A/N: Hello there readers! This is a little oneshot centered around Raoul and Charles.

It is Kay based (obviously) and takes place in London, where Christine and Raoul have moved to after they left Paris.

I hope you all enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own the Phantom of the Opera or Phantom

"Oh, you know I do not have to, Raoul," my darling wife let out a small sigh, "I could stay home and—"

That was when I cut her off, "No," I said, "you are going to go to that audition and take the lead."

"But what about Charles?" she twisted the ends of her curly golden hair. She always did that when she felt uneasy.

"I can take care of him," I told her, "I am his father, after all."

"But darling, I know he can be such a handful—"

"And so do I, my dear," I leaned in and softly kissed her on the lips, "I also want you to go. Singing brings you so much joy and I know that you do miss it. You haven't exactly done it professionally…since…since you know…the incident." That was what we referred it to. We did not really have a proper name for it.

"I do miss the stage," she sighed, "but are you sure that you can handle him by yourself?"

"Absolutely positive," I grinned proudly, "Now, go on. Your carriage is waiting for you, my prima donna."

"If you insist, my sailor," she smiled and pecked at my cheek, "I shall be home in the evening."

"I love you," I waved as I watched her exit.

How hard could a five year old be? I have taken care of Charles before, with Christine's help of course, but this shouldn't be too hard. My brother practically raised me on his own, if he could do it for years then I can do it for a mere few hours.

I decided that I should go check on the boy. I walked up the stairs and then down the narrow hall. I slowly pushed open the door. I entered the room.

Charles was fast asleep on his bed with his limbs sprawled out all over. His inky hair hung over his eyes and blew upward when he let out his delicate breaths of air.

I leaned towards the bed and whispered in his ear, "Charlie…"

"Whaa…" he moaned as he slowly stretched up his arms. He stared at me with his big amber eyes and let out a yawn.

"Good morning," I smiled back as I opened the curtains to let in the sun.

The first thing he said was, "Where's Mummy?"

"Mummy went out," I told him, "she'll be back in the evening. You're spending the day with me, Charlie."

He groaned, "but I'm hungry, Daddy."

I laughed, "Do you think that I'm going to let you starve?"

"But Mummy isn't here," he said, "and Marie," Marie was our cook, who was also our maid, who also took care of Charles when Christine and I were out. We never felt the need to live in so much luxury even though we could afford it. Marie was just enough for our small family. We liked the simple life.

Charles finished his sentence, "but Marie is up in Liverpool for the week."

"Yes, I know she is, my boy," I reached out my hand to him, "I shall cook for you."

Charles took my hand, "But you can't cook, Daddy."

"What are you talking about?" I scoffed, "Of course I can cook!"

That was actually a lie. I have never cooked an actual meal for anyone, myself included. I grew up with personal chefs and such. No one really ever lifted a finger, other than Philippe, in my household when I was growing up. The art was foreign to me.

"You are gonna set the house on fire," he walked with me to the kitchen, "that's what Marie told me what would happen if you ever got near a stove."

"Oh, I will not," I huffed, "How hard could it be?"

"I want eggs," Charles took a seat at the kitchen table, "Can you make eggs?"

"Of course I can make eggs!" I told him, "Now, where is the ice box?"

Charles pointed to a large wooden cupboard on the opposite side of the room.

"Of course," I walk over to it, "the eggs are in here!"

Charles was drawing pictures with dust on the table. I knew that he doubted my ability. I was a joke in the kitchen.

I held two eggs in my hand. I knew that I must be careful. I wasn't a total idiot.

"Can you get me a pan, love?" I asked him.

He nodded and reached for a pan which hung on the wall. He held it out and waited for me to take it from him.

"Alright," I set the pan down on the stove and placed the eggs on it. They rolled to opposite sides.

"No, Daddy!" Charles giggled, "You have to crack the eggs!"

"Of course," I laughed along, "I knew that."

Now, how would I do this? Was there some sort of egg cracking device? Did I just do it with my hands? I wasn't exactly sure.

So, I took a spatula off of the rack and pressed it onto one of the eggs. It made a crunching sound. I then did that to the other. The insides of the eggs flowed across the pan, with the shell bits like little boats on a river.

I wiped the sweat off of my brow, "And you thought your old man couldn't crack an egg."

Charles slid off the stool and ran next to me. He stood on the tips of his toes in order to see the stove.

"Daddy!" he exclaimed, "That's wrong! We don't eat the shell parts! It's ruined!"

I looked down at the crushed eggs and sighed, "Well, I didn't set the house on fire." I took the pan and the spatula and I scooped the eggs into the garbage, "How does bread sound?"

"I'm bored," sighed Charles, "Can we go out? I want to go out!"

"Of course we can," I told him, "go get some proper clothes on."

"Okay!" I watched him excitedly run up the stairs.

I walked over to the closet to get my coat and my umbrella. In the almost six years of living here, I have found out that London weather is very similar to my native Paris. Always carry an umbrella.

I buttoned up my coat and a grabbed my hat off of the rack. Christine always told me that my hat made me look like a dandy.

I then took out Charles coat. I could hear the boy singing from above. He made up songs about practically everything.

Even for a five year old, his voice was absolutely enchanting. He did indeed inherit Erik's many gifts. At his age he could already play a variety of instruments. He was our little prodigy.

I saw him jump down the steps with a grin across his face. His shoes were untied, as they always were.

"Do you want me to tie those for you?" I asked him. Tying shoes was one thing that I knew how to do.

"Mmhmm," he nodded.

I knelt down to his level and took the laces into my own hands, "I used to have the most difficult time tying my shoes when I was your age," I told him, "I used to get so worked up about the fact that I couldn't tie a single knot."

"Really?" he sounded surprised, "how did you learn?"

"Well, my big brother taught me," I answered, "he told me that the bunny rabbit," I held up the two loops, "had to make his way home before dark," I crossed the loops and pulled the through the hole, "The bunny is now home safe and all before the sunset."

"Can I try?"

I nodded, "Try with your left foot."

Charles made the two loops, "The bunny has to get home before it gets too dark," he crossed them and pulled them through the hole, "and he's home and he's safe now!" he looked up at me, "I did it!"

"Yes you did!" I kissed his forehead, "I am very proud."

"Can we go to the park, Daddy?" he asked me.

"Yes we can."

It was very windy outside. I could barely keep my hat on. Though, it didn't help with Charles pulling me hastily along.

"You're so slow, Daddy!" he giggled.

Boys and girls dashed past us with their rolling hoops and their games of tag. Couples walked hand in hand. An elderly woman sat on a bench and fed bits of bread to birds.

"Charles, please slow down," I panted, "Daddy isn't as agile as he used to be," I tried to catch my breath, "How about we sit on that nice bench over there?"

"Can I go asked if I can play with them?" he pointed to a group of children in the middle of a thrilling game of tag.

I nodded, "Yes you can," Charles was a bit hyperactive right now it would be good for him to tire himself out in a game, "just stay in my sight and do be careful."

"I will!" he ran off to the group of children.

I sat myself down on a bench and let out a sigh.

"You look quite exhausted," I heard a woman say. I turned my head, it was indeed a woman. She was on the opposite side of the bench and dressed in all black. She looked a bit older than myself.

"Just a bit," I smiled at her.

"I haven't seen many male nannies around here," she told me, "I must say that you are the first."

Male nanny? I started to laugh, "No, I'm no nanny. I'm here with my son," I pointed to Charles, who appeared to be 'it'.

"My apologies," she said, "It's just that…well…"

"We look nothing alike?"

She nodded. Her face went sort of red.

"Oh, it is quite alright," I told her. I held out my hand and waited for her to shake, "Raoul de Chagny."

"Virginia Smith," she shook my hand. She pointed to a little boy and girl with fiery hair. They were running away from my Charles, "Those are mine. Well, not actually. I'm the nanny."

I watched as the children ran around the grassy field. They appeared to be having the time of their lives. So innocent and free.

"You look a bit new to this," said Virginia.

"I am," I answered, "My wife is out at an audition and our maidservant is up in Liverpool visiting family. I am taking care of our little Charles for the day," I chuckled, "my wife does not think I am capable of doing it on my own."

"An audition?" the woman's eyes lit up.

"Yes," I grinned proudly, "My darling Christine is an opera singer. She has a voice that even the angels would envy."

"You are a very lucky man."

"I really am."

And it was true. I was indeed a very lucky man. I have a lovely wife who I love more than anything and a beautiful son who is my entire world. Though, I knew that biologically he was not mine, it did not matter at all. Blood does not matter when it comes to love, and Charles is my son. He is my pride and my joy. He is my everything.

I snapped out of my thoughts when I heard a shriek of pain. I saw the children stand around in a circle on the pavement. I did not see Charles in the circle, but I heard cries. They sounded like his cries.

"Charles!" I shouted as I ran to the scene. I pushed some of the children out of the way.

Charles was on the ground. His face was wet with his tears and he held his knee. Blood seeped through his trousers and onto his hand.

"It's okay," I knelt down next to him, "Daddy's here," I held him in my arms and I kissed the top of his head.

I pulled up his pant leg. There was a large gash on his knee. He must have fallen on the pavement.

He hid his face in my chest, "I wanna go home," he whispered, "I wanna go home."

"We'll go home and we'll get you cleaned up," I whispered in his ear.

He wrapped his tiny arms around my neck and let out a sob.

"Excuse me, children," I spoke softly.

I set Charles on top of the kitchen counter. His filthy pants were on the floor. He was still crying.

"It's okay!" I told him as I set the bandages down next to him, "I have bandages and you're going to be all better," I wiped his knee with a wet cloth.

"Ow!" he yelped, "It hurts!"

"Shh," I wrapped the bandages around his knee. I then kissed it, "See? All better!"

"It still hurts," he sniffled.

"It will hurt for a little while, love," I lifted him and held him in my arms, "but you will feel better soon. I promise."

I carried Charles out of the kitchen and into the den, where I set him down on the red sofa.

I sat down next to him and ran my fingers through his dark hair, "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Mummy always sings to me," he looked up at me with his big amber eyes, "Can you sing to me, Daddy?"

"You know yourself that you and Mummy are the singers of the family," I told him, "I am the musically challenged one here."

Charles climbed into my lap and laid his head on my chest, "Can you tell me a story then?"

"I can do that, Charlie," I then began, "Little Lotte thought of—" that was when he cut me off.

"You always tell me 'Little Lotte'! Mummy does too!"

"That is because it is the greatest story ever told!" I exclaimed, "What's not to like?"

"It's a bit boring."

I gasped, "Now, what on earth could be boring about the Angel of Music?"

"I want adventure!" he tugged on my sleeve, "I want exciting things!"

"Alright," I stretched up my arms, "Adventure and excitement. Are you sure that that is what you want?"

"Yes!"

"Well," I began to think. What could I tell him that was exciting? This appeared to be a bit of a challenge, "There was once a beautiful maiden. Not only was she beautiful, but she had the voice that even the angels would envy. Actually it was magical, but no one knew."

"Why didn't anyone know?" Charles asked, "What was so magical about her voice?"

"Well, the thing that was magical about it was that whenever she sang, she would make someone fall in love," I explained, "And no one knew because no one ever asked her to sing. They never thought that she could," I continued with the story, "And the saddest thing was that she didn't even know that she held this magnificent power. And she spent her days in a magical music hall, where all the best musicians would play and perform for people from all across the land."

"How was it magical?"

"Well, the music hall was run by a secret and powerful magician. And the performers were very magical too. The stage was said to be infused with some sort of magic which made the audience always come back for more. Do you want me to continue?"

He nodded.

"The magician lived behind the walls of the music hall. People knew who he was, but no one had ever met him. He was secret and was very mysterious. One day, the magician heard the voice of the maiden and he instantly fell in love with her. He spoke with her through the walls and told her of her magnificent power. He told her that he, being such a great magician, could help her control it and use it. And he taught her, though the maiden never actually saw the magician."

I took a look at Charles. He seemed very interested in the story, so I continued.

"One day, the king of the land and his younger brother went to the music hall. The prince had just returned from a great expedition. He loved music and heard many great things about the music hall. And when he watched the performance he saw the maiden. The maiden had sung her song and he had instantly fallen in love."

Charles interrupted, "But I thought the magician was in love with the maiden."

"Both the magician and the prince were in madly in love with the maiden," I said, "and the magician was angry that someone else was in love with his student. Thus, the magician took the maiden behind the walls of the music hall to his home. He loved her so much and couldn't bear to think of her being with anyone else."

"So he kidnapped her?"

"Essentially, yes." I continued with the story, "The maiden was missing for quite a while. Everyone wanted her back because they absolutely adored her song. They needed it to survive. For they had all fallen in love with her," I held up my finger, "but there was an evil sorceress who absolutely despised the maiden. She was jealous of her song and wanted all of the glory. The magician absolutely hated her. He returned the maiden, but ordered the managers of the music hall to make sure that the maiden performed and not the sorceress. This infuriated her. She ordered the managers to let her perform, even though she was not as loved as the maiden."

"What happened?"

"The sorceress performed," I chuckled, "but the magician was not at all happy. He wanted the maiden to perform. He wanted to hear her song, so he turned the sorceress into a toad."

"A toad?" gasped Charles. He clung onto my arm.

"Yes," I nodded, "a toad. And she hopped off of the stage and she croaked and she cried. This frightened the maiden, for she knew it was the magician's doing. She ran and she ran. She was so frightened, but the prince had found her. He gave her words of comfort and she told him of the magician. How he was so amazing yet so terrifying. He promised to protect her and gave her a kiss that proved his love."

"Ew!" Charles squirmed.

"What? A kiss?" I kissed both of his rosy cheeks.

"Stop it, Daddy!" he giggled, "I wanna hear the rest of the story!"

"The prince and the maiden were to be married, which angered the magician even more. For the maiden was the only person he had ever felt love for," I said, "and the king was not too happy either. He felt it wasn't proper for a prince not to marry a princess. And the prince was willing to give up everything for the maiden, but then,"

"But then what?"

"She went missing!"

"Again?" he sighed, "Where did she go? Did the magician take her?"

I nodded, "He took her away to be his bride. He wanted her companionship. He wanted her to sing her beautiful song for him."

"But what about the prince?"

"The prince went to look for her with the help of a secretive man who knew the magician. He led the prince through the dangerous catacombs and booby traps. Though death was at their every corner, they defied it! That was until they were captured by the magician!"

I saw Charles jump a little in his seat. He climbed closer to me and he held me close.

"The magician had the maiden in his clutches, and he gave her a choice. To become his beautiful bride and save the prince and the man, or to defy him and end up causing the deaths of the prince and the man, as well as destroying the magical music hall."

"What did she choose?"

"Being the noble woman that she was, she chose to be the bride of the magician. With this, the magician sets the two men free, for he was a man of his word. Overcome with his love for her, he kissed the maiden. The magician had never felt so much love for anyone before. And to his surprise, the maiden kissed him back. That is when he sees that the maiden was never his to keep. That her song should be shared with the world, so he lets her go."

"Why did he let her go?"

"Because he loved her," I explained, "and when you love something, you set it free."

"What about the prince and the secret man?" Charles asked me, "What happened to them?"

"The prince and the maiden were married, and the secret man continued on with his life."

"What about the magician?"

"He loved the maiden until the day that he died. He could never get her song out of his head."

"Daddy?"

"Yes, love?"

"Did the maiden ever love the magician?"

I sighed, "I think a part of her did love him."

"And what about the prince?"

"A part of her loved him too."

"I liked that story much better than 'Little Lotte'," he smiled at me, "but it's kind of sad, but it's happy too."

"It is," I ran my fingers through his hair, "how is your knee feeling?"

"Better, but it still hurts."

I leaned over and kissed his little knee, "What about now?"

"No."

I tickled my fingers down his sides. He began to laugh harder than anything.

"Daddy! Stop!" he squealed.

"How about now?"

"Yes! Yes!"

"Mummy is going to be home soon," I told him, "how about we put on a bath and get you all clean?"

"Okay, but can you carry me?"

"Of course I can."

I had fallen asleep on the sofa and Charles had fallen asleep on me. I had awoken to see him hugging my arm and drooling on my shirt. He was precious. A precious little boy tired from a long day. He smiled as he slept. I wondered what he was dreaming about.

I heard the door open. I saw Christine enter. She was drenched.

"Oh, it is pouring out there!" she squeezed the water out of her hair, "One step out of the carriage and I was completely soaked!"

I chuckled, "How was the audition?"

She took off her coat and hung it on the rack, "Thank heavens my dress is dry," she walked over to the sofa and smiled, "Mummy's home," she whispered into Charles ear.

"He's exhausted," I told her, "We had a big day today," I sat up to give some room for Christine to sit, "Now, you must tell me about your audition."

"I feel it went quite well," she told me, "and oddly enough, the director recognized me."

I raised my eyebrows, "Did he really?"

"Yes!" she nodded, "He told me I reminded him of a soprano he saw perform in Paris in a production of Faust. He nearly fell over when I told him that my maiden name was Daaé."

"That's fantastic!" I kissed her on the lips, "Oh, I am so proud of you!"

"We will not know for sure until next week," she said, "I am not the only one who auditioned, you know."

"I already know that you got it."

"You're too much, Raoul."

"You know that I am," I kissed her again, but a bit softer this time, "but I speak the truth."

"How was Charles?" she kissed the top of the sleeping boy's head.

"Fine," I answered, "he had a little mishap at the park, scraped his knee, but I cleaned him up and he's as good as new."

"Well, I am very proud of you, darling," she squeezed my hand, "and I think Charles is too."

"Well, I am just a very lucky man."

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