A/N: Wow, this took forever to write. I was procrastinating... heh, sorry. Gotta work on that. Anyways, I was in a rush when I submitted this last night, so I took out a few of the typos this morning and here I am, reposting it. Please, review, everyone! Let me know how you like it, how you like the pacing, the dialogue, the plot, all that awesome stuff. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own a copy of the movie, of the book, of the soundtrack (in two languages! English and Italian!), and my own fantasies. Everything else belongs to various geniuses throughout history, whose names are not mine.

Edit- 9/30/08: Kudos to my lovely reviewer Jareth Love for pointing out my singing instruction missteps. I edited the horrific ones out, I do believe, and hopefully she shall be able to continue reading without her singer's instinct crying out in agony!

--

Erik pulled his car into an underground garage. The car barely missed several vehicles exiting the garage, as well as the security guards lazily smoking and eating doughnuts. He pulled into a spot nearest the elevator, and motioned for me to get out.

We walked (when I say walked, I mean, he ran and I scampered to keep up with him in my high heels) to the elevator and he jammed the button impatiently, rocking on his heels and humming angry tunes to himself as we waited, The elevator doors slid open with an upbeat chime after a few moments, and Erik roughly shoved an elderly lady out of the small space. The doors slammed shut as soon as he pressed the button for floor number five, and we started moving with a jerk. I winced at the sudden motion, and noticed the carpet had numerous stains and was emitting a faint odor.

Erik adjusted his mask (I, again, resisted the urge to stare) and then turned to me, his face solemn, but with a hint of danger. He stared, unblinking, at me; then the corners of his mouth twitched down, and he broke away.

"That meddling daroga," he mumbled, "wants me to apologize for how I treated you—for those, those—" He gestured abstractly with is hands towards my neck. I stared at the ratty carpet; I was sure that one was a coffee stain...

"But I'm not going to apologize," he continued, his voice sounding more confident than before. "Because, in my eyes, you deserved it." Yes, definitely coffee... and that one, to its left, cat urine?

He peered over at me, any calm in his face gone and replaced with malice. "You're doing it again." No—no, not cat urine, the stain was much too pink. Perhaps—perhaps—oh, dear, I was getting morbid; it looked very much like blood... The elevator dinged happily, and I glanced up with a start, only to see that it was merely alerting us that we had passed floor two. A slow elevator...

Erik inhaled deeply, and I saw his face turn red with frustration, and his shoulders shake with unexpressed anger.

"Don't act so idiotic around me," he growled. "Don't be such a damn bimbo, such a scared little damn mouse. I can't stand it—not now, at least. I need you to help me meet some damned deadlines, and that means knowing when to stay quiet and when to speak the hell up! Got it?"

I started to nod again, but stopped myself. "Yes, sir," I answered, in what I hoped was an assured tone of voice.

"Not 'sir'," he rebuked. "Erik."

"Yes, Erik." That stain was definitely blood, then; that one in the other corner was cat urine. To its right, beer.

"Good," he mumbled, his shoulders relaxing. "Good."

The elevator screeched to a stop, and another one of those jubilant pings sounded. I glanced up at the numbers, noting we were only at floor number four. Hadn't he pressed button number five? I was about to ask if this was his floor, but then realized that would be one of those idiotic things he warned me against. It must be his floor, after all—

The doors jerked open, and a tall woman stepped in. She pressed the button for floor one after sucking on her cigarette for a moment. I stared up at her curiously, noting her excessive makeup and dark roots in her reddish curls.

"Damn it, Carlotta! Why the hell can't you use the other elevator? I need to just go one—just one! One floor up from here!" Erik shouted at this woman. She shifted her weight and put her hand on her hip, puffing smoke into his face.

"I cannot use the other elevator because somebody not fix it yet!" she trilled loudly. "Which I suspect you already know, seeing as you are the one who break it in the first place!" The elevator hummed as it started going down again. The woman, Carlotta, flipped her heavy mass of curls over her back and took another drag on her cigarette, flicking ash off her fingertips and turning to me, pointedly eying me.

"Who is this girl now, hmmm? I see you with two other just this last week!"

"Shut the hell up, Carlotta." I could see him trying to restrain his rage at this woman, and (for both our sakes) hoped she wouldn't push him.

That didn't seem the case.

"Don't you get started on me, you bastard!" she screeched, her words flying off her tongue coated with a native Italian accent, each one with the accent more prominent. "For the past three years, I 'ave been listening to that orribile suono you have the gall to call music! And now, now, you have the guts to tell me, me, Carlotta Giu—"

There was suddenly a scream, and then Carlotta crashed into me, slamming us both against the wall of the elevator, which groaned and shrieked and sputtered to a stop, the lights flickering. She lay sprawled on me, heaving and clutching her face. I tried to move, to shift her away, but she moaned and screeched every time I did, so we stayed shoved against the metal wall.

"Si bastardo," she moaned. "Oh, la mia faccia... passare per l'inferno, bastardo!" I had not idea what she was saying, but I guessed it wasn't exactly nice. I managed to get a glimpse of Erik through the curls spread on my face, and saw his contorted with fury.

"Please," I whispered in her ear. "Not now; oh, please, not now. He's already upset enough, please—please! Don't make him more angry!" She stopped after that, and we all just stayed where we were under the flickering florescent lights.

After a second, a scratchy voice came over the speaker. "Erik? Did you—" a wave of static cut off the voice, and then it came back on. "—gain?" There was a rustling sound, and the static increased. I winced, and began to help Carlotta up. "D-- rik, we spent g-- ey on that --tor repair-- st time! And we ha-- one working elevator at a t-- se we get sued!"

Erik pressed the 'call' button. "Listen, Firmin, right now I don't care. The de Chagnys are hounding me again, and I just got some prostitute to help me compose. I don't care about the damn elevator; I'll deal with that later. But right now, I just need you to get us out."

There was a long, static-filled pause. Carlotta and I were standing, and I got a look at the nasty bruise forming on her cheek. I looked at her, trying to say, "I'm sorry" with my eyes. She gave a quick nod, understanding. I saw her look at the bruises on my neck, though, and she leaned in close at the static started up again.

"Apartment 406," she said softly. "If you were to need it. Essere molto attenti, poco agnello."

"--king on it, r-- ow," the man over the intercom said. "But Richard and I ar-- pairmen, E—" The elevator suddenly went dark as the lights flickered out and the elevator started going up. "Ah! Th-- go!"

Carlotta, Erik, and I all rode in silence until the elevator weakly reached Erik's floor. The doors opened and we both stepped out. He ran down the hall and shoved a key in a hole in one of the doors. I hesitated, staring back at Carlotta before the doors closed and she was gone.

--

Erik's apartment was, without a doubt, that of a musician. Hundreds upon hundreds of sheets of music were scattered over, under, and around various instruments: a violin, a cello, a piano, a trombone, a guitar, a drum set, a small organ. We walked in; he threw his coat off next to the door and immediately went over to the piano. Erik shuffled through the papers littering the piano bench, ordering and re-ordering them until they were to his liking.

"Come over here," he said, "and don't touch anything." I slipped off my heels and walked over to him, smoothing my hair and chanting mentally. Don't be an idiot, Christine, don't be an idiot, please, oh, please, don't be an idiot... Father, give me strength.

Erik's fingers danced up and down the piano, breaking my reverie. "Come on, girl—what's your name?"

"Christine," I said, trying not to sound too scared.

"Christine, then, come on. Sing scales with me." He sang as he played this time, hitting each note perfectly. I joined in, as best I could. My voice squeaked and cracked. I blushed; he frowned.

"Sing with your diaphragm more," he said, putting his hand near my ribs and pushing on my back, adjusting my posture. "Fix your posture—that's it, good—now, open your mouth, just a bit wider—more of an 'o' shape—ah, good—now, let's try again. Loudly, Christine— loudly but gracefully."

He played the same scale once more, nodding with approval, as my voice was able to hit more notes, more smoothly. "Good," he murmured, and I was shocked at the sudden difference in his mood. We moved on, to higher and lower notes, and he nodded appreciatively as I more and more of the higher notes on the piano with clarity. I surprised myself-- I hadn't known I would be able to get back into the step of singing so quickly.

"Now," he started. "I have the rudiments of a song—and it needs vocal accompaniment, it was a client request. Here, I'll play it out for you—what I have so far—on the piano, and then I'll play it again, and on the second time, I want you to hit the same notes I play, with your voice, alright?"

"Th—I'll do my best," I said, suddenly insecure.

Erik took no notice of my sudden self-consciousness and started playing a beautiful melody. His fingers nimbly, artfully, wove each note together, until the sound swelled and surrounded me. The music was beautiful—simply beautiful. I couldn't describe it; it was beyond words. After a bit, he stopped, and turned to me.

"That was—" I stopped, stammering. "Beautiful. Just beautiful." He smiled at me (was this even the same man? I didn't care anymore; all I cared about was the music, that music, his music).

"Now," he said, "Try it again with me. Come on, Christine." He started playing again, and looked at me. "And." he nodded. "Go."

I took a quick breath and started hitting the notes with him. I winced when a transition was jerky, but he didn't seem to care. He didn't stop, just kept playing, even when I had to suck in a deep, intense breath, he kept playing; and after a moment, I jumped back in. At the end, he let his fingers rest on the keys while he thought, chewing on his bottom lip.

"How did... did I do?" I asked, slightly breathless.

Erik didn't answer for along moment, just stayed silent. "You did very well," he said at the end of that long, eternal moment. "I think... this will work out quite nicely. Now, in another key..."