A/N: First off, thank you once again for all the reviews. Every review I get makes me want to write more, which is why this chapter in being posted so soon…I was gonna leave you to stew but I thought I'd be nice and put you out of your misery :P

This one is a slightly longer chapter than previous ones, and took a good few hours.

I'm not completely happy with it but it will have to do.

Hope you enjoy it. Please review and tell me your thoughts…like I said before: more reviews means faster chapters :)

Chapter Seven: A Birth Defect, Monsieur

Christine and Squelch walked back towards Erik's aerie in silence. The nest was at the top of a tall tower beside the 'Hotel Populaire', just outside the gates of Phantasma. Christine was still trembling from the shock of finding Raoul here. She had genuinely thought that she would never see him again. She had believed that he would have got on the first boat back to Paris, while she and Gustave would have spent the rest of her life in America with Erik. 'That could still be so' she told herself mentally. Before long, Erik would meet her back up at the aerie with little Gustave by his side. He would tell her that Raoul had gone home for certain now. Everything would be fine. It had to be.

Once she had assured herself of this, her mind began to wonder as she thought about the life they would soon have. Perhaps she would marry Erik. But she was still technically married to Raoul. Perhaps if she stayed in America while he returned to France, a divorce would not be necessary. Of course it didn't help that many people in America knew of her opera fame, and therefore of her marital ties to the Vicomte. Nevertheless, she was sure they would find a way around it. At least she hoped. And then maybe she and Erik could have more children. Brothers and sisters for Gustave. Children that Erik could witness the birth of, and be there for all through the long nights of crying and feeding and nightmares. And he would be there when they spoke their first words. He could teach them to sing like he had taught her.

As these thoughts circulated through her mind, Christine's mood lightened. She smiled contentedly to herself.

The pair had reached the gates of Phantasma, when suddenly, there was screaming and shouting coming from the park. Christine and Squelch, both startled, whipped their heads around to see what had happened. The sight that met their eyes was not a pleasant one. People were running in their hundreds towards the gates, and in the distance, thick, black smoke was billowing into the air. Below it, bright orange flames danced over the buildings and amusements of the park.

"Oh my God! Erik! Gustave!" Christine cried as she stared in horror at the inferno.

"Christine, go up into the aerie," Squelch spoke for the first time in a commanding voice, "I will go and find the Master and the boy."

"No, I'll come with you," Christine began but was interrupted.

"No, Madame. If anything happened to you the Master is sure to blame me for it. Please, go upstairs where I know you are safe. I will find them," Squelch instructed.

"But what if they're hurt?" Christine cried hysterically.

"I will find them, Madame. Just please make yourself safe. There's no use in you putting yourself in danger," he reasoned.

Christine sighed in defeat.

"OK, just please find them quickly. I couldn't bear it if…" she trailed off.

Squelch gave her an assuring nod, and bolted off towards the fire. Christine ran up to the tower entrance and rushed up the stairs to Erik's home. Once there, she ran to the wall facing Phantasma, which was one giant window stretching the length and height of the room. She stood before the glass, looking out in concern and waiting for the safe return of her beloved boys.

-o0o0o0o0o0o-

Squelch ran through the crowds of screaming people all heading in the opposite direction. He ran past the burning theatre, and saw ahead of him the mirror maze. Or rather what was left of it; the entire thing was on fire, smoke bulging out of the roof. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man from earlier in the cloak, pulling the boy along roughly. They had fled straight out of the maze exit and disappeared into the smog. Squelch began to run after them, but the smoke was too thick. He was blinded and couldn't breathe.

When Erik didn't appear from the maze, Squelch knew something was wrong. This would have been the first place the master had come when he had learned that this was where the boy had been seen. Something told him that Erik was still inside, which was certainly not good.

Squelch debated inwardly with himself whether to go in. By going in, he was risking his own life, and there was a very good chance he would not come out. And of course, there was also the chance that the master was not even in there. But then again, what if he was? Squelch couldn't just leave him. He owed this man so much. He had given him a job, and a home. Made him feel accepted when the world had always ridiculed him.

He had decided. He had to go in; the risk that his master was in there was too great. Without a second thought, he dashed through the entrance of the maze. The smoke was so thick inside that he began to cough violently, his lungs shuddering from the lack of oxygen. He lifted his arm and held his coat sleeve over his mouth in an attempt to filter out some of the smoke. He continued further into the maze. The heat of the flames was unbearable, but still he pushed on.

He turned corner after corner, but with still no sign of Erik. A thought suddenly crossed his mind: what if Erik wasn't in here at all? What if Squelch had run needlessly into his own death trap? He was interrupted mid-thought, however, as he turned one last corner and his foot made contact with something on the floor.

"Master!" Squelch shouted. He knelt down by Erik's still form. He was covered with blood and ash, and the entire outer edge of his right shirt sleeve was on fire. Squelch quickly began thumping his palm down in an attempt to extinguish the glowing flames, which danced mockingly over the white fabric.

"Master!" he shouted again as the last of the fire on his sleeve died, to reveal charred black fabric fused to charred red skin. Erik gave no response. Squelch reached out to place two fingers on Erik's neck. There was a light patter beneath his fingers: Erik's pulse. He was still alive.

Squelch silently thanked the lord, before placing his arms under Erik's lower back. Thankful for his strength, he smoothly picked up the thin form of his master, and threw him across his shoulder, praying that he didn't cause any more damage to the already injured man.

He then stood, and began to jog back towards the exit. He found several paths blocked by fire and mounds of collapsed ceiling and wall. He wound his way through the thickening smoke and flames, until at last he saw daylight through the haze.

He emerged from the fire, covered in ash and coughing heavily. All around him buildings were burning to the ground. With a still unconscious Erik on his back, he began to make his way through the blaze. Eventually, he emerged into the part of the park not yet touched by the fire. He hurried on forward towards Erik's tower. As he ran through the gates out of Phantasma, he saw the fire service approaching. 'Took your time' he thought bitterly.

He repositioned Erik on his shoulders, and then started up the stairs to the aerie.

-o0o0o0o0o0o-

Christine was pacing the room now. She couldn't bear to watch the flames anymore. She repeatedly told herself that everything would be fine. Any moment now Erik and Gustave would walk through the door, safe and sound.

She was interrupted, however, by footsteps approaching from the hallway. Before she could get to the door, it had slammed open to reveal a very unwelcome sight. Mr Squelch stood before her, covered from head to toe in ash and soot. But that was not what caused her heart to jump into her throat. It was the body thrown over said man's shoulders that sent waves of sickness passing through her stomach.

Before Christine could say anything, Squelch had bounded past her and was gently placing Erik down on the bed.

"What happened?" Christine asked quietly, evidently in complete shock, "Where's Gustave?"

"The Vicomte escaped with the boy Madame, but I believe he is unharmed. I found The Master in the mirror maze in this state," Squelch replied matter-of-factly, "he is still alive, but I must go and get help."

Christine took a few steps towards the bed as Mr Squelch hurried off through a door across the hallway. She stopped beside Erik, and broke down into tears.

He was covered head to toe in black soot. From a large gash on the side of his forehead, which must have been several inches long and indefinitely deep, came a thick line of blood, which spread across his brow and down his deformed cheek. In both cheeks were embedded shards of reflective glass, and the side of his lip was split open. Both his mask and his wig were missing, leaving his almost-bald head and twisted right cheek exposed.

There was more blood across his left shoulder, where there was a deep hole in the flesh. And the shirt on his right arm was charred and stuck to his skin. Across his right hand, from his little finger to his middle finger, the skin was blistered, burnt and bleeding.

Christine fell to her knees beside his bed, whimpering his name over and over again. She took hold of his left hand, which seemed unharmed, and pressed her face down into it. She sobbed loudly.

Suddenly, a figure burst in through the door. Christine was too distraught to look up and see who it was, until she felt a hand rest gently on her shoulder.

"Come now, my child. You are no use to him in this state," spoke a stern, yet gentle, voice.

Christine looked up at the owner of the voice. She leapt up quickly and fell straight into the arms of Madame Giry. She continued to cry, mumbling about Erik and how he was hurt.

"There, there, Christine," Madame Giry soothed, "Come now, stop crying. Let us try and heal him. Every moment we waste crying is one that could be used to save his life."

Christine pulled away, and nodded with tear-filled eyes. Madame Giry quickly set to work. She removed Erik's shirt, cutting around the areas that were fused to his right arm. She retrieved a large, shallow bowl from one of the cupboards. It was rectangular and about forty centimetres in length and half that in width. She instructed Christine to fill the bowl with cold water. She then lifted Erik up so that he was in a reclined seating position. When Christine returned with the bowl of water, she placed it on the side of the bed, and submerged Erik's entire right forearm in the liquid.

She told Christine to hold Erik's arm under the water while she tended to the other wounds. Christine sat in a chair beside the bed, stroking the unburnt index finger and thumb on Erik's right hand under the water. The burns stretched all the way up the outside of his forearm, and stopped just above his elbow. The white shirt material was still stuck to the burns.

Madame Giry sat on the other side of the bed, holding two pieces of clean, white sheet, one against the bullet wound and the other against the gash on his head.

"He's been shot," she stated when she noticed Christine watching her in confusion.

Christine gasped.

"Raoul," she declared bitterly.

"Although I have stopped most of the bleeding, I am not qualified to remove the bullet. He will need stitches too, no doubt. These will have to be done by the doctor," she told Christine calmly.

"Have you sent for a doctor?" Christine asked.

"Mr. Squelch came to fetch me straight away. I sent Miss Fleck to fetch the doctor. Mr. Squelch and Doctor Gangle have gone out to look for Gustave." Madame Giry replied reassuringly.

Moments later, Miss Fleck appeared at the door followed by a man with a black, leather bag. He looked fairly old, Christine guessed at about sixty, and he had short grey hair with a large bald patch in the centre of his head. His top lip was cloaked in a thick, bristly, grey beard. He was wearing a long, light brown overcoat with a faded black suit underneath. He had kind, watery blue eyes and his skin was wrinkled with laughter lines.

He introduced himself as Dr. Monroe, and then made his way over to Erik's bed. Madame Giry stood aside, while Dr. Monroe examined his patient.

"Severe burns on the right forearm and hand. Bullet wound to the left shoulder. Multiple surface wounds to the face caused by broken glass," the doctor spoke his observations aloud, "although what happened to the rest of his face I cannot fathom. I can only assume it was like this before the accident?" he asked Madame Giry.

"A birth defect, Monsieur," Madame Giry confirmed.

"Poor man," the doctor commented gently, pity shining from his eyes, "Well, you have handled the burns extremely well. And you were right to keep the pressure on the blood wounds. His shoulder and head will need stitches. If I may get started, ladies?" he enquired politely.

"Of course, Doctor Monroe," Madame Giry smiled, "Do you require anything else?"

"I think I have everything I need, thank you. However, my first priority is stitching the bullet wound. The cut on his head can wait; it appears to have stopped bleeding. Someone will need to remain here to hold his arm under the water," he suggested.

Christine looked to Madame Giry, silently asking for permission.

"Christine, it will not be pleasant to watch," Madame Giry warned.

"I don't care. I'm not leaving him," Christine declared confidently.

Madame Giry sighed, "Very well. If you need anything I will be across the hall."

She nodded at Christine, then turned on her heel and left the room, leaving Christine alone with the doctor.

He sat in the chair beside the bed, and set to work at cleaning Erik's shoulder wound. Christine watched him nervously. He felt her eyes on him and looked up to see her worried expression.

"Christine, wasn't it?" he asked her kindly.

"Yes, Monsieur," she replied timidly.

"Ah so you are French. I thought I recognized the accent," he chuckled.

Christine smiled at the doctor, "Yes, I am from Paris."

"Ah, a lovely city. I visited once, back when I was a young man. There used to be a magnificent opera house there," he replied thoughtfully, "although I heard there was a fire there. Burnt most of the building down from what I heard."

Christine laughed inwardly. The man had no idea of the relevance of his words.

"So, what is his name?" Doctor Monroe asked, gesturing to Erik's unconscious form with a nod of his head.

"His name is Erik," she answered, her eyes flickering to his bloodied face.

"Erik," the doctor repeated distantly, "and he is your husband?" he asked inquisitively.

"Not exactly," Christine began, unsure of how to explain who Erik was to her, "I was married to another man, but it didn't work out."

"You must excuse me, Madame, I do not mean to pry," he smiled apologetically.

"No, it's OK," she assured him quickly, "it's just complicated."

"What relationship isn't, Christine?" he asked rhetorically.

She smiled. He was right.

"You may want to look away for this bit," he advised, "I'm going to try and extract the bullet."

Christine focused her attention on Erik's face. Madame Giry had washed away most of the blood from his head wound. There were still pieces of glass embedded in the skin of his usually smooth left cheek. She realised suddenly that she had never seen him sleep, and even though it was an injury-induced sleep, she still found it fascinating. Despite his injuries, his face looked peaceful compared to his usually sorrow-filled features. She just hoped that he couldn't feel the metal probe that was poking around in his chest, searching for the offending shard of metal. She was almost glad that he was unconscious. Almost.

She continued to gaze upon his sleeping face for several minutes, while Dr. Monroe removed the bullet and stitched up the hole.

"OK, Christine, I'm going to move onto his head now," the doctor announced.

Christine smiled and nodded. She glanced down at the stitching on Erik's chest. Dr. Monroe had done a good job. All of the blood had been cleaned away around the wound, although there were still blood stains down the side of his body where the doctor had not cleaned it all away. She also noticed several healed lacerations down his chest. Scars of all shapes and sizes dotted his skin, some in the form of pale pink marks, others slightly raised gashes. Christine wondered where he had received them, because they were certainly not recent wounds.

At length, the doctor spoke again, "OK, Christine, I've stitched up his head and removed the glass from his skin."

Christine glanced down and saw several tiny, bloody shards of glass in a small dish on the bedside table. She looked up at Erik's face. He had a bandage wrapped around his head over his stitches. He had several small cuts over his left cheek where the shards had been removed from, but none were bleeding and most had scabbed over already.

"Thank you Dr Monroe," Christine smiled at him gently.

"You're welcome, Madame," he answered in a friendly voice, "Now, if you don't mind, Christine, I need to see to the burns." He gestured to Erik's right arm.

"Oh, yes, of course," she replied.

The doctor moved over to the right side of the bed, and took over holding Erik's arm in the water. Christine then stood and moved to sit in the chair on Erik's other side. The doctor pulled a pair of tweezers from his bag, and began pulling the shirt material from Erik's arm. After the length of time it had been soaking, the material came away easily to reveal the blistered skin beneath. Christine gasped at the sight of the burns.

"These burns are quite severe," the doctor commented, "but they have been soaking for a long time. All the heat should have dissipated by now."

He lifted Erik's now bare arm from the water, placed the bowl of water on the floor, and gently placed the injured arm down on a towel at his side. He then lightly dabbed at the skin to dry it. Christine's eyes welled up as she watched the doctor tend to his skin. She hoped that he hadn't been awake when the fire had done this to him; it must have been agony.

She watched silently as the doctor wrapped Erik's forearm in bandages, which extended from his hand to half way up his bicep, leaving his thumb and the end inch or so of his fingers uncovered. When he had finished, he stood and began to pack his tools away.

"Although he has several serious wounds, none are particularly life threatening," the doctor told Christine, "However, there is a great risk of infection due to the ash from the fire. For now, though, he is stable. I will return in two days time to check on him."

"Thank you, Doctor," Christine said sincerely, "I don't know what would have happened if you had not come to help him."

"It is my job, Christine," he chuckled kindly.

Madame Giry appeared in the doorway, and thanked the doctor.

"It was my pleasure, Madame," he replied, "The bandages on his arm and shoulder will need to be changed in twenty-four hours time, and the one on his head removed altogether. I trust you can manage that?"

"Of course, Monsieur," Madame Giry nodded, "and once again, thank you."

He nodded at her and gave her a friendly smile.

"Madame, Christine," he bowed his head and headed out of the door.

"Is there any sign of Gustave?" Christine asked hopefully.

"Not yet, but they are still out looking for him," Madame Giry replied regretfully.

Christine looked down in disappointment but gave a slight nod.

"I'm going to clean him up," Christine muttered, gesturing to the sleeping man on the bed.

"OK, again, if you need me I'll be next door," she replied, before turning and leaving.

Christine got up and walked into the kitchen. She filled a bowl with warm water and picked up a clean cloth. She sat back down beside Erik and began to wipe away the dirt and blood from his chest and face. When she had finished she removed Erik's shoes and shuffled the bed sheets out from underneath his still body. She pulled them over him up to his chest, and then crawled into the bed beside him. She snuggled up to his left arm, avoiding touching his shoulder, and held his hand.

As she watched his chest slowly rise and fall, the tears began to flood from her eyes. Everything had gone so wrong. The love of her life, the one who was meant to protect her, was unconscious and broken. And her little Gustave was out somewhere with a man who wasn't his father, and she had no idea where to look for him.

"Please, wake up, Erik," she whispered desperately through the tears, "just wake, up, please. I need you."

When she received no response she leaned her head forward across the pillow and buried her face in the side of his neck, letting the tears fall silently down her cheeks.