A/N: Usual disclaimer- I own nothing but characters of my own creation. This fic draws from Leroux/Movie/Musical.

The two darkly clad companions made their way silently across the lake, neither wishing to give voice to the thoughts which filled their minds. The dim light of their lantern barely broke through the darkness, yet they pressed on. The sound of the rippling water echoed off the cold stone walls that surrounded them, the strange sound giving rise to fears that both had tried to suppress. The heavenly music which had once rung through these catacombs was gone forever, replaced with a stillness only death could bring. At the front of the boat, the seated figure tried to conceal the mournful tears that slipped from behind closed eyelids, but to no avail. The man pushing the boat along knew too well the sadness that held the heart of the one before him.

"Christine, at your word I can turn the boat around. We need never return or think on this again," he said gently.

"No, Raoul, I promised him. I can only pray now that he will be at peace, that this will be our chance to begin anew."

As she spoke, Christine slowly turned the gold band that hung heavily upon her finger- the ring that Erik had given her, with the request that she return it to him upon his death. It caught Raoul's eye as the light danced off it. How he detested that ring. It had been a constant reminder of a man whom he wanted nothing more than to forget. And despite Christine's words, Raoul knew that this journey would not provide them with the freedom they so desperately hoped for.

Soon it came into view- the house buried in the cellars deep beneath the Opera Garnier; Erik's home. Raoul leapt from the boat, the water soaking through his clothes up to his waist. He found himself shivering, not from the cold, but from the terrible memories which inundated his mind. As he pulled the boat ashore, he was stung by the pain both he and Christine had suffered at Erik's hands in this, his home. He tried to push from his mind the echoes of the past; cries for mercy, maniacal commands, and a choice which should be forced on no one. He offered out his hand to Christine, helping her step from the boat. He held both her hands in his as he once more offered to take her home.

She removed her hood, allowing her dark curls to fall freely about her shoulders, and shook her head determinedly. "We must do this, Raoul. It is only proper."

He nodded his acceptance, and then stepped to remove the shovel from the boat. Raoul walked behind Christine, watching her carefully as she led him through the house. They had only begun to enter the dining room when they found the body lying on the floor, arms at its side. Christine gasped at the sight, turning to bury her face in Raoul's shoulder. With his free arm he held her tightly to him, whispering words of comfort as he waited for her sobs to subside.

Raoul's thoughts returned to the previous morning when Christine had joined him for breakfast at the Café de la Paix. While he awaited her arrival, he turned his attention to the paper. The advertisement in the Epoque had both thrilled and distressed him, and he was deeply ashamed that he should take such joy in it. And though he tried to conceal it from her, the pallor of his face betrayed his secret to Christine. When she inquired what was troubling him, he had no alternative but to show her the advertisement. He watched her eyes flash back and forth over the words several times, as though unable to understand what she was reading. Erik is dead. His hands flew across the table, quick to dry the tears from her eyes and lovingly stroke her cheek.

Now he stood in Erik's home, once again consoling his fiancée. Finally she took a deep breath and turned around once more to face the body. Fearing that she would once again begin to cry, Christine set about tidying the house while Raoul dug the grave.

"Chéri, I wish you would sit and try to relax," he spoke with concern.

"I can't sit and look at him. It is too difficult," she replied quietly without looking up.

Realizing that nothing he could say would deter her, Raoul concentrated once more on his task. When he was finally finished, he called to Christine. As they stood beside the body, Christine's breathing began to quicken. Her whole body was trembling as she lowered herself down to the floor. Raoul bent down to one knee, holding her arm to steady her. With some effort, Christine was able to loosen the gold ring from her finger. Hesitantly she took Erik's hand and slid the ring over his knuckle, then raised it to her lips.

"Should we remove his mask?"

Christine looked down at Erik's face thoughtfully. She recalled the violence with which he had reacted when her naïve interest had caused her to pull away his disguise. She knew now that it had merely been fear which had driven him, but she still shivered with fright at the memory.

"I do not think he would wish it."

Raoul lifted Christine to her feet and gently pulled her to the side. As carefully as he could, he lowered Erik into the grave. His eyes were always on Christine, watching to make sure that her frail and fragile soul did not give way under the weight of grief. He covered the body and, making the sign of the cross before himself, spoke a few words of prayer. He held out his hand for Christine, waiting to lead her back to the boat. She sniffled back the tears before speaking her last words to her angel.

"Goodbye, my poor Erik. May you find happiness now, knowing that you have taken a piece of my heart with you."