I consider this my ultimate exercise in genius/insanity. XD There's some language, but not so much I thought it needed a higher rating. Just thought I'd warn you anyway.

I have to give several people credit, though. First off, three users on a phan site who speculated any and every "what if" when it came to the lair. Second, a salute to Gaston Leroux, a tip of the hat to Andrew Lloyd Webber, and a kiss to Hugh Panaro.

And I offer my humblest apologies for this nonsense...I don't own any quotes or lyrics either. If I did, I wouldn't be sorting laundry at the local dry cleaners. ;)

The Vicomte de Chagny stood anxious and desperate in Christine Daaé's dressing room with the strange, mysterious foreigner circumstances had forced him to trust. The Persian opened the carved case his servant had brought in, and Raoul could see it contained two pistols.

"Do you mean to fight a duel?" he asked.

"It will certainly be a duel which we shall have to fight," the Persian answered. He checked the priming of both guns and handed one to Raoul. "Take this, monsieur, and be ready for anything that may come. Hold it ready to fire, but don't do so until my signal."

He stored his own pistol in his pocket and went to the mirror along the wall, the mirror Raoul had watched Christine vanish through the night of the masked ball. He ran his hands over the glass and frame, his fingers searching for something, though Raoul couldn't guess what that may be. He muttered softly to himself, "Of course, he may have disabled it and blocked it off entirely, in which case we shall have to find another way. But this would be so much faster!"

"What are you looking for, monsieur?" Raoul inquired.

"The button that opens the passage behind the mirror. It's an old trick he used to use in Persia, and he knows I know about it, so he might have tampered with it to hinder our progress. Ah, I have it now!"

He pressed a spot in the wallpaper just above the mirror and beckoned to Raoul. "This way," he said, "and be ready to fire." Seconds later, the mirror shifted and there was a blast of cold air as it moved aside and revealed a dark tunnel behind. The Persian lit a dark lantern and, instructing Raoul to keep his pistol hand at the level of his eyes once more, set off into the tunnel. Raoul followed, and everything went dark around them as the mirror moved back into place.

"Keep close," the Persian whispered. "It's easy enough to get lost in these passages."

"How well you know the Opera!"

"Not so well as he does," came the modest reply. "Now try to be as silent as you can."

Raoul followed the lantern down the passage as the Persian led him through the cellar. His only thought was for Christine, and rescuing her as soon as possible. He had to get to her before that monster harmed her; he would never be able to forgive himself for not running when they had the chance if something happened to her.

He lowered the pistol slightly and massaged his arm with his free hand. It was tiring to hold it up, but he didn't question the Persian's instruction. The foreigner had had enough experience with Erik's tricks, he ought to know what he was about.

After what felt like an eternity of silence, the Persian gestured to Raoul to stop. He whispered so softly the vicomte almost missed the words, "We're nearly under the stage. I have to put out the light now, so be sure to stay right behind me. Keep your hand up, as if you were aiming."

Raoul hastily raised the pistol again as the Persian shuttered his lantern, and they continued on their way. There was noise above their heads as the management and authorities conducted their investigation into the night's disaster, but the Persian was perfectly soundless in the dark. In fact, Raoul was no longer sure he was following the Persian at all...

"Monsieur?" he murmured. "Are you there?"

There was no reply.

Raoul cursed his luck. There had been that moment he had hesitated at that turning, unsure which direction his guide had gone, and he seemed to have gone the wrong way after all. Now what was he going to do?

Well, Christine had spoken of a lake, so he had to try to get there somehow. He steadied his arm and carried on.

Erik stared down at Christine as she looked up at him with frightened, tear-filled eyes. She was a vision in the wedding gown he'd chosen for her. The vicomte was a fool if he thought he could steal her away now.

He thrust a bouquet in her hands and arranged the veil on her head. She spoke to him, but he wasn't really paying attention. Something about a distorted soul, whatever that meant. What did his soul have to do with anything? His hideous face was the issue, and the reason why she'd run from him to start with.

There were footsteps outside, and he looked past Christine to the figure on the other side of the portcullis. Ah...perfect...

"Wait," he said. "I think, my dear, we have a guest!"

A fiendish cackle escaped him as Christine cried out and ran to where Raoul stood. Erik gave a mocking bow and addressed him. "Sir, this is indeed an unparalleled delight! You see, I was hoping you might come before the wedding, and now you're here!" He seated himself in his throne and went on. "If anything was needed to make this night better, it was this!"

"Free her!" Raoul called to that devil in the chair. "Let her go, for God's sake! Let her go!"

"Your lover makes a passionate plea," he told Christine without the slightest trace of concern. He might have been commenting on the weather. He laughed as Raoul continued to beg and waved insolently at him, leering gleefully.

"Let me see her!" Raoul pleaded.

"Be my guest, sir," Erik replied in a low menacing snarl. He raised the portcullis and Raoul darted beneath it. He was a pitiful sight, dirty and ragged with his shirt torn and drenched to the skin, but he went straight to Christine and paid no mind to the madman standing only a few feet away.

"Monsieur, I bid you welcome," Erik greeted, almost amiably. The couple turned to leave, but he'd already closed the portcullis again and cut them off. "Did you think that I would harm her?" He approached Raoul like a leopard stalking a young gazelle, readying the lasso in his hands. "Why should I make her pay for the sins which are—"

BANG.

Everyone froze in place, staring transfixed at the gun in Raoul's hand. He'd sensed someone creeping up behind him, drawn the pistol the Persian had given him, and fired. He'd meant to shoot the beast in the heart, but in his haste he'd missed, and the bullet had lodged itself in Erik's shoulder.

"Son of a...bitch!" he yelled, a fiery pain shooting through his arm. The rope fell from his hands and he staggered backwards. "What the hell? You just fucking shot me!"

"Raoul, where did that gun come from?" Christine demanded.

"The Persian gave it to me," he replied. He seemed as stunned as anyone else by what had happened. He still held his pistol arm high, as if about to fire again.

Erik made a mental note to make himself a new lasso of Nadir's intestines the next time he saw that double-crossing do-gooder. "Oh my God, that hurts!"
Christine took a tentative step forward. "Are you all right?" she asked.

"Christ, woman, do I look all right?" he shouted in a temper. He dropped back into the throne, his hand pressed to the wound in his shoulder. "Are you really that twitter-pated? I mean, come on! I just got shot! No, I'm perfectly all right! In fact, I'm just peachy!"

She hesitated, then took another step towards him.

"Stay the hell away from me, before your watchdog shoots again!"

She turned to Raoul reproachfully. "Did you have to shoot him?" she asked. "What were you thinking?"

Raoul gave her an incredulous look. "Did you see that rope in his hand? He was about to strangle me! Would you rather I let him string me up and use me as a bargaining chip to force you to do his bidding?"

"Well...no..."

"Then what are you bitching about?"

She thought it over, then shrugged. She turned to Erik and asked, "Can we go now?"

He waved her off in disgust. "Beat it. Get lost. It's not like this will add fuel to the fire of my obsession and insanity. And I probably won't come hunting after you again once I'm all healed up, assuming I don't bleed to death first. You know, obsession never dies, or something like that."

They both stood there, puzzled by his outburst. "Is he serious, or just being sarcastic?" Raoul inquired softly.

"How should I know?" Christine answered. "I was too much of a ditz to see through the whole Angel of Music thing."

"What are you still standing there for?" Erik snapped. "Get out of here!"

"Can you—open the door? We can't go anywhere.

Details! He opened the portcullis and they vanished into the darkness, singing their stupid love duet. Why was he singing, anyway? He was a rich, noble pretty boy, not a brilliant, brooding, scary yet seductive, tortured musical genius! It made no stinking sense, for crying out loud!

There was a chink of cymbals and the music box at his feet began to tinkle out its melody. He gave it a swift kick and sent it flying halfway across the lair. Stupid monkey.

Hours later, the Persian had finally made his way to the lair to find the vicomte had already left with Christine Daaé and that Erik had gotten himself shot, the damn fool. Nadir had set about patching him up, but Erik was a bad patient at the best of times and already in a foul mood, so his attendant had his hands full.

"Jesus Christ, you hit a nerve!" he yelled.

Nadir heaved a sigh and withdrew the forceps from the wound. "You know, if you would hold still, I could have been finished ages ago," he said.

"Well, I'm sorry I was almost blown away, then," Erik jeered. "If only he would have killed me, so you wouldn't be so inconvenienced! I could shove that hat of yours so far up your ass, you vomit it!"

"In my defense, I didn't think he would actually use that gun."

"You're the one who gave it to him! What the fuck did you think he was going to do with it?"

Nadir mumbled something about keeping his hand at the level of his eyes.

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," Erik snapped. "Why didn't you just say that to start with and forget about the gun?"

"Now, that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," Nadir shot back. "'Excuse me, vicomte, but I want you to hold your arm up in the air for no apparent reason at all, because I don't feel like explaining the dangers of the Punjab lasso right now.'"

"Then why didn't you explain the dangers of the Punjab lasso? Good God, man, you're supposed to have all the common sense around here!"

Nadir jabbed the forceps into the wound and Erik spat out a mouthful of curses. "Damn it, Nadir, I ought to skin you alive!"

The Persian merely rolled his eyes and set to work extracting the bullet, mentally congratulating the vicomte for accomplishing what he'd longed to do for years.