A/N: This is it. Reaction time!

Holy hell. This chapter has been a long time coming. There have been a few that have caused me intense writer's block, and this is definitely one of them. I think I tore it apart and rewrote it about four different times. I just wasn't satisfied with the direction it was going or felt like things were too out of character. And each time I attempted a rewrite, my confidence in my ability to write dwindled just a little bit. I've also had some ongoing health problems that I think I've finally figured out, and a botched knee surgery that I've been dealing with since my last update. So all that has caused the long delay. I'm sorry it took so long. But it's done and I'm finally happy with it. I think-I hope!-you will be, too.

Please let me know. This is one of those nail-biting chapters where I'll be sitting by my phone, anxiously waiting to hear whether or not I portrayed Erik's reaction in a way that's true to his character. You've all been AMAZING. I've received so many awesome reviews for this story. They have been the encouragement I've desperately needed to keep going. Seriously, from the bottom of my heart, THANK YOU!

Chapter 32

I left the music store feeling as though I were walking on a cloud, and by the time I got into my car I couldn't honestly remember whether or not my feet had touched the ground. My heart was racing so fast that I felt winded and out of breath, and the high was making me lightheaded and dizzy. I couldn't recall the last time I'd been this excited about anything. I thought for a second, tapping my fingers idly on the cold steering wheel while I waited for the heater to clear the frost from the windshield. It was probably when I invited Erik to the symphony. I smiled. That tracked. Both involved music. He'd been stunned into speechlessness then. I could only imagine what his reaction would be when he opened the box and saw the keyboard sitting there in all its glory.

I had decided even before I left the parking lot that I wouldn't be able to wait until Christmas morning. I was horrible at keeping secrets; my excitement typically got in the way, and if that didn't, then the expression on my face usually did. I was like an open book. One glance at me and Erik would immediately know something was up. Plus, it didn't feel right to have the box sitting there, teasing both of us for almost an entire month, just so I could hold up the tradition of having him open something on Christmas morning.

And so, with that in mind, I swung by one of those cheap dollar conveniences stores in search of holiday themed gift boxes and wrapping paper to put the smaller stuff in. I was relieved to find that the larger boxes were completely devoid of any markings or labels that would otherwise give away what was inside, so I just bought a giant red bow to stick on the top of the three larger boxes, since they were too heavy and awkward to wrap. I thanked the young man behind the counter, collected my receipt and shopping bags, and made my way back to my Jeep.

Night had fallen while I was inside the dollar store, covering everything in an ethereal yellow glow that instantly reminded me of the intensity of Erik's eyes. The clouds hung low in the air, appearing thick and heavy with the silent promise of yet another snowstorm. Hurrying across the parking lot, I popped open the back hatch and spent a few minutes organizing everyone's gifts and wrapping what I could in the artificial glow of the Jeep's lone dome light. I'd decided to go the lazy route by putting Maddie and Rochelle's presents in festive gift bags, but Erik's…I wanted him to have the joy of tearing through real wrapping paper to find the music books inside. It felt a bit silly, since I didn't think Erik had ever unwrapped a present before, but he didn't really seem like he was the kitschy Christmas tree and holly type. He struck me as more polished and sophisticated than that. With that in mind, I had chosen a shinier, fancier white wrapping paper with bright red and silver snowflakes and red tissue paper to disguise the books inside. I was damn near frozen, and my fingers wouldn't move properly by the time I was done putting everything together, but overall, I was pleased with the result. Totally worth the risk of frostbite.

To my utter delight, it began to snow on my way home. Ordinarily, the sight of it would have instantly dampened my mood, but this time the huge fluffy white flakes only added to the wintry atmosphere, flooding me with that feeling of giddy excitement that could only be felt around the holidays. I felt like—well, I felt like a kid at Christmas. I was practically squirming in my seat with barely contained anticipation. I couldn't wait to get home! I could picture it now: the lit Christmas tree, sparkling next to dark windows that showed a raging blizzard outside, a cozy fire roaring in the fireplace, Christmas carols playing lowly in the background, Erik gazing at me expectantly.

I sighed, enjoying the way tiny tendrils of warmth wrapped around my insides and settled into the pit of my stomach.

Outside, a line of streetlamps illuminated my way home. I lived in a predominantly older neighborhood, with quite a few historical houses, my own being one of them. As such, the city had been slow to update the streetlights to the more energy-efficient high-pressure sodium ones commonly found in parking lots and the downtown areas, and for that I was immensely grateful. Looking at it now, it felt like I had stepped back in time and was witnessing how everything must have looked a hundred years ago. The houses were quaint and unassuming, the yards small and well-manicured. It was a far cry from the stark, minimalist modern condos of today that had started to crop up in urban areas all over the city, and not for the first time, I thought about how lucky I was to live where I did. All around me, people were turning on their exterior Christmas lights, and soon the deep snow was aglow with a kaleidoscope of bright and cheerful colors. I inhaled deeply as I drove, catching the hints of wood fires burning in fireplaces as it filtered through the air vents in my Jeep.

The hardened snow crunched under my tires as I pulled up in front of my house and slowly backed my car into the driveway. It took nearly everything I had to muscle the keyboard box out of the back of my Jeep and up the stairs to the porch without relenting and going inside to ask Erik for help, but I managed, and only one corner had been dented in the process. I frowned and leaned over to inspect the wrinkled cardboard. Hopefully the keyboard itself was encased in blocks of Styrofoam and it had protected it from the majority of the damage. I'd find out soon enough. I made two more trips back to the Jeep to collect the boxes with the pedals, bench, and stand, as well as the gift bags and the wrapped present containing Erik's books. Then, stacking everything neatly on top of the keyboard, I unlocked the front door, pushed it open, and slid everything across the threshold.

The front room was dark, save for the glow from the flickering fire and the twinkling lights from the Christmas tree. I bit my bottom lip, unable to keep from smiling as I thought to myself that this was exactly how I imagined wanting the room to look. Only, Erik had beaten me to it. Did he realize he was setting a mood, playing into my fantasy?

Probably not, I reasoned. He was used to candles and firelight, because back in his day that was all they had. What I saw as impossibly romantic was simply normal and comforting for him.

Straightening up to my full height, I closed the door and scanned the shadows in search of my resident ghost. It took a few seconds, but as my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I spotted him standing in front of the tree with his back to me. He turned when he heard me and the firelight glinted off his black leather mask, bathing the right half of his body in soft orangey light while his left side remained shrouded in darkness. His golden eyes found mine and instantly warmed when he saw me.

I sucked in a breath, trying to pretend like the man in front of me didn't make my knees weak and my heart pound with reckless abandon. Focus. I needed to focus on the task at hand and not think about how much I wished I'd had mistletoe to hang, because then at least I would have had an excuse to kiss him, even if it was only a tiny peck on his masked cheek.

Unaware of my tortured thoughts, Erik greeted me with a polite nod. "Good evening, Christine."

I smiled back at him shyly, grateful that it was too dark for him to see just how red my cheeks had become at the thought of kissing him, and waved at him like the pathetic, lovesick loser that I was.

His gaze immediately fell upon the stack of boxes and presents at my feet, his eyes narrowing with a combination of inquisitiveness and pointed accusation.

"Good heavens, Christine! What are you doing?" he exclaimed. In no time at all, he had crossed the room. "Here, let me help."

"No, that's ok—"

Disregarding my protests, he scooped up the whole stack like it weighed practically nothing. As he turned, Maddie and Rochelle's gift bags toppled to one side. I lunged, hooking the handles of both bags with one hand while I reached for his present with the other so they wouldn't slide off.

"Where do you want these?" Erik asked, angling back toward me.

"By the tree."

He nodded that he understood and carefully wound his way around the couch and coffee table. I trailed along behind him, hiding my smirk that he was holding a piano in his hands and didn't even know it. He set the three boxes off to the side of the tree, pausing to examine the crumpled corner of the keyboard box, and then brushed his hands together to remove any lingering dust and pivoted around to peg me with a disapproving scowl.

"Those boxes were heavy, Christine. How in the world did you manage to get them up the stairs and through the door?"

"Pure grit and determination," I quipped.

"You know I would have helped you," he softly chided. "You needed only to ask."

"I know."

He shook his head and sighed, clearly exasperated with me but too well-mannered to say so.

"What are they?" he asked instead. "Something else for your kitchen? Another project, perhaps?"

A grin plastered itself across my lips. I'd racked my brain the whole way home trying to figure out the best way to reveal what I'd done, and here it was; opportunity presented to me on a golden platter.

"Actually," I replied smoothly, "those are for you."

"Me?" One dark eyebrow arched above the ridge of his mask; his confusion evident as he twisted around to look again at the boxes he'd just effortlessly carried across the room. "I'm not sure I understand."

I was still holding the gift bags and Erik's music books in my hands, so I raised them for emphasis and stated, "I don't know how much you know about Christmas, but one of the biggest traditions of this holiday is giving gifts to family and friends." His eyes followed me as I walked over to the tree and placed Maddie and Rochelle's bags underneath it. "These two are for my girlfriends, and the rest are for you."

His jaw dropped.

"But you have to open this one first," I told him.

Erik turned back to me, his attention falling to the neatly wrapped package I held in my hands. I offered it to him, and he took from me gingerly, rotating it around to examine it. My heart squeezed at the sight of his curiousness. He shot me a questioning look, as if silently asking for my permission to continue. I nodded. He hesitated, and then his long fingers curled, and he dug into the paper, tearing it open to reveal the plain white box beneath. He pried the lid off and pushed the red tissue paper aside.

"Books," he whispered, a small smile hovering over his lips. "You know me so well—wait. Not books." He lifted one of the music books out, angling it so that he could read the title in the glow of the fire. "Sheet music?"

He carefully removed the stack of books that I had selected for him at the music shop, tossing the empty box aside so that he could shuffle each one, taking a moment to read each cover and skim through the pages, as if the answer to this strange gift lay somewhere between them. I watched with glee as he tried to comprehend the purpose of the blank sheet music, and I nearly laughed aloud as I saw his desire to be polite and appear grateful wage a silent war with his complete and utter confusion. Slowly, his eyes drifted to the three large boxes sitting by the Christmas tree, and for the briefest of moments, I swore I saw hope skitter across his golden pupils.

It didn't last long. He immediately clamped down on the emotion, shuttering it away behind a more neutral and disinterested stare and I felt a stab of pain as he mentally prepared himself for disappointment. It broke my heart to see him like this. Judging by his reaction, it was obvious that he'd gone through life always expecting the worst, never believing that anything good could ever happen to him. Or at least nothing that didn't come with ulterior motives.

Hopefully, that was about to change.

"Are you ready for the next one?" I asked.

Erik nodded wordlessly. His eyes hadn't left the boxes.

"Okay."

I went over to the stack and slid the box with the bench and stand out from underneath the pedal box and handed it to him.

"Sorry. These ones were too big and awkward to wrap."

He prized up the corner of the tape sealing the top and ripped it off in one smooth motion. Then he unfolded the flaps and stared down at the collection of metal tubing nestled neatly inside the clear plastic bag. His expression was priceless, and this time, I couldn't help laughing.

"It will make more sense in a minute," I promised with a smile as I handed him the smallest box.

He repeated the process, tearing the box open with relative ease. Offhandedly, I thought about how I should have been more prepared and had a knife or pair of scissors handy, but at this point I feared it would take away from the moment if I dashed into the kitchen to grab something now. Erik's brows dipped with interest as he pulled out the small auxiliary pedal that would connect to the back of his keyboard and turned it over in his hands to inspect it.

"This…," he mused aloud. He angled his head in thought, trying to figure out what he was looking at. "This almost looks like…. No." Erik shook his head, evidently deciding against following that train of thought. "It isn't possible. No." Then, ever-so-slowly, his gaze shifted toward the largest, unopened box before swinging back to me.

I shrugged theatrically, feigning ignorance. He wasn't getting the answer from me.

Instead, I waited with bated breath while he removed the tape from the keyboard box and cautiously peeled back the flaps. On the surface, he was the perfect picture of cool calm, but I saw the slight tremor ripple through his hands as he lifted the thin blanket of foam wrapping out of the way and pushed it to the side.

Seconds later I heard a sharp intake of breath, followed by a strangled moan of disbelief. Erik sank to his knees. "You…! How did you…?"

I stepped up beside him and let my hand fall upon his right shoulder. "I know it can't possibly compare to the sound and feel of a real grand piano, but I hope you like it," I said, squeezing his shoulder softly.

"Can't compare…?" With his eyes still firmly glued to the box, he slowly reached across his body with his left hand and curled his trembling fingers tightly around mine. "Do you realize what you've done?"

I stiffened, ever-so-slightly. Had I made a mistake? I hadn't even considered that something like this might reopen old wounds.

Releasing my hand, Erik rose to his feet and turned to face me, gathering both my hands in his. His eyes shimmered in the low light, glistening with unshed tears. Would they be wet, I silently wondered, if he allowed them to roll down his masked cheeks and I were to reach up and wipe them away?

"You've given me back my music," he whispered. "The one thing in this world I have longed for more than anything else. Oh, Christine…. I—" With one smooth motion he pulled me toward him. His palms were shaking as he held my hands against his chest. A slight vibration rumbled against my knuckles, and I realized that he was fighting desperately to maintain control over his emotions. "I can't…. Thank you," he choked. "Thank you."

Those tears, which he had tried so valiantly to hold back, spilled forth and splattered against our joined hands as he tucked his chin and bowed his head so that I couldn't see him cry. But I felt them coursing over my wrists and winding their way to my elbows, and they were as wet and real as the ones that suddenly pricked at the corners of my own eyes.

I wanted to kiss him. Oh, God, how I wanted to kiss him. Right there, in the dim light with the fire burning and the Christmas tree glowing, I wanted to wrap my arms around his neck and kiss away those tears and tell him how much I loved him. I wanted to see his bare face gazing back at me lovingly and feel what it was really like to know him on the most intimate of levels. I wanted so many things, but most of all I just wanted to show him that he was allowed to be happy, and that this time, that happiness didn't come with a price.

But I couldn't. I knew I couldn't. And it wasn't fair.

I couldn't tell him how much I loved him or how much I wished I could spend forever by his side. I'd shown him instead, and I hoped that deep down, somewhere, buried beneath all of his doubts and insecurities, Erik realized all that I was really trying to say when I gave him that piano.

Christine, I thought to myself, when and if I'm ever able to reunite the two of you, I hope you take care of him and love him as much as I do, or so help me God, when I die, I will hunt you down and kick your ass.

"I didn't mean to make you—"

"Forgive me," Erik said, effectively cutting off the rest of my sentence. He cleared his throat but kept the firm grip he had on my hands. "I was overcome with…."

"You're fine," I whispered back. "I understand."

He lifted his head then, and when his eyes finally found mine, they were smoldering with an expression I'd never seen before. "You asked me once if I had a favorite moment. I do. Right now."

Oh my god, he was making this so hard!

"Really?" I breathed, biting my lip against a shy smile. "You haven't even played it yet." I needed a distraction. Something to redirect his focus—or maybe it was mine that needed redirecting—because if we stayed like this any longer, I wouldn't be able to stop myself from smashing my mouth against his lips. "Do you want to?"

"Oh, yes."

The longing with which he uttered those two words did nothing to calm my heightened state. It sent an electrical shock through his hands and into mine and made the skin on my forearms pebble and the tiny hair stand on end. But it was enough to shift his attention back to the keyboard and allow me a chance to collect myself.

Reluctantly, I slipped my hands out of his grip and motioned toward the open box with the keyboard stand. He watched with wide, curious eyes as I removed the stand from the plastic wrapping and unfolded it so that it made an "X." Then I did the same thing with the bench. When that was done, I waved him over to the keyboard box.

"Here. Grab one side."

Together, we slowly lifted the keyboard out of the box and walked it over to the stand, and he held it steady while I crawled underneath and inserted the screws that would secure it to the metal cross members. I was relieved to find that the corner in question was free of any dents or dings.

All the while, Erik stared incredulously. "How does this work?" he asked quietly. He ran his hand over the black plastic housing and pressed down on one of the keys, shooting me a look of dismay when it failed to make any sound. "Where are the hammers, the strings? How does one tune it?"

"This is a bit different from what you're used to," I explained. "Everything is electronic. The sounds are synthetized. Give me a sec and I'll show you." I finished inserting the jack for the sustain pedals into the port on the back of the keyboard and army-crawled my way underneath the Christmas tree to plug in the power cord. He helped me to my feet, and after dusting off the front of my jeans, I went to the keyboard and leaned over the display to familiarize myself with its setup. "Ah. There. Press this button right here," I said, tapping the plastic housing right below the power button.

He did and a right light turned on. I pushed down on one of the white keys to test if I'd hooked everything up correctly. Erik gasped as it instantly replied in a bright tone.

"All right; it's ready to go." I grabbed the bench and positioned it in front of the keyboard and patted the vinyl cushion.

I could practically feel the excitement and anticipation emanating from him. He glanced at me and then tentatively made his way to the piano and lowered himself to the bench. He raised his hands, letting them hover over the keyboard, where he balled them into fists several times before he hesitantly expanded his fingers and settled them across the keys. The instrument instantly thrummed to life, filling the small front room with a rich, full-bodied sound. Erik gasped again and yanked his hands away, only to return them almost immediately to try a series of different chord progressions, each one more beautiful than the one before it. With a cry of delight, he launched into what I could only assume was a warm-up scale, his fingers tripping so lightly and expertly over the keys with such ease that I would have never guessed that it had been nearly one-hundred-and-fifty years since he'd last played. I listened intently, amazed that a simple scale could sound so beautiful.

And then, almost seamlessly, Erik transitioned into a soft yet somewhat haunting melody and everything else disappeared. I stared, shamelessly, as his body began to sway in time with the music. His eyes were shut and every so often his head would dip to emphasize a particular sequence and suddenly I understood—really understood—what he meant when he said feel the music. Erik felt what he was playing with every fiber of his being. I knew this because now I felt it too. I could feel the love and longing that he poured into every note, although whether it was pining for Christine Daaé or love for the instrument itself, I'd never know.

It didn't matter.

With each sweep of his hands, he provided me a small, secret glimpse into his soul. A glimpse that only a select few people had ever been afforded, and that was something I would treasure until the end of my days.

I felt my heartbeat quicken as the music swelled into a crescendo, felt the rush of endorphins surge through my veins as the song reached its climax and begin its slow descent back to the more legato phrasing from the beginning, and when at last the final note echoed and died around us, the only sound that could be heard was my own ragged breathing.

XXX

I smiled slyly and lifted my hands from the keys, pleasantly surprised to find that, despite the immense passage of time, some things never changed. Christine's reaction to my playing had been visceral, and it had been extremely satisfying to watch. She hadn't noticed the glances I'd stolen, for she'd closed her eyes about halfway through the piece, letting herself slowly drift closer and closer to me. When the music ended, she opened her eyes and gasped, shocked to find herself standing right beside me. My eyes were drawn to the hand that she placed on her heaving chest, my ring shimmering in the orange-yellow light. The look on Christine's face was one of complete euphoria, her eyes peaceful and serene, and I reveled in the knowledge that I had been the cause of it.

Music had always given me the power to express what words could not, and this time had been no different. Her gift had left me awed, stunned, and utterly speechless. No matter how I tried, my mind could not force my mouth to form coherent words. I'd nearly pulled her into my embrace, very nearly placed dozens of tiny kisses against her knuckles and palms, all while fighting back the overwhelming urge to crush my lips against hers. But her lips were not mine to take, I reminded myself. She had already promised them to another. I needed to remember that and would do well to respect her boundaries.

I'd played for her instead, and through my music I expressed everything I'd been forced—both out of fear and propriety—to keep hidden and to myself. Every smile that graced her lips, each time her body swayed unconsciously, every inch she sheared between us as she drew closer was its own reward, and I partook greedily until I was glutted and satiated and had slaked my need for her.

"No wonder she called you an angel," Christine muttered quietly. "No earthly being is capable of producing that kind of sound."

I raised a shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. "Ah, but I am not of this world, remember?"

Her eyes narrowed sharply at my attempted sarcasm, but her next words were playful. "You know what I mean."

I laughed. It was enough to dispel the tension that had developed between us, and we both relaxed. She walked over to the sofa and sat down, pulling her legs up on the cushions so that she could wrap her arms around her knees.

"What was the name of that song?"

"It doesn't have a name," I replied. Idly, I began to play through an arpeggio with my right hand. "I was merely playing what came to mind at the moment."

"Wait a minute." She sat forward. "You mean to tell me you made that whole thing up on the fly?"

I nodded.

"Wow. That was the single most beautiful—are you sure you just made that up? It's not something you composed way back?"

"I assure you, my dear, it was completely spontaneous."

"Wow," she repeated, passing a hand over her mouth. "Holy shit, Erik. You're…just wow."

"Thank you," I chuckled. "Your inarticulateness is as flattering as it is endearing."

Her eyes narrowed again. "Is that even a word?"

I rested my hands in my lap and stared back at her, a small smile forming on my lips.

Christine's cheeks reddened and she snuggled deeper into the sofa, burying her face into her knees until only her eyes remained visible. She fixed them on me, her hazel pupils sparklingly brightly as they reflected the firelight. With a voice that was partially muffled against her legs, she asked, "Will you play for me some more?"

"Of course. What would you like to hear?"

"Anything," she breathed.

Anything. I thought for a moment and then decided upon an older folk song. It was safer than what I'd previously been playing, its tone light and airy rather than melodramatic and laden with my unspoken wants and desires. Christine grabbed the blanket from the back of the sofa and wrapped it around her, turning on her side so she could watch me while she listened. It wasn't very long before she fell asleep.

I continued to play, long into the night, revisiting old favorites and dabbling with new compositions, while taking great care to avoid anything that I had played as the Angel of Music. Those memories were still too raw. What a fool I'd been, thinking that music would be enough to sustain a relationship with someone who, in truth, I'd barely known. I'd felt deeply at the time, could have sworn that that all-consuming desire to possess had been love, and had, quite literally, died because of it.

But it hadn't been love. Not in the slightest. Lust? Yes. Infatuation? Most definitely. But it wasn't love. I glanced to where Christine was sleeping peacefully on the sofa.

This was love. The mutual bonding over shared interests, quietly enjoying one another's company, rejoicing and celebrating each other's victories no matter how big or how small. It had to be love, mostly because I had never felt anything like it before. I'd never felt this satisfied or content to just simply…be. For the first time, I was comfortable with myself. I could finally let my guard down and allow myself to breathe, in a manner of speaking.

All because of this wonderful, selfless woman had dared to look beyond my mask.

I love you, I mouthed wordlessly to her sleeping form. It was the closest I would ever get to telling her. For that was another thing I'd learned with this new kind of selfless love; putting another's needs above my own. She was already in love with someone else, and this time, I vowed, I was going to honor that with dignity and grace.