Hey guys. Thanks for the reviews! They were lovely. So, I guess I'm continuing with this for now. I'm still not entirely convinced, so please let me know what you think. Phanty belongs to Leroux and Lloyd Webber.

Here's some more.

Christine

I could not fully explain my motives to Raoul when he asked why I needed to return, for I hadn't entirely figured that out myself. As I'd told Erik, I felt as though I owed him the kindness after all he had done for me. I was able to see a different person to what everyone else saw- that person was less and less visible during the months leading up to Don Juan Triumphant, but he was still there. Amongst the chaos and confusion, the jealousy and the hate, Erik, or so he called himself, was still there inside the madness.

I cared about that person. He had been kind to me when I most needed it. Though, for the murders, the blackmail, the extortion, the manipulation… I could not yet forgive him, and I was not going to allow my pity for him to come in the way of that. Madame Giry took up where my father left off; raising me with morals, values and hubris. I considered myself to be a good person, and I was not going to let myself sink to Erik's man's level by condoning how he acted in the end- instead, if anything, I would attempt to bring him up to mine.

I didn't know if he'd want to see me. He had acted terribly, but I knew what he felt for me. In the end, I finally knew, and seeing me express my love for another and proceed to leave with him could not have been easy for Erik to witness. I knew that part of him would resent me for that, and I was prepared for it. I was a little bit afraid upon returning to him. I would be lying if I said I wasn't. What happened in the final hours of that night was frightful, and at the time he had frightened me terribly. But he would not hurt me. I knew that now. I had feared it prior to Don Juan but I had seen the truth in his eyes that night, when I had handed him back the ring. Never before had I seen a look of such gentle, vulnerable adoration before. And he had made the ultimate sacrifice out of love for me. He had thrown away his chances at happiness for mine.

I didn't want to leave things as they were. Why was I returning? Because he deserved that much. What did I hope to achieve? I had no clue. I didn't know what I expected to find as I approached his home, and so I feared the worst.

Thankfully though, he was still in his home when I arrived- relatively unharmed… and what harm had befallen him, was by his own self-destructive hand.

It was strange, tending to him under such normal, domestic circumstances. As I wrapped his wounded hands, and his flesh touched my own, I was able to see that he was just as frail and vulnerable as the average person. He would not appreciate being seen like that, but it was the truth and it was somewhat comforting.

There was so much to learn about Erik, and prior to tonight, I hadn't been interested. I'd only thought of myself. How he was making me feel, where I would end up. I had to be fair to myself though. He was not exactly welcoming friendship, and he was never what one would call approachable.

As he lifted his shirt, my gaze automatically drifted to his skin. Several scars were exposed to me but I pretended not to notice. Of course, I was incredibly curious, but I could tell by Erik's body language that he was not comfortable with the situation as it was. I didn't want to make things worse by staring. I didn't quite know where to look, though. Raoul had filled me in on vague details regarding Erik's past, facts he claimed that Madame Giry had shared with him, and I knew that Erik's scars were more than likely linked to that. I blushed slightly as my gaze darted to his chest. Living in the theatre, it was nothing new to me… but this was Erik. The Opera Ghost… My Angel of Music. None of that was real. I knew that now, but it was strange seeing him like this. Knowing that I was making things worse by staring, I moved forward to look at his wound, pulling his stained dress shirt away from it.

It was then that he stopped me.

I wanted to help him as much as I could, regardless of how many times he claimed not to need it. The only way I could do that was if he trusted me, so I respected his wishes and moved to his ankle which was clearly troubling him.

After much expected protesting, he allowed me to wrap that too, and elevate it. This was something I'd learned from Madame Giry. She had tended our wounds on many occasions and it was her voice in my head, instructing me as to what to do.

I doubted Erik would stay off his feet for long though. He didn't seem the type who could stay in one place for too long, and so, I would stay a while longer. Perhaps another day, just to ensure that he was truly alright. I wanted to get to know him too. I will admit to that. I owed him that much before I left forever. I owed that much to myself… Raoul would understand. Now that the barriers had all been broken down, and each of us knew where we stood, perhaps we could form an actual friendship. I knew that that may have been asking too much. Erik had always been terribly guarded during our lessons, and in person he wasn't much easier to handle, but I would try. He had let me tend to his wounds, and that took trust. It was a start.

"No Christine. I do not wish for you to leave." He had said. Asking him was a gamble, I knew that, but the question needed to be asked. I was not about to linger in his home, the one place that he had without permission. I did not wish to place myself anywhere I was not wanted.

"I'm glad." I replied, relieved that I had made some progress with him. "How is the pain?"

"Fine." He looked at his foot where it lay at the end of the bed.

"You'll be able to walk again soon." I reassured him, guessing at what he was thinking about.

"Yes. Hardly matters though, does it?"

"Please don't be like that." I said. I hoped he wasn't going to make snide remarks like that the entire time I was with him.

"I'm not being anything, Christine. It is the way it is. And the fact is that it hardly matters. I'll be able to walk again in a few days. Fantastic. Where shall I walk to?"

I didn't answer. What could I say to that?

I walked over to what looked like a wardrobe on the right side of the room.

"Is this where you keep your clothes? Would you like me to get you a clean shirt?"

He tisked.

"I'll get it."

"No you will not." I shot, motioning for him to remain on the bed.

"Christine, you cannot tell me what to do in my own house. I am not a child, and you cannot restrict me from standing up and walking to that wardrobe if I so wish."

I looked at him.

"And was that the response of an adult?" I spat. Erik seethed.

"If you have come here to judge me further, then feel free to leave."

"I am free to leave, thank you! I know that!" But was I? What If he changed his mind? How comfortable did I really feel here?

I walked over to him. He had now folded his arms across his chest. How was I to communicate with someone so indignant? "I am trying to help you! Why are you being so difficult?"

"You called me a child!"

"I did not!"

"You may as well have." He said flatly.

"Well, you were acting like one! I am not a doctor but I know enough to tell you that if you have an injured ankle, you shouldn't put weight on it! I am here to help! Use me! Let me help you!"

"I have never needed help before!" He spat.

"Well now you have it!" I argued.

"I do not want help from you, Christine! I do not need you around; a constant reminder of what I…"

He stopped himself, but I knew what he was going to say. It must have been difficult for him. I wished I could tell him that I hadn't just come to look after him, that maybe… there was something else. But I couldn't, and I wasn't about to give him false hope.

I took a deep breath.

As did he.

"You said you didn't want me to leave." I said.

"No." he spoke, his voice calmer.

"You are acting as though you do."

"No, I…" He looked at me. "I do want you here. I only wish…"

"Yes?" Though, I knew what he wanted to say.

"It doesn't matter." He looked down again. "Yes. The shirts are kept there."

He didn't ask for one, and I knew that he wouldn't. Not outright. So I opened the wardrobe and sifted through the clothes inside. He watched me.

"There are only dress shirts in here." I said. "Isn't there something more comfortable that you could wear?"

"Everything else is dirty." He replied. "One of those will be fine."

"Would you like me to turn around?" I asked him once I'd handed him the shirt.

"Please." He replied as he began unbuttoning the one he was wearing.

I did as he asked. Erik was naturally tall and broad shouldered- That was evident, but I couldn't help but wonder what sort of build he had…

Why was I thinking about this?!

"Is it… just the scars?" I found myself asking before I could stop myself.

"What?"

"I mean to say… is that the only reason you're… self-conscious?"

"What are you asking, Christine?" He spoke. "Are you asking if my body is deformed as well?"

"No." I said. "I just… I can't imagine why scars are anything to be ashamed of."

"And why is that? You may turn around."

I did so to find him buttoning his shirt once more.

"Well, scars show that you have made It through something. They show strength."

"Mine show weakness." He said.

I walked closer to him, deciding whether or not to mention what I knew. I chose to be honest.

"Erik. You were a child. You cannot blame yourself for…"

"I can and I do." His eyes narrowed as he cut me off. "How much do you know?"

"I only know vague details." I reassured him.

"Which are?"

"That…" This was difficult to say. "That you were held captive at a young age and… that they hurt you." I knew that it was an understatement, but I didn't want to make him feel any more uncomfortable or vulnerable than he already did.

Erik looked down at his bandaged hands. He seemed relieved that I hadn't mentioned any more.

"It's all in the past."

"Yes. But the scars remain." I said. He looked up at me again, attempting to read my expression. Perhaps he knew that I wasn't just referring to the physical ones. "I'm sorry If I'm responsible for any of those." I added.

He smiled- but it was more of a pained smirk.

"Why did you do it, Christine?" He asked. "Why did you set me up like that?"

My stomach dropped. Instantly, I knew what he was referring to and I was not prepared for this.

His eyes glistened slightly, as though tears were forming. But they couldn't be, could they? This was the first hint of emotion I had seen from him since my return, and my chest ached at the sight.

"Erik, I…"

"Did you want to see me arrested? Behind bars? It would have been death for me. Probably followed by hours of torture. You couldn't have fixed that as you did my hands and ankle, Christine. Not with all the bandages in the world."

"Of course I wouldn't want that for you. I'm sorry…."

"Having you do that to me." He interrupted. "You. In front of all those people. It broke me."

I hadn't expected him to delve into his feelings so soon, to question me so soon, if at all. He had seemed so numb, so guarded, so cut off from everything that I thought I would have to work toward it. Then it dawned on me that he had probably been thinking of little else since it had happened. I felt ill. Each word from him was like a knife plunging into my stomach. I wanted to say that Raoul, the managers… someone had convinced me, but in the end I was the one who went on stage, knowing full well that he would appear, and when I did, I used the only power I had over him; I removed his mask.

And yet he wasn't even angry. He was hurt. I found that I could no longer meet his gaze.

"I'm sorry." I repeated, walking to him and sitting on the side of his bed, my head in my hands. I began to cry. I didn't know what to say to him. "I'm sorry... I was afraid." I wept.

"But why Christine?" He asked, his voice uneven. "Why that?"

Why Christine…

He had said that once before, after it had happened.

No kind words from anyone, no compassion anywhere…

Why…

I wept harder.

"I was afraid!" I repeated.

"I too was afraid…" He offered. I turned to look at him.

"I was afraid of you." I had not meant to hurt him, but he had to know the truth.

As soon as the words had left my lips I realised that I could not knowingly take all the blame for what had transpired. Yes, I pitied him- and I felt terrible for what I had done to him. It was unnecessary and wrong, but he was the one who had manipulated me. He had misled me, lied to me, kidnapped me and almost killed my fiancé…

I then realised that I was still very much afraid of the man before me; of what he might be capable of. I stood up, putting some distance between the Phantom and myself.

Erik

Her words stung me, but I had predicted them. I knew that this conversation would bring pain but I couldn't help myself. I wanted to know… I needed to know why she had done it. I had allowed her more trust in that moment that I had allowed anyone before. I was hers. I was standing before her on a stage being watched by hundreds, surrounded by what seemed like the entire Police force of Paris. I was vulnerable in a way that I had never been before anyone and would never be again, and at last making a bold attempt at telling her how I felt. That I would go anywhere she wanted me to, that I needed her to want me there. That wasn't so much to ask, was it? To be wanted by someone, anyone at all?

I hadn't thought her to be so cruel. I had known of the authorities before I had made my entrance. I had planned my escape days ahead of the performance. It wasn't the plot to capture me that had cut me, as I knew that was likely Raoul's idea.

It was the unmasking…

"Yes." I spoke. Part of me was relieved that we were finally speaking of it, and part of me was terrified. With everything so close and real again, would she change her mind about being with me? I wouldn't blame her, but I was selfish. And I knew that if she were to leave me a second time I would likely just allow myself to slip away into nothingness, finally consumed by the vortex of torment that threatened to envelop me each time I closed my eyes. I would truly be lost.

"Are you afraid now?" I asked. She didn't answer.

"Christine, I would never hurt you."

"I want to believe that." She replied softly.

It hurt me deeply that she could not trust me. I adored her. How could she be unaware of that?

"Did you mean what you said?"

I looked at her.

"When?"

"When… When I left. I returned the ring to you, and…"

"Yes." I said, cutting her off. Of course I did. It was meaningless now, though. If she didn't trust me, what did it matter how I felt? Christine didn't love me, and I'd accepted the fact, but all the same I found myself wishing she hadn't brought it up. I'd needed her to know, but I wished I hadn't said it. As I looked into her eyes; her beautiful, innocent, soulful brown eyes that would never look at me the way they looked at the boy, everything came rushing back. Why had she come back? To gloat? Why did I yearn for someone who wanted nothing to do with me? I didn't need her.

Oh, but I did!

What was I doing?!

"The ring is there." I spoke abruptly, pointing to my side table. "You may take it when you leave. If you wish to leave now, that is quite alright as well."

"Why are you saying that?"

"It is yours, is it not? Yours and Raoul's, that is. I'm not naïve enough to believe otherwise. I saw you slip it onto your finger before you… you kissed me, Christine…" I brought my fingers up to my lips. They were tingling as though the kiss had occurred mere minutes ago. Even speaking of it now was painful. "…and I know it was all farce." I continued. "There is no need to pretend anymore, so you may take it."

"Yes, but why are you speaking to me like that all of a sudden?"

"How would you wish to be spoken to?" I answered snidely. I folded my arms across my chest. It caused my side to burn but I ignored it.

Christine took a step backward. Her eyes narrowed and her mouth began to move slightly, as if either pre-empting her own words or planning them. Then, she spoke.

"How dare you speak to me like that after everything you put me through?!"

I glared at her, slightly taken aback by her vivacity, but for the most part, furious.

"Oh, and I suppose that you have not wronged me in the slightest?!"

"How can you possibly compare our actions?" She yelled. I wanted to leave; storm out before I was forced to delve further into my actions and motives over the past few months, but I could not. Mentioning that night had been a mistake after all. "You lied to me for years!" She continued, walking toward me "That is what hurts the most! Do you not understand that? You toyed with me! Having me believe that I was forming a friendship, perhaps some sort of relationship with… with…" She seemed to grow angrier as she went on and was now viciously pointing at me. "You claimed to be a spirit sent by my deceased father! Do you have any idea how upsetting… how…"

"You removed my mask, Christine!" I interjected "Before everyone! And you chose him! You chose him because of his handsome face. After all I'd done for you, you just threw me away! Discarded me like I was nothing to you!"

"You really think me to be that shallow?! That hollow? You must not value me very much, Erik."

"I value you a great deal more than the boy! He only wanted you once he heard you sing, Christine! He doesn't know you!"

"And neither do you!" She spat.

It was true. I had spent so much time and effort trying to claim her as if she were nothing more than a material possession, that I had neglected to see the real her; her likes and dislikes, her sense of humour, her flaws. Everything that made her who she was, I was yet to learn. But I wished to. Oh, how I did.

"Perhaps this was a mistake." She said.

"Oh?"

"Yes. I should have known that it would be impossible to reason with you. Impossible to have a conversation with you."

My anger flared once more.

"And why is that, Christine? Because I am a monster without brains, a heart, or emotions to speak of?"

She sighed.

"Of course not…"

"Please leave." I said.

She looked at me, seemingly stunned.

"You don't mean that."

No, I didn't! And she was giving me the opportunity to revoke it, this perfect, priceless woman. What was I doing!?

"Do I not?"

"No." She replied simply.

"Then I will!"

"No!" She cried, practically jumping toward me and pushing me down upon the bed. "You are injured and are staying right where you are!"

Neither of us spoke. There was silence. It was as if the physical contact had momentarily stunned us, just as it had when she'd first touched my hands. Our eyes met. She hadn't removed her small hands from where they lay on my chest, and the pressure was lessening. She seemed to be relaxing. Slowly, carefully, she sat down on the edge of the bed, and still, her hands did not move. Still, she did not look away.

She was so beautiful. Even as she frowned at me I couldn't help but think her the most perfect thing I had ever seen. The anger washed away as I stared at her. Her eyes, so deep. Her lips, so full… Her cheeks had reddened slightly; perhaps it was the cold or perhaps she was flustered from our argument. A stray chocolate curl had fallen over her forehead in the process of her almost falling atop me. I longed to touch her. I yearned for it and yet I was terrified… Tentatively, courageously, I brought my hand up to her face. I stopped to see whether she would pull away, but to my surprise her frown seemed to be lessening…

But I needed more encouragement. I needed it desperately.

"May I?" I asked, my voice low.

Her simple reply…

"Yes…"