I know it's been a while. I'm sorry. I am so sorry. But I haven't given up (yet). Thank you to everyone who's reviewed- you're the main reason I force myself to put this story down on words. Thank you for that motivation!

Disclaimer: I don't own POTO

Erik had been true to his promise. Raoul was left to his own devices after the show, Javert disappearing into his tent with the day's earnings and their props removed once more from the public eye. His other chores had long since been completed- the polishing of Javert's shoes, mixing of the stew, gathering water, the cleansing of his own shirt, and all manner of demeaning work. As the gypsies prepared for supper within their respective groups, Raoul watched the sun set.

It was a matter of time before dusk came. He dared not seek out Anuaka's company. Raoul also found he was not terribly hungry, his nerves frenzied with agitation. The Amazing Madame would surely be able to offer him some solution, if not an explanation. These thoughts twisting in his mind, Raoul settled for sitting in the shade of a tree as wary persons walked past him. He was still the madman.

"Monsieur?"

Erik was kneeling beside him, a bowl of Javert's gruel in his hands. A gust of evening wind blew over them. Raoul shivered.

"You said you would take me to the Madame tonight, boy."

"I brought your dinner out."

"Take me to her now."

Erik set the bowl on the ground and propped himself down beside Raoul, legs crossing, the former comte noting that the trousers were torn at the cuffs. "It's meal time. She will not want to see you if you barge in like this."

"Fine, fine, then we shall eat first!" Raoul snapped.

His very life was in the balance here! His Christine! Reality as he knew it, and he had to wait for the Madame to finish dinner! It was enough to make him shed tears of rage. He chanced a glance at Erik, hoping the boy would not see the frustration on his face. Erik's head was turned away, staring off in the other direction, arms wrapped protectively around himself.

"Monsieur, I'll go away if you wish it. I promise."

Perhaps it was the frustration peeking because then, Raoul felt a stab of guilt. Regardless of what the Madame did, what that monster in the Opera did, the boy before him had done nothing to him. Hadn't it been Raoul who chose to win the boy's choice? To take the friendship of a hurt child and break it so cruelly was simply an action that horrified him. He cared not for pride at the moment.

"No, no, Erik, I'm sorry. I'm not mad at you. My temper is hard to control."

And ears reddening, Raoul proceeded to eat the gruel. Erik said nothing, but Raoul supposed his words must have had some effect, seeing as the child did not leave him. Soon, the sky was dark.

The Madame's tent was not the garish showpiece Raoul remembered. It looked downright humble, actually. Erik led him past the barking dogs and several parked carts. The tent was moderate size, with no signs indicating its owner. It was not a part of the show.

"The Madame is very old. It'd be best to speak in softer tones."

With that, they entered the tent, Erik calling for the old woman. Raoul was taken aback by the smell of incense(?) and burning herbs, jar upon jar of plants stacked up against one another. This seemed more like the abode of a medicine woman than a fortune teller. A feeling of dread was building within him.

"Come," a young voice said, its owner eyeing Erik with a look of apprehension.

It was a girl, dark hair trailing behind her in an intricate braid. She appeared younger than Anuaka, face still fresh with pubescence, but from the gait of her walk and height, Raoul suspected she was older than Erik. Fourteen at least, sixteen at most if he was wrong.

In her hand was a Tarot card. She pulled back another set of curtains, revealing a figure sitting against a mound of pillows. Erik said something to her and the reply came back in raspy, withered voice.

"She says you can come in, Monsieur."

Raoul took a step closer as the next words left Erik's mouth, "this is the Madame."

Upon seeing the Madame's face, Raoul instantly paled. He shook. No, no, no. His horrified gaze lingered on the old woman for what seemed like hours. Her hair was white, skin wrinkled, and blind eyes glassy in the candlelight. She did seem formidable and there was no doubt she was the old Madame. But she was not the Amazing Madame.

She was supposed to be his last hope, his only hope. What was he to do now? A terrified laugh threatened to escape his throat. He saw dots and colors blur over his vision. Raoul fell wordlessly.

The stench was what brought him back to this life. Raoul gagged, his vision coming back into place, a gnarled hand removing a rag of that terrible substance away from his nose. He moaned, head lolling on the cushion. A masked face came into view.

"Monsieur? Are you all right?"

Where? Everything rushed back at him like a runaway train. It slammed into him and he moaned once more. "Erik?"

"Yes, are you all right?"

Then another set of voices, conversing in the language of the gypsies. Gypsies. The fair. Ah, yes, the fair. Raoul would have rather stayed in the dark. The old woman's hands touched his face, long nails close to leaving scrapes. "Young man," she said in broken French, "you faint."

He struggled to sit up, the girl from before watching with amusement as she handed the Madame what looked like a root. The old woman pulled open Raoul's mouth and stuck it in. It was surprisingly bitter. He tried to spit it out, but her grip was firm.

"It will help," the girl told him.

"Chew," Erik added.

The taste was terrible but when the old woman pulled the root out at last, Raoul was feeling less nauseous and as if his vision had cleared more. Still bleary, he grabbed the Madame's hand to the girl's protest.

"I need your help," he said, the words a weight on his tongue, "I'm not from here- the future, I come from the future. I have a wife. I need to go back."

The woman slapped his hand away and muttered in her own language.

"Erik, she thinks me mad," Raoul said, "tell her I'm not mad. Please, please, Erik, I beg you. I need her help. Tell her I was sent here by a gypsy woman, the Amazing Madame- she stabbed me and sang a song. I don't remember how to sing, please, it goes-" He hummed brokenly.

Erik must have tried to explain because he was soon in a heated conversation with the two females. Then Raoul felt the boy pulling him up. "Monsieur, we must leave now. The Madame needs time to think- she says this is black magic, strong black magic."

Still dizzy, the young man followed Erik as they made their hasty exit, the girl glaring at them all the while.

"She is the Madame's niece. I heard that her parents are dead and that the Madame took her on as her own apprentice. Sometimes I assist them," Erik said, in response to Raoul's question, the two of them standing at a distance from the center of the camp, where lovers were taking turns in gay merrymaking.

It was too painful to watch, too similar to the memories of his Christine. Raoul shivered again. Damn the night air!

"So will they help me or not!?"

"I don't know." Erik looked apologetically at him. "Perhaps with some more persuasion, she will. You must convince her that you won't bring bad luck."

"That will be hard. My luck hasn't been the best as of late."

Another shiver. Raoul bit his tongue in anger. Damn it all.

"Monsieur, I need to retrieve something."

"What?"

"I'll return."

Erik turned and dashed toward the camp, becoming a small figure in the firelight. Raoul was in no mood to give chase. He called the boy's name and suspected Erik had not heard. He crossed his arms to protect himself from the cold- Philippe always said he caught cold easily. He eyed Erik's figure until he saw where it was headed.

Javert's tent. Perhaps he should give chase.

A taller shape came out to meet Erik, Javert no doubt. The two stood still- a conversation, perhaps, though the thought of holding one with that man disgusted Raoul to the core. The taller form abruptly struck at the smaller, and whatever object Javert held caught Erik directly in the head. The boy fell and it looked as if the man was going to strike him again.

Raoul was about to run towards them when he noticed that they were frozen in place once more. Javert disappeared into his tent and reappeared within seconds, a bundle in his hands. He dropped it on Erik and spat at him.

Without hesitation, Erik scrambled to his feet and ran. Raoul tried to gaze elsewhere, pretending he had not been staring at the display. When Erik returned, there was a brightness in his voice Raoul did not expect.

"Monsieur, this is Javert's spare coat!" the boy said, holding up the article in his hands, "it may be small for you, but it should help the chill."

Those yellow eyes were smiling. Raoul was nauseous at the prospect of wearing anything of Javert's- the mere thought of his scent was too much. But the boy simply looked so eager for Raoul to try the coat on. Masking his disgust, Raoul took the coat- it was more a jacket, in his opinion- and put it over himself, the sleeves too short for comfort. But it was warm.

"Thank you," he said, "but how?"

He suspected Erik was beaming under the mask. "I told Javert you would catch a chill without more clothing. He tried to argue, but it was no use. I said I needed you for a new act in the show tomorrow and he was a like a dog without words."

There was an undeniable smugness in the boy's voice. But all Raoul could focus on was the crimson stain on Erik's collar. From the visible part of his head, Raoul could discern an ugly bruise lying beside a gash that was still trickling blood. He was warmer with the jacket, but Erik's shirt suddenly looked horribly thin, revealing too much of a skeletal build for comfort.

Raoul wanted to ask the child why.

Why injure himself procuring a coat for the madman? When his own body looked so cold? When he was still recovering from a number of other ailments? And why look so happy about it?

All because Raoul had extended the smallest of kindnesses toward him?

But he said nothing. Instead, Raoul placed a hand on the top of Erik's head. It was a slow, affectionate pat Philippe had once used on him. Erik's eyes looked as if they were watering.

Thanks for reading! I hope that was worth the read and that those of you following still want to continue. Reviews are more than welcome and are the things that tell me to continue!

Note: Raoul's own jacket is in his badly done laundry, so he'll have to settle for Javert's crappy one for the time being.

Next time: Raoul gets more spotlight in the show, Javert continues being Javert, and a fluffier interlude happens.