Okay, a big thank you to Belle, because I completely forgot that today was a posting day. So everybody knows who to thank for actually getting this today! Well, for those of us that still have today as a Saturday anyway... But yes. My apologies that it was so late!

Anyway, onward!

XXII

She didn't know why the prospect of entering the tunnels was not quite so terrifying as going beneath the darkened stage. Perhaps it was because Boo was on the other side of the black maze, a very tangible reason why she had to descend once again. Maybe it was that Erik had a lantern that he was sure to hold up high, casting as much light as he could for her, even as he gave her sympathetic looks whenever her hold on his arm would tighten if they passed a particularly large insect, or a rat scurried past.

She had not been able to contain her shriek the first time it had happened, and for a while afterward she had continued walking with her face pressed against the cloth of Erik's arm, not wanting to see anything else.

He had not protested.

"You make this trek every time you want to go somewhere?" She finally asked, as he instructed her to keep close to the right wall, which she did with a careful eye to ensure she did not brush up against anything horrifying.

Erik replaced her hand on his arm once they had bypassed… whatever it was.

"There are many options on how to reach the above, but most can be tedious. I must therefore ensure that the journey is worth the effort."

She huffed, a small rock somehow having managed to find its way into her boot—a rather valiant endeavor, for a pebble.

It was beginning to bother her heel, and she dreaded tomorrow's return if she managed to bruise something, so with a huff she stopped. "Is it safe for me to fix my shoe, or will something dreadful happen?"

Erik turned to her, his expression a mixture of incredulity and amusement. "I do not think you yet realize that while in my presence there is nothing dreadful that can happen to you."

She did not share his confidence, but also felt no need to argue the point.

He had placed his trust in her when he left her alone in the theatre, and he had yet to do anything truly… harmful to her as of yet…

She leaned against the wall and tugged at her boot, the newness of the leather making it rather uncooperative as she hobbled.

And this time there was no mistaking the laughter in his eyes as he watched her.

"Has your shoe offended you in some way?"

She grunted, staring down at the floor bemusedly before conceding that she likely would be unable to get it off without sitting down.

But when she made to do just that, Erik halted her with a quick hold upon her arm. "What are you doing?" he questioned, his tone one of mild alarm.

She eyed the floor suspiciously in search of anything alive. The stones were by no means clean, but they did not appear harmful—and she had sat upon public benches before and these tunnels seemed to be used far less than any of those.

"There's something in my boot, and I need to get it out."

He frowned. "If your footwear is unsatisfactory, I shall procure more for you."

Christine couldn't help it.

She laughed.

And while it seemed absurd to be laughing in a dark, dank tunnel with a man who had drugged and kidnapped her, it also felt good to do so.

To enjoy a moment free from fear and uncertainty.

"Don't blame the boots for it, Erik," she assured him when at last her ridiculous laughter quieted. He was looking very alarmed now, his eyes assessing as if she had suddenly suffered some kind of brain injury that would explain her outburst, which only made her chuckle more. "It's only a stone. But are you going to let me sit down so I can get it out?"

"No," he responded resolutely.

And before she could open her mouth to protest, to pepper him with questions as to how he intended for her to make the last leg of the journey back to his home without injury, he pulled out a cloth from his pocket—a handkerchief perhaps?—and laid it neatly on the stone floor beside the lantern.

Erik soon followed, his knee safely protected from any dirt or potential soiling by the sacrificial cloth, and he took the offending boot within his large hands, removing it with a firm tug. It did not immediately yield the desired result, so he gave it an additional shake as he peered inside, evidently determined to ensure the pebble's relocation to the floor.

Christine simply stared down at him, never imagining that he would do something so… chivalrous. Not when everything about him, from his manner of dress to the very words he chose, were all selected so that none could question that he was a man of dignity.

When he had mentioned his time awaiting trial, he had not complained of the abuses he suffered beyond that which trespassed on his sense of decorum—his privacy.

And yet he would prefer to take such a deferential position before her rather than allow her to have to sit upon the hard, stone floor.

She swallowed when he gave a satisfied nod.

Her breath caught as his hand wrapped around her sock covered calf.

She trembled as he eased her foot back into the boot.

And she did not miss the way his fingers lingered at the small bit of flesh where her skirt met the boot's edge.

"T-thank you," she murmured softly.

He stood and nodded stiffly as he collected the cloth and the lantern once more.

"You are most welcome," he answered formally. "Shall we continue?"

She nodded and took his arm silently, the air between them slightly different.

And she didn't know what to make of it.

So she cleared her throat and grasped for a safer topic, one that would make her stomach stop fluttering and her heart stop racing.

"What did you mean when you said that you'd caused the judge enough mischief?"

Erik sighed, but from the way his arm seemed to relax beneath her fingertips, he clearly was not upset by her choice of questions.

"Sometimes one has to test the limits of one's power. As it so happens, the judge has a teenage son that was quite amenable to the idea of performing odd jobs for monetary reward. Evidently the judge did not approve of his… excursions, especially when they had him out of the house at all hours of the day."

Christine's brow furrowed. "You… paid him to do things? Just because you could?"

Erik shrugged. "I had to see if he would. Because if so, and the outcome of the trial did not go in my favor…"

"You wanted to know what… who…you could manipulate," Christine finished numbly.

"Precisely."

"But… what did you have him doing?"

"Errands," he responded vaguely.

And no matter how she pressed or wheedled, he would not give her more details than that.

They finally did reach his underground home, and she waited impatiently for him to open the door so she could see to Boo. Now that they were so close, she realized she had no way of knowing how long they had been gone, and the poor kitten could not communicate if something was wrong, or if he was lonely or if the walls had caved in on him and he needed help…

Perhaps that was a bit extreme, since having now been out and seeing the impressive structure of the opera house and its foundation, she no longer believed them to be in imminent danger of caves ins and rock slides.

But still she scooped up the mewling Boo as soon as the door was open, his little body trying to escape through the opening—and he would have succeeded if not for Christine's quick intervention.

"You shouldn't try to escape, Boo!" she chastised, even while snuggling his warm body next to her cheek and pressing kisses on his silky fur. "What if I hadn't noticed and then you couldn't get back in?"

"Listen to your mistress, little one," Erik added, "although you might want to caution her against wandering away as well."

Christine glanced up at him in surprise, but he was removing his coat, and she could not get an adequate assessment of his expression. "Why would you say that?"

Erik hummed and placed his coat upon the waiting hook. "Because it is true. You cannot imagine my discomfort when I returned to the stage and you were no longer there."

Even just speaking of it she could see how his shoulders tensed and she moved a bit closer, placing Boo on the floor before doing so.

His eyes were closed and he looked almost pained.

She suddenly realized how much she had frightened him.

And that she was sorry for it.

Which in itself was a ridiculous notion. She should frighten him occasionally. It should be mutually agreed upon that if given the opportunity, she would return to her life above and consider whether or not to press charges for kidnapping.

But as she regarded him, the drawn lines of his tightly pressed mouth, the sunken nature of his eyes that made her heart hurt when they looked at her with such loneliness and despair—she found that she did not want to be the cause of more of either.

"I'm sorry, Erik," she tried. "I just wanted to see outside. I didn't mean for you… I didn't think…"

His eyes opened abruptly, the corners of his mouth turning downward. "You didn't think that I would assume the worst? You did not think that you would try the boundaries of your freedom and then decide if you would remain true to your word?"

She took a step backward, his tone cutting and harsh.

"I…"

Could she admit that she had tried the doors? Would he understand if he knew of it?

"I don't want to lie to you," she offered lamely.

He chuckled darkly. "A wise desire, as I am quite adept at providing incentive for speaking truly."

Christine shuddered, knowing firsthand the lengths he would go to should he desire someone to confess. "I wasn't going to leave," she started again, trying to be brave and not shy away from his potential anger. "Really I wasn't. But it was so big and frightening to be alone in the auditorium, and I just…" she sighed. "I admit, I would have sat on the steps and waited for you if I could. I miss the fresh air, you know that!"

He walked away from her, going to the fire and placing another log upon the embers, urging it to catch with the poker.

His silence worried her.

"Is that… was that so wrong?"

He turned so quickly, and with the poker still held within his hand, his eyes bright and angry, he was a frightening figure indeed.

But he must have seen her answering alarm as she stared at his potential weapon, and he replaced it with its brethren of tools and turned back to her. "If you wished to wait outside, then you should have said so. But to simply disappear…"

Christine nibbled her lip, trying to imagine it from his perspective, even as she grew exasperated and impatient in her own mind.

No matter how he liked to pretend otherwise, she was as much a captive as the souls upstairs. She had kept to the only vow she had given him, she hadn't escaped, hadn't shouted for help or anything of the kind.

And yet still he looked at her as if she had done something dreadful.

He would have gone under the stairs to fetch his prisoners before taking them to their respective rooms for the night.

Perhaps he would have hurried with their bindings, nervous at leaving her alone and unguarded.

Perhaps he would have been less than gentle in his haste, tossing them in their rooms and securing them callously before returning to her.

Only to find the stage empty, none of the seats filled with her presence.

And to a man who seemed intent on keeping her, she could readily imagine the terror he would have felt.

Simply to find her staring out the window in the foyer, placid and docile as she watched the world beyond, putting up no resistance as he offered his arm to return them to his underground home.

"I was not going to leave," she assured him again, only she knew that the words were not enough. She had thought she had proven her trustworthiness, but still she had frightened him, whether her intention or not.

"Maybe," he replied, "but not because you wish to be with me."

She flinched, because it was true.

And she could not argue with him against the truth.

"I don't know what you want me to say," she responded helplessly.

He confused her. More than any man she had ever met. She couldn't reconcile her feelings about him even if he asked her to—even though she should by all rational accounts.

Because then he smiled at her again, that sad, hopeless smile that made her heart ache in ways she never could have imagined.

What was wrong with her?

Was she truly that lonely, that desperate, that she could so willingly dismiss all of his misconduct simply to assuage her own unhappiness?

She remembered so accusingly asking if he found her pathetic.

Only to now ask herself the very same thing.

"Is it not obvious what I want?" he murmured softly.

He gestured about his home with a little shrug, his eyes so full of pain and longing.

But she wasn't ready to concede yet. Wasn't ready to give in to whatever weakness made her want to, so she hugged her arms about herself and shook her head.

"You transferred Joe. If you were just jealous you already took care of that. There's no need to continue this anymore! You could just… let me go, let me and Boo go home and we could… see where things go from there."

She hadn't meant to broach this subject now. They were going to return here and tend to Boo, then maybe she would have a cup of tea and allow the events of the day to settle over her.

But here they were, and she couldn't take the words back—no matter how much she wished to once she saw how they wounded him further.

"You were special," he reminded her, "are special. You seemed almost like me in your own way. Alone, forgotten, unappreciated." He tilted his head to the side. "Why do you think I was upset about your bailiff?"

She blinked at him, confused by his sudden shift in conversation. "You… said that if I started to go out with him, you wouldn't have a chance with me anymore. I figured you just didn't want me to begin dating him."

Erik nodded. "That is true enough. I admit that I found the prospect of you… dating… him, to be quite distasteful. But that is not why I… acted so suddenly."

"Then why?" she implored, the question of far graver importance than she realized. "Why did you have to do it?"

He sighed, a strained sound even as he crossed the room and fiddled with his books upon the shelf, evidently unwilling to look at her.

"I am not so uneducated as to the wooing process," he began. "Two individuals with a mild interest in one another, exchanging pleasantries over conversation while consuming food or beverages."

She had never thought of a date in such clinical terms, but she supposed that was true enough.

"And that troubled you."

He chuckled lowly. "Hardly. I would have been glad to see you fed, although, if I was being fully candid, I would have been a bit jealous that it was not I who provided you the desired meal."

She bit her retort that he had provided too much already, whether it be roses or mysterious notes.

She would not regret Boo though.

Never Boo.

She took a step closer, wishing she could extract the words he seemed so reticent to speak.

"Erik, just tell me. I have been a pretty good sport about all this, haven't I?"

He did look at her then, a tired smile playing about his lips. "You are too good to me. I would not blame you if you hated Erik… hated me for what I have done."

Christine groaned. "I don't hate you. Sometimes I think I should but even now…" she gave a little shrug.

His eyes brightened and he seemed on the verge to press her further, but she continued quickly. "Please, don't ask me how I do feel. I barely know, and trying to express it…"

Erik appeared slightly disappointed, but agreed with a nod. "It would be rude to demand your answer when I am not yet prepared to express my feelings either."

Rude would not have been the word she would've chosen, but she was not about to argue.

"We're straying from the subject," she reminded gently, and this time his smile was more genuine.

"Indeed we have. I believe you were going to guess why I acted so rashly."

Christine frowned, and she feared it bordered on a pout. "No, you were going to tell me why you acted as you did. That is very different."

He hummed noncommittally and he avoided her gaze once again as he fiddled with the spine of an expensive looking book. "You were being intimate with him," he finally confessed, and Christine no longer had to worry about her potentially ridiculous pout for her mouth dropped open in her astonishment.

"Intimate? I… I never slept with Joe! We never even kissed!"

Erik's eyes widened and there was no mistaking the horror that overtook his features as he regarded her. "I am most gratified to hear it, otherwise my actions would have to be amended—a simple transfer would be far too light a punishment for trespassing upon your sweetness!"

Well, that was…

Christine wasn't sure what that was.

A compliment? A threat? Maybe a mixture of both. But she was too dumbfounded to do more than stare and hope that he would clarify his meaning without her prompting.

For she could not even begin to find the words to attempt to do so.

He coughed slightly, and she realized how odd she found such an action to be when coming from him. She remembered his wince when she made a similar sound, and it made him more… human somehow. She rarely stopped to consider it, but he did have a beautiful voice. It could turn from the smoothest of silk, all too compelling with its power than she ever would have thought possible, to rough velvet when he grew distraught and dangerous.

Such power to wield upon his whim.

And yet now he seemed awkward and unsure, and she recognized that she had inadvertently made them trespass on a forbidden subject—one that she would gladly forsake once more.

"I most certainly did not mean to suggest that you had formed an inappropriate attachment with him during your short acquaintance," he said with an undercurrent of reprimand, as if to remind her that she had only known him for the few weeks of the trial and that anything more physical would have been an insult to her character.

She nearly rolled her eyes at the implication.

It was not as though she had known Erik for any longer.

"Then what did you mean?" she finally managed.

"It is clear that you define intimacy solely on a primal level, but if you were to consider it on a broader sense, what would you make of my reasoning?"

Her lips thinned, wishing that he would simply answer her and abandon his evasiveness altogether.

But she could see how his indignation hid a much larger dose of embarrassment, and tried her best to cooperate.

For she would dearly love to know the why that led to her stay here.

"Intimacy…" Christine mused, feeling only a little ridiculous as he stared at her, nearly willing her to understand while also providing her with almost none of his own meaning. "Other than… you know," she blushed at that, wishing she hadn't mentioned it at all, "it usually means… sharing things with people? Getting to know one another… the personal details that make for good friends, not just acquaintances."

A sinking feeling settled in her stomach.

"If I had just gone on a date and we exchanged pleasantries, it wouldn't have bothered you so much."

He inclined his head ever so slightly.

"But we… when he walked me to the bus, he said he was sorry about… about my…"

Her throat grew tight and reluctant, and she wondered when she would at last be able to speak of him without the cursed tears that inevitably prickled and threatened to make themselves a nuisance.

"I cannot say that I understand the impulse to grieve for the loss of a parent, it was evident to all in the room that you were not finished mourning for your father. I have also observed that when one shares such emotions—that one may commiserate, even participate in that grief with a loss of their own…"

He gestured vaguely about him.

"I may offer you many things. The world if you would ask it of me. But that… to know of that pain and to offer you the comfort and assurance that comes from experience; that I could not do. And I hated him for it," he admitted—and was she terribly mistaken or was there a touch of shame in his voice?

But for what exactly she could not tell.

She fidgeted. She shifted uneasily, the quiet oppressive as she tried to tamp down the growing need within her.

The need to know.

And she prayed that she was asking rightly when next she spoke.

Because suddenly it mattered very, very much.

"I'm not going to ask you to talk about your… any feelings you may have for me," she assured him, even as he glanced at her with something very akin to alarm. "But Erik, I need to know… what kind of relationship did you see us having? When it was just you and your thoughts and hopes… what did you want to come of this?"

She saw him swallow. Saw his eyes flicker to the bookcase that she knew led to the world beyond.

But she waited patiently and continued to watch him, and finally with a sigh of resignation, he relented. "I wanted there to be one person in the world who did not look at me with disgust. Who managed to smile at me even while supposed evidence was paraded before her eyes about what a monster I am—a murderer."

Christine was unprepared for him to straighten, for him to close the distance between them as his gloved hand made the barest contact against her cheek, a whisper of a touch that still made her breath catch in her throat, for reasons she could not name.

"I wanted to believe, even for a moment, that same girl could come to know me, share part of herself with me and I with her. And that something good would be the result of our union."

And when he took a step back from her, his eyes full of sadness, she could breathe again, although her heart raced and the tears that never truly settled still stung at her eyes. "Tell me, Christine. Have I destroyed all hope for such a future? Because evidently I am rash and foolish… at least in matters that concern you."

The word yes flittered through her mind.

But even as she tried to form the word, to force it past her unwilling lips, she found herself shaking her head and muttering something else entirely.

"I don't know anymore. I truly don't know."

And not for the first time, she wondered if there was something deeply wrong with her that she would even consider such a thing.

But when she saw the hope in his eyes, the joyful smile at his lips as he allow his fingers to ever so briefly entwine about hers, she could not regret her answer.

Not now.

Especially not when he led her to the kitchen and put the kettle on, Boo twining about their feet as he mewed for his meal.

A piece of homey domesticity that began to settle some broken piece of her heart, if only for a moment.

Sooo... Looks like they had a pretty good talk, no? How many of you want her to keep her distance from him? And how many are ready for her to embrace him completely? Reviews have dwindled over the last few chapters, but as always, I would love to hear your thoughts!

Something pretty major on the horizon next chapter... So see you next week!