Author's note: I still do not own anything or anybody, neither musical, movie, nor book(s). This story is mostly based on the movie, but I use elements from the other versions as well, for instance, there will be Nadir.

If you like the story, please review, if you don't like it, tell me why - I can read your comments in English, French, German, Italian or Swedish. And if you like it, also make sure to check out my other stories.

Oh yeah, and as always, the story is meant for friends of the E/C-pairing.

Chapter 1 - Aftermath

Christine looked back one last time to the Phantom's underground home, before the gondola, poled by her fiancé Raoul, made a turn that hid the underground lair from her view. She collapsed into the boat next to Raoul. She probably should feel relieved that the nightmare was over, that both, she and Raoul were free to go and more or less unharmed, but she could feel nothing. She was physically exhausted and emotionally drained after this evening's ordeal. Too much had happened way too fast for her to absorb it all and process it: the performance of "Don Juan", the Phantom on stage with her, her unmasking of him, their fall through the trapdoor, his madness, his forcing her to put on a wedding dress, Raoul's arrival, the Phantom's threat to kill Raoul unless she promised to stay with him and marry him, her decision to do just that, their kisses and finally his decision to let her and Raoul go and her last meeting with her former teacher when she returned the ring to him. Would she ever be able to look back on this emotional roller-coaster and analyze all the conflicting thoughts and emotions that had assaulted her tonight?

Christine shivered. Not only did she suffer from emotional overload, she felt miserable as well. After all, it was mid-February and the temperature in the underground caves was similar to that of the wintery Paris streets outside. She was only wearing a thin sleeveless wedding dress with a lot of cleavage, and to make things worse, the skirt of her dress was soaked from when she had walked up to the Phantom through the lake, promising herself to him. Raoul, of course, was every bit as drenched as she was and therefore unable to provide warmth. And she was so tired! All she longed for was a hot bath, a hot cup of tea and a warm bed to sleep in and forget everything that had happened tonight.

Or two strong arms to hold her. Christine startled. Where had this thought come from? For one fleeting moment an image had passed her mind, which had been oddly comforting. She had imagined herself encircled in the embrace of two strong arms and, though she barely dared admit it to herself, she had felt safe and protected. But those arms had not belonged to Raoul… She was obviously getting confused now, because she knew only too well whose arms had held her in her imagination. It was high-time she got some rest.

Christine slumped down once more next to Raoul in the shaky boat and was about to doze off when they reached the shore. She was only half conscious when Raoul led her up the stairs and to safety. She let him put her into a carriage and only when they were on the way, did she wake up enough to realize what was going on. "Where are we headed, Raoul?" He looked at her, surprised. "Where do you think we are going? Surely you know that the Opera Populaire is on fire and that you cannot go back to the dormitory. I am taking you to the Chagny-estate, where you will be safe."

Christine's strong, instinctive reaction surprised even herself. "No," she exclaimed wildly, as if in fear. Why had she said that? Why was she objecting to Raoul taking her home, his home, which would soon be their home? Why did she suddenly not want to be with her dear fiancé and childhood friend? Raoul was equally bewildered. "Christine, what do you mean, why would you not want to come with me, where you will be safe?" he inquired. Why indeed? She didn't have an answer. She only knew that it somehow didn't feel right to go with him. She was racking her brain to find something to say, to explain her reluctance to Raoul – and to herself. "It would not… be appropriate," she finally mumbled, thanking God for letting her think of this most obvious and irrefutable answer. "We are not married yet, I should not stay in the same place with you, especially considering my status as a performer… the girls from the theater don't have the best reputation. If I stayed at your place, my good name would be tarnished."

Raoul had to admit that Christine had a point. One of the reasons he had agreed to her wish to keep their engagement secret for the time being had been that he was not so sure about how his family and friends would react to the fact that he had chosen a ballet dancer and opera singer for his future wife. If he ever wanted Christine to be accepted in his social circles, her reputation would have to be irreproachable. This whole business with the Opera Ghost was already way more bad publicity for her than he would have ever wanted. As much as he disliked the idea of taking her elsewhere, it was probably the only way for her to get accepted into aristocracy, once they would be married in a few weeks.

"But where else can you go?" he asked nervously. "A hotel does not seem safe enough to me. And as I said, the dormitories are burning right now. Not that I would let you go back there, even if they were still intact," he added. Christine nodded. "No, I don't want a hotel. But what about Mme. Giry? I would have a chaperone that way, and Meg would be there as well."

"Mme. Giry?" Raoul asked hesitantly. "Doesn't she live at the Opera as well? She won't have a place to go to either." But Christine insisted. "No, no, I know it. Mme. Giry owns a little house with a garden at the outskirts of Paris that her late husband left to her. She rarely goes there, since she also has her room at the Opera, which is much more convenient for her daily work. But in summer, when the Opera is closed, she always spends a few weeks there. I am sure she will be going there tonight and she will not refuse me if I ask her to take me in. Please, let's find her!" Christine begged.

Raoul thought about it. There was no doubt that Mme. Giry was the Phantom's confidante, but she had also raised Christine like a second daughter and had been worried enough about her tonight to betray the Opera Ghost's trust and show him, Raoul, the way to his lair. He was reasonably certain that in this particular case her loyalties would lie with Christine and not with that monster.

Raoul called to the coachman and told him to return to the Opera. Chances were good that Mme. Giry would still be there, resolutely overseeing the evacuation of the burning building, or assisting the injured. Christine weakly squeezed his hand. "Thank you", she whispered, still uncertain why it was suddenly so important not to go with Raoul.

A few minutes later, the carriage stopped in front of a chaotic scene. The Opera Populaire was going down in flames, tinting the night sky a dark orange red. The fire brigade had arrived and tried their best to contain the fire, but their efforts were hindered by people still pouring out of the building and by injured victims sitting or lying in the way, waiting for one of the medical teams that had quickly been summoned from near-by hospitals to treat them. Relatives and friends of performers and audience members had also gathered near the Opera to look for their loved ones, once the news of the fire had spread through the city. And as always in such cases, there was also a large group of onlookers, anxious not to miss any detail of the disaster and being in the way of everything and everybody.

Raoul looked around. The whole scene was covered in smoke and soot and it was hard to make out any faces. But suddenly he spotted the familiar figure of the ballet mistress who was helping with some of the injured. He hesitated. Should he go and talk to her? He didn't want to leave Christine alone in the carriage, especially not that close to the Opera and that - thing. But if he called, it was doubtful Mme. Giry would hear him over the reigning chaos. He would have to take Christine with him so they could talk to her surrogate mother. "Come Christine," he said quietly. "I see Mme. Giry over there, let's go and see if she can take you in for a few nights – till we are married."

Christine silently allowed Raoul to help her out of the carriage and lead her to where he had seen Mme. Giry moments ago. The ballet mistress did not turn around when she heard the couple approaching, mistaking them for some more wounded looking for help. "Just a moment, I will be finished with this patient in a minute, then I will be able to assist you," she called over her shoulder, while deftly applying some ointment to the ugly red burn on a young lady's arm. It was a good thing that, when she had been offered the position as ballet mistress, she had insisted on getting training in first aid so that she would be able to treat small training-related injuries herself. This qualification proved invaluable now. She handed the young woman a small jar of the ointment and instructed her to apply some more of it to her wound in about an hour and to see a doctor the next morning. "Don't worry, this will heal, your arm will look as good as new in a few weeks," she comforted her charge.

"Mme. Giry!" That shy, weak voice made her forget her duty as a nurse at once. Mme. Giry turned around to see the pale, exhausted face of her surrogate daughter who was standing right behind her, at the side of the young Vicomte. "Christine! Thank God, you are safe!" Her relief was obvious. Christine and her fiancé not only had escaped the Phantom but the fire as well. But how had they gotten away from Erik? Did she dare ask? No, this was not the time. She noticed that Christine was shivering, that her dress was wet and that the poor girl looked like she had been through the wringer. Mme. Giry decided that under these circumstances all questions had to wait. She simply opened her arms and pulled Christine close to her, rocking her like a small baby. "Shh, my dear, don't worry. You are safe now. You will be fine, I am here with you." Christine sighed and melted into the older lady's arms.

Raoul coughed. "Umm, Mme. Giry," he interrupted the two women. "We had hoped, that is, considering that the dormitories are burning and it would not be appropriate… In short, would you mind taking Christine in for a few days? Not for long, I promise you, we will get married as quickly as possible, but until then? So that she is properly chaperoned as is befitting for my future wife?" Mme. Giry nodded. It was obvious from the way the girl was clinging to her that Christine needed a mother-figure right now. Once she had calmed down she would be in need of discussing whatever had happened in the cellars of the burning Opera house between her, Erik and Raoul – and Raoul was not the person to discuss this with, for two reasons: He was a man and would not understand a girl's feelings the way a woman would, and, though she herself was not exactly a neutral observer of the whole affair, Raoul's opinion on the recent events was certainly even more biased than hers.

"Of course, Christine, you may stay with me as long as you want. You know that you are like a second daughter to me, " Mme. Giry assured the trembling young woman in her arms, comfortingly patting her back. Then she looked around. "Lisette, can you take over for me here, please? I have to take care of Miss Daaé. And if anybody sees Meg, can you please tell her that I took Christine home?" Meg – she had not seen her in quite a while. Where was that girl? Had she entered the burning building again? She shook her head. At least Christine was safely here with her, in no immediate danger. But the young singer would catch a serious cold if she stayed out here much longer in that wet dress. Resolutely Mme. Giry turned to the Vicomte. "If you could kindly call me a carriage, I will see to it that Christine gets into dry clothes and into a bed as soon as possible. And if you don't mind, I would suggest you go home and do the same if you do not want to catch a cold."

Xxxx

Erik observed the chaotic scene in front of the burning building from the shadows of a nearby doorway. Over the years he had perfected the art of blending in with the surroundings so that he wouldn't be noticed. Tonight this was harder than usual, though. He desperately tried to avoid shivering – since any movement of his white shirt might be noticed. He realized too late that he had left his lair ill-prepared when the mob approached. After sending Christine away – towards the life of happiness she dreamed of and she so much deserved – he had been too heart-broken to think straight. He had known what the weather would be like outside. Why had he not taken his cloak, or at least a vest or a jacket? The white shirt was way too visible in the dark night, and even he, who was used to lower temperatures, was cold outside without a warm coat. His fingers closed tightly around the ring she had returned to him, it was all he had left of her. He sighed. Oh Christine – why had he let her go? He missed her already.

He was looking for Mme. Giry, hoping that she would be willing to help him hide. He would have to avoid his lair for a while, till things had quieted down a bit. Assuming the lair still was in habitable condition once the mob was finished with it. He sighed. What would it look like down there once he could return? Or, more to the point: would the cellars still be safe after the fire? Where would he go, if he could not return to his underground home? Erik shivered again. Did it matter if he could go back? What would it be like there – without Christine? Why was he running anyway? The mob would have killed him pretty quickly had he waited for them. Would that not have been merciful? Everything would be over by now, his pain, his loneliness, his heart-break, all his problems would be things of the past. He had been called a living corpse before, but right now he felt like one. Like his heart and soul had died and only his body was still walking around. How could he live without her, who was gone from his life forever?

His eyes suddenly widened. Christine! What was she doing here? The Vicomte was with her and they were talking to Antoinette Giry? Why were they not on their way to the boy's home? He saw that Antoinette took a visibly shaken Christine into her arms and tried to comfort her. He shuddered. Why was Christine so upset? Was it his fault? He had threatened her and the boy pretty cruelly, he had to admit it, but had it really been that bad? It was no wonder then that she had not wanted to stay with him. The pain of having lost her overwhelmed him again. Would he ever learn to put this dream of a life with her behind him and to find some joy in life again – without her?

So consumed was he with his own sorrow and broken heart that he almost missed how the Vicomte hailed a carriage for the two ladies and how Antoinette and Christine left together. A thousand thoughts crossed his mind at once: Relief that the boy and Christine would not spend the night together as he had feared, surprise, why this was happening, and the realization that he now could not count on Antoinette's help were the most prominent ones.

What was he to do now? He knew only one person other than Mme. Giry that might be able and willing to provide him with shelter for a few days or weeks, but as far as he knew, Nadir had left Paris a while ago to spend the winter in the sunny South, and would not be back until early April. His best hope for shelter had therefore lain with the good Antoinette, who had hid him once before, when he had escaped from the gypsies after killing his tormentor.

But with Christine there, Antoinette's home was off-limits for him now. Christine! The thought of her made his heart ache once more. Did it matter where he went? He would have to find an abandoned building somewhere, or a tool-shed, or something and make it his home for now. He would have to stay near-by and as soon as the Opera was not surrounded by fire brigade, police, military, disaster relief forces or whatever other authorities might keep an eye on the ruins for the next couple of days he would have to try to go back to his lair and see if he could salvage any warm clothes or one of his masks… and he would need to retrieve some money as well; if he wanted to survive in the streets till Nadir's return he would need some provisions.

Half an hour later Erik lay curled up on the hard stone floor of an empty tool-shed, freezing. He had not expected to sleep tonight, but like Christine he was so exhausted and emotionally drained that a dreamless sleep claimed him almost the moment he lay down. And once he slept, nothing mattered anymore, not the hard floor, not the cold and not his broken heart. For this night at least, all his problems were forgotten.