A/N There's only one more chapter to go after this one, plus an epilogue. Thanks to everyone for taking the time to review.

He watched the emotional by-play on her face and became frightened, but his fear took the shape of anger. Something with which he was more familiar. He lashed out at her in his shame and misery. "Isn't this what you wanted? My life paraded before your eyes?" He stood up quickly from the chair and crossed to her, and because she refused to look at him, he became angrier. "Perhaps I dragged out a little too much of it because you are literally vibrating with revulsion for me, no?"

She shook her head, but she was indeed trembling, and at last looked up at him as he towered above her, his corpse's face made worse by his emotional turmoil. Erik felt love and wrath warring with each other when he saw the tears in her eyes. The anger won out and he leaned down, amber eyes sparking with fury and something else that alarmed her.

He grabbed her by the elbows, yanking Christine to her feet. "Don't you dare cry for that damned whore!" He shook her as she opened her mouth, and fought to pull away from his bruising grip. She tried to talk, but all that emerged was a squeak of alarm. "Do you hear me? Don't...you...dare!" he roared. For emphasis, he shook her after each word, and with a growl of rage, bent down and claimed her mouth in a savage kiss.

Christine was bent backward from his onslaught, and although momentarily fearful of where this was heading, she stopped fighting him. There was no tenderness in his kiss; he was punishing her for what he believed to be her disgust for him. His mouth moved boldly across hers, and she cringed when his tongue forced its way between her lips. He released one hand, his other holding her close against him, and cupped one of her breasts, stroking her roughly through her nightgown. Her body quaking with fear, she nevertheless tried to stay perfectly still, not responding to this forceful display of control. For that's all it was, and she wasn't going to help feed the flames. My darling, why are you doing this? It's wrong...so wrong and you'll only end up hating yourself for it.

As if he heard her agitated thoughts, his desire died all at once. With a cry of sorrow, he pushed her away and stumbled to the fireplace where he fell to his knees and covered his face with trembling hands. His sobs were harsh and grating to Christine's ears as Erik curled up on the Persian rug, his shoulders shaking with grief and remorse. She touched her lips. They throbbed from his brutal kiss, and her arms were tender where he'd gripped them so harshly. On legs turned to jelly, she walked slowly to the man tucked into a fetal position, his sobs heartrending. She stood there uncertainly for moments that seemed to stretch to infinity, badly shaken and unsure of herself and him. But his heartbreak tore at her battered composure, and she knelt down and put a comforting hand on his narrow shoulder squeezing it softly. He cringed away from her, but remained on his side facing the fireplace. She laid down behind him, fitting her body to his and tugged him close, her arms holding him tightly. He remained stiff and unresponsive, but his sobs continued like a child bereft of comfort and love.

"I wasn't crying for her, babe." She kissed the back of his neck and rocked him. "I was crying for you."

In a second, he had turned in her arms and buried his wet face in her shoulder, clutching her fiercely. For a long time they simply held one another and cried, Christine freely giving him the compassion and warmth he'd always been denied. Erik at last raised his head. "Can you ever forgive me?" he said in a voice hoarse from weeping.

She reached out with a hand none too steady and thumbed the tears away, then kissed him lightly on the mouth. Her nerves feeling raw and exposed, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I already have." He dropped his head to her shoulder again, and heaved a relieved sigh. "Now forgive yourself."

If only he could. He had nearly destroyed the one true happiness he ever had. Recounting his life to Christine had reopened old wounds which still had the power to bleed, and sensing her repulsion at his actions with the prostitute, had sent him over the edge. He had buried that memory effectively until scooping it out of equally abhorrent recollections, and presenting it to her like a particularly gruesome trophy of his wretched existence. And if he found it to be horrid, how much more would she? Which led to his outburst.

His mind refused to grapple with the damage he may have caused here tonight. He would have destroyed himself before harming her physically, but displays of anger such as this would only serve to drive a wedge into their relationship, perhaps irreparably. And he wouldn't lose her...couldn't. But how was she to ever understand the disparities in their lives and the awfulness of his youth? The degradation of being considered less than desirable, less than human, and the resultant rage because of it. She was brought up in a secure home with love at its core. Much different than an ugly ragtag stripling running wild in the filthy, mean streets of Paris. He would have to earn her love and he would start now, but it would be from whole cloth. He was a novice at intimacy and tenderness. What he felt for Christine was still new to him, but he would do anything for her.

"I will try."

She was still disturbed by his confession, but it had been years ago and he was only ever gentle with her. Well, he was until tonight. She had to be truthful with herself before they took another step. He had badly frightened her with his behavior tonight, not to mention the disclosure of his sordid past. The brutish nature of it left her feeling as though she were dealing with a man so damaged, he could never recover from it. The memory alone of what he'd done to the prostitute had dredged up the very same caustic responses of that night...the anger and shame of a young man always shunned and alone.

Let's not forget the lust, Christine . Oh yes, for it was surely there as well. Thank God he came to his senses. You're way beneath the ground in this place. Far from help of any kind.

But he stopped before things went any further, and she was quite sure it was his love for her and his innate decency that made him realize his destructive behavior. Ultimately she trusted him to do the right thing. She saw her masked man as buried treasure; dig deep beneath the dirt and dross, and with patience and a little faith, there lies the gold. But even after the precious metal is brought into the light of day, dirt can still cling to it. Careful and diligent cleaning slowly reveals its wealth once more.

And so it would be with Erik. She loved him and always would. He answered some need inside of her and she for him. She would never be without doubts concerning his brutal past. But that was life. No guarantees. She knew this and accepted it. Looking at his bent head, she felt only bitterness for a world that had reduced him to this.

Christine grasped his jaw and tipped his head up, looking deeply into his blood-shot eyes. They were calmer and hopefully he was a little more at peace. She raised a hand to his cheek. "Promise me one thing. From this day forward, promise me you will never harm another person, regardless of what you feel they've done to deserve it. C-Can you do that? For me?"

His voice was husky and the tears were still present, but he was a little more composed. He armed the stickiness from his face and took a deep breath. "I think if I have you I can do anything."

She noticed that he was hedging with his answer, and realized a promise from a man like Erik might be hard to keep. She felt indescribable tenderness and love for him at that moment, but it was mixed in with a healthy dose of trepidation and concern. Loving him would entail much more than the usual give and take present in any normal male/female relationship. At times, she was quite sure she would be feeling her way carefully. A normal argument between the two of them would be anything but. A life-time of negative reactions to people doesn't change overnight...perhaps it never will. She felt a moment of unease, and stubbornly shook it off.

Instead she nodded, her mind already committed to him. "Yeah, I can live with that." Baby steps, Christine. As long as he tries, you can't ask for more than that, can you?

He pulled her up with him as he got to his feet. For a moment they stood there awkwardly, then she yawned and headed for the couch and plunked herself down on it. Shock at his revelations tonight and his subsequent meltdown left her feeling weak and shaky. "I want to hear the rest, but comfortably so come on over here and keep me warm."

Which was the exact opposite of what really took place. He always felt cold until her body heat warmed him up. It was simply another anomaly of his. She folded her legs underneath her on the couch, and feeling a vast relief, he walked over and sat down beside her. He grabbed the throw from the back of the couch and draped it around her shoulders, then leaned back tiredly and closed his eyes.

"I have been all over the world and I've seen much, but none of it compares to the very first time we met. I will do whatever it takes to keep your love." He opened his eyes and looked at her. "I never realized it was there for someone like me. Mine," he whispered, "and I almost lost it."

Christine said nothing, but put her hand on the back of his neck, combing her fingers through the soft hair, and pulled his head to hers. She placed tiny kisses all over his face, and he gradually relaxed under her gentle ministrations.

"How can you excite me so, one minute and soothe me in the next?" he said quietly.

"Any port in a storm," she whispered against his lips then settled beside him.

He rolled one bleary eye toward her. "Only yours, ma petite."

She leaned against him feeling exhaustion creeping up on her, but needing to hear the rest. "What did you do after Behzadi and his wife were...killed?"

"In effect, nothing. I did accomplish a few constructive projects before I contacted the DGSE."

"Such as?"

"I will show you later today. You may judge for yourself." Changing the subject, he continued. "I tried to put the Behzadi woman out of my mind, but it became impossible."

"And that's why you joined the DGSE?"

"Oui. That, among other things. I knew entirely too much about my former business associates. I thought it was time to terminate my special services for them and move on. French Intel had tried to enlist my help before, but this time I contacted them and it worked to our mutual benefit. So much so, that I met you which I shall always consider a miracle for a very undeserving man."

"Are you still an agent?"

"Non, we have parted company. Amicably, I might add."

He watched her nervously, hoping that she would forgive him once more...for everything she'd learned tonight. "Do you..." He looked away from her, preparing himself for desolation. He forced his eyes back to hers and took a deep breath. "Do you still love me, my Christine? Ne vous arretez pas, je vous en prie."

For an answer, she kissed him firmly on the mouth. "Yes, I love you, and no...I won't stop." She gazed deep into the yellow irises and smiled tiredly. "Maybe you needed to get rid of some of that old baggage you've been carrying around all these years." She shrugged. "Sort of an emotional cleansing." She put a hand to his cheek. "You can be very close-mouthed sometimes, ya know. But we move on from here, babe. Nowhere to go but up."

He felt the hard knot in his chest loosen, and with tremendous relief, pulled her gratefully into the circle of his arms. He nuzzled her throat. "I love you so much. So very much," he whispered. "I would never hurt you. I swear it."

"I know that, Erik."

She looked up at him with a faint smile. "Actually, in a way I should be thanking you." Her eyes gleamed with amusement. "Life sure hasn't been dull since we met. I mean, I never thought that one day I'd be living with you in the fifth cellar of the Garnier, in a house, by a lake."

"Would you like to know how I chose your house?" he said softly.

"Um, online, I guess."

"Yes, but I already had a place on the Fairfield Rd. chosen. The Brickhouse Inn. It was a little closer to Chagny and also in a quiet area. Everything I required. My second choice was your establishment."

"The Brickhouse? Then why didn't you go there? Nothing wrong with it, even if they are rivals of ours." she said. "It's a well run inn."

He gave her a very Gallic shrug. "To this day, I do not know the answer to that. I decided at the last minute to call your home and speak with Madame Valerius. Call it a whim, if you like."

"So what made you change your mind?" She snickered. "Did she promise you breakfast every morning or to do your laundry for free?" To Christine, the laughter felt good after the painful revelations of the night.

"You made me change my mind. Or I should say your voice."

"Huh? I spoke to you the day we met. That was the first time."

He shook his head. "It was actually the day before. I called to speak with Madame Valerius and you answered the phone, Christine. We talked for perhaps a minute, but in those sixty seconds I decided your place would suit my needs better."

He chuckled and she was gratified to hear it. "If I recall, you were in a hurry and informed me of that fact in no uncertain terms. You gave the phone to your mother as soon as she came into the room, but my mind was already made up."

She racked her brain trying to remember a very short conversation many months ago. And then it came to her. She grinned in delight and hugged him. "No wonder you seemed familiar! I do remember! You...you asked me how close we were to Cemetery Ridge! Didn't you? I was in an awful hurry, already ten minutes late for work that morning. Lucy decided to run away from me and I had to chase her, or I would have already been..." she trailed off, realizing what that meant.

"Why my voice?" She watched his face closely.

He shrugged again. "I don't know for certain, except that it was pleasing to my ear. At the time, it did not seem to matter much; as I said, it was a whim, but it made my decision for me. I am a musician. Sound is very important to me, and you have a very lovely voice, Christine, but even so, I soon forgot and didn't recall it until I heard you speak again. The night we met. You were very much how I pictured you- a face to match your voice."

Her hands tightened on him. "If Lucy hadn't run away from me that morning, I wouldn't have spoken with you. In all probability, you would have stayed at the Brickhouse. We wouldn't have met, would we?" she said in a hushed whisper.

"But we did," he stressed. "Fate is a capricious mistress, is she not? But for a few scant minutes, you would never have known I existed and I..." he stopped when the realization hit him, "I would still be in Hell."

"Soul mates," she murmured.

He looked at her quizzically. "What do you mean?"

She hadn't realized she spoke out loud. She glanced at him, eyes bright with excitement and shook her blonde head. "N-Nothing. I'm tired. It's been a long night, but remind me to tell you someday about a wonderful old lady and a conversation I had with her years ago."

They were quiet for a while, each to their own thoughts, then Christine glanced at him. "You told me once you had surgery on your face. How old were you then?"

He flinched at her question and was silent for so long, she didn't think he was going to answer. She promised Bernard not to reveal the conversation they had and she wouldn't, but she wanted Erik's complete trust. For them to have a life together, it was imperative; she realized his treatment at the hands of his surgeons had only reinforced his notion of his own inhumanity. An opinion he wouldn't want her to share.

"Humans are such fragile creatures," he said quietly. "And vain. They worry if their nose is too large or if it's crooked. They worry that they are not handsome enough or pretty enough." He closed his eyes and snorted. "Too common, they think. Too plain."

He looked at her and sneered. "What I would have given to have their petty concerns."

She ducked her head under his steady regard, knowing she was one of those vain humans. How many times had she looked at herself in the mirror wishing for a prettier face? Or how at sixteen a pimple on her chin could ruin her day? Had she really been so shallow?

"I was twenty-six when I had my first and last surgery. I went to a private hospital outside Paris, not very far from Lyon. The surgical team was one of the best in its field of facial reconstruction, but they had never seen a face like mine. They were intrigued, to say the least. My surgery ended with an infection. A rather bad one. I was already having second thoughts; it would take years and a fortune to give me anything resembling normalcy, but I had already been aware of that. That was not what caused me to leave that place so quickly."

He grew quiet and then barely above a whisper,"They wanted to study me, Christine. They wanted to learn what made the monster...tick."

Her hand came up to his jaw, her thumb stroking his bony chin. She held his gaze. "Never, ever refer to yourself as a monster again. You hear me, Erik? Never again."

He looked at her and nodded mutely. "They wanted my permission to run some tests as a preliminary to their examination of me." He stared at their joined hands with fascination. So simple a thing, holding hands, but he still marveled at it. "I declined of course. I may be a mons...I may be ugly, but I never considered myself an inhabitant of a medical journal complete with garish color photographs."

His fingers tightened on hers. "I became angry at their insistence for my consent; they tried to restrain me. A male nurse was injured. Quite badly, I'm afraid."

"Did...did he die?"

He shook his head. "No. He eventually recovered. "I told him to remove his hands from me. He did not. Another male attendant approached at that time with a hypodermic, and I fought them off. They left me alone after that." His eyes stared at nothing, his mind trying to force the memory back into that black, bottomless hole where all the dreadful things were buried. "Bernard came later that day and had me discharged. He threatened a lawsuit for trying to coerce me into something I didn't want to do, and the hospital wanted to avoid the publicity so it ended there."

"My poor Erik." This room is getting very crowded with people I'd like to force march off a cliff. He might be one of the world's most dangerous assassins, but that ugly little boy no one wanted is alive and kicking inside of that cunning thirty-eight year old body.

They sat together in a companionable silence, the only sounds in the room the pop and hiss from the fire and the steady ticking of the wooden mantle clock.

"What were the nightmares about?" she asked quietly.

He got up and began pacing around the room, until he finally came to a halt in front of her. He raked his hand through his thin hair, a gesture she had come to know so well.

He sighed. "It is the same dream every night. I have had nightmares before. Many times actually, but these are very different."

He paused, not wanting to say anything more, but knowing he had no choice. "I will not give you any detail," he said firmly, "but they are always about you and the night of the masquerade, only this time Behzadi succeeded in taking us and they were using you to break me."

His voice had taken on a quaver, becoming more agitated. "Sometimes I am helpless in my own mind, Christine."

He started pacing again. "I have always been alone, you understand. Music has been my escape- my solace. I could become whatever I wanted to be. In the notes. In the melody. Now, I have you and I am loved for myself. I am...

"...happy," he whispered.

She got up from the couch and went to him, wrapping her arms around his narrow waist and laid her head on his chest. "Maybe...maybe the dreams are occurring because you are just that. Um... happiness is a strong emotion too. In a way, it's just as powerful as anger or...or fear. You've never really felt it before except with music. Now that you have, you don't want to lose it."

"You are very wise, my angel." He kissed the crown of her head and rested his cheek there.

"Maybe your waking fear is coming out in your dreams. Taking away what you value most."

They stood there holding on to each other tightly, both silent.

"Perhaps you are right," he said at last.

Then he put a long, cool finger under her chin and lifted her head up to meet his gaze. He looked intensely into her sleepy blue eyes and prayed he was doing the right thing. For if she refused, it would shatter him.

"Marry me, Christine."

She smiled up at him lovingly, only hesitating for a moment.

"Yes."