Author's Note: A Little Early because of the Holiday, Enjoy!

MarilynKC: Gotta rationalize what happens with him (in general) somehow between my plans and well, 'canon' so, it appears that segment is working out well! Erik and Christine, they will manage what comes next, in their way.

sbollin93: Thank you! Erik and Christine have…grown so much from even the start of the story(I look back sometimes and just go —wow). They are not easy to break up this time.

Teen545: It's fun trying to let them be, until someone has to go 'dramatic' on me! Lol.

Now and Before

The night left Erik torn.

He wanted to lie beside her and hold her close while whispering words of endless affection into her ear. A mixture of nerves and excitement stirred within him. Varied emotions, between negative and positive, claimed his thoughts.' If she was capable of remembering fragments through dreams, how much did she remember while awake? What would she remember when she woke now? Which Christine would he meet? The Angel who died in his arms and sent him here? Or the spirited young woman whom he had devoted his entire being to these past weeks?

The fretful ponderings brought forth a strange realization. Although she was the same woman in origin and physical presentation, they were not the same. He loved the Angel very much, and the pain of her loss would never leave him, but Erik loved this new iteration of her more. There was no comparing them. It would seed an ache he did not want. Both were perfect in their ways, being the guiding light in the darkness that consumed much of his life. The Angel taught him how to be a man again when madness consumed him. The Spirited One gave him true belonging.

He stressed perfect behavior, avoiding any situation that might draw out the parts of him that would jeopardize their relationship… and their future.

It was fatiguing, if not outright exhausting on his mentality. Erik might have spent a few years interacting with and managing elements of Phantasma, gaining a few associations worthy of a guarded friendship along the way – but those socializations were minor compared to now. While interacting and being with Christine every day was new and enjoyable, his role at the opera as her tutor became taxing when dealing with anyone else.

Neither confident to cradle her nor willing to leave her, Erik settled into the comfortable reading chair for the night. As the hours ticked away, he would switch between rising to brush a section of her wild hair with the utmost care, reading, and restless snoozing with his thoughts whirling around his beloved.

At five in the morning, Erik dressed for the day in the lavatory.

By six, he had written a note, ventured up to the opera, and returned to check on Christine – who had not moved a centimeter since he put her to bed.

Come seven, she began stirring. Twisting, churning in the blankets, and saying things he heard her say the night that changed everything. The culmination of his insanity was not a forgettable event for anyone involved, but who would soon wake?

Erik straightened in his chair at her bedside, unfolding his legs and leaning forward in growing anticipation and apprehension.

It would be a terrifying relief to have her remember something.

But it could leave her angry, and all that he worked for these weeks would be for naught.

" Christine," he crooned her name in sweet melody. He wanted to touch her, draw her into waking, but was terrified at the prospect of her rejecting his touch. " Christine…"

" No…" she murmured, squirming more now. " No… No – I don't —"

Erik felt his blood run cold and that familiar chasm of despair open up in the pit of his stomach. She was going to wake up and hate him. Everything he fought for – their future – would be lost, and he would have failed her again without lifting a finger…

" Chris–tine…" his mouth went drier than the Lut Desert as he struggled with saying her name. He reached out, brushing his fingers against her arm with fleeting nerves to wake her from her nightmare. A nightmare he created.

" No–!" Christine cried as she bolted upright.

Erik flinched, jerking his hand back, then watched her with wide eyes.

She panted in her brief panic, glancing around the room until she saw him and reached out, " Erik," she choked through tears.

He went from his chair to her side in an instant with a surge of minor relief as Christine burrowed into his shoulder and clung tight. Always eager to hold her close, Erik shifted a bit to better accommodate their need to embrace. Just holding her eased the tension from her form and the anxiety rooted in him.

"It was horrible," she lamented, her voice gritty.

"Tell me," he coaxed in his most soothing tone.

"I…we…" she stuttered, shaking her head against his chest. "You were there, and Raoul… I was me…but it was like I was someone else," she shook her head again. "I was leaving with him, but I was so worried about you. I was terrified that something was going to happen to you… that you would let this mob find you and end you… or that you were going to take your own life."

After… he thought. That notion was true. He had considered letting it all end. Without her, there was nothing for him to live for… until she came back. Until she gave his ring back; when she broke for him. It brought a shred of hope and the realization that he was not yet worthy of her.

"Then, when I looked back…you gave this nod that said so much —that it would be okay, you'd be fine, and to go on —but I—" a shuddering sob escaped her as her fingers dug into his back from clutching so tight. "I knew I had to, and that I should— but it was like I was someone else? I didn't want to. I don't want to — why would I ever? I was but a helpless observer, having thoughts that weren't mine, while having my own…"

Erik pressed his cheek to her hair, hanging on her every word and deciphering what she was saying and what it meant. He had Spirited Christine in his arms— his Christine – his truest love —remembering the past life of his Angel?

"You must think me mad for being so upset over a dream, but…it seems different. More like the nightmare of leaving you…for him."

"Never," he murmured, caressing her back. "I am merely trying to—" he squeezed her. "—What else do you remember, Christine? From your dream?"

Christine slowly pulled back until they were at arm's length, her eyes roaming over him, in search of an answer to an unspoken question.

Erik managed to remain still under the scrutinizing gaze, letting her take the time she needed as he watched that churn in her eyes.

"You were different…" her voice was far away. "You were…"

Swallowing against the lump in his throat when she did not continue, he went with his instinct, though perhaps it was against his better judgment. "I was different, Christine," he admitted.

Her eyes widened. "It's… not just a dream, is it?" she breathed.

"Sometimes, dreams can be real," he broke eye contact then, unable to keep it any longer.

Her hands floated to cup over her mouth as she gasped, shifting away a bit to put her feet on the carpet, but did not rise. After several minutes of silence between them, she managed to find her voice, "I… I don't understand."

"Which part?"

"Any of it… you… me… this. None of this makes any sense while still making…" she shook her head and hunched forward to hold her skull in her hands. " …perfect sense. How can you know anything about this? What I dreamed?"

"What is the last thing you remember from it?"

"Why does that matter?" she demanded.

"Because it determines how much or how little I tell you about what I know."

"You should tell me everything," she snapped as she looked up at him.

Erik shook his head. "No."

"Why?"

"I will confirm whatever you may recall, but I will not burden you with things that have not come to you on their own accord."

"You think me unable bear it?"

"Hardly," he said, standing and running a hand over his masked face. "Tell me, Christine…are these memories your memories, or do they feel like they belong to someone else?"

She went silent.

"From what you have said of these dreams… these memories, you are but an observer who can feel what is transpiring— thoughts, feelings, but they are not yours."

She gave a diminutive nod.

Hypothesis confirmed, Erik gave a nod and began pacing a bit. "Is what you told me —moments ago — the last thing you remember?"

"Yes," she nodded. "Mostly. A few…images of him being…" she shook her head. "He didn't like you much and wanted more to happen to you… after."

Erik nodded again, "My death, I assume?" he asked, but his mind was churning over his next steps now. What to say, and what not to say while giving her some sort of answer to their situation without divulging everything that took place in the weeks and years after that night of insanity.

"It…angered me. I suppose there was a moment where our thoughts were aligned, but I still don't understand this Erik, nor how you know?"

"I– I do not know how or why, only what is," he sighed before turning to her. "In truth, I am somewhat relieved to know that you can recall what happened… before."

" Before?"

He gave a slow nod. "The dream I told you about last night…where we shared a great love, but our choices parted us for years — is true, only it was not a dream. Not for me."

She watched him, silent in searching for more — a memory that did not come. "I don't—" she shook her head. "I don't have that memory."

"That may be for the best, Christine. However, I will divulge that you married the Vicomte because he could offer you a life that I could not, not then. Not the first time."

Christine sat in silence, dimly aware of the robe and damp towel that she still had bound to her form.

"The dream you had, a love more than love? Oh, Christine… It was not long after that moment we shared that I found myself back here. Eleven years wiped away in a snap," he snapped his fingers in tune with the word. "I woke, confused and disoriented in the flies with my hand on the lever to release the cog that would send the backdrop onto the train of Carlotta's dress…"

A backdrop falling from above toward Carlotta…

Cries of the Phantom and startled girls, peevish managers trying to placate the Diva…

Singing Think of Me before all of Paris in her debut…

Raoul coming to her door…

"You didn't though…"

"I did before, and when given a second chance to win your favor, I was not about to repeat my mistakes."

"Raoul had come to my dressing room after I sang… I was so scared I was going to displease you by entertaining him…" she recalled. "But… that was the point, wasn't it? This time? By not having me sing that night, by not dropping the scene? He wouldn't notice me."

Erik sucked in a breath. "I always wondered if he would have noticed you if I had not thrust you upon that stage like I had."

Christine touched her temple, flashes of the first time beneath the opera with Erik running through her mind. Singing together as they crossed the lake, his serenade that left her wanting more and desperate for a kiss from him then. The rooftop serenade left her excited and wanting, but the first one? The one she remembered but did not experience? Erik was far more forward with his advances, and yet, his eyes widened with genuine fear if not from being overwhelmed when she tried to touch his mask… The spooked snatch of her wrist, then the apologetic grasp…

"Why couldn't you…just talk to me then? …To her?"

"I did not know how. I had not intended to bring you…down here that night, but when I saw her with him and his intentions…I panicked."

"But not now…"

"I learned. From you. From her. I was the fool then – in every sense, Christine. But I hope you see the difference between her memories and your experiences," he pleaded as he sank to his knees before her, a hand gripping the blankets of the bed.

" I…" she uttered, closing her eyes. This time, images of his temper when his mask was taken from him came to her mind's eye, with phantom terror of him and his reaction more than the face itself. Then… Buquet falling from the rafters, the shattering chandelier, Piangi… Every negative thing that transpired between them flashed across her thoughts in images and feelings of horror that accompanied it.

But those were not her memories. They belonged to someone else, and she was an onlooker. The strange thing was though, she did not possess any memories of Raoul save for the dressing room and the confrontation in Erik's home…

After Erik had kidnapped her…

"How can you claim to love me – her - with what you did to Buquet? Piangi? How is anything that you did then, love? How was dropping the chandelier a show of love? The kidnapping?"

His hand fell from the bed to the floor where he had to push himself upright as he sat with his legs curled beneath him, his eyes shimmering and his visible cheek wet. "Madness, Christine. Simply madness, with all the feelings of love and obsession for you — I didn't know what to do or how to handle anything that raged with me with a fire I have never known. I saw you with that boy and… how can a thing like me compete with a man of such youth and charm?

"Buquet… he… he — I did not plan to kill him that night, but he kept following me through the flies pretending that he was a cat and I the mouse. I should not have killed him then… but Christine – Christine, he is not a good man. He never was. He is no better than the one who abused me — ask the Madame, she will confirm this — ask any girl who has failed to secure a patron and suddenly vanished from this Opera in the last two years. I have never caught him in the act, but I know what he is," he explained, his voice a near-panicked rant in his confession.

"The chandelier…" he choked. "It was supposed to be an idle threat — Carlotta croaking would be enough to put you on the stage, I knew! But then Buquet… and I saw you take the Vicomte to the roof, — declaring that I would kill you?" Erik gave a pitiful moan and a shake of his head. " Never you. Nor would I ' hunt to kill a thousand men,'" he mimicked in her voice, "–unless they hurt you. You told him everything, Christine. About my face… about my world of unending night. So easily you betrayed me , Christine. Telling all to a boy who dismissed you, who did not believe you – disregarding every word you said to him. Only when you broke down did he bother to give you any attention — but not without first rolling his eyes at you! You might not have seen, it, but I did! He is as much the fool as I was, Christine!"

Christine closed her eyes, trying to find this moment, this memory. The roof… a cold winter's night. A few words here, a feeling there, a look on Raoul's face — his tone — he did dismiss her! Only she was too blind and naïve to see it then.

"A few pretty words from him, and you declare your love for him on a whim. You had not even courted before you were essentially engaged — and how easily you dismissed me without pause! I saw all that happened on that roof, Christine…after that…what sanity I had left, what control I possessed then — I wanted to make everyone feel the pain I felt at that moment, so down went the chandelier so it might shatter like the remains of my pitiful rag of a heart. But, mind you, Christine, I angled it so it would only give a fright and no one would die — because I am not a murderer."

" Piangi," she rasped through her own tears.

"That... that memory must not have come back to you…" he choked. "I did not kill him. I swear on my life, Christine, I did not kill him. He had not wronged me. It would make little sense to take his life. I had chloroformed him – he reacted poorly to it, but he lived. His…status was not known until the next day…"

"Kidnapping me," she pressed, determined to see these most troublesome bits through. Even though these trespasses were not against her, it was clear to her that separating the Christine of before and who she was now was all but impossible. They knew the meanings of their words and the differences in the situation.

Erik whimpered, looking so broken and raw from this exchange, yet, he managed to keep some eye contact and meet her gaze in his confession as he explained himself. "I was desperate. I knew you were the only one capable of seeing my soul; the only one who would bother to attempt to see me. Anyone else who stood a chance of seeing me, was gone…"

Gone? she wondered as she watched him through watery eyes.

"I thought if I could just have a moment alone with you— without him - then maybe… I could convince you… that you would be mine and that you would see our bond as I did. But then…Christine, you showed me your fire… you gave me compassion when I was undeserving. Your kiss, your willingness to give up your freedom to save the man you loved showed me what true love meant. You restored my sanity, Christine. I realized that I wanted you for the wrong reasons. It was for my happiness, and to have that shred of happiness would be to destroy yours. I did not want to destroy my Angel… Your happiness became so precious to me."

"So you let us go…"

He nodded.

"If…if I – she had not come back to return your ring Erik, what would have happened?"

He hung his head.

" Erik," she repeated, though her sternness was weak.

"Your assumptions were correct, Christine," came his hollow response. "I would have let them find me."

Her heart broke for him all over again.

"When you came back, it gave me hope. However, when I saw the ring, I knew you wanted to be free from the last chains I held on you. I could not grant you that until I told you how I felt. I did not expect you to break. I knew then if I let the mob claim me, you would never forgive yourself. You might not have loved me then, Christine, but you cared, and that was enough."

She offered a watery smile, her entire being trembling as she reached down and cupped his cheek. "I am not her, Erik. I am only an outsider looking in on a dream when these memories flutter across my mind. I can tell you, when said you loved her, she felt that love then. As she walked away, she was beginning to realize that she loved you too, despite everything."

Erik choked out a sob with a fresh wave of tears, but she did not let him fold over.

"Just as I know that I am not her, I know you are no longer the man you were before."

His eyes fluttered closed as he pressed his cheek deeper into her palm. "I have not lost you?"

Christine shook her head. "Not yet, my love. But…I need to think… I can scarcely imagine how any of this is real. How I can have the memories of a life I never lived? How you are living this a second time? I need to rest… I need some time to think — can you grant me that?"

"Yes. Anything in my power to give, you shall have it, Christine."

Brushing her hand over his hair a moment, Christine shifted off the bed to join him on the floor where she could frame his head between her hands and pressed a lingering kiss to his forehead. "I love you so very much, Erik," she pressed as she felt his hands grasp her biceps. "I don't see that ever changing so long as you continue to be this man, who has become so very dear to me."

Erik's fingers slid down her arms until they were almost to her wrist where they curled tight. "Oh… Christine…"

~x ~x ~X~ x~ x~

She did love him. She loved him so much that the thought of having a life without him brought an unbearable ache in her soul. Even now, with all that she knew of the life lived that was not hers and the horrible sins he committed then, she loved him; because the Erik who loved her and cared for her now, was not the same man.

She felt it in her bones that the Erik in the nightmare was capable of a proper love then. He only needed the chance…

…and a bit of guidance.

He learned so much. His love shone in more than words. It was in his touch, his manner, his thoughtfulness, and his music. He even brushed her hair and wove in a few plaits from the nape of her neck to stop it from becoming a nest as she slept.

It seemed a fantasy to have a man who would put every effort into their bond which left her feeling so loved and wanted. Yet, here she was with a man who was offering – doing – those very things, but the thought that she would only have to accept Erik's face had changed into accepting his potential for violence.

He has not been violent, she thought as she lay on the bed in the Louis-Philippe room. She rested most of the day, navigating her thoughts and this situation before her. He has not repeated his sins of before? Can I hold the sins of another life I never experienced against him?

When she began to settle the worst of her thoughts over everything, Christine descended the spiral staircase toward the sound of his music. For as long as they were separated that day, she heard him plucking away at the organ first, then his piano — the disconcerting notes settling into more indolent prattling.

What he played throughout the day did not touch a tenth of his skill.

She followed those idle notes to the music room where she found his thin frame at the piano, his right hand alone plucking out a small melody. Erik sensed her presence by the slight turn of his ear to her as she set a bag down.

"You are leaving," he stated with emptiness in his delivery.

"For tonight, and perhaps tomorrow night."

Boney shoulders sagged from perfect posture and his head bent forward.

"I think it is best, for the both of us. To be sure."

"For you," he corrected.

" Us," she pressed and smoothed her skirts before going to him, resting her hands upon his shoulders and giving them a squeeze. "I can't forgive you for what you did, Erik, because how can I hold you accountable for something done…in another life? I cannot be angry with you for something you have not done here. I think it fair to believe that she did forgive you."

He gave a nod.

"I don't know why I can remember some things from her, regarding you, but not others. Nor do I understand how you get the chance to repeat this phase of your life outside of divinity."

He turned toward her, looking up to meet her gaze.

"How many lives have you taken? For what purpose, or to what end?"

Erik's eyes widened, and he snapped away from her.

In turn, Christine gathered her skirts and came around to sit beside him. "Tell me."

"The ledger drips, Christine, and I don't like opening it to decipher a number – that is how many."

She swallowed hard and pursued the more important question. "Why so many?"

"I have…often lost sleep over the lives that I have taken under duress – the command of others who would have me killed if I disobeyed. I was naïve in believing that my life was valuable enough for such trades. It was not out of want or greed — unless you define greed as wanting to continue living yourself, then yes, I was very greedy."

"And the ones you don't lose sleep over?"

"In defense of self, or sometimes another. I do not go out looking to take lives for amusement, despite what some prefer to believe of me."

"Some?"

"Various people I have had to work for or associate with for a time."

"When you say 'in defense,'" she began.

"They were determined to take a life, so I took theirs instead."

"I suppose that's…fair, if those were the circumstances."

"They were," he assured, glancing over from the corner of his eye. "The lives I took that were not by order or defense… are few."

"How many?"

"Seven."

"And your reasons?"

He sighed, "Christine…"

"I need to know. If you so badly want this to work out between us, then you will have to learn to trust me as I trust you. If you want to share a life together, then I think it is more than fair that I should know what you're capable of."

"By burdening you with it?"

"I want to know if you are an honorable man or a coward."

"A coward?" he repeated icily.

Christine did not shrink back, "Yes, I want to make sure you are not the kind of man who would kill another in his sleep, or because you coveted something he had."

"Justifiable versus unjustifiable, is it?" he growled as he turned toward her, hands gripping the edges of the piano bench they sat upon. " Seven, Christine. Seven that the laws would deem unjustifiable. One was a tormentor who helped my keeper carve my face because I was not ugly enough for their little freak show. Two and Three thought it fitting to steal from me. Four – was the solicitor who managed my parents' estate; rather than abide by my father's Last Will, he took the money and ran after dumping my brothers off in the worst shithole boys' home in town. He thought he would get away with it, believing they had no relatives left – his great mistake."

Christine swallowed hard, but did not break eye contact with him.

"Five and Six? They ran that boys' home, sending the boys off to workhouses to 'pay for their room and board' – but the money went into their damn pockets because that home was government-run. Seven? He killed my cat for a laugh."

She remained silent.

"Do you still love me now, Christine? Or will you be walking out of this house tonight for the last time?"

"Why? Why not contact the…" she began, pausing with distaste for her own wording.

"Authorities? The men who are supposed to do something about those things? They don't care about orphans unless they are murdered, or people like me who are deformed from birth. My brothers were thought penniless, and unless you are disfigured by accident or war – the world makes it very clear there is little use for or want of you outside a freak show, where someone can make money off of you. No one cares about anything unless there is something to be gained from it."

" Me," she said softly. "But I guess you could say I'm gaining something from you. You said yourself everything can be a manipulation, but what matters most is the intention. You may have only known the worst of intentions, but I hope that is changing." She caressed his arm a moment before grasping his shoulders. "I don't want to walk out of here for the last time, unless we are going somewhere else together; however, to do that I need something from you. Something that you won't like, but it would bring me peace of mind."

"Which is?" he asked, eying her with a clenched jaw.

Wiggling her thumbs a bit as she continued to grip his shoulders, Christine paused long enough to consider her phrasing. "You are a different man…a better man now, but while I can recognize that I —" she pressed a hand to rest over his heart, "I worry for your soul. You might not be religious, but I am. How can any of this happen if it were not by God's Will, Erik? …And the only path I see for us to move forward without any sort of misgivings on my part, is…is for you to go to confession."

Erik turned away from her in a snap, but Christine did not let her hand fall from his chest.

"I know, it is asking so much of you – and I'm not asking you to attend any service or mass, just for you to unburden yourself. There is so much weight you carry on your shoulders, not from just one lifetime, but two."

Stoic silence continued as he stared ahead at the polished black wood of the piano and the spread of parchment that had bars for music, but was absent of notations.

Christine rested her forehead on his bicep with her hand rubbing his chest now, the other wound around his lower back. "Are you mad that… I have her memories?"

"No," he whispered, voice hoarse before he sucked in his lips briefly. "It is a relief to have someone know, especially when it is you. I have not spoken a lie to you, Christine, but crafting a truth that would not violate your trust or betray her memory has been…tiresome."

She tightened her arms around him, "Because telling anyone what you know or experienced would leave them thinking you're…" she trailed off, unwilling to finish.

"…mad," he finished for her, gaze distant and his eyes red. "Is my going to confession that important to you, even if it means little to me? When it will not change or erase what I have done?"

"It might not, but I like to think of it as…" she pulled back to look up at him, "throwing dirt on the casket."

"I cannot promise I would not take another life, Christine. If someone tried to bring harm upon you or upon someone I care about…"

"So long as seven… does not become eight."

He gave a hesitant nod, "If confessing is what you require of me, then I shall oblige you."