A/N: this fic is written by me and Hope4Faith. Please r/r. we'll love you forever
Disclaimer: we don't own anything. However much we would love to own the phantom we know we'd only fight over him.
Christine was lost in her memories and hardly noticed a stray tear that had escaped her control. Within seconds that single crystal like tear drop had turned into an unstoppable torrent, of an outpouring of her terror and grief.
"Stop crying Christine, we will just have another child."
It was said so emotionless, so nonchalantly that the words stopped her tears in their tracks. How could he say something like that? How could he be so uncaring for their baby? He had helped create their child. Did he feel nothing for him?
"How could you Raoul, he is our child, do you not want him back? He is your son."
"He is more like a little girl, you pampered him so. He is too fragile and pretty, no use as a strong son. You can give me a better son now."
Christine felt her heart break, shatter into a thousand pieces. It was long since she'd believed in the illusion of love but she had at least thought that Raoul cared for their child. She thought again of Lucien. He was so young, so innocent. Se knew he would be frightened, and maybe he would even try to flee. What would the Angel do when angered? Would he hurt her little boy or maybe even kill him? No, she could not imagine that of him. For all his cruelty she could not bring herself to think that he would harm her Lucien but still, she could not leave her son to a lifetime of darkness.
"If you will not do anything Raoul, then I will. I will go to the opera house and find our child. My little Lucien, how can you not love him? How can you not!"
Without a thought for the snow falling outside Christine ran. If the residents of Paris were surprised to see a well dressed young woman running down the cobbled streets as if the devil pursued her they did not show it. Most likely no one saw though; No one who could track the desperate plight of the Countess De Chagny.
More than once her feet scrambled for purchase on the icy streets but she somehow kept upright and was past the danger before gravity claimed her. God was with her this evening (if such a person exists) and before long she had reached the square outside the opera house. She stopped at the base of the steps, lungs screaming for oxygen and heart almost pounding out of her chest. Her muscles had started trembling and blood was pooling in her legs causing her to collapse to the ground in agony. Somehow, despite a body ready to give up, Christine hauled herself to her feet again and, step by painful step, she slowly made her way up to the doors of the opera house. With a force caused by desperation rather than and real strength she hammered against the doors, not caring whom she was disturbing. A rather annoyed footman opened the door and glared at her.
"What do you want Madame?"
"Please! Let me in. I have to see Madame Giry. I have to."
The man felt sorry for her, she was obviously not one of those awful peasants who spend all of their time trying to scrounge money out of the opera house and its patrons. In fact she looked like a lady of some standing, despite her current state of disarray. He let her in and showed her to Madame Giry's rooms.
"She will be here when the performance finishes."
Then he left. She sat there, in that oppressive silence, hoping that her baby was alright; hoping that Madame Giry might know where he was, might have seen him, might just have even a small piece of advice to give. That is when she heard it, when her fretting mind was over sensitised and picking up on the faintest of stimuli. It was a gentle voice, floating towards her, so sweet and soft that you wouldn't have heard it had there been other sounds.