Chapter 20: Do You Love Me?

Salim knocked on the police station door. His knuckles were numb, so he could not feel the shock of ice crystals and metal against them. It was early still, but not so early that it was inconceivable that anyone should be up and about. He happened to be up and about because he knew no one had as strong a hold on the police as Philippe. He was here to break that hold. All it would take was a little persuasion and promised support should their jobs be threatened.

There was no answer to his knock. Perhaps they arrive to work later, and will be able to speak with me afterwards. Then he frowned. Police were supposed to be ready for anything, and staying home this late would not serve or protect the public very well at all. Philippe's hold on them had caused much destruction.

He would have to return later in the day to speak with the chief, and even then, he was unsure if his persuasive powers were greater than the duke's. The duke was a persuasive man indeed, and some of the officers would not wish to give up their generous payoff for city services only.

The young man sighed and retreated from the door, mounted his horse, and rode away. He had more pressing matters to attend to before morning's end- namely, a lunch date with Meg Giry.

…

Gustave Daae blinked up into the light and thought that perhaps he had made it to heaven after all that time in a prison. It was warm where he was, and curiously soft, as if he had been given brand new clothes. The air was sweet, and tinged with the scents of tea and medicine. Medicine? Now that he thought of it, his chest did still hurt. And there was the perpetual wheeze again. Why am I here? I live still, but how?

The light above him resolved itself into a little kerosene lantern, and sound filtered in as his ears began to function once again. "Wha-" His words dissolved into a coughing fit before he finished his first word.

"Steady," a smooth voice intoned from somewhere above him. "You're suffering from consumption, do not attempt to speak." His eyes flicked to the source of the voice. The edge of a black mask entered his vision, along with a pale jaw and striking, mismatched eyes. He tasted blood, but swallowed it down and tried again.

"Erik." The pale jaw tensed.

"I see your memory is in working order, much more so than I expected." This is going to be far harder than I imagined. Gustave wheezed again, looking up with in a question in his eyes. "Yes, I rescued you, and yes, I knew where you were because a little ballerina told me." The old man raised an eyebrow and coughed expectantly.

They had been companions in time past, but he had not expected them to meet again. Still, after bouncing violin techniques and experimentation off each other for several years, the elder could always tell when the younger had aught of importance on his mind. Erik sighed. It was becoming too easy for just anyone to read his emotions. "And I retrieved you from the duke's dungeons because of Christine." This took M. Daae aback. He had not expected his daughter to meet the virtuoso he highly respected, nor to be rescued because of their meeting.

He croaked: "Why?" Why would he save me because of her? Could it be that…?

The almighty Phantom uttered his next words in a rush, with a few coughs placed strategically between clauses. His nerves were frayed in the presence of a frail old man on the edge of death. It was almost ridiculous the way he had to stave off fear in order to speak. "Christine and I are courting." Cough. "She wishes your blessing for the marriage." Cough, cough.

The retired violinist sat bolt upright with a rather indignant expression. Rather, it was an expression that screamed, why was I not informed sooner and are you mad enough to believe that I will allow the union after a few short months?

The Opera Ghost's confidence wilted. If this man would not give away his daughter, what hope had he of ever convincing Gustave to consent? Still, he pressed on. He had to. "I assure you, good monsieur, that I will protect and provide for her. She is-" He calculated for the right words. "She is the greatest treasure I could ever have, and the sole holder of my blackened heart." Gustave only leaned back on the cushions with a stubborn huff.

"I own the opera, as you know. Even if I retired now, we would have more than enough money to support ourselves until death."

From the old man's expression, death could not have been far. He wrinkled his spotty nose and hacked again, thoroughly unconvinced. Erik's stubbornness persisted.

"She is completely safe, no matter how many enemies I may have had!"

A snort was his only answer. Erik, growing frustrated, growled and paced much like his pets when faced with a challenge.

"She will be happy with me!" This, at last, satisfied the father. He nestled deeper into his pillows and nodded slowly, sighing.

"That was all you needed to say," he whispered hoarsely. "Now, if you'll pardon me…" His eyes closed. Erik checked that he was still breathing, and left the room.

…

Anna opened her eyes with a sigh. The room was warm, the sheets were warm, and the body beside her was warm. All in all, she was very tempted to fall back asleep. Her heart fluttered rebelliously in her chest as Nadir lifted his eyelids to look at her. She probably looked a mess, but still he viewed her as if he could hardly believe she was there with him.

"If you keep looking at me the way you are, I might just decide to kiss you again."

"Then why no'?" She smiled, tracing her nails lightly over his ribs. He squirmed and forced himself to sit up and slide out of the small bed.

"Because if I did, you would seduce me again."

"'S tha' such a bad thin'?" His smirk made her heart jump about on clouds.

"Yes, as a matter of fact. Because then, you would force me to surrender my entire day to your attentions." He began to clothe himself, secretly relishing Anna's eyes on him. She herself made no move to get up, instead stretching languidly in the sheets and yawning. Then he realized that the button on his pants was missing. He turned his gaze to meet hers. "You should probably return my buttons to me, too, before pieces of your own garments go missing."

"You? Stealin' from th'master thief?" She laughed and shook her head of very mussed hair. "I dinnae believe ya…" Nadir held up her corset, chuckling. She gasped in mock outrage. "No fair! Copper, gimme tha' back!"

"Who ever said I played fair? Surely not you, Mlle. Anna. After your thievery last night, I do believe I deserve some form of compensation." He moved to retrieve his shirt from beside the shelf, where it had been dropped the night before, and donned it, all the while eyeing his lover out of the corner of his eye. She wrapped herself in a blanket and advanced towards him, intent on continuing their lovely day in that same room.

Knock, knock. "Blast!" The door opened just wide enough to reveal a very embarrassed Marcus, holding a package with a little parchment note attached. He had not been prepared to see Anna in naught but a blanket, or Nadir in very disheveled, obviously unfastened clothes.

"Excuse me for interrupting-"

"No, you're no' excused," Anna replied, cutting in. "Wha' is tha' for?"

Marcus coughed, abashed at having to deliver such articles at such a time. "Clothes, for M. Khan. M. Erik predicted that you would need them after your, ah…night." He almost stumbled back as Nadir shook him heartily by the hand and took the package.

"Thank you very much, Marcus and now…" He motioned vaguely, and the young man ducked his head, blushing.

"Oh, yes…" Why must I always be intruding on everyone else's intimate moments? I tire of these occurrences. He closed the door and left the couple to themselves. Behind the door, Anna raised an eyebrow.

"You'll be goin' about wi' y'investigation, then?"

"Of course. Someone has to be there to keep Erik from doing anything rash." He handed Anna's corset back to her and opened the little note left with the package. "Merde!" He scrambled to open the paper and wrappings and put on the fresh clothes. Anna paused in lacing up the front of her corset and frowned, confused.

"Wha' 's th'matter now?" The Daroga nearly tripped trying to get into the new pants. Graciously, she decided to help him do up his shirt as he fiddled with the various clasps and buttons.

"He's done something rash."

…

Ciara's night had been anything but restful. Her eyes, before red from crying, were now red with sleeplessness. Her dreams had been incoherent and painful, and her normally soft bed could not soothe her to sweet oblivion. Now, she stood on a little shaded balcony just outside her large window, breathing and humming as Christine had taught her.

The few sounds she could manage were soft and not very well pronounced, but they were a success, as well as a good distraction from her woes.

"Good morning." She tensed, shoulders suddenly high and tight. Philippe noticed this change in her demeanor. "Ciara, I-" He was cut off with a sharp slap across his cheekbone. His breath caught, more from surprise than pain. She is beautiful even when she is angered. However, he did notice her anger, and could guess the reason why. Her breath came ragged and slow, a sure sign of forceful restraint. "Then…you know."

Philippe had found his diary missing from his drawer, and upon searching his room, located it upon his shelf. The cover of the little leather book was stained with tears, and dread filled his heart because he knew whose they were. She knows, she knows why, and how, and what I have done. And now, she will never forgive me.

From Ciara's unskilled mouth came a cry of anguish, and she lashed out with her spindly frame, pushing him back into the room with fierce, hard blows. He held up his arms against the sudden onslaught, but she kicked him in the gut again and again. Worst of all, though, was the pain in her eyes that she was attempting to convey with her body.

His eyes stung, his face stung, his entire torso stung under her attack, but he made no move against her. Let her hurt me as I have hurt her. Let her use me to vent everything as I have used her. Let her bring my death…and let her know as she does now, that I deserve every fragment of this pain.

He had backed up and now stumbled backwards onto her bed, disoriented and in pain, almost unable to move. Ciara stood over him, still striking out in frustration and anger, shaking. As she punched down again, Philippe snatched her wrist and pulled her close, and she fought him, clawing at what skin she could reach, but he was too strong. She was falling, falling into his arms, rage nearly gone and sorrow overwhelming.

He held her tight, arms pressed into her sides, and gave in to a want he had fought for so long, and pushed his mouth over hers. He could feel her stiffen with shock.

Ciara was unsure how to react, but her first impulse was to fight. Kissing was, as it turned out, a very vulnerable thing to do, especially while lying down. Then instinct began clouding her mind, and to her surprise, kissing bean to feel pleasant and warm. So…this is what kisses feel like. A slow, uncontrollable relaxation crept into her muscles. Why is he doing this? Then he pulled away, and her lips missed his.

"I know why you're upset," he began, and winced as her nails dug into his shirt, "but I can only hope you can come to forgive me in time. Perhaps you will love me."

As much as her heart cried out to answer that she already did, she could not answer, only jerk back as an unseen force ripped her from Philippe's arms and threw her against the wall. She rolled to absorb the impact and recovered quickly, much to her assailant's annoyance.

"She may forgive you, M. le duc, but I do not. Return Christine to me," a cold voice commanded from the window. If Erik's voice had been smooth and sweet when he spoke to his beloved, it was as jagged and sharp as broken glass when he spoke with the one who had taken her from him.

At first, Philippe was silent in his thoughts. If he had deciphered the willingness in Ciara's kiss, there was no need for anything of what he had been doing, no need for a factory or more money, or for prisoners, or revenge. He had all he needed. And so, when he registered the demand for the woman he had held in his house for the past few days, the irony of it all made him laugh. He chuckled, mostly to himself, louder and louder until he was laughing. And on top of it all, I am laughing in the face of the world's most feared assassin!

Erik scowled. "Do tell us what is so amusing, for I fail to understand the joke." Ciara, too, made a face. At times, his sense of humor completely escaped her.

"I have been so blind!" Philippe exclaimed, leaning back on the comforter. "All these years, and I never noticed I had all I needed already!" He laughed for a few seconds more, feeling as if everything that ever weighed him down with worry was gone, chased away by one kiss. "Your woman is across the hall, safe and waiting for you."

Erik hesitated. Was this some sort of demented ruse put on by a sociopathic noble, or was this man honest enough to return Christine to him untouched? And his assistant, or friend, or whatever she was to him, was she honest too? Or was this some insane game made to capture and kill him? There is only one way to find out. With a frustrated growl, he swept out of the room, leaving the crazy rich man and his silent companion to themselves.

He burst into the room across the hall. Christine was sitting on the bed, looking at the shuttered window and the little slits of sunlight streaming through it. At the sound of the door, she turned, startled out of her trance. "Erik?"

Then they were running at each other as if it had been a few years, and not a few days, embracing as if it was the last thing that could save them. "You are here…with me. Oh, Erik, I have missed you!" She breathed him in and held him tight. To his disappointment, however, she pulled away, a look of recollection on her face. "But… I need to know."

She knows. How does she know? She was not supposed to know! He fought his instinct to run. She had promised to love him no matter what secrets his past held. She promised.

Christine sensed his change from relieved to tense. She knew Erik had not wanted her to know, but now she did, and now was the time to come to terms with that knowledge. "Erik… Please, believe me when I say that I will not run from you."

Oh, but is this true? Will she stay with me? He froze, listening for any sign that she might have lessened in her affections for him. "I know you were this…Dark Angel, but-"

"Then you know what I have done, what I truly am. And now that you know…how could you possibly forgive me?" She shuddered. His voice had gone cold and emotionless, like engravings in rock or reflections on ice. Still, I must be strong. He needs me now.

"That is the past."

"It is a past that I cannot escape! No matter what I do now, ending the lives of so many cannot be overlooked."

"True, I cannot overlook it," she acknowledged. Erik swallowed. Would she realize now that it was not right for him to be with her, especially with everything he had done? "But I can forgive it. Even if no one else does, Erik… I forgive you." The tightness in his chest he had not realized was there escaped in a sigh of sadness.

"Can you forgive my face, too?" The confidence in her smiling face could have killed him with hope.

"In time, I believe I can. Give me this chance with you, and I will take it."

…

Anna, Nadir, Marcus, Eter, and Artur rushed to the de Chagny estate. It was not a very relaxing trip, considering most of them were borrowing horses they had never ridden before and going at quite a fast pace. The streets were beginning to fill with people again, and it was not easy to keep from being thrown off, but after several minutes, they reached the mansion and stopped their mad dash. To their surprise, however, the police were already there, waiting.

Nadir pushed his way through the uniformed men to the chief, bewildered, but ready to ask permission to enter the building. "Sir, may I ask who it was who brought you here?" If the police were after Erik, there was no chance at peace for any of them now. The man turned around.

"Why do you wish to know? It was a young man, I believe, part of the Castelot family. He said it was a serious situation, especially with all the prisoners this criminal is keeping." The Persian paled as much as he could with his dark olive complexion.

"He's taking prisoners?" Erik, what have you done now? "I need to be in there!"

"Sir, you cannot! The situation is not secure!" But he was already running towards the entrance, too fast for anyone to stop him. His friends attempted to follow, but were quickly restrained.

He dashed up the stairwell and into the room he saw was open to his left, heart pounding. The scene he rushed into was not one he had been expecting. The window was open, letting in a generous amount of sunlight and fresh air. There was Erik, holding Christine in the sweetest of kisses- without his mask. As relieved as he was, he still felt compelled to ask, "What in heaven's name is going on? And Erik, why are the police outside?"

The other man's eyes shot open and he replaced his mask immediately. "Daroga, must you always walk in at the most inconvenient time?! And I do not know why the police are outside, unless they take offense at displays of affection such as kisses!" Christine was startled at such sudden movements, but not surprised. It was something she had come to expect when involved with a man like the Phantom.

"Calm yourself, M. Khan, he only came to get me."

"I will not calm myself, not until I know what the police are doing! They told me you were taking prisoners!"

"What? Daroga, you should know by now that I swore never to do such a thing again! Prisoners are far too time-consuming." Christine smiled with a flash of pride and amusement at that. She could not be alarmed that this had escalated into a police situation, for she was too happy. At last, there was nothing between her and her love, nothing but consent by her father. "If you wish to know why the police are here, I recommend that you ask the man across the hall."

"I swear, if you had anything to do with this mess-"

"Oh, I did, but you can stop threatening me now. I know those threats are quite empty."

"They are not!" Nadir cried indignantly. Christine snickered. She would not tire of observing the awkward relationship between these two that served as a friendship.

"They will be, because no matter what you threaten, I know every way to avoid your retribution. Now go and interrogate the man across the hall, let us leave in peace!" He waved dismissively and pulled the young woman against his side, enjoying her soft shape against his.

The other groaned with frustration. "Honestly, you are so very difficult at times."

"And you are completely lost without my wits, but will not admit it. Goodbye, Daroga." With that, he swept Christine's feet from under her and leapt out the open window. Nadir sighed.

"Some things never change." Good luck keeping him in control, Christine. You will need all the luck in the world.

…

Philippe sighed to himself. All was in place now, and if the police knew of his doings with the missing people he had tortured for information, all that faced him now was life imprisonment or execution. But I must have a definite answer from her first. "Ciara, do you love me? Even after everything I have done against you, do you love me?"

He saw her hands fidget with the hem of her shirt. Her eyes, always half-closed in their blindness, blinked several times against tears. Beautiful as they were, he hated to be the cause of the sadness in them. Then her lips parted. She took a breath. "Ah…"

She is attempting to speak! His heart clenched in his chest at her gesture. She would attempt to speak with him, to answer him, speak his language for the first time. "Ai- I luh…lah…" Her tongue was clumsy, unused to speech patterns and the movements involved, but he was quite affected; his eyes were wet as they had not been for five years.

"I luhvyoo- love you." She repeated herself for clarity, wanting to be sure he understood, and he did. What sweet joy he knew, now that his love was returned. He could have cried for such joy as this. Instead, he settled for holding her as close as he had always dreamed, breathing her in, as he loved to do in his once lonely mind. She said it again, vaguely, less carefully, but he could feel that she meant it. He was indeed honored, for she loved him! He could not resist kissing her soft mouth again for happiness.

Nadir walked in on yet another kissing scene and lifted his hand to the bridge of his nose. Will this strangeness never cease? "Pardon me, but I believe the police are about to forcefully search this house." The couple broke apart and he was distracted for a moment by the female's odd, white looks, but said nothing. Ah, so it was this man who was taking prisoners and not Erik. Well, all seems peaceful enough; the police need not be here for long.

The two obviously loved each other much, and he hated to spoil such bliss… The man spoke, his tall frame only half as intimidating as it could have been. "Are you here to capture me, Monsieur? I can assure you that you will not succeed." His arm curled protectively about the woman's waist. She kept her hands at his chest, as if to shield his heart.

The Daroga sighed. It seemed he had a weakness for couples in love, and even his strict set of morals yielded in the face of such sweet love, love that he knew to be true. He simply didn't have the heart to separate them with prison and death. "No," he decided, "I came to warn you. I highly recommend that you escape now before you are arrested and given the death penalty."

The woman smiled her thanks. The duke nodded. "Then we'd best be going. My thanks to you, Monsieur." Still holding hands, they left the room, heading for a door to the stables. Wherever they go, I wish them well. He has done less than Erik has, and if Erik deserves love, so does this man, no matter his crimes.

So, people, pop quiz: where did I borrow the title of this chapter from? Who are the characters in the piece? Where does it take place? What ethnicity are they? How did they meet? I'll write a request for the first person who answers all the questions right!