Author's Note: This story takes place shortly after the events of my other story "Becoming Erik," but you don't have to have read it in order for this one-shot to make sense. For those of you who have read my other story, I'm working on a sequel to "Becoming Erik" entitled "Becoming Family," so be on the lookout! It should be up by mid-January at the very latest. (Okay, I'm finished promoting my work now!) Anywho, hope you all enjoy this story! Merry Christmas! :D

~CaptainHooksGirl~

Disclaimer: I don't own POTO. Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lloyd Webber do.

Snow Day

Christine sighed contentedly as she gazed out the bedroom window. Overnight, as if by magic, the dead grass and denuded trees of the French countryside had been replaced by a sparkling world of white, as pure and as perfect as a scene on a Christmas card. Every leaf was made of glass, its delicate form perfectly preserved in a layer of ice that dripped down the stem, forming fragile crystals that hung like Christmas ornaments from the skeletal branches of the old oak just outside.

"It's beautiful," she breathed.

Erik came up behind her, draping a gray woolen blanket around his wife's shoulders, her thin flannel nightgown doing little to keep out the cold. "Yes, it snowed quite a bit last night. I suspect the roads are rather dangerous now. I know you had planned to deliver a few gifts today, but I'd rather you didn't go."

The obvious concern in her husband's voice made the young soprano smile. She turned to face him, reaching up to stroke the deformity she had come to know and love, chuckling softly. "You worry too much." She placed a quick kiss on his lips, not giving him the chance to respond. "But I'll stay here if it makes you feel better." Turning back to the window, she sighed again, looking wistful. "Oh, I do love the snow! Father used to tell me stories of his homeland—how the snow there used to get so deep a man could barely walk in it!" She smiled. "I think winter was his favorite season…I believe it is my favorite as well."

Erik hesitated. He was still trying to get used to the idea of going outside without the mask, though in truth, they were so far out in the country that it was highly unlikely anyone would actually see them. "Would…would you like to go for a walk, Christine?"

Her dazzling smile was enough to overcome any fears he might have had. "That would be lovely!"

A half-hour and several layers of clothing later, they were strolling hand in hand through the snow-covered fields. Every now and then the snow would pick up again, swirling around them in a flurry of flakes that got caught in their hair and stuck to their jackets. Christine tried to catch a few on her tongue. Erik wrapped an arm around his wife, enjoying the warmth of her presence and the cool sting of the breeze on his face. He had never been particularly fond of snow; he had spent many a cold and wet day behind bars as a child, the only relief from his suffering when he had become so numb he could no longer feel the gypsy circus master's cruel lashes. More than once, he'd had snowballs hurled at his cage, the crowd of onlookers raucous with jeering laughter as he'd backed into a corner, struggling to cover the hideous flesh of his face. Despite these unsettling memories, he had to agree with Christine: The landscape was certainly beautiful. Then again, any day with his wife by his side was bound to be beautiful.

His wife.

Oh, how he loved that wonderful word! He could scarcely believe they'd been married for more than six months. Marriage was something he'd hardly dared to dream of for most of his life. The thought of any woman willingly accepting a life with monstrosity such as himself was almost laughable, and so he had resigned himself to the belief that he would never marry. Until he met Christine. Sweet, beautiful, wonderful Christine whose voice could rival the angels' and whose innocent naiveté had made her an easy target for his ungodly lies. They had seemed harmless enough at the time—if the child believed him to be an angel, why shatter her faith? But what began as a game of make-believe with an unsuspecting child turned into a dangerous obsession as fatherly affection turned to fervent adoration; for the pretty young girl he had known as a child had grown into a most exquisite young woman who evoked feelings within him which he could not explain. It was a stirring unlike he had ever experienced before, a need, a desire—but for what he was not entirely sure. It was not simply lust—not the cheap brand of love that Joseph Buquet was so fond of professing to chorus girl after chorus girl—no, lust was much too wicked a word for what he felt for Christine. What he felt was love—a deep need for companionship in a way that no other could provide— an affection stronger than life itself. It was this love which had allowed him to let her go and this love which had brought her back to his side. He thanked God every day for her return.

"Erik?"

That angelic voice that filled his dreams interrupted his thoughts. He glanced down at his wife.

"Erik, would you help me build a snowman?"

The former phantom visibly stiffened. "Well, I…" He felt rather foolish admitting it, but he hadn't the slightest idea as to how a snowman was constructed.

"Oh, I'll get it started!" she clarified, realizing her husband might feel somewhat embarrassed at taking part in such a childish pastime. "I'll just need a bit of assistance rolling it up the hill."

He watched in wonder as Christine packed a small snowball and began rolling it across the yard, its circumference ever-increasing as more and more snow stuck to the sides, mentally kicking himself for revealing his ignorance. Some genius you are! You can write an opera that would make Gounod weep in inferiority, yet you cannot even build a simple snowman!

"Alright, Erik! I'm ready!"

Erik's eyes went from the snowball, which had grown to the size of a rather large pumpkin, to the hill, to the snowball again. How hard can it be?

Apparently, much harder than he had anticipated, for after nearly fifteen minutes of attempting to push the mass of snow—which had grown extensively after repeatedly rolling back down the hill—to the top of the knoll, he was nearly ready to shove the thing off a cliff. He tried again, feeling hopelessly foolish.

"Here, let me help," Christine offered gently.

Erik huffed irritably. "Remind me why we're doing this again?"

Christine laughed, straining to keep the giant snowball from rolling downhill once more. "Because it's fun!"

"My dear," an out-of-breath Erik smiled as they finally reached the top, "I believe you and I may have different definitions of the word 'fun.'"

Christine just smiled and shook her head.

After managing to get the base of the snowman into place, the remainder of the body was much easier to construct. Erik watched in amazement as what was once a simple heap of snow began to take on a shape of its own and slowly seemed to come to life. Though it was certainly no master sculptor's work of art, it was the very first snowman he had ever attempted to help build, and the childish simplicity of its form was surprisingly pleasing to his artistically critical eye. Perhaps it was because he had never gotten the chance to enjoy such simple pleasures as a child or perhaps it was because Christine was its creator. Either way, he found himself smiling as she reached for a pair of twigs on the ground and stuck them rather haphazardly into either side of the snowman's midsection. Such tiny arms on such a thick body were horribly disproportionate—rather like a child's drawing of a stick figure—but somehow he didn't seem to mind. The serious expression on her face as she pulled a few odds and ends from her coat pocket and debated what color buttons to use for the eyes was almost comical. Perhaps Christine had been right about snowman-building being fun after all.

She looked up from her work. "Would you like to help?"

Erik shook his head, grinning. "No, thank you, my dear. It is much more…entertaining…to watch you construct this lovely work of art from afar."

Christine gave a mock pout. "Well, if you are just going to laugh at my masterpiece, perhaps you would care to show me what I am doing wrong."

She held out the handful of things she had brought along in her pocket—a carrot, a bunch of buttons of various sizes and shapes, a few pebbles she had collected on their walk, and an old pipe that had belonged to her father. He took the items carefully, uncertainty shining in his evergreen eyes. He sighed, looking down shamefully.

"Christine, I…I don't know how…"

Christine gave her husband's shoulders a gentle squeeze. "Just use your imagination. Have fun." She took the carrot from his hand and stuck it firmly within the center of the top snowball. "The carrot is the nose, see? I've already added the eyes, so now we need a mouth and perhaps some buttons for his shirt. Why don't you see what you can do?"

Erik stood for a moment, debating whether to use buttons or pebbles for the snowman's teeth before finally deciding to use the rocks for teeth, saving the buttons for the snowman's mid-section where they held up an imaginary jacket of sorts. He poked the pipe between two of the teeth, then took a step back from his work, scrutinizing it as though it were a piece of work in a museum rather than an humble snowman standing in their yard.

"He's still missing something…"

Erik tapped his chin thoughtfully. Then, suddenly, he brightened. Removing the scarf from around his neck, he wrapped it snugly around the snowman between the head and body sections, draping one end over the snowman's skinny arm. Having finished his work, he turned to Christine, who nodded approvingly.

He smiled triumphantly, strangely proud of his rather crude attempt to depict human features on the man made of snow. "So, what do you think of it? Does he look like a snowman is supposed to look?"

Christine laughed, glad to see that her husband was finally enjoying himself. "He does. In fact, I daresay he's quite handsome, wouldn't you?"

Erik's smile faltered. His exposed facial flaw, which hadn't troubled him up until now, seemed suddenly painfully obvious. Glancing back at the snowman, he noticed for the first time how perfectly symmetrical the blue button eyes and toothy pebble smile were. He raised a hand to his own misshapen cheek.

"Oh, Erik," Christine sighed, taking her husband's hands in her own, "when are you going to realize that your face doesn't matter to me?" When he did not respond, she tugged gently at his hand. "Come, I want to show you something."

Erik silently obeyed, intertwining his gloved fingers with his wife's. When they came to the foot of the hill, Christine led them to the edge of a small pond near the northern border of the field. Erik loosened his grip on her hand, taking a small step backward. He did not like where this was going.

"Erik," Christine gently pulled him forward, "trust me." She squeezed his hand. "Look at our reflections in the water. What do you see?"

Reluctantly, he looked up. The stark contrast of her radiant beauty—dark curls dusted with snow, her pale cheeks flushed from the cold—with his half-formed face and prematurely receding hairline was more than he could bear, and he turned away, ashamed. He closed his eyes, as if in pain.

"I see an angel so beautiful that heaven itself could not help but share her with the world…and a pitiable monster not worthy of her love."

"That is not what I see." Christine turned his face so that he could see the truth in her eyes. "Erik, when I look at you, I do not see your face. What I do see is your incredible genius, your magnificent voice, your absolute devotion, your undying affection…When I look at you, I see the man with whom I wish to spend every night and morning for the rest of my life. When I look at you, I see love. And that is why you are beautiful to me."

Erik sighed. "Christine, no matter how many times you kiss this accursed face, this beast will never transform into the handsome young man that you deserve."

"But you are handsome."

Erik stiffened. "Christine, while I appreciate your kindness, I do wish you wouldn't lie to me."

"I'll prove it."

"Prove what?"

"That I am not lying when I say that you are no monster. I am going to show you the way that I see you."

Erik raised an eyebrow. "And how, exactly, do you plan to do that?"

Christine sat down on the snow and patted the space next to her. "Lie down with me."

Erik's eyes widened. Surely she cannot mean for us to… "Here? In the snow?"

Christine blushed, realizing how scandalous her request must have sounded—even for a husband and wife! She laughed. "Oh, no! I didn't mean that! Just…just lie back. Like this!" She suddenly flopped rather ungracefully onto her back, spreading her arms and legs as though she were preparing to do a cartwheel. She laughed again, enjoying the rather confused look on her husband's face. "Come on, it's fun!"

For the second time that day, Erik found himself doubting his wife's definition of fun…and her sanity! But he could never deny Christine, and so feeling rather foolish, he complied, doing his best to imitate the rather awkward positioning of her arms and legs.

Christine smiled. "Good! Now wave your arms and legs like this!" She began to move her limbs as if she were doing jumping jacks.

Erik hesitated but copied her movements. This is getting ridiculous! "Christine, what on earth are we doing and how is this going to prove—"

"You'll see!" She waved her arms a few more times for good measure, then stood, shaking the snow from her hair and smiling in satisfaction. She offered her husband a hand up, which he accepted. "See," she said, pointing to the two figures on the ground, "there is no monster. Just two beautiful angels heaven meant to be together." She leaned against his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his waist. "I always knew you were my angel."

Erik stared at the two impressions in the snow, each just as perfect as the other, their wings barely brushing where their fingertips had touched. He smiled. "Thank you, Christine."

He leaned in to kiss her, and she returned the favor, standing on her tiptoes and looping her arms around his neck. The kiss deepened, and after several minutes they broke away, their lips tingling with cold and with passion, their breaths coming in short bursts of steam. Erik leaned in again, but no sooner had their lips met than Christine felt something horribly cold and wet slip down the back of her dress, and she jerked back, gasping, only to see Erik, wearing a rather devilish grin and holding a handful of snow. And was he laughing?

"Still believe I'm an angel, Christine?"

"Oh, Erik! You cheated! You—Oh!" Christine nearly stumbled over backward as a snowball smacked her in the side. She gave a mock pout. "Well, if that's how you're going to be!" Laughing, she scooped up a wad of snow and flung it in his direction, though it ended up making more of a powdery mist than an actual snowball.

"You're going to have to do better than that, my dear!"

THWACK! Another snowball hit her in the back.

Christine hurled a snowball at his side, but her nearsightedness was taking its toll on her aim, and it veered far to the left of her intended target. She tried again, this time aiming a bit higher on his chest, but he nimbly leapt out of the way, dodging the snowball as easily as if it had been a leaf floating lazily on an autumn breeze. Finally, frustrated with her lack of hand-eye coordination and nearly ready to admit defeat, she threw a snowball as hard as she could in no particular direction…and hit him squarely in the face.

Erik froze and Christine raised a hand to her mouth, stifling a gasp of horror and surprise at the realization of what she had done. Suddenly their innocent game of snowball tag seemed a lot less like friendly competition. The raised hand in which Erik had held another snowball slowly sank.

Christine stumbled through an apology. "Oh, Erik! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to—"

Erik nodded solemnly. "I know…I suppose I shall forgive you this once…" There was a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "…Since your aim is so incredibly horrible!"

Christine was shocked. This was not the reaction she had been expecting! She stood there, dumfounded…until another snowball came hurling in her direction. Then she laughed…and the chase began again!

Hours later, after changing out of their wet clothes and brushing the snow from their hair, Erik and Christine sat on the sofa in front of a blazing fire, sipping their tea in silence and watching the flames dance merrily along the hearth. Christine set her teacup on the coffee table and scooted closer to her husband, snuggling against his side and inhaling the scent of his shirt. She sighed contentedly. Erik wrapped an arm around her and rested his head on top of hers, enjoying the feel of her soft curls against his malformed right cheek and the smooth, cool surface of her red silk robe on his fingertips.

I wish this moment could last forever. But he knew good and well that it couldn't. He sighed. "I really should get to work on that new set of compositions. The publisher is expecting them next week."

Christine nuzzled his chest. "Can't it wait until tomorrow?"

She felt him smile against her hair.

"I suppose one day off wouldn't hurt."

The sat in silence again for a few moments, simply enjoying one another's company.

"Angel?" She rarely used that name now, but tonight it just seemed natural, fitting.

"Mmmh?"

"Would you carry me upstairs? It's getting rather late."

Erik frowned. "Would you not rather stay here in front of the fire awhile longer? It's a bit drafty upstairs."

Christine smiled up at her husband, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. "There are other ways of staying warm."

Erik smiled. Perhaps snow days weren't so horrible after all.