A/N: Thank you christina648 for following/favouriting this story! It means a lot to me to see any support towards my writing. I am not as confident in this one, but with lovely reviews and kind followers, I at least feel that it was worth it to write.

They sat in the drawing room, Christine reading on the sofa and Erik pretending to do the same in his chair. In truth he was intermingling reassuring glances over at her with his own wonderings over who she was. He had noted, when he had grown more accustomed to her presence, that she had a slight accent to her voice. He thought it sounded Swedish, but never having gone there himself, he was left to guessing. He was uncertain as to her natural talents coming from her time as a mortal, or if her angelic voice was derived from being one of the angels. These were small facts about her, mostly driven from speculation and guess work. He still had no real indication as to her true character or her past.

His questions, however, had something of an opportunity to be answered when there came a familiar knock at the door. Erik was surprised and mildly put out that the Daroga had seen fit to visit him twice within as many days, but grew excited at the prospect of confirming his sanity.

Nadir barely had time to get out a good evening before being shooed into the house by a none too patient Erik.

'Nadir,' Erik announced. 'This is Christine.' He said proudly, pulling her over rather unceremoniously.

She looked up at her masked friend with a peeved expression. Sure, he does not like to be touched, but he can haul me about like a doll anytime he wishes. She scowled at him before looking to a thoroughly confused Nadir.

The Persian glanced between Erik's gloating eyes and empty hands. He was unsure of how to approach this new level to the man's obvious insanity, but found his silence not helping matters any further.

'Well, say hello.' Erik snapped at the man who kept opening and closing his mouth like a fish.

'Erik,' Christine leaned back to meet the confused eyes of her companion. 'He cannot see me.' She explained as delicately as she could.

'What? Why the Hell not?! I can see you just as clear as day!' He protested, wounded.

'Because only you are meant to see me. If Nadir has a guardian angel, then only he would be able to see them. That is how it works.' She looked up at his mixed expression of anger, disappointment, and hurt pride. 'I am sorry.' She tried to look as sympathetic as possible, but he was not in the mood.

He looked back up to his now extremely warry friend and silently turned to go sit in his chair by the fireplace. He had no words to defend himself with that would sound any saner than his earlier display.

Christine felt her heart clench with pity for him and came over to kneel before him. He refused to look at her which hurt, but she only sighed. 'Erik, if there were a way you know I would do it for you.' She assured. He sniffed disapprovingly as he continued to bore holes in the wall with his gaze.

Nadir stood deliberating for a moment before making a choice he knew he would live to regret. It went along with all of the others had made in regards to Erik.

'So, I take it you are still possessed with your angel.' He tried to make that sound convincing, but he knew it fell far from where he had hoped it would. Oddly enough, this coincided with Erik's unenthusiastic response to Christine. Nadir found himself nodding and taking a bracing breath before tentatively joining the man beside the fire.

'Why have you returned so soon, Daroga? Afraid to find me hanging by my own lasso?' Erik asked with ice in his normally silky voice.

'If you wish the truth, yes. I have not liked your attitude these past few days, and this whole angel business has done nothing to reassure me.' He waved his hand about when trying to find a good way to describe the man's delusions.

'If you are here to have me committed, I am afraid I must warn you that it did not work so well for my mother.' Erik spat out the title for the woman who had the apparent misfortune of birthing him.

'I am not going to do that, my friend. You know I never would.' Nadir nearly scolded.

'Then you have the patience of a saint.' Erik retorted.

'Yes, I have often thought so. At least when it comes to you I do.' He laughed at his own jest, but Erik merely gave him a withering look. 'Tell me, where is your angel, this Christine, now?' Nadir asked, sobering so as not to incite violence.

'If you have come to mock, Daroga, simply remember that madness besets age and you are far older than I.' Erik spat, still avoiding Christine's plaintive stare.

Nadir regarded his friend for a moment. He had never seen him pout so stubbornly. He was more like a child than he had been back when they first knew each other in Russia on the way to Persia. Yes, Erik was becoming an obstinate child in his old age. He nearly laughed at the tantrum the man would most assuredly throw if he knew these thoughts.

'True, but I think if anything is to drive me mad, it will be you.' Nadir replied.

Erik huffed a laugh, though his eyes strayed from their distant gaze to follow an invisible something as it wandered off towards the kitchen.

'You really do believe in your angel, don't you?' Nadir observed. He also noted the look of admiration that came to the masked man's eyes as he watched the air.

'She is real to me.' Erik muttered with an odd sort of reverence.

The men sat in silence for a moment before Erik turned to the Daroga with a gleam of purpose suddenly shining in his candle-flame eyes.

'I need you to do some research for me.' He told him with a dark sort of excitement Nadir had learned to dread. 'I need you to dig up records of someone.'

'What do you mean?' The Daroga was intrigued, but still concerned.

'Christine, she said she was once human and that she died. I want to find out more about her.' Erik explained in a secretive tone, making the Persian grow even more uneasy.

'Why not just ask?'

'Because she does not remember.' Erik watched the man lean back in his chair heavily.

'Of course she doesn't. That would be far too easy, wouldn't it?' Nadir sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly. 'Why must you do these things? Why can you not just live like the rest of us and not have to make the world so complex?'

'You know why.' Erik said darkly. Nadir looked at him and sighed again.

'Fine, but I am going to need more than just a first name to go off of.' He said, pulling out his black note pad and pen.

Erik excitedly flew into a description of her, explaining the approximate year she had died, and what he had deduced already. Nadir patiently listened to all of the details, noting with curiosity the ones that were not crucial to the exploration of her. Such things as, she likes to read and sing, she often argues with him, and that she can be a bit absentminded when it comes to herself. He began to wonder, based upon this description if somehow she truly was real. Every conversation he had had with the man about woman had involved calling them delicate and weak, needing protection, not strong minded and obstinate. Perhaps Erik had truly lost what sanity he had miraculously held onto, or maybe, just maybe, this angel was somehow real. Nadir doubted it rather highly, but he was willing to give his long-time friend at least a bit of benefit to his apprehension.

They parted shortly afterwards, Erik too wound up to focus on anything in particular. With a heavy sigh and not a few concerned glances backwards, Nadir left the masked man to his lonely existence once more. Erik, on the other hand, was not feeling so much lonely as renewed with purpose. He would have the auditions to sit through tomorrow, the information on Christine to wait for, and a secret to keep from her. He realised the last was not necessarily a wise object to rejoice over, but he did not wish to give her false hope, and he had a strange pit in his stomach he did not want to address. Something about his relationship with her felt wrong, but he was not in the mood to delve any deeper than exterior feeling.

Walking into the kitchen, he was stopped dead in his tracks.

There was a cup of tea awaiting him on the counter along with a simple biscuit from the pantry. The sink was still running, but there was no one else in the room. He was alone again.

He turned off the sink and looked about in puzzlement before realising he had become so focused on his little missions that he had forgotten to need Christine. Try as he might, however, she would not appear. His mind was simply too caught up in its excitement for the upcoming activities and plans he had made.

He felt a bit of guilt over making her disappear like this and idly wondered if she resented it. He drank his tea, admiring how perfectly she had brewed it. His black Russian tea with a spiral of lemon. He had loved it ever since that time when he had travelled about that cold and broad country to perform his magic. He wondered if Christine would enjoy seeing some of his tricks, though she had most likely seen the bulk of his skill over her twenty years of watching over him. This thought refused to sit comfortably in him as he had not asked for anyone to look after him. It was odd and infuriatingly uncomfortable to know you had lived almost half your life under secretive supervision.

He decided to be upset over this fact, scowling down at his tea accusingly. The things she must have seen him do and hear him say were beyond his admittedly sharp memory. How could she simply waltz around his home as if none of it mattered? He remembered the time he nearly choked Garnier to death when the Prussian War had started and construction on the Opera was halted. He distinctly remembered all of the darker days he had spent brooding below his monument to music and art. He wondered at these what Christine had thought of him. How could she have most assuredly witnessed all of this and yet smiled at him and laughed with him as if he were any other man? How could she stand to be around him, even if she had little choice? He thought of how happy she had been when he had showed her the roof, how apologetic she was over having him play for her for hours on end just that day, or how upset she had been when he had wished she were not around.

He stopped his train of thought a moment.

What if she cares about me? He was not sure how to process this information, but based upon how eager she was to have him do things with her and how grateful she was for his attentions, he realised that it must be at least partially true. He looked about the room, half expecting her to be there waiting for him to find something for them to do together.

But, he thought. No one has ever cared about me. Nadir looks after me, but that is different.

He thought of her. How incredibly beautiful she was with her flawless features and long curls that seemed to call to his bony fingers to lace themselves in. He shook his head. He would watch her from a guarded distance, and were his suspicions confirmed, he would have to find a way to put them down. He would anticipate them to be rejected as an angel certainly could not have any feelings for a mortal, let alone him. He was a hideous monster, and she had yet to even see his face. Perhaps that would be the determining factor. Yes, were she to ever see his face –God help her- and she were to stay or smile at him as she did now, then he would have to approach her obvious insanity carefully but deliberately. If she were to run from him as most did, then he would do his upmost to free her from that burden.

Setting his mind to this task as much as the others, he retreated to his study to at least try to draw something. It had been several weeks since he had found anything beyond the echoes that swam across the lake to pay any mind to.


Erik sat in Box 5, listening to what felt like the one hundredth screeching woman who dared call herself a singer howl her incessant wail across his beloved stage. They could project, he gave them that, but what they decided to issue from their mouths was far from what any sane human would call music. There had been two who were not so mind-bendingly horrid, but they were still what he would consider mediocre at best. Perhaps he was too picky, he wondered part way through another botched interpretation of Roméo et Juliette. He thought then of how glorious Christine's voice was, drifting over the air as well as inhabiting it, instead of harshly cutting it like these banshees. If only his angel were capable of being seen and heard by more than just him. If he was truly to see her at all.

He had come back into the drawing room early that morning, having gotten no sleep through his fevered state of determined creation, only to find it and the rest of the house empty.

He felt a slight drain to his energy at his loneliness as he had rather hoped to chat with her whilst reviewing the new so-called singers. He had come up with many a snide comment he was curious to test out upon his lips, but had no ear besides his own to receive it.

Once the final woman had performed, he slunk from his seat and thickly made his way through his trap door to go back home. He was not anxious to go back, but he could not bear to be up in the theatre with those awful women who had so mangled music he had once held in high esteem. He doubted he would ever be able to listen to those once glorious pieces the same way again.

He let the boat drift a bit more lazily on the water, enjoying the soft sounds of the rippling lake. He tried to let his mind fill with that purpose he had felt so strongly the night before. All of the things he had wished to do and discover about his angel now seemed only half important when faced with potentially seeing her again.

He found it odd he would crave her company so desperately. He had only known her a short time, and though he had decided her watching him was undesirable, he still felt the longing to hear her voice and see her smile. He still could not quite understand why she smiled at him, after all the yelling he had managed to do over their short acquaintance he would think she should glare or shun his company. Somehow she had drawn him out, found a little piece of him that he showed to no one else, and claimed it in her delicate hand. He hated a part of himself for allowing her to do that. He did not wish to be held by someone, especially a girl who may just as well be a figment of his imagination.

Trudging his way into the house, he decided to sit by the fireplace, though the flame was burning lowly in the grate. He did not care. He simply sat there, staring at the small flickering until his eyes felt heavy.

He opened them again, not wishing to fall asleep just yet, but to his confusion he found it had been too late for that. The fire now burned at a steady rate and to his right on the small table normal reserved for chess, sat a plate with a sandwich. He stared at it in puzzlement for a bit.

Shifting in his chair as he had slid down a bit during his sleep, he continued to eye the food with guarded suspicion. He started to wonder if Nadir had made it when he heard a soft hum issuing from the kitchen. He was about to get up to investigate, but the source of the sweet sound came out and stood, leaning against the doorway and looking at him.

Christine smiled gently for a moment until his persistent gaze made her furrow her brow in confusion.

'Can you see me, or is it just wishful thinking?' She asked at length.

He thought on this a moment. 'Yours or mine?' He returned innocently.

Christine laughed airily as she came over to sit in the chair beside his. He was slightly amazed to see her slouch a bit into it. She looked more human, and infinitely more beautiful than he had ever thought someone could look whilst simply sitting.

'Are you going to eat your sandwich?' She asked, nodding to the food in question.

Erik looked back at his nemesis. 'I am not hungry.' He told her, only half lying as he looked away from her and the plate.

'Oh, I see, it's one of those days.' She nodded knowingly.

'What days?' He asked, feeling as though he should be offended somehow.

'The days where you believe yourself to be too good for mankind, so you ignore basic needs like sleep and sustenance.' She explained.

'That is not the reason.' He protested, finding a bit of insult hidden in the tone of her diagnosis of his moods.

'Then why, pray tell, do you feel the need to so callously shun the sandwich I worked so hard to make for you?' She raised her eyebrows as if in a dare as she looked at him pointedly.

'Because I have had a rather tiring day-' He started to whine.

'Then eat the damn sandwich!' She insisted sternly, interrupting him. Her mild profanity catching him by surprise along with her sharp tone.

Perhaps it was this little snap mixed with actual hunger that made him reluctantly eat, but Christine was simple satisfied he had done as he was told.

'You never eat enough.' She told him firmly.

'If you had known me when I was a child, you would understand why.' He replied, glaring at her imperious stance now that she had forced him to do what she wanted.

She looked at him sympathetically. She knew he had reasons for everything he did –questionable though some may be- and she felt bad knowing she had interfered with one of them while also dredging up a bit of his painful past.

'My mother,' he went on, completely shocking her. 'If I can even call her that, forced me to eat because as revolting as I already was, she could not stand to see me look so much like a skeleton. I have hated food ever since and have discovered I only need to eat once a day. My sleep patterns are simply a result of an overactive imagination. I become so absorbed in my work that I forget what time it is. It is especially useful for when I have something I need to finish quickly as I am not burdened by the necessity to sleep every single night.' He went on somewhat proudly.

Christine watched the fire, letting his words sink ever deeper into her mind. 'You said your day was tiring, how so?' She asked after a healthy pause.

'I had to sit and listen to the new singers audition.' He said heavily, still cringing from the memory of some of them.

'Oh, that's what you call them.' She smirked at his somewhat perplexed look.

'You heard?' He asked, returning her grin.

She shrugged, smiling cleverly.

Erik huffed a laugh. 'I am sorry for that, but I simply do not have much that interests me these days.' He told her, looking distantly at the fire again.

Christine felt her chest tighten a bit. 'There is plenty to do.' She protested, gaining her a doubtful glance. 'There's reading, your drawing, you have yet to finish your Don Juan Triumphant, you have the Opera to manage, and though the latter may not always be as good as you would like, it still keeps you busy for a while.' She insisted.

'But besides those and the occasional visit from you or Nadir, I have nothing left to do. My composing takes a certain mind set, my drafting,' he put emphasis into the correct word for his art. 'Takes inspiration, and there is currently little to be done in the Opera. Besides, once you have seen one production, you have seen them all.' He sighed.

'That is not true, and you know it.' She told him sternly. 'You secretly love watching the actors and musicians scrabble about as deadlines approach, or helping the dancers find their point shoes when they have accidentally misplaced them. I have never seen you so happy as when you can be helping a performer do their best.'

'Or making trouble for them.' He smiled darkly.

'No, that is not real pleasure. You only feed your demons doing that. It is a false joy you give yourself when you think there is no other way.' She said, making him look to her with an expression she had never seen before. It was something between reverence and immeasurable joy with a bit of stubbornness thrown in.

They sat in silence for a bit.

'If I have so little to do, how bored you must be here.' He observed absently.

'Oh, it is not so bad.' She waved off. She sounded as if she were going to elaborate, but he found her continuing silence pitiable. She truly had nothing to do unless he needed her. What a sad existence he had unknowingly forced her into.

Suddenly, her head snapped up and she looked at him with a bright and brilliant sparkle in her eyes. She rose and came to stand before him.

'I want to try something.' She told him cryptically. She held out her hand to him and he looked at it as warily as he had the sandwich. 'Please.' She urged before he finally relented and took it.

She led him out the front door, snagging his cloak for him on the way. He followed uncertainly until they reached the edge of the lake. She turned and looked at him appraisingly.

'You might want to take your shoes off.' She announced, making him worry even more.

'Why?' He asked, finally concerned enough to ask.

She seemed to think about this a moment, before stepping back onto the water, standing upon it as she had the first day. She held out her hand again, but he seemed less convinced of good to come out of it.

'Do you trust me?' She asked, looking deeply into his flame-like eyes with her jewelled sapphire ones.

'Do you trust yourself?' He retorted, having noted her poorly hidden apprehensive glances.

She paused, pretending to think it over. 'Let me answer that in a moment.' She said with a tilted grin.

Somehow, against all better judgment, he found himself reaching out to take her hand. He touched her palm gently, feeling that same shock as before, but now seemed somehow different. Taking her other hand for support, he started to step forward.

'Just don't look at the water.' She told him earnestly.

'What should I look at, then?' He asked, frustrated, as he suspended his foot over the lake.

'Here, tell me about my eyes.' She came up with quickly.

'They are blue.' He answered flatly.

'Oh, come now. You can do better than that.' She urged.

'Fine.' He gritted his teeth, looking at them and trying to find the words. 'They are a rich, dark blue. They are like cobalt or sapphire, depending upon the light. Even in complete darkness, they seem to shine a bit, though.' He went on.

'Alright, what about my hair?' She continued, smiling up at him.

'It's chestnut brown with long curls.'

She hummed pleasantly at his description.

'And my nose?'

'Pert.'

She laughed a bit as she slowly coaxed out a smile from his generally tight lips.

'What of my chin?' she asked almost playfully.

'It is pointed, making your face heart shaped.' He told her as his eyes continued to soften the nearer he was to her. It was only then that he realised she had moved one of his hands to her waist and was now holding the other as if in preparation to waltz. He looked down at her in surprise, not knowing what else to do.

'Usually the man leads.' She told him, still grinning.

'But there is no music.' He scrambled to find another excuse, but his mind was too focused on the fact that she was very close to him and also beneath his gentle grasp.

'No, but there is generally some song playing in your head.' She noted.

Erik could not help the overwhelming smile that came across his features at this. She returned them happily as they started to dance across what he was slowly understanding to be the lake. He understood now why she may have wished him to remove his shoes, but having sodden socks would have been no better. Somehow, despite their height difference, she was the perfect partner, matching his long strides with ease and never once complaining when he missed a step. To anyone looking on, he was sure that her effortless grace made all of his mistakes seem intentional.

Twirling her, he relished the feeling of her coming back, wrapped in his arms. She giggled slightly when he had done this, but quickly settled, leaning back to look up at him over her shoulder before he turned her back round to face him. He stopped then, simply looking down at her with an unusual gleam in his eyes. He realised suddenly that his eyes were focusing in on her lips and he pulled back a bit, stiffening and hardening his gaze.

Christine felt a slight pang of disappointment at this as she had been deeply enjoying the feeling of dancing so closely to him. She had felt more alive than she knew she needed to when holding his hand and feeling his at her waist. When he stepped away, she felt the spell break and her heart sink. Still, she managed to smile smugly up at him.

'I never knew you could dance so wonderfully.' She observed.

'You never asked.' He pointed out, continuing to distance himself from her gaze which attempted to pull him in.

She hummed thoughtfully. 'True, but asking if someone knows how to dance on a lake is rather odd.' Her smile grew wider as the realisation finally hit him. He had been dancing…on water!

He started to look down at his feet, when she rushed forward, cupping his jaw and forcing his eyes to meet hers as she exclaimed her protest over his attempted shift in attentions. They stared at each other for a moment as the shock spread from his face to hers. She stuttered over words and apologies before letting a hand carefully trail down to one of his, careful to keep contact until she was gasping his pinkie finger alone. She let her gaze shift about as she tried to find some excuse for her brash actions, but finding none, she decided to simply lead them off the lake.

Once on dryer land, she released him, turning away and averting her eyes as if in shame. He regarded her for a moment before speaking.

'Shall we go back inside?' He offered, gesturing towards the house.

'I will join you momentarily. I have something I need to think over.' She excused, hoping he would not press. He consented easily, also hoping for an out.

Christine remained in the darkness, looking at the stone of the walls and floor of the underground structure. She remembered all too well when they had discovered this area when they first built the place. Charles Garnier had been livid, while Erik calmly constrained in his patience. Despite what he had said before, he had possessed the patience of a saint while dealing with the struggles of the construction. It was his element and he had had handled it all with God-like skill. To this day, she still wondered how he had managed to oversee all that he had. No piece of his marvellous Opera had been without his attentive care. He had wanted to raise a palace, and indeed he had. Despite all of its years of hardship and torment, it had survived, much like he had. She thought that perhaps this was more of the true reason he repeatedly denied Nadir's insistence that he move. He had been through too much both in his lifetime and with this building to part from it. It was a part of him and he it. There was no Palais Garnier without the Opera Ghost skulking about its basement and walls. She knew Nadir had hoped against hope that this would prove to be untrue, but the Persian was too clever and knew Erik too well to think such entreaties would come to fruition. Erik was in love with one thing and one thing only: the Opera. It was his kingdom of all his passions, his music, his art, his tenacity in endurance, all of it was his, and so his gave himself to it freely.

But now, now was a different story. His home had once been his muse, his whole world carved into stone and wood, but now it lacked the lustre he had once admired and infused it with. None of it held his attentions for long as it all repeated itself over and over again. Despite what she had said to the contrary, Christine knew that the endless cycle of the performance seasons had lost their touch upon Erik's imagination. The seamless blend between poetry and music no longer held sway in his growing world of darkness. These could be remedied if he only had the faith in himself to allow in a change. If he were not so stubborn and set to his idea of being too old to travel, and his ridiculous need to settle down somewhere, perhaps he could be happy.

Christine had watched him long enough to know that with each passing year he had stood less tall, spoken less kindly, and loved less deeply. He was growing lonely. His building, his kingdom, his monument to all he held dear, no longer satisfied him. His heart was growing empty and tired. He needed something to infuse with his passion and his unfathomable admiration. She had simply never considered that it might be her.

She had appeared before him because he had finally reached the point where he could no longer function. He had given up on there being anything worth his attentions in the world. He had made himself believe that he was utterly useless to the hunk of rock mankind had called earth. She had wished to relieve him of this, and nothing more. She had come to show him all of the wonders the world had always possessed, but that he had so carelessly forgotten. But something had happened. He had started to want to see her. He had desired her company above the inspiration for his art. He had begun to wish for her presence instead of one of the multitude of beings that inhabited his city or even his Opera. He had grown attached to his angel. Her mistake was not only in letting him, but for doing the same.

For years she had tirelessly watched over him, helping him in any way she could, but now that he knew this, her actions took on more meaning. It was no longer the little favours she never expected to be thanked for, but adventures designed to bring her as much joy as him. This dance upon the lake was meant for her to test her abilities while also letting him experience something new. But more than that, it was for her to have him close.

She relished his touch and held it jealously in high esteem. For so long she had craved it, to only brush his hand once would have been enough, she told herself repeatedly, but now she had embraced him, held his hand innumerable times, danced with him even! She felt like she had been the one who was sent to Heaven. But now the weight of her desires to remain like this with him were crushing her duty to only guide him back to his state of distracted business. She was meant to pull him towards finding happiness in the world, not in her. She was being selfish and he would inevitably pay the price.

She looked back at the house with melancholy as she remembered his smile while they waltzed. He had seemed so happy with her, and yet she must now distance herself from him. Such was the fate of a guardian angel.