "I knew it." She lowered her voice. "You are the Opera Ghost, aren't you?"

"I see my reputation precedes me," he said, giving her a grand bow. "How did you know?"

"You are such a musical genius, and Mme. Giry comes and goes so easily, I knew it had to be something of the sort." Her eyes sparkled with curiosity. "How do you get around so easily? And why do they think you're a ghost, when you're not?"

He smiled briefly. "A magician never reveals his secrets."

"Are you a magician?" she asked in surprise.

"Yes," he answered, throwing his voice to the other side of the room.

She turned to look, and then turned back to him, smiling. "What else can you do?"

He amused her with some magic tricks and ventriloquism, and he realized it was quite nice to be applauded and admired.

As she headed to her room to sleep, he spoke up. "Mademoiselle Gardinier, I would strongly urge you not to venture into the tunnels, or into the lake."

She turned back to look at him with wide eyes. "I would not dream of it monsieur."

He nodded. "Then good night."

"Good night."

The next day he was indeed gone when Selene woke up. She made a small breakfast, and didn't bother to look for him. She practiced a while on the piano, and tried the organ, which produced a horrible groan.

"Sorry," she told the instrument, and left it alone.

She went instead to her paints, and set up an easel and canvas on the shores of the lake. She stared at the blank canvas for a while, and sighed. All she had in her mind's eye was the mysterious phantom. So she picked up a graphite stick and started to sketch it out. She began to flesh it out with the paints.

When Erik returned from a long day of overseeing rehearsals, he was surprised to see her painting away, utterly oblivious to his presence. Is this what he was like while he was playing? He got closer, and when he saw the subject of her painting he didn't know whether to be angry or pleased. It was him, steeped in shadows, his eyes burning and his mask glowing white. From this painting, he almost looked... handsome. "Why did you paint me that way?" he asked, making her jump.

"Monsieur Erik!" she said, turning to him, her hand over her heart. "You frightened me."

"Why did you paint me that way?" he asked again.

She turned to look at the painting. "That is the way I see you, monsieur."

"But you've made me..." he trailed off, loathe to even say it.

"Mysterious?" she asked.

"Well yes, but no."

"Debonair?"

"No."

"Handsome?" she ventured.

"That," he said stiffly.

She smiled, her cheeks turning slightly red. "Well that's the way you are, monsieur le fantome. Of course I cannot see what's under your mask, but the rest of your face, yes, I dare say it is."

He stared at her in disbelief. No one had ever called him handsome before. Genius yes. Mysterious yes. But handsome? "You've gone mad," he concluded. "I should not have brought you here."

Now it was her turn to stare. "Why ever not?"

"Because if you think this face is handsome you have forgotten the rest of the world," he said angrily. "Are you truly so blind?"

Selene's eyes flashed angrily. "The last man I thought handsome on the outside was a monster on the inside, and it transferred to his face. I have not forgotten what ugliness looks like, monsieur." Her tone softened. "But your beauty, that comes from the inside. It would make even what's underneath this," she gestured to the mask, "handsome."

He growled. "You are a fool, mademoiselle, if you think so."

"Then show me," she challenged. "Prove me wrong."

"No," he said, getting a hold of his temper. "I will not."

"Why?"

"Because if you see my face, you will leave, and I will be alone."

She looked at him sorrowfully. "I wouldn't."

"Yes, you would." He turned away from her bitterly. "Everyone does."

She sighed. "If that is what you believe, then I will respect that." She began to put her paints away. "Can we skip our lesson tonight, monsieur? I am very tired."

He nodded. Their argument had worn him out as well.

When Madame Giry descended to the lair the next day, she found two very quiet souls. Erik was shut up in his room, and Selene was sitting on the edge of the lake, braiding and re-braiding her long hair.

"What's wrong?" Mme. Giry asked, sitting beside the girl.

Selene sighed. "He thinks I will leave him if I see his face. Surely it cannot be so bad?"

"Most people would be terrified," Mme. Giry said. "His disfigurement is severe."

"But that is only the outside," Selene protested. "He is a good man."

"You have been here a week and you already think you know him?" Mme. Giry asked, amused.

"I know his soul," Selene said, smiling softly. "It is in everything he plays, everything he sings. Only someone truly good would take in a broken woman and shelter her like this."

Mme. Giry smiled slightly. This might work out better than she thought.

Unbeknownst to them, Erik was listening to the entire conversation. It made him even more determined not to let her see what was behind his mask; if she saw what truly lay behind it she would run away, and take her high ideals with her. If she thought he was a good man, then he would try to be.

That evening during their piano lesson, Selene turned to him. "Monsieur, will you show me what lies behind the mask?"

He suppressed a growl. "No. Do not ask again."

She bit her lip. "Very well."

The next morning Erik found a sketch on the table, of a man with warts and lesions on his face. "What is this?" he demanded, shaking it in Selene's face angrily.

"You will not show me so I will have to guess," Selene said. "Is that it?"

"No." He tossed the paper on the table. "I am going out."

When he got back, there were another six sketches, each one more gruesome than the last. He glanced them over and tore them up in frustration. "No!" he yelled in the general direction of Selene's room.

A paper slid out from under the door.

He grabbed it. Another sketch, of a face worse than his own. That was it. He stormed into her room and grabbed her arm. "Why do you continue!?" he asked in a threatening voice.

"Because you will not show me!" she retorted.

He ripped the mask off his face, so enraged he didn't even care. "There!" he yelled, gripping her even tighter. "This is what I hide behind the mask! Are you pleased now, you insolent prying woman?"

She stared at him in shock, at the disfigured eye and nose, at the swollen and inflamed face, the red bumps on his skin. "Oh, Erik," she said sadly, "why did you not just show me to begin with?"

He stared at her, his anger vanishing in confusion. "What?"

"I thought it would be so much worse."

"What?" he said again, still confused.

She reached up tentatively and paused, her fingers only centimeters from his face, silently asking for permission.

He nodded, just barely.

She trailed her fingertips over the rough, uneven skin of his face, smoothing a scar on his cheek. "You're not a monster," she said quietly, smiling at him even though there were tears in her eyes. "Here I was, imagining all sorts of horrible things, and this is all you have to show for it?" She reached up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I am not afraid of you, Erik."

He couldn't help it. He broke down in tears. No one had ever touched his face so gently. No one had ever kissed him, not even on the cheek. Not even his own mother. He fell to his knees before her, sobbing.

"Please don't cry," Selene begged, kneeling with him, tears filling her own eyes at the pain in his expression. She reached out to him again, and was pleased when he returned the hug, hiding his face in her shoulder. She stroked his hair lightly. "It's all right," she soothed, "I'm not leaving. I promise."

He finally got himself under control, and lifted his head, his eyes red and swollen. He stood and helped her up, and moved to replace the mask on his face.

She grabbed his wrist quickly. "You don't have to," she said. "You don't have to hide from me."

He put the mask on his face anyways, and smiled bitterly. "You have no idea what I've still hidden."

"Well then tell me," she said persuasively.

"No."

"Or I could start guessing."

He groaned in frustration. "No. Not that again."

"Well then?"

He gestured her to the couch. "You will hate me after this," he said, resigned. If she hadn't run yet, which was still surprising, she would run after he'd told her of his life before the opera. He told her everything. From his unloving mother to the gypsies, to the Shah of Persia, the drugs, his escape from the guard, his retreat to the opera house. He didn't leave out a single thing, trying to make her understand that he was not a good man.

Selene stayed absolutely silent during his tale, though her tears were silently running down her face.

"There," he said, when he finished. He was so emotionally exhausted he didn't even care anymore.

She stayed silent, looking at him with an unreadable expression.

He frowned at her. "Well?" he demanded, starting to get nervous. "Say something."

"Thank you," she whispered softly.

He stared. "What?"

"Thank you, for telling me your story. I know it could not have been easy." She stood up and went over to him, touched his mask lightly. "I will not betray your trust."

He could only stare at her with wide eyes. "You..."

"Would you like some tea?" she asked, walking towards the ktichen.

He went after her, grabbed her arm. "That's it?" he asked in sheer disbelief. "You're going to make tea?"

"What else am I to do?" she asked.

"Scream, curse, run, cry, I don't know," he said, starting to get frustrated.

Selene was frankly confused. "Why would I do that?"

"Why wouldn't you?"

"Because I am not afraid of you," she said. "You are not a monster. You are a man, a musical genius, and you have been nothing but kind to me. A few mood-swings and glares, but you've always been a gentleman. Why would I run away from the only man who has not tried to use me?"

He let go of her arm. "But-"

"Do you want me to hate you?" she asked, frustrated.

"No."

"Then why do you insist?"

He looked at her blankly. Why was he being so contrary? "I don't know."

She gave him a tiny smile. "You're tired, Erik." She reached up and laid a hand on his uncovered cheek. "Rest a while. I'll make dinner."

He did as he was told. Frankly he could not figure the woman out, and it amazed him that she had not run. No, instead she had touched his face and smiled and was currently making dinner. When had the world changed so much? He fell onto his bed and stared up at the ceiling in disbelief. Who was this angel in the guise of a woman?

As Selene made dinner she wiped her eyes frequently with the edge of the rag. The revelations of Erik's past were horrible, and yes, slightly frightening, and terribly sad. She couldn't think of that young boy in the gypsy camp without tearing up.

"Get a hold of yourself," she muttered fiercely, wiping her eyes again. Now she knew why he acted the way he did. He didn't trust anyone, and he feared everyone's reactions to him. That's why he hid in the shadows underneath the opera house. That's why when she tried to be friendly he would glare. He didn't understand that she wasn't going to hurt him.

Nadir Khan was not expecting to be met with the smells of a feast coming from the lair as he ventured down the tunnel. He also did not expect the sight of a lovely young woman bustling around the kitchen, quite oblivious to his footsteps. "Mademoiselle?" he asked worriedly.

She whirled to face him with a gasp of surprise. "Who are you?" she asked, staring at the short Persian man.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, looking her over for signs of abuse. "Have you been drugged? Are you all right?"

Then she did something that surprised him. "Erik!" she called.

He heard the note of fear in her voice and bolted out of his room, the lasso at his fingers. "What's wrong-" he started, and glared when he saw Nadir. "Oh. It's you."

Nadir stared. "What's going on here?" he asked.

Erik crossed to Selene's side and said, "Mademoiselle Gardinier, this is my, acquaintance, Nadir Khan."

"The Daroga?" Selene asked cautiously.

"Yes."

Nadir stared. How did she know who he was? "I leave for two weeks and you find yourself a housemaid?" he asked.

Erik glared at him. "She is not a housemaid. Selene will be the orchestra's next pianist. I am teaching her."

"Wait," Nadir said, "Selene Gardinier, the young woman you told me to inquire about?"

"Yes." Erik's eyes widened in surprise as Selene grabbed onto his arm, but he kept his focus. "What did you find out?"

"Apparently, she is dead," Nadir said. He held out the newspaper. "They found the body of a woman matching her description. The funeral was held yesterday. The fiancé has gone to England."

Selene's eyes widened to the size of small moons. "They think I'm dead?" she breathed.

"Yes."

"And he's gone?"

"Yes."

She gave a small gasp of relief. "Then I am free."

Erik's heart sank. If she was no longer under threat, she was free to leave. She would leave him. "Go, then," he said harshly. "Return to the world. The Daroga will help you to change your name and find a place." He pulled away from her grasp and went to the organ, trying to fight the angry tears that threatened to spill.

Selene stared at him, tears filling her own eyes. "You want me to leave?" she asked, injured. Just as he'd begun to open up to her, he was ordering her away.

"No one would stay in this world of night," Erik retorted. "Go, and tell no one of this place."

"But Erik-"

"LEAVE!" he roared, slamming his hands on the organ, creating a horrible sound.

"Come, my dear," Nadir said hurriedly. "I will show you to the surface." He took her arm gently and led her away. "You care for him," he noted, as they walked through the passages.

Her voice broke as she answered. "Yes. I thought-" She sighed. "I wish he'd understand."

"You would stay?" he asked, surprised.

"I would have," she said, sighing again. "But if he does not want me..." She trailed off and shook her head. "Never mind."

Nadir gave her an appraising glance. "He will come to his senses," he assured her. "No man in his right mind would let you slip away."

She blushed under his knowing gaze. "I don't know what you're talking about, monsieur," she muttered, her cheeks flaming.

He grinned. "Oh no? A young woman on a first-name basis with the Phantom of the Opera, who does not want to leave him? What am I talking about, I wonder? Could it be love?"

"I've only known him a fortnight," Selene protested. It couldn't be that.

"And now it will stand the test of separation," Nadir said, letting the wall swing open to reveal a closet. "We are in the opera house. Come along." He led her to Madame Giry.

"Selene," Mme. Giry said in surprise. "What has happened?"

"Everyone thinks I am dead, so he sent me away."

Mme. Giry sighed. "Of course he did. Come, we will find the manager, Monsieur LeFevre. We must get you an audition."

"And change her name," Nadir suggested. "Mademoiselle Selene Pascal suits you, I think."

Selene's playing was indeed better than the current pianist. She was hired, and given quarters near the other orchestra members. Mme. Giry introduced her to a few other people and left her to rest. "You've had a long day, my dear," Mme. Giry said, patting her arm sympathetically. "I will go retrieve your things."

Selene nodded. "Thank you, Madame." It truly had been the most eventful day of her life. First, she'd seen Erik's real face, and heard his sorrowful past. Then she found out that everyone believed her dead, and then, Erik sent her away. She buried her face in her pillow to have a good cry. Today was the day for tears and emotions it seemed. Tomorrow had to be better.

"WHAT do you want?" Erik yelled, as soon as Mme. Giry descended to the lair.

"I am here to retrieve Selene's things," Mme. Giry said calmly.

"Where is she going?" Erik asked desperately.

"Nowhere, Erik."

He growled. "Do not test my patience, woman. Where is she?"

She glared back at him, unafraid. "She is in a room above our heads, probably crying her eyes out."

"What?"

"You are a fool, Erik," she said sharply, tired of all this nonsense. "She would have stayed with you. But no, in the face of love you are blind, and you push away what you do not understand."

He gaped. "But-"

"But nothing," Mme. Giry retorted. "She is the new pianist, as per your instructions. Enjoy your solitude, monsieur." She went into Selene's room and began to pack her things.

Erik stood there, astonished. She had stayed? She had taken the position? "Why did she stay?" Erik asked, when Mme. Giry came back out, her arms full of clothes.

"Ask her yourself." She left, and he let her.