A/N: I am posting this just a teensy bit earlier than usual as I am starting school back. I wanted to take this opportunity to let you all know that though Friday's post time will not change (before noon EST), Monday may be a bit later in the day as I try to get as much done early in the week as I can. I appreciate your understanding, thank Erika H. Daae for your continued reviews, and hope you all enjoy this chapter.

Erik lay in bed, not his coffin, of course, but the bed in the Louis-Phillippe room that Christine seemed to favour so highly for his comfort. He had to admit that it was just ever so slightly more conducive to healing than his own dark hole of a bedroom. He blinked blearily as little flashes of time appeared in his mind. He remembered falling outside after his "swim" and vague images of Christine leaning over him, was she crying? He could not remember. Then he thought he had come to the conclusion that he had been sick. Most likely the chill water of the lake had given him a cold. He did not remember the coughing that would accompany pneumonia or the delirium suggesting a fever, but any illness was unusual to him. He stayed in good health most of the time, so perhaps that was the reason for Christine's distress. A part of him was just happy that she was here again. He was uncertain as to where his mind had wandered off to in her absence. He had contemplated such dismal things simply by not having her there. Now, more than ever, he found himself worrying over his mental health. If he could consider death so passively after her being gone only a few days, what would he do if she left him for good? His own attachment frightened him, but not so much as what hers may be. He was confused as to why any person would wish to spend time with him, and why she smiled whenever he looked at her. Should she not be wishing for his ignorance to her existence?

Part of the answer to his question appeared to him when he looked over to his right to see her sitting on the edge of his bed, holding his hand, and absently soothing his knuckles with her thumb as she gazed off distantly.

'Christine?' He managed out softly, hoping to pull her back gently. His breath nearly caught when she put the beautiful weight of her eyes into his own, and turning to reveal tear tracks on her soft pink cheeks. She looked about to cry all over again as she came back to this plane of space and saw him.

'Erik, how are you feeling?' She asked, obviously trying not to show her quickly overwhelming emotions.

'I am fine. What happened?' He asked mostly to keep her talking.

'You caught a cold from being in the lake.' She answered, her countenance darkening with obvious despair. 'I am so sorry.' She finally said in a meek voice, her chin ducking to hide its quiver.

'For what? It was not your fault. And see, I am better now.' He hurriedly tried to put her off, but the tears were already starting.

Damn! He thought, what am I supposed to do when she cries?

'If I hadn't left you and been so mean to you, none of this would have happened. I made you…' She could not manage out the words, sending a wave of guilt to join his already mounting panic.

'Christine, you-'

'May I lay beside you?' She asked, cutting off his reassurances.

'What?'

'May I lay down beside you?' She repeated. 'Please?'

Erik found himself nodding before he had fully processed her request. It was only when he felt her curl up beside him, still holding his hand that realised what he had done. He felt his breathing tense and his chest constrict as he moved to his side to give her more space and to keep her from touching him. If he allowed that, he would most assuredly faint.

'I am so sorry.' She said again, tears flowing down and into the bedding she was laying on top of.

'You do not need to be.' He heard himself say softly.

She cried harder at this, now releasing a few heart wrenching sobs. Erik looked on in horror as she drove deeper into her despair. He tried his best to sooth her with his voice, and it seemed to work some, but the salty drops still poured from her ocean blue eyes.

She clutched at his hand now, holding it as if it were some sort of hard won prize. He wondered at this, but again she answered his unspoken question.

'For twenty years I have watched over you and protected you from as many dangers as I could, but more than anything I just watched you. For years I used to dream that if I could just once brush your fingertips or graze your shoulder, then I would be happy forever. I longed for the day when you might finally hear me singing along with your music, or maybe glance my way, but you never did. I knew it was silly to wish for such things when you did not even know I was there, but I just could not help wanting it. I used to persuade myself that you were too busy to notice me, or that this was all just a dream, but then you would do something and I knew I was only lying to myself. Then one day, you actually did see me, and heard me, and I could finally touch you.' She cried harder again at this, giving his palm a gentle squeeze as if to ensure that he was still there. 'I had only ever dreamt that you might notice me, but then we argued and you took my hand, and you carried me, and I thought for certain I had died and gone to Heaven all over again. For twenty years I had longed for just the smallest sign that you would someday know I was there. So, when I can hold your hand now,' she pulled it to her a bit, nearly brushing her cheek. 'You simply can't know how wonderful that feels.'

Erik watched her with a mixture of wonder and pity as she cried beside him. He was starting to understand her now. He tried to imagine just watching someone, unseen, for years. It was not so much that she hid on purpose, but that she was forced to. He could hardly comprehend an existence where no matter how much you wanted to, you were forced to watch over someone without them even knowing you were there. What torture she must have endured for so long, but her proclamation that he would not understand her bliss at this moment was wrong. He knew exactly how glorious the contact felt, because, though he may fight it viciously, he felt it too. He treasured how she touched him without concern or question, how she actively sought out his touch was still slightly beyond him even with her explanation, and how she could doubt his valuing of her almost made him weep. Of course, the latter he knew was simply because he had yet to tell her. If he were a braver man, perhaps he would, but at present he was too busy trying to keep his breathing calm. He would suffice telling her how beautiful she was and how he longed for her to be embracing him again in his mind only. For now, he would allow her the obvious pleasure of holding his cold, bony hand to her shining, lush face.


Erik continued the rest of the day out of bed, much to Christine's protests, and somewhat enjoying her persistent glances at him at random periods. He would find her peeking over her book if he moved even a little, he would hear her listing to him if he left the drawing room for very long, and he had to answer several hundred times that he was fine at her constant questioning of his wellbeing. He found it amusing to have someone so worried about him all the time, but also concerning that he would again be dependent upon her being there. His latest act worried him more than he currently cared to let on. He had considered death an easy escape without reasoning it first. He had let his depression lie to him. Perhaps having Christine around was a good thing.

Towards that evening, however, his company was interrupted by another concerned friend. Nadir was not afraid to show his apprehension over Erik's somehow paler countenance.

'Are you all right?' He asked instantly upon entering the house.

'I am fine, Daroga.' Erik answered, giving Christine a look a she smirked over the back of the sofa at him while Nadir came into the room.

'What happened to you?' The Persian questioned as he took his usual seat beside Erik's chair.

'Nothing you need concern yourself with, old friend. Suffice it to say that I did something foolish and suffered a brief cold. I am well enough now.' Erik gave another pointed glance at Christine who only pursed her lips against giggles.

Nadir followed his friend's gaze, frowning concernedly when he saw nothing on the sofa worthy of such attentions. 'Still seeing your angel, I take it?' He asked, wondering if this truly was the conversation he wished to have at present. Rather, the argument he would assuredly be stepping into.

'Yes, I am.' Erik announced defensively. 'Perhaps it is simply that you are too old and blind to see her.' He made up, though Nadir knew that was far from the reason. He watched his friend again respond to some unseen expression from the vicinity of the sofa.

'If now is not a good time-' Nadir started amusedly.

'No, it's fine. You have my full attentions.' He turned away from the snickering Christine. 'I heard that!' He snapped at her as she muttered something to the contrary.

'Erik,' Nadir raised his hands in a placating gesture towards the man. 'If it were not other facts, I would think you insane.' He said calmly to the quickly growing irked man before him.

'Forgive me, Daroga, but she is being difficult.' He again snapped in her presumed direction.

Nadir sighed. 'Mademoiselle, if you would not mind, there is something I wish to discuss with your charge in private. Would you be so kind as to wait in another room, perhaps?' He asked politely of the sofa.

Erik marvelled at Christine's shocked expression. Never in her existence had someone spoken to her in so formal a way, especially when they could not see her. She shook off the surprise, letting a glowing smile alight her face as she nodded a bow and swept from the room. Erik watched her go into the kitchen with something akin to jealousy at never having given her that smile. He returned his now glaring gaze back to the mildly patient Nadir.

'What is so important that you must shoo her from the room?' Erik asked, letting in a bit of his offended tone bite at his words.

'This.' Nadir said, handing Erik a small yellowed envelope. He looked at it and his Persian friend questioningly before opening it and sliding out the various pieces of paper. 'It was all I could find on her that is in this country. If you want more, then I would suggest you go to Sweden.' The Daroga said dryly.

The excited and eager curiosity ebbed from Erik considerably upon reading a particular article. All colour seemed to drain from his already paled complexion. Even his eyes lost their glow as he read and reread a clipping that appeared to be from a newspaper's obituary report.

'Is it her?' Nadir asked, growing concerned over his companion's reaction.

Erik looked up, putting a dull front before his eyes. 'Thank you, Daroga. I commend you on your good work and request that you never mention this to anyone.' He said in a strange monotone.

'Erik, are you-'

'I am fine.' He cut off rather sharply and louder than he had anticipated. He seemed to realise this. 'Forgive me. I am fine, truly. You need not worry yourself.' He said in a softer voice of calm. 'Please,' he waved his hand to the chess set. 'Let us play our game.'

Nadir agreed, but kept a wary eye upon the man whilst they continued their ongoing battle. As usual, he did not win, but he came a bit closer. He wondered what in the information had worried him so. He of course had read it when trying to find the mysterious girl Erik had found himself so enraptured with, but nothing in it would be enough to make the man who had tortured and killed dozens blanch, certainly. It was then that Nadir truly became concerned for his friend's health. It was enough to imagine ghosts or angels or whatever he wished to call this Christine woman, but the sudden illness and his latest display of odd behaviour had put a new worry in his heart. Perhaps living underground was effecting him more than the Persian had thought.

'Erik, why don't you come up and stay with me for a day or two? Just to get out a bit.' Nadir offered as he prepared to leave for the evening.

'As I have expressed to you before, old friend, there is nothing that interests me above ground beyond my Opera. I am perfectly contented to remain here. Besides, I should not wish to befoul your home with my morbid presence.' He smiled darkly and Nadir felt a bit of hope rise in him. It felt strange to know that when Erik degraded himself, it meant things were normal…at least for a time.

'Very well, you stubborn ass of a man,' Nadir replied with a tired glare. 'But you know my door is always open to you.'

'A mistake you should have learned not to make back in Persia.' Erik replied with a grim smirk.

'Yes, yes.' Nadir waved over his shoulder as he made his way out into the cave surrounding the lake before heading off to the pathway he used so often, skirting around traps as he went.

Erik watch his old companion go, thinking on what had been said and discovered this night. He wondered how he was meant to continue with this new knowledge not only of Nadir's obvious concerns, but also of Christine. He knew more about her than she did herself, but he was afraid he was not brave enough to reveal it all to her. What if she left him? What would he do? He cursed himself his selfishness, but still did not find the heart to change his intentions.

'Erik,' he heard so softly behind him he could have sworn it had come from a dove. Indeed, her modest stance, hands clasped before her and head tipped down slightly, and grey dress made her appear more bird than woman. Especially when he knew this woman could hold her own against his crushing temper. 'Is everything all right? You seemed distressed.' She cocked her head gently to the side, making him almost gasp at how lovely she looked. She appeared to be the picture of innocence.

'No, my dear, everything is fine, as I have said multiple times today. I simply find the Daroga's company challenging sometimes.' He assured her, coming over and reaching out to stroke her arms before rescinding his hands. He simply stood before her gazing down at her with all of the gentility he had. She met his gaze, causing his heartbeat to quicken its pace.

They stood there in silence a moment before the silence weighed too heavily upon her.

'I have been thinking on what you should do to occupy your time.' She told him, not moving, but shattering the growing essence between them.

'Oh?' He asked, feeling the moment end, but oddly hungry to start another. Something about her made him wish to curiously see the end of such encounters. He fought a laughing smile as she nodded, looking very much like a child as she did so.

'I have come up with a challenge for you.' She said, getting a playfully proud grin.

'And what is this new obstacle you have found to occupy my time?' He asked, growing curious.

'I want you to finish your opera.' She announced.

Erik stopped and stared at her beaming face. 'You want me to finish Don Juan Triumphant?' He asked in disbelief.

She hummed with her nod. 'I want to hear it all the way through. I have been listening to you compose it for years, and I think all you need is a nice stubborn push to get you to finish it. Think of it as a commission.' She explained somewhat more thoughtfully.

'Is that so?' He asked, growing uneasy. 'And what is my payment for completing my only musical masterpiece?' He continued to look down at her as she thought it through.

'You shall have to wait and find out.' She said slyly.

'Ah, but what if my payment is not worth the labour?' He pressed, enjoying their game.

'Do you not trust me?' She asked, allowing a bit of concern to enter into her voice.

'That is not the point, my dear. Such a large commission requires an advance, something of a security that you are truly invested in the project.' He countered, finding his voice turning deeper and smoother the more he gazed at her.

She seemed thoughtful for a moment before taking his hands in hers. He drew back slightly from her at this, but kept his hands still. He watched her with a quickening pulse as she raised his hands to her face, neither breaking eye contact until his knuckles rose to the level of her lips. Erik felt his knees go weak and threaten to wobble as she cast her eyes down and placed a small kiss upon each hand right between the front two knuckles. His breath hitched terribly, but she remained serene as she flicked her innocently blue eyes back up to his amber orbs of widened shock and surprise.

'Will that suffice as a down payment?' She asked in her sweetly childlike tone.

Erik felt his breath rush back to him in a gasp as he struggled to remain standing. He had never in his entire life been kissed anywhere upon his repeatedly proclaimed hideous body. Now he had not one, but two kisses delivered by an actual angel to his hands which had once been deemed spidery and morbid. He closed his eyes to relish the memory of her soft lips' touch upon his pale skin. How warm her breath had been skating over the backs of his hands and her gentle fingers coiled with his.

'Erik?' She asked, drawing him out of his trance of unrivalled happiness. 'Will you accept the commission?' She pressed, looking more worried now.

'Yes. For you, I shall.' He answered, as her fingers slipped gracefully from his. He felt a wince of longing once her touch had left him, but his promise to her kept him from showing it. He immediately went over to his organ, and started organising his sheets of already composed music. It would take little to get him started, but should he hit a wall, he was not sure how he would manage to overcome it. He thought then of her "payment" and nearly fainted wondering what her final reward to him would be.

Throwing his mind into his work, he began playing through his head to his fingers the fragments of songs that had long haunted him but had lacked the inspiration to pursue.

Christine watched him as he sat at his organ for several hours, occasionally playing a bit, but mostly just writing from his own mind. She had always been amazed by his skill with music, but seeing him compose was akin to watching a master painter or stonemason, which, of course, he could also do with considerable skill. But music was his realm, his own domain that he could shape and control to suit him. The most spectacular thing about it, though, was that it was not pleasing just to him. Anyone with an ear could listen and instantly be swept away by his music, even though it reflected so much of himself. This was how she had felt she knew him even before they had officially met. She had come to know his innermost self from listening to him play. It never lost its charm, and the more she had experience with him, the more it came to mean for her. Smaller nuances came to hold importance when coupled with being able to sit with him in Box 5, or caring for him while he slept. It all meant more now that she had been not just around him, but with him.

She sat on the sofa as the night drew on, and she began to wonder if he was going to stop any time soon. She was still concerned over his health as his cold, though light and brief, was only recently passed. She looked over to him, noting little change in his positioning or vigour for his work. She absently felt her lips where they had kissed his hands earlier. Had she really been so convincing simply through her kiss? She shook her head, knowing that when he got into these runs of creativity, he would often remain there for some time, not stopping even to eat.

Rising from her seat, she went into the kitchen and made him some food. She doubted he would eat it, but she accompanied it with a glass of water, hoping he would at the very least hydrate himself. She came back into the drawing room and cautiously placed it on a table beside the organ. If he noticed her presence, he did nothing to show it.

She hovered for a moment, checking to see if he needed anything and simply curious as to how his progress was coming. He had completed a particularly lengthy song, finished and refined another, and was composing a new one. He had yet to put any words to it, but the melody looked quite enchanting.

Fearful of aggravating him, she went back to her book, occasionally peeking over the binding at him to make sure he was still functioning.

A few more hours passed, and Christine was beginning to worry for him. He needed to rest to ensure he would not grow ill again. Finding some courage within her, she once more came to his side, this time waiting until he seemed to be a good point to stop him at least momentarily.

'Erik?' She asked in her sweetest voice. 'Erik?' She repeated when he did not show any signs of hearing her. 'Erik I think you should get some rest.' She beckoned hopefully to him. Still, he did not move. Growing concerned, she reached out to his shoulder. Her hand only went through him. She staggered back, gasping in surprise as he remained absorbed in his work. She was no longer tangible.

She stood there for a moment, watching him as he continued to compose his opera.

This is what you wanted, is it not? She thought to herself. To give him something to do so that he could move on with his life without the threat of lonely boredom hanging over him? To forget about needing you and simply break free?

Christine felt the distinct sting of tears prick her eyes. She knew it was wrong to wish for him to always need her. He was human and was meant to be in human company, not haunted by an angel. But still, his touch and his soft gaze brought forth her pain at the loss. She began to wonder if perhaps this push to get him to compose would tear him away from her forever. What if it was what he had needed all along to get him back into enjoying life?

She felt her breath catch in a sob as the unwanted tears overflowed her lashes. It was wrong, but she still wanted it. She wanted to have him need her to be there so that he could smile. She wanted him to spend time with her and miss her when she was gone. She wanted all of the things she could no longer have. She wanted all of the things that were granted exclusively to mortals. She had lived her life, and now she must guard him as he lived his. It was silly and wrong to grow attached like this. She hated herself for wishing for things that could never be. Things he may never want but that she spent her nights wakefully dreaming of.

She turned away from his black clad back as he continued to slave over the instrument of his masterpiece. She tried to ignore the ache in her chest where she knew her heart was, or should be at the very least. Thoughts such as this hurt even more, knowing that they only evidenced her knowledge that it was never meant to be any more than what it was between them. She hated herself over wishing for something greater than the gifts he had already presented through his gentle touch and soft smiles. His glances, his words of encouragement as he taught her to sing, his little gestures towards her, all of it were more than she should ever have wanted or deserved. She was just an angel, not a human.

This final thought sent her crumpling to her knees as she let the weight of disappointment's heavy hand crush into her pit of sorrows. She allowed her heart, existent or otherwise, sink somehow deeper into the foundations of the Opera House. She let it wash away down the flowing currents of the Seine along with all of the hopes she knew to be foolish.

'Christine?' She heard the lovely voice behind her, guessing he would give up in realisation that she was no longer visible to him. He would quickly go back to his work and ignore her again. When he finished it, he may look for her, but by then he might have discovered a need to compose something else, or even draw up a wondrous house or two. He may even take the new soprano under his wing and teach her to sing properly as he had her. In any case, he would forget to need her, and eventually forget her entirely. It would work wonderfully and she could watch him as she long since had only this time safe in the knowledge that for some brief moment of his life, she had been there.

It was because of these overwhelming and swirling thoughts of her own condemnation that she failed to notice the presence beside her, tentatively wrapping his arms round her shaking form, though not brave enough to touch her. It was only when she heard her name spoken again in a sorrowfully worried voice at her ear that she realised where Erik now sat.

Leaping to her feet and quickly wiping her eyes of her tears, she sniffled back what she could to sound at least partially put together.

'Erik, you startled me.' She told him, not meeting his somewhat panicked gaze. 'Are you done composing for the day? I see you made quite a bit of progress. Are you hungry? I made you some dinner earlier in case you wanted anything.' She rambled on quickly, still avoiding his eye which continued to hold worry over her current state.

'Christine,' he interrupted her before she could manage to start up again. 'Is everything all right?'

'That seems to be the question of the day, doesn't it?' She said after a heavy sigh. 'Yes, Erik, I am fine.'

He hummed, clearly unconvinced. 'Then why, pray tell, were you just crying, my dear?' He questioned, turning to look fairly accusingly at her back.

'Crying? Don't be silly, I was not-' She stopped short as Erik grabbed her arm and turned her round to face him. He loomed over her, his intimidating height towering over her small form. She seemed only to diminish further when under his heavy gaze.

'Christine, I demand to know what is wrong.' He told her firmly.

'Demand? You demand to know my thoughts?' She asked, growing fiery in her tone.

'Yes, dammit!' He snapped at her, a flame flickering in his illuminated eyes. 'I am tired of playing your games, hearing you speak of letting go only to force me from doing as I choose, watching you lie to me as you fill me with hollow promises only intended to drive you from my mind. I am tired of it, Christine. I want…' He trailed off, not at her tears, but at the fearfully sorry look in her eye.

'You want something more real.' She finished for him. 'I am sorry, Erik, but that is something I simply cannot give.' She admitted, turning her head to look at the floor.

Erik shakily released her arms, realising that he had been holding on far too tightly.

'Why do you wish for me to forget you when it brings so much pain?' He asked, gingerly seeking out her cobalt eyes.

'Because it is what you need.' She answered him in that old calm voice. 'I am only here to protect you, nothing more and nothing less. Yet you would have me remain here for all time, keeping you company and assuming a role I am no longer capable of playing. I am not human anymore, Erik, and though I may weep for you and smile at you, I am no more real than the Opera Ghost. I am your Phantom, Erik. I haunt you to remind you what could be if you only gave life a chance.' She watched as he turned away from her with a hurt expression and a growl. 'I know this is not what you wished to hear, but please listen to me. I am nothing greater than a figment of your imagination.'

'Then why do you cry?' He asked, repeating his earlier question.

Christine tensed at this, drawing back slightly as she searched the space about her for an answer.

'Christine,' he beckoned to her challengingly. 'Why do you cry if you do not wish for me to grow attached to you?' He was growing in height again, unfurling from his pitiful crouch.

'Erik, please-'

'Answer me!' He bellowed, drawing more tears to her eyes as she shrank away from him.

'Because I too wish for things that cannot be. Because I am selfish and foolish and undeserving of your attentions. I am the child who longs to touch the sky yet does not possess the wings to do so. I want things, yet I know I should not for they will only bring me despair and disappointment. Please do not ask me why I cry, Erik, for I do not dare tell you the thoughts which rage against my very nature. Please do not ask it of me. Please.' She begged, sinking ever further until she was almost back where she started upon the floor.

Erik continued to stand over her kneeling form as she wrapped her arms about herself in some sorrowful form of comfort while she sobbed. He felt very much the beast for dragging her to this low and pitiful state, but her refusal to tell him what she was thinking grated upon his ire. He had long wondered where her feelings for him lay, whether in duty or affection, but now he was scared to know the answer. He had guessed it for some time, but the confirmation was too much to bear.

Turning, he stormed off to his room, leaving the small heap of crying Christine to her own devises until one of them could manage to compose themselves.