Chapter 13 - A Deal with the Devil

As dusk blanketed the city of Brussels, smothering the last slanting rays of bronzed afternoon sun, a light winked on in the distance, and then another: it was almost time. From a second story window overlooking a wide, tree-lined boulevard, Raoul watched as the lamp-lighter worked his way down the street, pausing to bring each lamp to life with a touch of a pole, blazing a trail to tonight's dreaded destination. Raoul stubbed out his cigarette in the half-full ashtray and pushed away his uneaten dinner. A few bites of bread would help soothe his sour stomach, but the one mouthful he'd attempted had stuck in his dry throat like a stone.

Ah well, at least nothing in his stomach meant nothing to potentially throw up.

It had taken nearly two weeks to come to an agreement on the where and when of this meeting, and while he couldn't prove it, Raoul couldn't shake the feeling that Erik had been unnecessarily difficult. In the end, Raoul had let him have his way. Tonight, he would just have to put his foot down and make it quite clear that Erik would not be the one calling the shots. He folded a stack of papers neatly in half and tucked them into the inside pocket of his overcoat. Raoul hated to have any sort of concrete evidence, but he was making a deal with an uncommonly slippery devil — he couldn't risk any uncertainties.

The packet felt like a living thing, pulsing against his chest, sending a wave of nausea into his empty stomach.

It's not that Raoul was wavering; in fact, in the days since he'd secured Christine's approval, he'd only grown more positive that his plan was perfect. The initial misgivings he'd had about the swiftness of that approval were soon laid to rest by the ardency and frequency with which she welcomed him back into her arms. It had been like a second honeymoon for them, and Raoul couldn't deny that it gave a boost to his morale and a certain swagger to his step.

And of course, it also helped ease the sting of jealousy. Sharing only feels like a sacrifice if you come to the table starving, after all.

Out on the sidewalk, Raoul gripped the handle of his walking stick and adjusted his black silk topper. The hotel concierge had offered to call a cab, but Raoul had declined, asking instead for directions to the set of cross streets Erik had provided in his last letter, which Raoul had spent the better part of the train ride reading over and over, despite having committed the entire thing to memory some time ago. Erik had assured him the location wasn't far from the hotel; a walk in the cool evening air would be just the thing to settle the seasick churning of his belly.

During sleepless nights, with his wife's head resting sweetly on his chest, his fingers twined through her hair, Raoul had found plenty of time to think, and truly, he had no worries about how it all would turn out in the end. Aside from the wedge which childlessness had placed between them, their marriage had been solid as rock. He and Christine shared not only their love, but an inextricable history, and the deeply-fulfilling life they'd built together. A handful of encounters with an old, ugly man would not threaten that.

It felt shameful to admit, but Erik's ugliness was partly why he'd leapt to Raoul's mind as a potential candidate as readily as he had. Yes, his unparalleled commitment to secrecy and his...regard for Christine were the most important considerations, but what man wouldn't pick someone who held no possible physical attraction, were they forced to choose a lover for their wife? It had been a gamble to assume she could overcome her repulsion, but if she'd been able to kiss that disgusting face, Raoul supposed anything was possible.

Raoul passed a small restaurant. The scent of potatoes and onions frying in oil drifted out the door, turning his unhappy stomach. He paused and fished the silver case from his pocket, withdrawing a cigarette and rolling the slim cylinder between his fingers, feeling the crinkle of the delicate paper which hugged the tobacco. Smoking in public was not something he liked to make a habit of — it seemed not only ungentlemanly, but also gave him the oddest feeling of exposure, as if others could see the feelings which guided his hand to light the match as clearly as if they were written on his face. Still, better that than heaving into a potted plant. Raoul took a long, numbing drag and continued on his way, a puff of smoke trailing behind him.

The thing was, just because he didn't worry about— what would happen, it didn't mean he relished the thought. Despite Christine's initial implication, there was not even the faintest stirrings of a thrill in the thought of his wife in another man's arms. On the contrary, he'd learned the hard way — on more than one occasion — that if he were to let his mind start conjuring images, he'd end up with his last meal lurching up into his throat.

But this was a matter of the ends justifying the means, and so he would just have to put his head down, screw his eyes shut, and run full-speed to that end, doing his absolute best to ignore how absolutely nauseating those means were. A feat easier said than done, particularly tonight.

The street had become blessedly quiet. Though the clink of glasses and the sweet scent of tobacco still carried on the soft breeze, the restaurants and clubs had thinned, and it had been a while since Raoul had seen a shop that wasn't closed for the night. Passing a shuttered bakery with an emerald green awning, he picked up his pace; according to the concierge, the street he was looking for would be coming up at the end of this block.

Reaching the corner, Raoul ground his spent cigarette beneath his heel and scanned the darkened intersection. Erik had instructed him to look for a building covered in scaffolding. Raoul wasn't exactly comfortable breaking into a worksite after hours, but it made sense — it was both private and exactly the Phantom's style.

He almost didn't notice it precisely because it was so conspicuous — not to mention completely unthinkable — but there it was, looming over him in silent judgment: a church, covered in scaffolding. A church! Raoul huffed out a sharp breath. The nerve of that heathen! Well, he wouldn't be telling Christine he'd made arrangements for her to lie with another man in a house of God, that was for certain.

Shaking his head, Raoul checked his pocket watch in the amber glow of a streetlamp. The walk had taken longer than expected — only five minutes remained until they were due to meet. He had hoped to get there early enough to get himself settled, both in body and in mind, so that he could start off on the best possible foot.

That was one small comfort: at least it seemed impossible to start off on a worse foot than last time.

Yes, in hindsight, he had made a few mistakes the last time they'd met. He'd allowed inebriation to stand in for courage, had pleaded and begged and humbled himself, rather than present the offer as what it truly was: the best damn thing to ever happen to that pathetic, sewer-dwelling scoundrel. Tonight, however, Raoul would hold his achingly-sober head up high and set his terms with confidence...if only he could get his hands to stop shaking.

After making sure there were no witnesses to his trespassing, Raoul took off his hat and slipped in through the front door into darkness. As his eyes adjusted, he could see faint light shining up ahead. He followed it, passing into the main hall. It was dark and homely and not at all like the churches he had attended, which were resplendent with heavenly-white marble and adorned with choirs of priceless gilt angels. Dirty dust cloths were draped over the pews, which had been pushed against the walls, leaving a large empty space lit by eerie red light filtering in through stained glass. Raoul's skin crawled.

The location was off-putting, but a quick look around assured him he was there first, thankfully. He turned to sit and wait and try to compose himself...and nearly choked as he almost ran smack into the dark figure standing not two paces from him.

Raoul staggered back, cursing under his breath.

Back-lit by the red-tinged moonlight, Erik appeared made of shadow, shrouded in darkness from head to toe, except for the bone-white gleam of his mask.

"I didn't startle you, did I?" he asked, and though his tone passed for genuine concern, Raoul could feel the smirk snaking into his bones.

Raoul gritted his teeth against the impulse to demand an explanation as to how in the hell he had managed to sneak up on him like that, and instead countered by going on the attack.

"A church?" Raoul sneered, his brows quirked in disdainful reproach. "Really?"

"Oh, is this not an appropriate location to have this discussion?" Erik replied in that insufferably smooth slicked-velvet voice of his. "It hadn't occurred to me." The words were spoken so mildly that Raoul might have believed him...if not for the small gleam of satisfaction shining in his eyes. "If you'd prefer, there's a tavern just up the block. Or did you top off before you came?"

The muscles in Raoul's jaw tightened. "Here is fine."

Erik nodded and swept a hand toward a darkened alcove, where two pews were set up to face each other within a patch of spotlight-bright moonshine flooding in through a small window.

"This location was chosen for practicality's sake," Erik said as they made their way to the waiting seats. "I had my crew finish up early to ensure there'd be no stragglers, and sent my partner to Italy, on a glass-sourcing trip. We can be assured of complete privacy." He whipped the cover off one pew and then the other, and deposited the bundle on the floor. "You'll have to excuse the lack of proper lighting — I'd rather not chance attracting attention by turning on a lamp."

He gestured toward one of the pews, but Raoul remained standing, his face pinched into a frown. "Your crew? What do you mean?"

Erik shrugged and, abandoning the attempt at courtesy, took his seat. He reclined easily, an arm outstretched along the backrest, legs crossed so that the ankle of one leg rested upon the knee of the other, and perhaps it was the angle, but those legs looked very long, remarkably long, much longer than Raoul had remembered. He looked away.

"I've retired from haunting. I make an honest living these days," Erik explained, "as an architect and a business-owner. My company is in the process of renovating this church."

Raoul's face must have reflected the strange sense of confusion he was feeling — of pieces fitting into a puzzle he wasn't aware he'd been assembling — because Erik's mouth twitched into something like a smile. "Is it so strange that the Opera Ghost should have a proper job? I am just a man, after all. I would have thought you understood that quite well, given the nature of this meeting."

Raoul set his mouth into a firm line. Humiliation, he had decided, is a sport which requires two players, and he would not be participating in tonight's game. He remained silent.

Erik stared at Raoul for a long moment, his hard eyes glinting in the stained glass moonlight. His twisted mouth had lost its smirk. "How on earth did you get her to agree to this scheme?" he asked, finally, shaking his head as if he already couldn't believe whatever explanation Raoul was about to give.

"Well..." With rigid fingers, Raoul spun his hat in his hands — he hadn't exactly worked out the answer to that himself. He had intended to dig a little deeper, but Christine didn't seem to want to talk about it, and things had been going so well between them, and...really, did it even matter?

"It's just as I told you — she desperately wants a child," he said, surprising himself with the smooth confidence of his voice. "And she couldn't deny that you made the most sense as a, ah— as a contributor."

Erik raised his eyebrow, clearly unimpressed.

More wasn't strictly necessary — he would bet his every last franc that Erik wouldn't walk away now — but Raoul suspected that something just a touch more compelling would go a long way towards a quick and easy acceptance of his terms. Besides, he hadn't quite started out on the firm footing he'd hoped for… The chance to shift the power balance might be well worth the distastefulness of a little ego-feeding.

Raoul removed his overcoat and put aside his things on the low bench opposite Erik. He sat, his hands gripping the chipped wood on either side of his tensed thighs. "And also…" He suppressed a grimace. "It seems that Christine would like to see you again."

The echoing stillness of the church made Erik's sharp inhale impossible to miss. He eyed Raoul warily, opened his mouth to speak — and then closed it without saying a word.

Raoul bit down on a victorious smile. For the first time, there was no snide retort, only silence as the hard lines of Erik's body subtly softened into a posture that was no longer quite so self-satisfied.

"I suppose we ought to get right to it, then," Raoul said briskly, reaching into his overcoat and pulling out the folded packet of papers. "I've decided on a few terms that we will need to agree upon. A contract, of sorts." He unfolded the papers, smoothing the pages out on his knees as Erik looked on with undisguised distaste. "I'm going to start with the most important items, to make sure they're given the attention they deserve."

Raoul fixed his eyes on the carefully penned words in his hands. His stomach was churning again. How he longed for just one more cigarette, if only to give his hands something to do other than set the paper trembling. Smoking in a church, however, was out of the question; there was no way around it but to test out his ability to forge ahead, full tilt, blinders firmly in place.

He cleared his throat. "First of all, you must acknowledge that by entering into this arrangement, you agree to give up all rights to physical and legal guardianship of the resulting child, and must never make any claim of paternity. The child will never and must never be told the truth of his parentage. In all respects, the child will be my child and will enjoy all the benefits of that, including eventually inheriting the title of Comte de Chagny. Furthermore—" Raoul broke off as Erik began to chuckle. "What?" he snapped. "Is something about that funny?"

"Honestly?" Erik asked, though if it was meant as a question, he didn't wait for an answer. "I find the way you speak of the outcome with such certainty...charmingly optimistic."

"You don't think it will work?"

Erik lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "Who can say? Perhaps it will. But please, go on," he said, extending his hand with a flourish. "I have no wish to dissuade you."

Raoul gave him a simpering look of disgust. "No, I don't imagine you do, do you? Still, in the event that I'm proven right, I must have your word."

"You have it," replied Erik with a spread of his hands, and Raoul could only hope that the words were meant as sincerely as they sounded.

In the quiet moment which followed, Erik shifted in his seat, rearranging those long limbs until he was leaning forward, staring down at his clasped hands. "You know," he said, his voice managing to retain its arrogance despite an unusual tightness, "this might come as a bit of a shock to someone so fixated on parenthood, but I've never had any interest in being a father. And," he added softly, "not only for selfish reasons."

With his bowed head and clasped hands, Erik looked as if he were lost in solitary prayer, and Raoul suddenly wondered if Erik had ever prayed before, and for what, and whether those prayers had ever been answered. Raoul was afraid he already knew the answer to those questions. And for the very first time, he looked — really looked — at the man in front of him and wondered what his life had been like, before.

If Christine knew anything of Erik's past — of his childhood — she'd never spoken of it. But Raoul could imagine...and all at once Erik's last statement became devastatingly clear.

What could Erik possibly have to offer a child when he had doubtless received nothing but rejection, revulsion, and cruelty?

It seemed Erik understood this about himself. And Raoul thought he might be beginning to understand him, too...

He gave a curt nod of acknowledgement.

"Furthermore," he continued crisply, returning to his prepared speech as if there'd been no interruption, "to reinforce the contractual nature of this arrangement, you will receive a payment of 100,000 francs. Half up front, half when the pregnancy is confirmed."

Erik's head snapped up. "Absolutely not. I neither need nor want your money." He narrowed his eyes. "And I don't at all care for the implication."

"I insist." Raoul straightened his spine. "Call it a token of appreciation for your time, or go ahead and donate it, if you're so virtuous now — I don't care. But I intend to make it very clear that this is business, not pleasure."

For a long moment, Erik glared at him, very hard, as if he could burn him with the heat of his eyes.

It wouldn't work.

Raoul simply stared back, unmoved, until at last, Erik looked away with a grumble of assent.

"Alright, then," Raoul said, savoring the small, sweet pleasure of his win. "So now that we're agreed, there's some planning to work out. As much as I hope that this process will be quick, I understand that these things can take time, so I'd like to propose we give this a trial of six months. Could you commit to that?"

Erik's expression went as blank and inscrutable as if the mask covered his face entirely. He nodded.

"Good. I know you must be busy, but do you think you can manage twice, perhaps three times a week?"

Another nod.

"Wonderful. We can determine the schedule on an ongoing basis, working around our various obligations," Raoul paused, looking up from his papers with a sharp eye. "Of course, once she becomes pregnant, all contact stops immediately."

A muscle tensed in Erik's jaw, but again, he nodded.

Raoul drew a finger down the paper, letting it rest on the final line. "Lastly, if a healthy child is born, and all parties are willing, we would like the option to repeat the contract. It would be best for siblings to come from the same stock, as it were. Is that something you would consider?"

There was a pause, followed by yet another nod.

"Alright then, very good." Raoul shuffled the pages on his lap. "Now, onto some logistics. Considering all the options, I'd like to propose that the ah, appointments take place at our chateau in Chagny. There's a caretaker's cottage that hasn't been in use—"

"No."

The one short syllable was spoken like the slamming of a door.

"No?" Raoul frowned. "But the privacy—"

Erik snorted. "For whom? How do you propose I get to and from such a remote location so frequently without attracting attention?"

"Well that's a problem we can—"

"It's not just that." Erik said, cutting him off with a wave of his hand. "I know the responsibility of employment is not something you're familiar with, Vicomte, but I have a job, and I'll need to be able to get back and forth from Brussels efficiently." He sat back, his arms crossed over his chest. "Paris is much easier."

"Yes," Raoul admitted, forcing his words out through clenched teeth, "but we don't have any privacy at our home there."

"No, but I do at mine."

"Under the Opera?" Raoul scoffed, a short bitter laugh which echoed off the brick walls. "Out of the question! I will not send her back down into that foul, stinking pit of Hell."

Erik sighed. "Oh, come now. You've been there quite recently, you know that description is not accurate. The only foul thing about it was your vomit all over my carpet, which I have since taken care of."

An irritating tickle of warmth inched its way up the back of Raoul's neck, and he silently cursed himself for the hundredth time for making himself such an easy target. His mouth, however, stayed tightly shut.

"She will be quite comfortable," Erik continued, "with privacy beyond compare. There's an easy path through the cellars I can show you, and you apparently already know about the gate which opens on the Rue Scribe; you can come and go easily without notice. And there are plenty of cafes and clubs nearby. You can stay close and pass the time with a drink or two, if you like."

"I've given up drinking," Raoul mumbled.

"Have you? I'm glad to hear that. I do hope you stick to it." Erik reclined against the backrest with a small, sly smile upon his odd, contorted lips. "I suppose we'll see."

Raoul ground his teeth. He'd expected the endless needling — it was not appreciated, no, but it was anticipated — however, making this absurd demand which threatened the very integrity of Raoul's painstakingly constructed plan? Unbelievable. Intolerable! He shot up from his seat, stalking over to the very edge of the slowly dwindling band of moonlight.

"I won't budge on this," came Erik's voice from behind him. "You can take it or leave it."

Raoul looked back over his shoulder, squinting across the distance at that brazen masked miscreant, who couldn't have appeared any more disinterested in Raoul's answer.

What game was he playing? Surely he was bluffing.

But if not…

How could Raoul possibly agree? Obviously, anything Erik insisted upon could not be trusted — which was why it was so incredibly vexing that he did have some valid points. Too many, Raoul had to admit. He closed his eyes and exhaled.

"Fine. But I won't be leaving her down there unless she finds everything to her satisfaction."

Erik nodded. "Of course. Not to worry—" he said lightly, with a smile so unassuming it absolutely had to be assumed. "I shall see to it that the lady is completely satisfied."

Blinded by indignation of the most righteous sort fizzing red-hot behind his eyes, Raoul nearly stomped over to slap that smile right off the bastard's revolting face. But at the last moment, with a silent roar of frustration vibrating in his chest, he planted his feet and looked away; there was nothing to be gained from dignifying that bit of tasteless insinuation with a response.

Besides...Raoul supposed he could only blame himself — he had set that one right up, hadn't he?

Instead, he smiled back in a tight, sour expression intended to convey the full depth of his gratitude, and returned to his seat. "Here's how it will go — you will meet us at the gate, and then you will take her down and back up. Twenty minutes."

"Twenty minutes?" Erik laughed, sounding genuinely amused. "That's barely enough time to make it down from the street and back. Or were you expecting this to take place in an alley?"

Raoul's lips pressed into a thin line. "Alright, fine. Thirty."

"An hour."

"An hour?" Raoul sputtered. "There's no need for you to be taking your time with this! You shouldn't need more than a few minutes."

"A few...minutes..." Erik repeated slowly, drawing the words out until they dangled sickeningly in the air between them. He arched his brow. "I see."

Stinging heat singed the edges of Raoul's ears. "Alright...an hour," he snapped, grabbing at his sheaf of papers, shuffling and rearranging them in a likely useless attempt to distract from the conflagration sweeping across his cheeks. "But if she's not back in exactly one hour, then I will have no regrets about sending the gendarmes after you."

Erik tipped his head. "Fair enough."

As the heat receded from Raoul's face, the familiar queasy churn of nausea began to stir his stomach. He swallowed against the thick, hot lump building in his throat. "Now, for the first time," he said, working hard to keep his words steady, "I will escort her down, make sure that she feels comfortable and that the space is acceptable, and then I will go. Then—" he paused, wetting his dry lips, "you do what needs to be done, and when she's ready, escort her back. I'll be waiting. But," he added, a hitch in his already strained voice, "you hang back. I— I don't want to see you afterward."

Raoul darted his eyes up, bracing himself for the stinging slap of Erik's smug satisfaction — and instead found himself hit with something completely unexpected...and far worse: the corner of Erik's mouth had pulled down into a frown which looked very much like sympathy.

The muscles across Raoul's chest tightened.

Did Erik feel bad for...him?

Well!— No thank you, sir. Sympathy was quite unnecessary.

This was all his own idea. Raoul knew full well what he was getting into, he'd chosen this path — Christ, he'd even chosen Erik! Obviously, there would be some...discomfort involved, but he hardly needed his hand held because of it.

Raoul's face fell into a scowl. A dozen different responses swirled in his mouth...but none stuck to his lips.

And perhaps it was just as well; Raoul could feel the inconvenient prickle of hot tears in his eyes, and he did not trust that they would stay put, were he to try to speak on the subject again.

Blinking hard, Raoul flipped through the pile of papers until he found a series of pages marked with a series of boldly printed lines. "Next," he announced brusquely, "we need to discuss the rules. Yes, there are rules," he continued over Erik's exasperated sigh. "I'm not a complete fool. I might trust you in some respects, but I won't be giving you the opportunity to use this situation to your advantage."

Erik tilted his head in wry acknowledgement, his lips slanting into a broad smile. "You know, that might be the most sensible thing I've ever heard you say." He leaned back, stretching out his legs — those long, strangely disconcerting legs — in front of him, crossing them at the ankles. "Alright, then. Let's hear your rules."

Raoul jerked his eyes back to the sheets he clutched in his hands. "There are eight rules," he said, his voice satisfyingly sharp. "If any one of them is broken, it will be grounds for immediate termination of this arrangement." He jabbed a finger at the first line. "One: You must never leave the premises together. Two: There shall be no contact outside of these visits. Three:" he glanced up, making certain he looked that tricky devil right in the eyes, "You are absolutely not allowed to sing to her. I've seen you hypnotize her with your voice, and I won't have it. Likewise, Four: No playing the piano, or organ, or whatever that thing is. Do I make myself understood?"

That mask-blank expression had returned to Erik's face. "Perfectly."

Raoul eyed Erik's exposed features, searching for any sign of deceit. His lips, full and delicately shaped until they faded into swollen, gnarled deformity, were firmly pressed together, causing the sharp line of his jaw to stand out like cut marble. His deep-set eye was pure cool dispassion; in the moon-bleached light, it was the rich, glossy black of polished jet. Above it, the dark brow arched elegantly, without its usual quirk of condescension, the finely tapered end slanting toward a high, noble cheekbone and oh dear God, he'd made a horrible mistake, hadn't he?

Spots shimmered and popped in Raoul's vision. Though he struggled to hear his own thoughts over his thudding heart, one realization screamed out loud and clear: that rich, silky voice...the graceful movements of those long, lean limbs…the handsome contours of the face which Raoul's horrified eyes still rested upon — there was an undeniable attractiveness to Erik.

A fact that was very much at odds with Raoul's gleeful certainty that he was completely unattractive.

Shit.

How had he not noticed before? Had he been so blinded by his loathing of the man?

Oh god— had Christine noticed?

No...no, that was a ridiculous notion. Christine had agreed despite her lack of attraction. She couldn't possibly— Raoul pressed a fist to his roiling stomach. No, she'd only been drawn to him by the bond of music, that hypnotizing voice, the link to her dead father, certainly not because— Oh no no no...

Suddenly, Raoul couldn't pull enough air into his burning lungs. It wasn't possible. He'd thought this out perfectly! Erik had been a safe choice because there was no danger whatsoever of Christine running off with him. She would never abandon a life of beauty in the light to crawl in the darkness alongside a repulsive outcast, who could never give her what Raoul could.

But...what if instead of repulsion, there was attraction? Real, physical attraction? A sheen of sweat slicked Raoul's forehead. And he wasn't such an outcast anymore, either. No longer a phantom, he was just Erik, a man with a very normal — respectable, even — profession. Looking at him now, no longer blinded by sheer loathing or by desperation or by the past, Raoul had to acknowledge that he could easily pass as just another gentlemen of the haute bourgeoisie, and a good-looking one at that, if not for the—

Ah.

Right, the mask. In that panicked moment of awful epiphany, he'd completely forgotten the utter horror of the secret it hid. Raoul drew in a shaky breath and thanked God for the hideous, rotted face hidden behind the smooth white porcelain.

Attractiveness and suitability, when it came down to it, weren't all-or-nothing. Perhaps Erik had some...commendable qualities, but how much were they worth when his flaws were bad enough that he'd had to spend years in hiding, creeping around a dank basement like a ghoul?

What was it Christine had said, that night on the rooftop? Something about how she could never forget how distorted and awful that face was? No, there was nothing to worry about. Raoul closed his eyes and blew out a long, slow breath, deeply grateful that his judgement wasn't as poor as he feared, after all.

"Five…?"

Raoul's eyes snapped open. Erik was watching him intently, head cocked.

"Ah, yes...five." Raoul cleared his throat and scanned the paper for where he'd left off.

His stomach dropped the moment his eyes caught on the next line.

"Five: Both parties—" he swallowed thickly, "shall only take off as much clothing as needed." Raoul kept his gaze trained on the sharp pen strokes, letting everything else blur into nonexistence. "Six: Only acts which are— which are necessary to lead to—" bile began to sting the back of his throat, "to lead to conception are allowed. Which means—"

He needed a moment.

Swallowing down the sour burn, Raoul shifted on the hard bench. One-by-one, he swiped his damp palms over the smooth wool of his trousers and chanced a glance at Erik, who lifted his brow.

"Go on…?" he drawled, punctuating the words with a spiraling sweep of his hand, the long, fine-boned fingers sleek and controlled and Christ, not the hands, too!

With a grimace, Raoul forced the remaining words out in a rush of constricted breath. "Which means you are very careful about where you put your hands. And don't you dare think about kissing her."

Erik crossed his arms across his chest. "Will you be dictating specific positions, as well?"

Raoul flinched. His eyes darted down to the new page he'd just uncovered.

Heat flooded his face.

"Of course not, don't be vulgar," he snapped, quickly shuffling the page to the back of the pile. He'd dispose of the evidence later. It was no loss, he wouldn't have been able to say it without retching anyway. "But...I do expect that she should be allowed to make the decisions regarding that," he added, the sick twisting of his stomach providing a welcome distraction from the meaning of the words he was saying.

"Finally, and most importantly—" Raoul slapped one last page on top of the pile. "Seven: You shall make no attempt to see the child. Ever."

"I thought you said there were eight?" Erik asked so very innocently that Raoul knew immediately that there was nothing innocent about it. Erik knew damn well what was on that paper, and of course he did: so much for Raoul trying to keep his emotions off of his face.

But two could play at that game. If Erik wanted to play at being naive, then so could Raoul.

"Oh, did I? Then I suppose I must have misspoken," he said breezily, ignoring Erik's smirk. He gathered up the entire stack of papers and tapped them into a neat pile. "Now, I'm going to have to insist that you formally sign off on this. I realize that I am perhaps making a mistake here, but I can't have you claiming we agreed upon something other than what we've just discussed," he said, rummaging in his overcoat for his pen. "I will keep this document safe for now, and destroy it when it's no longer needed. I think you'll understand why I won't be giving you a copy of your own, but since you're supposedly such a genius, I'm assuming that you'll be fine without one. Do you think you've got it all?"

"Every word." The shadow of a smile rested upon Erik's lips.

A prickle of gooseflesh ran up Raoul's arms; he shivered and pulled his jacket tight. It was time to wrap this up...it was getting quite late, and quite cold…

"Well then, I think that covers it. I'll just need you to make your mark here." Raoul handed over the contract and pen; he gnawed at his bottom lip as Erik scratched out his signature. "Actually..." Raoul cleared his throat. "There is one more thing…"

One more thing — one more concern, yet unspoken, lingering in the back of his mind. Raoul had been uncertain if he'd have the nerve to speak it, but he was certain he would regret it if he didn't.

"It's ah— not something I've discussed with my wife, for what will be obvious reasons, but I feel this needs to be addressed."

With narrowed eyes, Erik handed back the pen and papers.

Raoul folded the packet and began to tuck everything back into his overcoat. He took a quick breath. "Look, this is rather delicate," he said, keeping his eyes trained on the work being done by his trembling hands. "I don't care to intrude on your private affairs, but...I have to insist that if you, ah—" Raoul swallowed, "employ the services of— of ladies of the night, that you refrain from doing so for the duration of the arrangement. Christine's health is of the utmost importance, as I'm sure you'd agree and I won't have her exposed—"

Erik shot from his seat, a blur of black. "I have never, and would never pay for a woman's comforts," he spat. "Regardless of what you might think, that's never been necessary." He turned and stalked over to the window, his hands clenched into fists.

"Understood," Raoul replied measuredly. "Can I ask for abstinence aside from these visits, then?"

Erik paused and fixed Raoul with a shrewd, thoughtful look. There was complete silence except for the low howl of wind against the old window.

"Not a problem," Erik snapped, finally. He turned his face away with a jerk.

"Very well." Raoul nodded and reached for his overcoat. "Shall we begin next Saturday? Does that work for you?"

"Not so fast, Vicomte. I have some requests of my own."

Raoul's coat dropped from his hand. "Excuse me?"

Erik lifted his chin. "I don't want you asking details of her. I value my privacy, too, and I want your word you won't go prying. She can confirm that she felt safe and comfortable and was treated with respect, but that's plenty for you." He held up a hand as Raoul's mouth opened in protest, silencing him with a flick of his wrist.

"This is for your sake, too, you know. You're acting quite cool about this now, but once the questions begin, where will they end?" Erik took a few slow, deliberate steps forward. "I suggest that you try to put the whole thing from your mind," his dark eyes glittered. "Or it just might eat you alive."

"Noted," Raoul replied, summoning all his will to keep the twitching muscles in his face smooth and expressionless. "Is that all?"

"Not quite. There's one important question you haven't touched upon." Erik's voice had dropped into something rough and toneless, much different than his usual sleek, melodic control. It raised the hairs on the back of Raoul's neck. "What is your plan for dealing with a monstrous birth?"

Raoul tugged at the sleeve of his jacket. "Well, I… I—"

Still haven't decided.

That was the honest answer.

And what was wrong with that? He would have nine months at the very least to figure something out; there was no need to rush a decision.

"Well, you'd better think on it." Erik's tone was as impenetrable as the shadows surrounding them. "But if I were you," he said as he stepped out of the now very narrow band of moonlight and was swallowed by the darkness, "I would smother it, and tell her it never drew breath." Raoul could hear the echo of footsteps crossing behind him. "It would be a kindness to everyone — the child most of all."

The echoing steps came to a stop directly behind where Raoul sat, tensed and waiting.

Erik's voice was a ghostly whisper in his ear.

"Trust me."

An uncontrollable shudder rippled across Raoul's shoulders. He huffed out a shaky breath. "What a ghastly thing to say, Erik!"

Although, perhaps Erik knew very well what he was saying…

No.

Raoul shook his head, clearing away the insidious, cajoling whispers of the treacherous idea.

If there were one line to be drawn between Erik and Raoul, this was it. Raoul would not so much as think such a thing.

"Now see here," Raoul said, spinning around to confront him, "I won't have you saying these sorts of things to—"

But Erik wasn't there. He'd simply disappeared.

A flush of scorching heat surged through Raoul's body, head to toe, building in his chest and curling his hands into fists of impotent rage.

That damned slippery devil!

Raoul brought his fist down on the unyielding wood of the pew's backrest with a crack — and a humiliating yelp of pain. He cradled his throbbing hand, still cursing under his breath—

And hoping very sincerely that, somehow, the distant, ringing sound of soft laughter was only the wind.

Well, that went well! Anyone keeping track of how many mistakes Raoul made there? Whatever you do, don't make a drinking game of it - don't want anyone ending up in the hospital! He really is trying his best though, sweet boy. Fingers crossed for you, buddy! (BTW, for some very mildly spoiler-adjacent FAQs, to help ease some various worries about the direction of this story please make sure you read to the end of these notes. If you want to be 100% surprised in every way, I'll give you fair warning as to when to stop.)

Thank you so very much to you all. Not just to those who like/want to/are able to/etc interact, (though also I need to say that you all know how much I appreciate hearing from every single one of you who do - it truly boosts me through some rough times, both with writing and with life in general), but to all of you who take to the time to read. I have never met a chapter I didn't double from its intended length; I realize reading this is a time investment, and I honestly just can't thank you enough. Such an honor.

EDIT: I meant to add this earlier, but better late than never. I LOVE to read fic. Many of you readers are also writers and I SEE YOU, and I feel bad not reading in return. But I've found out the hard way that I really cannot read much while I'm in the middle of my own writing. And not just because I have such limited time (though that is also for dang sure). With so many different versions of the same characters, it muddles things up too much for me, and I worry about subconsciously swiping phrases or characterizations from other places. So, I've had to take a break, though occasionally I'll cheat and read a little one-shot. Anyway, please trust that I have a list of fics to read a mile long, and cannot wait to get a chance to binge, binge, binge!

Up next: The trio is back together again! Reuniteeed and it feeeeeels so ...awkward? Probably! Find out in Chapter 14.

Thanks again, everyone, and I hope you enjoyed! Those two are so much fun to write, I think that was my favorite chapter so far. :)

xo Flora

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OKAY. I'm not really giving anything plot-wise, but if you would like to know NOTHING about the direction of the story, then do stop reading.

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Alright, then. There are two questions/concerns I get frequently, so I'm going to clarify here.

1. No, despite how things could seem, this is not heading towards a situation where all three are involved with one another. There will be no E/R, no enemies to lovers. That is not their jam. We can hope for something other than bitter rivalry, but it won't be romance or sex. So whether that's a relief or a disappointment, there you have it. And as a side-note...even if we're not heading into throuple territory, it should be obvious by now that if you're not comfortable with anything other than strict monogamy...hoooo boy, is this not the story for you!

2. People are worried about how bad Raoul's ending will be, to which I say...why are you so sure he'd be the one with the unhappy ending? Wow, no confidence for Raoul and his scheme! Honestly, this could go any number of ways, couldn't it? Here's the thing I'll say...when all is said and done, none of them is going to end up miserable. There's angst, and they'll be put through the wringer, and not everybody (or anybody) will get the exact ending they thought they might get - but none of them is getting a "sad" ending. So rest assured that you can get attached without the fear of having your favorite being done dirty. I'll be nice...enough. :)