Disclaimer: Even though Leroux's The Phantom of the Opera is public domain, and this story looks strictly to the original novel for inspiration, I still feel obligated to say that I don't own it.

The marriage was not legal. Raoul had tried, but he needed more time than he had to persuade his brother to accept Christine. The Arctic expedition was looming over him. He could not wait for Philippe to see sense. Of course, they could have eloped to another country, but Christine feared the reaction of his family too much. She had tried to persuade him to wait until he was home again; he would not hear it. This was their compromise – a secret marriage known only to the two of them, and a sympathetic priest. When he came back, they could bide their time, and be married legally. Philippe would come around once he realized this was not a passing infatuation, and Raoul would marry Christine or marry no one. He had wanted to marry her since they were children. In the eyes of God, if not the law, it was done.

They were alone in her dark bedroom. He was glad her guardian was elderly – Mme. Valerius's imperfect hearing made it much easier for Christine to sneak him into their flat. He was still careful to be very quiet. They had considered telling the old lady, but her mind was slipping, and Christine was afraid she would forget and bring up their marriage to the maid, or to one of their acquaintances. Christine stood before him, wrapped up in a dressing gown, her hair hanging unbound. It reached the back of her knees. She was smiling shyly, biting her lower lip and looking at the floor. Even with the lack of light, he could tell she was blushing. He brushed his fingertips across the little curls on her forehead before resting his palm on the side of her face. She leaned into his caress with a contented little exhale, then looked up at him, stepping closer. They had kissed before, many times since they had first become engaged, but this was different. They were not married then, and she'd never been in such a state of undress in front of him. Since their reunion, he'd wanted to get his hands under her clothing, had thought about it almost constantly, and now it was an actual possibility.

Raoul knew what they should not do. It might not have been morally wrong any longer – but common sense dictated that it might be a bad idea, with the potential for very serious consequences, when he would be leaving in a little less than a month. As he slid a hand underneath her dressing gown to grasp a breast through nothing but a nightdress, and she welcomed the contact, his rational mind succumbed to pent up desire. Common sense would not stand against biology – for him, there was no point trying.

Standing in front of him and feeling her face go very red, she wished she had paid more attention to some of the chatter at the opera. She might have learned something useful. Instead, all she had was a head full of vague ideas and uncertainty. As soon as he touched her face, she relaxed a little. This was her Raoul; she had loved him from the moment he'd run into the sea to save her scarf. She trusted him implicitly. He would never purposely hurt her.

At first, she tried to keep her nightgown on, but he soon coaxed her out of it. Raoul had always been adept at getting his way, especially when it came to Christine. It was his smile; he had the most adorable dimple in his left cheek, and very nice teeth. She would do anything to make him smile at her, and his hands on her bare skin felt so right. She was surprised by how quickly she stopped caring about modesty.

Now she was lying in his arms, with one hand skimming his bare chest. Even with his mustache, his face was still boyish. His body, however, was not. He seemed older without his clothes, stronger, and more capable. She wished it would make her feel better about his upcoming departure, but it did not. No matter how physically strong he was, no matter how prepared, the Arctic was dangerous. She didn't want to think about the possibility that he would not make it back – but she knew how real it was. Maybe she should have taken him up on his offer to run away together, but she did not want to cause any more problems with his family, or to stand in the way of his potential achievements. She realized his brother would be furious if he found out what they had done, but Raoul assured her that the Comte would approve of her eventually. She gave herself no other option than to believe him.

Perhaps they had just been utterly foolish, but it did not feel that way. The act itself had hurt a little, and had been over just as she was getting used to it, but she'd never felt more connected to him. The intimacy of it moved her. The usual swelling she felt in her breast when she looked at him, or thought of him, was now magnified to an unprecedented level. Yet, she wanted nothing more than to cry, not for what she had just lost, but for what she would lose. She would not let herself, however. She would give him everything he wanted, and gladly. All they had was a few short weeks, and even though they considered themselves married, they had to sneak around as if they were doing something wrong. She would not waste a single moment of their limited time together with tears.