To Fall to Pieces...

Sequel to Face your Fate

Summary: Christine and Erik have the perfect life. They're secretly married, has a loving son, and Christine still is able to work at the Opera. But when a mistake is made and Erik must run, their perfect life is shattered. Will they be able to fix everything when so much has gone wrong over the years? SEQUEL TO FACE YOUR FATE.

Disclaimer: I do not own POTO

Chapter 1

Christine walked down the steps slowly, trying to be as silent as she could as she descended in to the basement. The scene before her never failed to take her breath away, despite the fact that it hardly ever changed. A small fire was in the fireplace, candles lain around at leisure. A large organ was in the middle of the room with a persian carpet underneath it's bench. And on the bench, sat Erik, deep in thought as he focused on his work.

She tip toed over to him, placing her hands on his shoulders and sliding them down until she was at his level, then kissed his cheek.

"Erik...I need you to listen for Charles. I have to leave. Erik?"

She sighed, rolling her eyes. He hadn't finished his piece yet, and wouldn't be able to register a word she said until he had. So she waited until the last notes ended, then grabbed his hands.

"Erik...I have to go. Charles is upstairs sleeping. He needs to eat when he wakes, so please warm up the food I have already made. And if you're not too busy, would you help him in some of his subjects? Some of those things...I just don't know. I didn't have very much schooling, but you, my genius husband, has."

He grinned and kissed her lips gently. "You're brilliant. I'll take care of Charles, you go. And please tell the managers that my next score will be finished very soon."

"I will. Just don't drive yourself mad with it. They don't need it this soon - they're still working on the last two! You'll drive me to my death soon enough!"

He chuckled lightly, closing his eyes and slipping his hands out of hers and on to the ivory keys.

She kissed his forehead quickly, then left his side to go to the opera house.

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It had been seven years since the secret marriage of Erik and Christine.

They had went far away from the prejudice of Paris to marry. It was something neither Madame Giry nor Nadir would miss, therefore they, along with Meg, were the only attendances.

Erik bought them a house by the sea, far enough away from town to be away from prying eyes, but close enough that Christine could go to the Opera House. She still worked there, providing the main income, though Erik hated the idea, and therefore helped in every way possible. He wrote Operas, full of his passion and sold them to the Opera Populair under one condition - Christine was to be the diva in every one. After all, they were written about her. She was his constant muse.

While Christine was in her late pregnancy with their son Charles, it was enough to get by. But now Charles was six years old, a touselled dark haired boy with bright green eyes and a sturdy jaw. It was what Erik should have looked like when he was young, and he rejoiced that this image had finally surfaced in to the world.

And the basement of this house...the cold room, it was his serene place of absolute calm. He could get lost here, never to come back. He would to, if it wasn't Christine who held him tight or kissed his cheek to break him out of his spell.

She was his Heaven and the closest he'd ever get to the real thing. Therefore, he wanted to be with her always. She reciprocated this feeling, to which he would look up to the stars and thank each one of them for his great fortune.

They had no servants, just an old chaffeur who lived in a small building a few hundred yards away, who'd only surface with the carriage according to the schedule.

But now, there was noise on the steps, but these feet were much smaller than the ones that previously used this entrance way.

Charles said nothing, listening to his father play the glorious music. He grabbed his wooden toy horse and sat a foot or two away from the fire to played.

It wasn't until two hours had passed that Erik's mind halted in producing notes to echo the words of Christine.

Charles is upstairs sleeping. He needs to eat when he wakes.

Erik groaned as he stretched. He looked around the room until his gaze fell on his tiny boy.

"Are you hungry, Charles?" Erik asked, carefully putting his sheets of music away.

When his son nodded, Erik felt the guilt fill him. "You must stop me from playing if I don't remember to give you food. I don't eat as you do, therefore I don't think like that. Please stop me next time."

"I don't want to stop you, Father." Charles's innocent voice replied. Erik smiled, his heart lifting. There was that magical word. The word that he never tired of hearing. Father. "I like when you play your music. It sounds pretty."

Erik patted an empty space on the bench invitingly. Charles quickly clampered up, eager for the occasion.

"Who taught you how to play, Father?"

"My mother. And years of practicing only got me better."

"You had a mother too?"

"I did. Everyone has a mother, Charles."

"Was she like my mother?"

Erik grinned at the thought of Christine being a mother. How did it still shock him, even after these six years? Somehow, it did.

"No, not quite. You're mother is the best mother in the world. No one can compare."

"When did you learn how to play?"

"When I was very young."

"Younger than me?"

"Yes, even younger."

"Well...can...can I learn?"

It was something Erik had been struggling with for a while. Should he teach his son? It was obvious that he had the gift, for that Erik was grateful for. He had been just four when he had started to really pick it up. But Charles was no a freak like he. Nor was he sure he wanted to give Charles something to run to, an excuse to occupy his thoughts when things went wrong. He didn't want it's strong music to distract him or become the main focus in his life as it had for himself. To be his night and day, his curse and his blessing, his love and his drug.

"Perhaps soon, Charles. But right now I know a certain young boy who is hungry. I can hear his stomach growls from here."

His son giggled as Erik swept him up in his arms and headed up the stairs.