Summary: Return once more to the Phantom's lair. Where Christine is faced with a choice, one that will juggle the hearts of two men: to chose one for love, or for the sake of a life. To choose one will alter her every thought and dream, and together with her decision she will meet her consequences. (Based off of the 2004 movie version with Emmy Rossum and Gerard Butler.)

Rating: T for suggestive writing and language.

Genre: Angst, Drama, and Romance

Disclaimer: The Phantom of the Opera is not mine, nor are any of the characters mentioned.

Ange

Two sets of eyes watched her, both with deliberate concentration, tinged with expectation and horror. The young woman faltered, her long lashes catching the moist tears trickling down her suave cheeks. How can I? She thought shivering against the cool air, how could they?

"You try my patience… make your choice," the man spoke huskily, his labored breathing filling her ears, feeling as if he was right next to her. The pain from this man was unbearable, and that was all he was. A man. His usual neat and well-presented hair was in mad disarray, plastered to his damp face.

"Christine…" Raoul groaned, resting his head tiredly against the old wooden gate, his bonds constricting, biting his flesh. The Vicomte de Changy was impatiently waiting; repulsion and puzzlement graced his feminine features. He glared at the man in front of him, his disgusting face shown for everyone to see. Appalled Raoul turned his head and again gazed feverishly at Christine.

Who did she love? Was it the young man who was an open doorway to happiness and past memories? Memories that would bring her joy, and remembrance, flushing her face with laughter, or was the man she was bound unto standing right in front of her. Her angel of music, who saved her from sorrow, taught her, loved her, and offered a passage of a new life.

Pushing her plump lips together she inhaled sharply, knowing she had to choose soon. Was Raoul's life worth refusing this desperate man? Of course not! She snapped at herself. He was her friend, a guide through the light. But is that all he was, a friend? Yes, this was how it had to be.

Slipping her small feet into the water, Christine slowly made her way to the stiff man, whose grip on the rope loosened as she approached. "Pitiful creature of darkness, what kind of life have you known? God give me courage to show you, you are not alone!" Quickly she brought her lips to his, brushing them against his mouth, before she urged herself foreword closing the gap. Her slender fingers curled themselves in his hair and around his thick neck.

She felt so right pressed against his, molding to his muscular form. He responded his hand pushing her closer at the small of her back. She trailed her hand down his marred face, carefully caressing the burned skin. Pulling apart, she smiled slightly, starring at his shifting eyes.

His breathing increased again, he tore his gaze away from her and dropped the rope into the icy water. Motioning for Christine to leave him. "Take him, forget me, forget all of this. Tell no one of what you have seen, of the angel in hell! Go now, go now and leave me!" he shouted, hurriedly returning to his throne, his empire of music.

Christine rapidly went to Raoul and scratched desperately at the bonds around his wrists. "Christine, Christine," he breathed embracing her quavering form tightly. "Come we must make haste," he said, grasping her hand and darting to the small boat.

"No Raoul," she sighed dejectedly. "I cannot leave him," she finished catching her breath in her throat. She watched as his body froze, he pivoted around, his eyes downcast, his bottom lip trembling.

"Do not throw you life away because you pity him Christine! It is not right, even if you think it so in your eyes," he whispered hoarsely. Again he pulled at her arm, but she held her ground.

"Raoul I can not leave with you," Christine whimpered, fingering the white lace of her dress.

The young man raised his head now, his eyes shimmering with sadness. "You do not mean what you say. If you pity anyone please pity me! I love you, so much, and you will turn your head for some monster!" Raoul gasped reaching and grabbing her upper arms forcefully. "Is he what you chose? A life of pity?" his lips stretched into a snarl, the beautiful blond hair clinging to his soaking body.

"I do not pity him Raoul…I love him," she murmured cupping his cheek gently. Her finger swiped a single tear that fell down the side of his face. "And I love you," she added lightly, untangling herself in his weakening grip. "Please leave and do not think kindly of me. For I have hurt you, and I see it. Your pain saddens me more than you know," Leaning foreword, she placed a delicate kiss on his cheek.

Stepping backward, she watched as the wounded Vicomte de Changy took hold of the oar of the tiny boat and stood on it. He began to push away from the small cave, ever other stroke looking back at her, his mouth pressed into a thin line, his chin quaking, desperately trying to hold back his tears.

Stowing away to the land, Christine lifted her skirts and trampled onto the small house. Hurriedly she ran to his room, hoping to god that he was still there. Breathing heavily, she sighed, seeing that the Phantom sat on his bed, singing softly to himself.

Slowly he turned to her, his eyes red as he scanned her face. "Christine I love you," he said, his once wondrous voice cracking.

She furrowed her arched brow, and walked to him uncertainly, not knowing how to approach him. His lips pursed fearing that she would reject him, and in a way bracing himself mentally. Instead, she showed him her pale hand, and on her ring finger she wore the ring he had given her.

A smile graced his lips; it grew while each second ticked away. He no longer looked like a troubled man, but a dreamy schoolboy. He held her hand in his, smoothing his warm, callused fingers over her chilled flesh. "Ange…" she sang moving closer to impending form.

He held her tightly, his head lying on the groove of her neck. He moved his lips against her tingling skin, pressing hot kisses. Christine tilted her head back, moaning lightly, enjoying the feel of his mouth on her body. A pained image of Raoul brought her from the intense feeling and replanted her feet on the ground.

"Ange we must hurry, there are people after you, I heard them. They will harm you,"

Straightening, he brought himself to his full height, and watched her cautiously. "Yes, let me gather what I need," he left her standing in his room helplessly, ambivalent still disbelieving that she had decided to stay with the Phantom, her Ange.

Crossing her arms under her bosom, she followed him and saw his ferocious movements, paper sheets flying, blankets tossed, and coins jingling together. He had shoved it all in a large black satin bag, which sat on his sawn shaped bag. He tried pressing his shirt down, pushing wild strands of hair back, and clearing his throat, aware that she was watching him with fascination. What she had failed to notice is that he had put his white leather mask on his face again.

"Everything else can be replaced," me spoke aloud, to her and to perhaps his raging nerves. Turning to her, he bent over grabbing his discarded coat and cape and began walking to her steadily. Unsure, almost fearing her, he leaned down and captured her lips with his. After a prolonged moment, he ended it, glancing at her breathlessly. "We should be leaving," he advised, draping his coat over her shoulders and leading her away to a row of mirrors he had lining the back wall.

Grabbing at candlestick he began banging it against the first mirror, then to the next, until he came to a larger mirror furnished it gold. Slamming the object into the glass, it shattered revealing a hidden tunnel that quickly dispersed into darkness.

Sliding his hand through hers he squeezed it gently, moving foreword into the darkness, enveloping all of her vision. She could see nothing, but instead felt the guiding hands of the Phantom leading her in the abyss. They were silent, they needed to be. In fear of the police mob tracking him, hoping to destroy her Ange.

The tunnel seemed to continue for hours, climbing higher and higher yet never reaching the surface. Her mouth grew dry; the hot air around them breathed through her thick chocolate curls making her uncomfortable. "Ange," she whispered throatily.

He never stopped or slowed his gait, but continued replying "Yes?"

"Where does this tunnel lead to?" she inquired, her movements slowing down as exhaustion began creeping up her long legs.

"Some where safe. Are you tired?" he questioned honestly, his rich voice rumbling, sending chills down her spin.

"Yes," she answered simply, holding the heavy overcoat close, inhaling his scent. There was a pause between them and she parted her lips to ask another question. "What is your name?"

He stopped, the wind rustling to a halt with him. Christine hardly could see him through the faint moonlight streaming through from somewhere. He observed her with a slight smirk on his face. "I was once called Erik. But that was a distant time ago. You may call me that if you wish," he responded, inching closer to her smaller frame.

"Erik," she said, testing his name on her tongue. Loving they way it sounded, short, yet it still rolled off fluidly. Erik seemed to enjoy her call him that as well, for he tensed and a look came over him, something she could not trace in the dim light.

"I am taking you to a house I own right on the outskirts of Pairs," he said "we only have a short way,"

Continuing down the narrow path, the smell of fresh air flew through the tunnel. The smell of rosebuds greeted them and a wooden door. Pushing it open, a bright blast of moonlights splashed over them, alighting the beautiful garden around them. Stepping onto the dew soaked grass; Erik lowered the bag and extended his hand to her.

Christine allowed herself to be helped out of the pit, her feet meeting the cool kiss of grass. She stood inches from him, her eyes meeting his gorgeously thick neck, tanned even though he spent long hours underground. The moon gleamed above him, skimming down his intimidating body, accenting every muscle seen.

She reached up tentatively, her fingers running through his hair. Their lips met, passion filled with longing, feverishly pulling eachother closer to the other. Ragged breathing and swollen lips, they stopped breathing heavily. "Thank you," Erik said running his hands up and down her back, lingering over breasts, before cupping her chin to mouth once more. "Thank you," he repeated, guiding her to the house, which sat only a few feet away, charming and elegant. Their home.