A/N: I'm warning you now; the story title may show up once or twice in this chapter. Don't say I didn't warn you. This story is getting longer and longer than I expected. I sort of figured this or the previous chapter would be the end, but I'm having too much fun writing it, so I edited the way things played out, and now it's looking to be much longer. Yay!

P.S. I'm working on a second PhanPhiction, now, so the updates for this might come slower. I don't know if I'll post this second one. If you like my Leroux-Erik, I don't know if you'd want to read the second. It takes a totally different road with Erik, so... yeah...

Disclaimer: As this is nothing but a fanfiction, it is clear that I own none of the characters, but since it is a fanfiction, I do own the plot. If you wish to praise the true owner of the well-written characters, M. Gaston Leroux is the man whom you should praise.

"Raoul!" Christine exclaimed in a whispered tone. "Wh… What are you doing here?"

"Your last letter worried me," he answered. "I thought perhaps the Phantom had forced you to write such a thing. I would have written back, but I overheard that you would be singing in the upcoming Opera, so I rushed down here the moment I learned the time that rehearsal was beginning. Come with me, I-"

"No, no, Raoul, please, stop," she responded, shaking her head. "Erik didn't force me to write anything. I'm starting to accept my affections for the man. I'm really starting to care about him. I'm not going with you. Don't come back here again. Leave me be."

"But… But, Christine!" he interjected. "Surely, you cannot expect me to accept my fiancee marrying another, and living with him, and all this other nonsense!"

"Oh, Raoul, did I not tell you?" she sighed. "I am no longer your fiancee. Things have changed. Can't you understand this? My feelings for you are waning; my feelings for Erik are only growing. Please, leave me and my husband alone."

"Your husband?" Raoul asked, incredulous. "You mean, you actually accept that… thing as the man you'll spend your entire life with?"

"Don't call Erik a 'thing'!" Christine yelled, hitting Raoul in the chest. "He's more of a man than you'll ever be!"

"Christine, please, relax," he said. "The Phantom will stop haunting you, your thoughts, your dreams, soon. I swear. We shall disappear and you'll never have to return to this place again." The man had slowly been inching himself closer to her, and his arms threatened to embrace her.

With a disbelieving stare, she pushed him away, saying, "I'm sorry, Raoul, I'm sorry you don't believe me. But he no longer haunts me like he once did. Please, now, go. I'm a lost cause. There's nothing you can do. Good-by." She tried to turn and run, but Raoul wouldn't allow it. He grabbed her by her upper arms and forced her into a kiss. Yet, her lips did not return the display of affection. Once more, she pushed him away, then ran to her dressing room.

The mirror was already open when she got there, and Erik was waiting, impatiently, in a chair. "Oh, Erik!" Christine exclaimed in tears, "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to be late! R-" she cut off, realizing that she would simply anger him.

He hadn't heard the sadness in her voice. "Erik thought his directions were clear, simple. No later than nine o' clock sharp. Nine o' clock is not so late, is it? And yet, here Christine is, at the very least fifteen minutes late. Erik even allowed some time for Christine to socialize with her old friends, but his instructions were ignored," he murmured, his voice so calm that it was almost creepy.

Christine's tears only flowed harder. "Oh, Erik, I know, and I am sorry! It was M. le Comte! He stopped me in the hall, Erik, and, oh, it was terrible! He insists that I go with him! And then he-he-!" Erik stood, then, looking at Christine. He glided silently to her side, and seemed to reach out to hold her, but his hands remained at least two inches away from her. He dare not touch her.

"What, my dear? What did the Comte do to you?" he asked, nervous.

"Oh, Erik," she sobbed, wrapping her arms around his torso. She began crying against his chest. It didn't even seem to affect her that his body was colder than that of normal men. It was evident that she was having trouble admitting it, as for awhile nothing could be heard other than her crying. "Raoul kissed me!" she suddenly choked out. Erik couldn't believe she was crying over a kiss from her old flame. 'Perhaps,' he thought, as he cautiously and slowly wrapped his around her shoulders, 'I have nothing to worry about after all.' A few weeks was all it took for her to get over the boy? Erik tried to comfort her, but was afraid of coming across as too forward. He couldn't help but think it was awkward the way his cold, skeletal hands gently patted her back in an attempt to help her feel better. He gave up on the awkward moment after a while, so he began leading her through the many halls that led down to his home.

In Christine's mind, she knew why she was really crying; Raoul had kissed her, and she knew she couldn't kiss him back. No, she didn't feel as much for him as she once had, but that didn't mean that she didn't feel anything for him at all. It had taken everything she had to keep her from returning that simple, meaningful kiss.

It had been helpful for her not to see or hear from him for a little while. It helped her accept that she wouldn't be with him again, helped her get over him. She had begun to realize that there was nothing the two of them could do to free her from her marriage, and she needed Raoul to see this. The more time she spent with Erik, the more she could accept the idea of staying his wife. Her thought process was working at an extremely high speed as Erik gently led her back down to his home. By the time they got there, she was crying because she felt horrible for even thinking about betraying Erik like that.

After safely getting her across the lake, Erik sat her on the couch and ran to get her a glass of water. With all that crying, she would need something to keep her hydrated. He sat down about a foot and a half away from her and, from this respectful distance, handed her the glass. Thankfully, she took it from him and hiccuped as she drank it. Erik could not possibly believe that the sole reason behind Christine's tears was the Comte's kiss.

"Christine, my dear, did the Comte de Chagny perhaps do something worse to you?" he asked, confused.

"Oh, Erik, no! I just feel terrible!" she exclaimed, setting the glass down and once again throwing her arms around the Phantom. She cried into his chest again, as he once more uncomfortably wrapped his arms around her shoulders. The way her momentum had hit him, he had been thrown back a bit and he was embarrassed to find her nearly on top of him. "Oh, I just feel so horrid! I'm so sorry, you must understand that," she blubbered and sniffled, "I am so terribly sorry!"

"There. There," he said, stiffly, as he hadn't had much practice dealing with anyone crying, much less a girl, "I forgive you for being late. It was not your fault, after all."

"No!" she cried again. "That's not what I'm apologizing for. I'm apologizing because when Raoul kissed him-oh, Erik, I'm so sorry-I wanted to kiss him back. I didn't though, I swear it! I didn't! I couldn't betray you like that! But I am so terribly sorry for thinking it!" Erik's anger clutched him, but not as hard as he clutched Christine. His cheating wife had wanted to kiss another man, after she had sworn her entire life to him. Frustration joined his anger as he realized why Christine would want to kiss another man; he was, after all, a deformed man, a living corpse. It's not as if she would ever want to kiss him. But all the same! Her affections, aimed for that boy, instead of her husband as it should have been!

It was Christine's soft wince that brought Erik to realize that he was, unfortunately, again digging his skeletal fingertips into her porcelain skin. Only one thing brought the Opera Ghost comfort as he released Christine's shoulder from his death grip. He took solace in knowing that the girl was there, with him, in his arms, and that she hadn't kissed the Comte, even if she had wanted to. Perhaps his curfew wasn't strict enough. Rehearsals ended at half past eight. He had given her time to socialize today, and look at where it had gotten her! No, she would have to be back in her dressing room no later than twenty minutes until nine from then on. And if she was late, if she was found in the company of the Comte again, she would be removed from the Opera. No bargaining, no arguing allowed.

Erik returned from his thoughts again, this time to a nearly silent room. His wife was asleep. Only the sound of her even breathing broke through the noiseless night. The soprano's crying must have worn her out. It had been an exhausting day for her. He tried to gently lift her off of him so he could take her to her bed, but found he couldn't do so without waking her. He refused to become more affectionate than he had been while she was awake, but he allowed himself to leave one arm around her shoulders. If she had not initiated this inappropriate position, he would have ended it before she had fallen into her premature slumber. As he looked down at her, his brows twisted into a scowl. He couldn't find a reason she was so comfortable laying against his cold chest. Wasn't warmth what humans usually craved when tired? Yet, this was not the first time Christine had felt comfortable enough to sleep against him. As his mind processed reasons for this, Erik slowly found sleep.

Christine awoke the next morning, momentarily forgetting why she wasn't in her bed. Her arms were draped loosely around her husband. His arm was wrapped comfortingly around her. Christine then realized where she was and remembered why. She looked up at Erik, and carefully removed her arm from under him. Gently, lovingly, she stroked his mask. It always made her wonder; why would he still wear it? Had she not already seen beneath it? Did she not still care? Her fingers strayed curiously toward the edge, but the Phantom caught her by the wrist. Her blue eyes widened as she looked into his yellow ones.

"Don't touch it," he pleaded in a dark tone. Christine nodded, removing her hand from his face and sitting up. Her face was a deep pink from falling asleep on him. His lack of speech as he stood and went to the kitchen worried Christine. She should have known that going anywhere near his mask could only anger him.

"Erik," she began slowly and cautiously, "I'm sorry... I know h-"

"You're forgiven," he said detachedly. He certainly did not sound sincere. "You did not kiss the boy, after all. You have little to apologize for."

"That's not why I'm apologizing," she said calmly. "I'm apologizing for touching your mask. I know how you hate that. I am sorry."

It seemed he hadn't heard her, because instead of saying anything about forgiveness, he instead gave her some instructions. "You are to be back in your dressing room tonight at 8:40. You should have just enough time to get from rehearsal to your dressing room. I'll inform the manage-"

"I understand," she sighed, sitting at the table.

He paused, then continued, "The managers of my changes. If M. le Comte is found in your presence again, I will pull you from the performance. Literally if I must." His voice displayed no direct emotion. It bothered Christine; it was normally so easy for her to understand what he was thinking. Silent minutes passed, and Christine felt incredibly uncomfortable. After half of an hour, Erik finished cooking her breakfast.

Without a word, he set her plate down on the table in front of her and walked past her. There was an envelope on the edge of the lake. The Comte's seal held it shut, but instead of being addressed to Christine, like he had expected, it was addressed to "M. le Fantôme."

A/N: Sorry, I reverted back to the notes. There were two ways I could've ended this, and, trust me, this was the most natural. I'm really afraid Erik became a little ALW-esque in this one. It is not easy for me to keep him Leroux-based as so many of my readers like. I do hope you're enjoying these. They're quite a bit of fun to write. They're also getting longer and longer the more I write them. Like, literally, each one has about 20 more words than the previous. Please, review! I really like to know what you think! Thank you for reading! *bows out*