Disclaimer: I am neither Andrew Lloyd Webber nor Gaston Leroux.

Author Note: Hi all! Coming back to this story meant re-reading some of the chapters to refresh my memory- something I picked up on was that in the prologue, Erik swears he will never go back to the Populaire unless he has found Christine. I suppose then that this chapter brings that promise full circle :)

Not long to go now! One more chapter after this and then an epilogue, provided I keep to my planned chapters (given my recent organisation skills, however, a change of plan is highly likely)

Thanks again for reading and reviewing, favouriting and following, even with my lousy update schedules. :)

Thirty Six- The Phantom and the Soprano

If I were a sentimental sort I might find something beautiful about this moment, Erik thought drily to himself as he lead his horse through the gates of Paris. He ought to hate the city, for all the horrid memories and associations he could dredge up, but in some perverse twist of irony coming to Paris had always held the sensation of coming home.

For the longest time, Erik's world had been Paris- nothing beyond had ever seemed inviting or worth the prospect of travel. Paris had music, darkness, even friendships- and most importantly, Paris had Christine Daae.

Erik glanced at Christine then, who was riding close beside him. Her face was clear of any emotion, but her eyes were troubled- Erik knew that Paris held such pain for her, a fact that had almost persuaded him to delay their return, at least until they had a semblance of a plan between them. Behind them, Nadir and Raoul were also silent, which was in some ways a blessing as they had spent the last few hours arguing over where to stay. Everyone silenced by the act of returning, together, to Paris- Erik could have laughed.

"We shall have to stay at my house." Raoul suddenly chipped in, breaking the silence and making Nadir mutter something disparaging in his native tongue- knowing the language well, Erik smirked at the insult. "Where else can we stable the horses? Nadir there is really no need to roll your eyes at me, your house is delightful but alas, no stables-"

"But you have servants, de Chagny, and it would be rude to wake them at this hour of the night." Nadir retorted, glancing at Erik for support and seeing that his friend was rather preoccupied watching Christine's expression. His concern was understandable- the girl had been unusually quiet through the journey to Paris, and had not said a word since crossing into the city. "I know what I will do- I will stable my horse with you, as the kind offer has been made, and then I will walk to my own house."

Raoul pulled a face.

"Erik, Christine, would you reject my offer of hospitality too?" He directed a pointed look at Nadir. "Or can I count on your company?"

"That rather depends." Erik said, tone softening as he turned to Christine and reached for her hand. She looked up at the contact and found a small smile for him, though it did not chase away the odd look in her eyes. "If Christine would prefer it to joining me in my home, I make no objections."

Christine's eyes went very wide and her hand tightened on Erik's, which made him smile back at her, trying to tell her that he understood. He knew that her mind would be full of memories, of the last time she was in Paris, tainting and souring everything even now. But if he could somehow take that pain away- if he could help her make new memories, by her side-

Nadir burst out laughing, slapping Raoul on the back with a distinctly smug expression.

"Erik has a very nice house, Vicomte. He has a lake- very picturesque, I'm sure you can imagine, not to mention the most exquisite furniture. From Persia, from Italy, though I'm not too sure of the origins of the coffin-" he was laughing too hard to go on with his teasing, and Raoul looked surprisingly miserable.

"So it has come to this already- after so many trials and tribulations, tonight we go our separate ways and return to our own homes." His tone was almost sulky, which made Christine smirk a little, despite the anxious feeling she still could not shake. "I had planned to discuss the future! You may all be satisfied, but I have nothing waiting for me now except idle days sulking around an empty house! Don't laugh at me, Erik, for goodness sakes-"

"That discussion can wait until morning." Nadir rolled his eyes again, stifling a yawn. "I for one am not in the slightest bit sad to see the backs of you all- no more arguments to mediate, no more hysteria to manage, dear God it is too good to be true!" he suddenly smiled. "But, no doubt, I will see you all tomorrow for this riveting discussion concerning our dear Vicomte's existential crisis-"

"Indeed you will." Raoul nodded firmly, turning his horse in the direction of the de Chagny residence. "Well, until tomorrow then."

Raoul and Nadir began to ride away, already bickering, and Erik smothered the urge to laugh.

"Vicomte!" he yelled after them, suddenly remembering something from those distant days of the opera house. "If you are that idle, perhaps you ought to take up that naval expedition to the North Pole you once intended on."

"You know, Erik, that isn't a half bad idea!" Raoul called back, suddenly having the desire to urge his horse into a gallop, clattering away across the Parisian cobbles.

Erik smiled and turned to Christine, motioning that they should head towards the Populaire. Christine nodded, going to say something but not able to find the right words.

She knew it was silly, to be so downcast when in fact she should still be rejoicing that everything was going so beautifully for them, but there was something about Paris now that made her heart sink. She couldn't look at the winding streets or the stunning architecture without remembering other things- her mad run through the crowds, her sobbing on the steps of the opera house, her waking in a Parisian night screaming for Erik yet not finding him beside her. It was irrational, and foolish, but Christine could not shake the feeling that something awful was going to happen.

They had never been happy in Paris. Forces always seemed to conspire against it.

The thought of going to Erik's home across the lake calmed her a little. She had better memories of that place, not to mention that her heart fluttered to think of being alone with him again. She loved Raoul and Nadir dearly, of course she did, but she had been robbed of Erik so many times she felt as though she deserved to stake her claim and take those stolen hours back.

That underground home would be theirs. A secret world between worlds, filled with those same comforting shadows that had allowed such a love to bloom, hidden from the scorn and misunderstanding of the world. The shattered fragments of memories from the night of Don Juan told Christine as much- she remembered, as hands grabbed her and tore her away from Erik, how she had screamed at them-

"You don't understand- I LOVE HIM!"

As if that defence could have changed things. If only she hadn't slipped- if only she had told Raoul the truth before- if only she had known the truth herself-

"We're here."

Erik's velvet voice pulled her from the madness, and Christine realised that it was time to dismount. She passed the reigns to Erik, peering around in the darkness and not recognising the street they stood in- were they not to go to the opera house?

But as Erik took a key from his pocket, it came flooding back- the Rue Scribe entrance, the door to which she had always had a key. As Erik unlocked their entrance and began to lead both her and the horses down through the tunnels, Christine considered what that gesture had truly meant. It was an indication of trust- she could have easily handed that key to Raoul, the management, even the police, but Erik had trusted her enough to take the chance. And the fact she never had- Christine smiled despite herself.

"Why did you trust me with a key to the Rue Scribe?" she asked, voice echoing slightly in the tunnels. "I could have easily given it to an authority, sent them chasing after you-"

"I gave it to you in confidence." Erik would have turned to see the look in her eyes as he said it, but he was busy concentrating on the horses. "And even if you had passed it on to someone, they would have been dead before reaching me. I was rather…thorough, in that respect."

Christine gave no reply, but Erik found he was comfortable being honest with her. He would not deny the past again- nor would he stop her from leaving if the truth was too much. Something told him though, in an uncharacteristic wave of confidence, that she would not leave.

Erik deposited César in his usual stable, leaving Christine's horse there as well- it would have to go to Raoul in the morning, there being limited space underground, but for now Erik was tired of his attentions being diverted. He turned fully to Christine, and kissed her.

"I know that Paris holds bad memories for you, something for which I am to blame." He said softly. "I have bad memories here, too, but there are also moments of joy. Perhaps if I can remind you of those, and give you more, you will be able to feel happy here." He started to lead her not towards the house, but away from it, heading towards the passage that led into the opera house itself. "But if you find you cannot be happy here, Christine, we can go anywhere else. Anywhere in the world. We have spent far too long being unhappy."

"You understand." She smiled at him. "Thank you, Erik, I- I know it's silly, but so much has happened here. It makes me feel uneasy."

"It is not at all silly. Quite sensible, in fact. I should have left long ago, instead of burrowing away into the very building that would secure my misery through simple jealousy."

"Ah, but then how would you have met me?" she challenged.

"Some other way, I'm sure."

"So you believe in fate?" she asked, honestly curious.

"No. No I do not believe in fate. Some things are so… random, or hideously cruel, I cannot let myself believe that it was destined. The idea that our lives are already written seems a very convenient way out of responsibility- it would mean that any wrongs I have committed were not particularly my fault." He frowned at the concept, wondering how much worse of a person he would have been had he tried to ever deny his wrong doing, to pass blame to some higher power.

"So how can you believe that we would have met, if not in Paris?" Christine continued, liking the subject. "If it was not…written in the stars, or the fabric of the world itself, how can you be so sure?"

Erik laughed at her. They had reached the end of the passage, which opened out into one of the mezzanine layers beneath the stage. He helped Christine through the trapdoors, opening out onto the stage itself.

"I cannot be sure. But I also cannot imagine a life without you, so I take that to mean there is no such thing. I would have always met you, and loved you, because without you there is nothing." He said, as if it were a simple truth, fundamental to the universe.

Christine gaped at him, her eyes stinging with the want to cry after such a beautiful explanation, but Erik had already moved on, walking across the stage to the edge closest to the orchestra pit.

"This is the joy of having permanent, unknown access, Christine. I always did prefer the auditorium at night. The décor is somewhat ruined by hundreds of fat Parisians in their gaudy dresses-"

Christine came to stand beside him, thumping his arm for the comment but finding she somewhat agreed with him. This was different to when Meg had taken her onto the stage, to try and bring back the past- then she had been overwhelmed, mind too consumed with memories and realisation to see it clearly. Now, she could appreciate the sight, rooted firmly in the present and with Erik's arm linked tightly with her own.

"How I ever sang to such an audience…" she whispered, the endless rows seeming more daunting than ever.

"You were very nervous." Erik said, his voice warm with something that Christine had rarely heard- something paternal. She tended to forget that she had been his pupil before anything else, and that his dearest memories of her would always include lessons, practises, nervous preparation- "That was the beautiful thing about it, Christine. You never quite accepted how stunning you were. Whenever you sang, you had a certain look on your face- a look of awe, as if you could not believe it was your voice you were hearing! But you were ready and I saw to it that you had your chance."

Christine didn't question his final comment, instead looking up at Box Five. Erik saw her gaze but said nothing, letting her consider it in silence. He occupied himself with looking at the stage and the ceiling, searching for signs of damage after the accidental chandelier crash- also unfortunately his fault. The repairs were flawless, Erik admitted begrudgingly to himself, but surprising was the sight of a new chandelier glistening away above them.

"A new chandelier." He commented, and Christine nodded. "How differently that evening might have been had the chandelier not come down. I thought we were going to die- that by some bittersweet twist, I was going to lose you not to Raoul, but to death." He gave a sideways glance at her. "Of course, the chandelier was my fault-"

"Erik!" Christine gasped, sounding amusingly exasperated. "What do you mean, it was your fault?"

"I had unhinged it before the performance of Don Juan. It was to be my getaway distraction- to evade the police." He could laugh now, though at the time he had been a seething mess of anger, hurt and rejection. The idea that Christine had given in to the plot to kill him had been the final straw- the spark that lit an inferno even he hadn't dreamed was possible. "Of course, I didn't need it in the end, as you chose to kiss me rather than kill me, which I must say was preferable-"

"I didn't agree to that plot, Erik." Christine cut him off, not quite able to joke about that incident just yet. "Raoul and I argued terribly about it- my refusals were probably what led him to organise that band of thugs. I would have shielded you from the guns with my own body if it had come to it- my presence on that stage was not to help them."

Erik took her hand and pressed it to his lips, not able to look her in the eye.

"I'm glad of that." He finally said. "Whilst searching for you, I sometimes wondered if the whole thing had been a ruse- some brilliant acting on your behalf, to make me vulnerable, so that Raoul could come and kill me and save you. I wondered, if maybe you falling had been the plan going wrong."

"You've always doubted my love." Christine nodded sadly.

"Perhaps doubt is the wrong word." He paused over it. "More that I underestimated your capacity to love. It is my worthiness of your love that I have doubted."

"Goodness, listen to us!" she gave a shaky laugh, throwing her arms around him and laying her heart against his chest, searching for his heartbeat and closing her eyes, wishing that they need never move from this moment. "Erik, we could have this conversation a thousand times in a thousand different ways. Just promise me that nothing has changed since last night- that you will never leave me again."

"I will never leave you again." He nodded, and she beamed at him, trusting him entirely. "Of course, never leaving can mean many things- what's to say that I am not intending to copy Aida's example?"

Christine gaped at him for a second, before realising that he was just teasing. An Erik with light humour was something she was unfamiliar with and she realised that it was something she would have to get used to- the idea alone was wonderful.

"No, my love, you also said that Faust was the wrong concept of love- that you would love me alive, not in death." She reminded him with one eyebrow raised, as learned from Nadir. "Sealing ourselves in a tomb to die together is hardly the same-"

He kissed her to stop the lecture, before sweeping her up into his arms. She laughed and tried to struggle free but he held her close, carrying her through his secret passageways of the opera house, back down into the subterranean world that once was his but would now be theirs. It was a ridiculous, if not downright stupid thing to do, but Erik didn't care. Why not indulge in romanticised nonsense, now that he could?

She managed to persuade him to let her down as they reached the lake, instead walking side by side. Christine stopped at the spot on the slippery rocks where, with Nadir, she had been sure of a faint dark stain- the only sign that something sinister and horribly life changing might have occurred down here amongst the shadows. Erik said nothing, mind thick with the memories of a night just two years ago.

"You know, Christine, I made myself a promise the night of Don Juan." He stopped just outside the hidden entrance to his home, and she came away from the rocks to stand beside him. "As I locked up the Rue Scribe, I swore to myself I would never again set foot in this opera house unless you were by my side."

Christine smiled at him- she knew what he meant by it. It was an offer of proof, that his promises were genuine- that when he swore to never leave her side again, he meant it entirely. But there was no need for proof, not now. Whatever had prevented it before, be it darkness or fear or even uncertainty, there was a sincerity shining in his eyes in a way it never had before. She looked at him and saw quite clearly that this was Erik, in his truest form.

Not an Angel, nor a Phantom, or even a perfect stranger emerging from the mists on a cold gypsy morning- just Erik.

She followed Erik into the peculiar little house and helped as best she could with lighting lamps and a fire. Eventually though she gave up, curling over the heat and even falling asleep for a little while, the exhaustion of the ride and the emotion of the day leaving it's mark.

She woke to music. Gentle music, eased from the keys of a piano with the most talented precision, enough to send shivers across her skin and make her eyes prick with tears. Christine stumbled off the chaise lounge- Erik must have carried her there, and laid a blanket over her- and walked across the room to the very corner, where he sat at the piano, eyes closed and whole body leaning into the music. The fire had died, leaving only glowing coals in the grate, but there was something comforting about the darkness.

For some time, Christine simply stood beside the piano, eyes closed. She felt every note, every chord, every slightest brush of the keys washing over her. Then the music shifted, evolving into that lullaby she knew so well- impulse made her stretch out her arm and place her hand on Erik's shoulder. He tensed in surprise, clearly unaware of her presence until now, and the music came to an abrupt halt.

"Please don't stop." She said softly, and he looked at her, a strange expression veiling his face. "It was beautiful- my lullaby-"

"Would you sing, Christine?" he asked, sounding almost unsure, and she nodded.

He didn't need to tell her what he would play- immediately she recognised the music, from the final scene of Faust, and she began to sing without even needing to think. Their voices wound together, as if pieces of something when together made complete, and Christine sang Marguerites adoring words with complete sincerity-

The music stopped suddenly, that last note shivering in the darkness and the endless silence that now surrounded them. Christine could feel a lump rise in her throat, her pulse quick and unsteady under her skin as she reached for Erik. He pulled her down next to him, onto the piano stool, and slipped his hands into her curls, bringing her face close enough that he could brush his lips with hers. It was all those sensations from the inn again- the simmering burn of something beneath his skin, the quickened pulse, the racing breath, and yet he stalled as his hands brushed her shoulders.

"Erik?" she whispered, her face nothing but shadows in the almost total darkness- the coals were barely glowing now, distant and useless.

"When you startled me, and I asked you to sing-" the words were ragged, and Christine wished she could see his face and his eyes. Then she might know what he was feeling, why he sounded so strange- "Standing there, hair wild and eyes still glazed with sleep, it was just the same as when I first brought you here. When I was the Phantom, and you the innocent soprano. I loved you then, God I loved you, but I would never-"

He stopped suddenly, taking his hands from her shoulders and distancing himself from her- she understood. He did not want her to think that his intent had ever been seduction, that he would have played the same ruse as Don Juan to steal away his maiden, or even Faust in his stolen youth romancing Marguerite.

"I know." She whispered softly, warm with understanding and even amusement. She reached out to him in the darkness and found his hands, gripping onto them firmly.

"Perhaps it is this place, or just that reality is finally breaking through this dream-" he felt her tense with indignation, and he hurried to speak before she could cut him off and correct him. "But doesn't it scare you, Christine? That whenever we have tried to be happy, it has been ruined?"

She was silent for a moment.

"The only thing that scares me is when you speak like that- it makes me think you might leave me again." She didn't regret the phrasing, even when Erik flinched at the mention of his past cowardice. "All those times, we were hiding behind masks- the Phantom and the soprano. I'm not that naïve girl anymore, Erik, and I know you are not the Phantom." She felt him trace his fingers across her palms and suddenly smiled, turning her thoughts away from Erik's dark fears and hoping that he would do the same. "Are you going to palm read?"

She could not see in the darkness, but she knew a smile had cracked on his face- her heart fluttered in relief.

"No. The last time I tried, a gypsy girl told me I was lying."

"She must have been very perceptive."

"No, I don't think so." She could tell he was smirking now, something in his voice providing vision that was otherwise impossible in the darkness. "After all, she never noticed that I was in love with her."

"Perhaps she did. Perhaps it seemed too beautiful, too wondrous, to be true?"

She had said the wrong thing- she felt him tense and close up, suddenly distant from her through his body had not moved from the seat beside her.

"It wasn't true. Perceptive after all."

Christine refused to let his rooted fears affect her too- she turned to the keys of the piano, stretching her fingers across them in the dark and feeling her way to the notes.

"It was true. You did love me. You do love me. And I love you- whether an Angel, a Ghost, a Phantom or the perfect stranger in the gypsy clan, I have loved you." She shoved him lightly, trying to bring something of that effortless humour back, or at least to make him come back to her. He was still sitting rigidly, consumed with whatever dark thought had crept into his mind.

Music had woken her from her sleep- perhaps it would bring him back from the prison of his own mind. Hoping the darkness would not ruin the attempt, she began to play the piece her father had given to her, the music she had played in the inn with Raoul sitting beside her, both of them ignorant of the fact that Erik would soon come charging in spitting fury. She played her fathers melodies, before easing into her own, telling the story immortalised through music just as she had learned to as a child. She knew that Erik was listening.

"My father gave this music to me. He composed it to tell a story- of himself, and my mother, and then me as a child. It is happy, and simple." She could talk easily as she played, skill far beneath Erik's but knowing the piece so well it took very little concentration. "When he was dying, he told me I should keep that music in my heart but that I should add my own story to it- and that, one day, I should give the music to my own children and pass our stories to them."

Erik said nothing, keeping such a focus on the melody that Christine wondered if he was judging her composition. But then, after a little while, he moved to sit to her left, placing his hands over the keys. One moment, he was sat still, simply listening- the next, his hands were moving across the keys, weaving a new melody through her own.

The tune was darker than Christine's- it had moments of sorrow and moments of darkness, and perhaps if played singularly it would have been far too depressing to enjoy. But played in duet, that sorrow and pain was transformed into passion, longing, love.

They played together, letting the music lead, over and over the threads of melody colliding and creating exquisite beauty. When the journey forged by those notes of the heart came to a natural close, they obeyed and sat back from the keys. Still neither of them spoke, but Christine reached out and took Erik's hands again in her own.

"I don't want to forget the Phantom and the soprano." She said softly. "But I would prefer if we could go forward just as Erik and Christine." Erik started to laugh, seemingly from nowhere, and Christine felt almost hurt by it. "What?!"

"Nothing. Just that Raoul said the very same thing to me, only that we should cease to be the Phantom and the Vicomte." Erik shook his head in amused disbelief. "Isn't it disgustingly ironic that memory loss and a fixation on the past has resulted in us all wanting to be rid of it entirely?"

"I don't want to be rid of it." Christine rolled her eyes. "I just don't want the future to be tainted by it."

Erik nodded and kissed her forehead as he stood up, wincing at the ache that came with sitting at the piano for hours on end without so much as a pause to turn the music sheet. The feelings of intensity had faded with the end of the music and Erik found the dark thoughts that had consumed his head had faded too. For now, at least.

"Speaking of futures, we have the delights of managing Raoul's existential crisis tomorrow, not to mention Nadir's imminent whim to holiday somewhere in the Orient, which will only result in arguments if I refuse to accompany him-"

"I would like to visit Persia." Christine mused and Erik laughed scornfully.

"No. I would sooner walk through Paris without my mask than take you to Persia, Christine. I made far too many enemies there. Speaking of which, so did Nadir-"

"Nadir isn't capable of having enemies, surely!" Christine laughed, but saw he was serious. "Oh. What did he do?"

"Befriend me." Erik said drily. "Really, Christine, you're risking your very reputation as an adored Parisian celebrity merely through association, let alone living here-"

"A risk worth taking, I think." She smiled at him. He bent to kiss her again, but before he could, she placed a finger against his lips. "Erik?"

The word was barely a whisper, and Erik felt his heart stutter.

"Yes, Christine?"

"Do you sleep in the coffin?"

The question startled him and he choked on the laughter and complete uncertainty of how he was supposed to reply to a question like that.

"I did, sometimes." He coughed, hoping that he wasn't now very red in the face- not that she would be able to see, anyway, in the darkness. "Why?"

"Perhaps you might prefer a bed."

The message was clear and Erik didn't have time to respond before she had tipped her head up to his own and kissed him. This time, however, he did not pull away from her. He was sure, at least in that moment, that they had found each other again and he didn't want to lose her, not now.

Not breaking the kiss, he lifted her into his arms and carried her through the darkness.