Chapter Eighteen

A/N: Please enjoy! Reviews are always appreciated, I read every single one of them!

The floor was cold, hard and unforgiving against Christine's back as the girl's head pounded. Disoriented, she tried to piece together where she was by the voices milling about her. The frantic clatter of shoes only served to worsen the headache.

"Oh my God! Christine, Christine can you hear me?" a young woman's voice rapidly approached, rushed and frantic. Meg? The girl felt a pressure on her hand. She lifted her head up, trying to speak before a wave of nausea overcame her.

"That will teach her to be insolent!" a loud voice, most likely belonging to Carlotta, sneered from somewhere within the crowd of people.

"What you did was unacceptable!" Andre admonished, albeit weakly.

"Unacceptable!" Firmin parroted.

"Erik…" Christine murmured, disoriented.

"Erik?" a cast member questioned.

"Erik's her brother. He died." Meg lied easily, to which murmurs of sympathy echoed through the crowd.

"Poor thing!"

"That's really too bad. She's all alone!"

"She is a TOAD!" Carlotta protested at the wave of concerned comments.

"Someone help me get her to the dressing room!" Meg interrupted.

"That's MY dressing room," Carlotta retorted vehemently.

"Not anymore you absolute cow," Meg hissed back.

"How dare you-."

"Ladies! Please, that is enough!" Andre half commanded, half pleaded.

"What?" Christine slurred, shifting uncomfortably on the cold floor. Her eyelids fluttered as her head pounded. Why was everyone yelling?

"Mademoiselle Daeé, do you know where you are?" she heard a gentle but accented voice by her ear. Monsieur Khan?

"Monsieur-," Firmin began only to be cut off.

"Gentleman, do not worry. I know much of injuries, remember, I am a detective and I have dealt with many head traumas."

"Perhaps we should call a doctor?" Andre panicked.

"I also practiced medicine in my home country. She will be alright, she just needs rest. Let her come-to in the dressing room; then I will escort her home. She may have to remain in bed for a few days."

An answer of murmurs followed his calm assessment. Many seemed to feel weary in allowing this foreign man to look after the young ingénue, even for all he had made his presence known the past few months. He had always been kind, polite, but his skin color and accent still cast suspicion on his character.

Fortunately, Meg knew she could trust the detective based on her recent conversations with Christine, who had admitted the Daroga, as Erik referred to him, was an amiable man. "I'll help you take her there, Monsieur Khan!" Meg offered, assisting him in bringing her friend to her feet.

"Easy now, Mademoiselle Daeé, you are doing well." Nadir spoke encouragingly in a low tone with one of Christine's arms about his neck. Her other was draped across Meg's shoulder.

"Mademoiselle Daeé could easily press charges, Carlotta!" Firmin's voice rose, frantic.

"She would not dare," Carlotta declared, although her tone seemed rather shaken.

"I feel dizzy," Christine moaned, her head slumping to the side as the trio moved carefully forward.

"You hit the back of your head rather hard," Monsieur Khan explained.

"Carlotta is an absolute monster," Meg added as they slowly shuffled the poor girl to the dressing room.

Christine was encouraged to stay awake even as she rested on the room's sofa. "Do you know what day it is?" Nadir asked; she felt his fingers gently pry open her eyelids. "Your pupils are at least normal."

"Tuesday?" she slurred, bewildered.

"It's Thursday, Christine," Meg corrected, worry evident in her tone.

Christine felt large fingers prod the back of her head and hissed at the stinging contact. "You are bleeding," Nadir spoke with a hint of concern.

"Where's Erik?" her voice felt slow and thick.

"I am right here," a gruff voice spoke as the sound of a passage opening-the mirror-greeted everyone's ears.

Meg gasped, she had still not met Christine's suitor, although her friend had promised an introduction quite soon.

"Mademoiselle Giry," Erik introduced himself distractedly before kneeling at Christine's side, breathing a sharp inhale at the sight of Christine's blood on Khan's fingertips.

"What is the meaning of this? What happened to her?" Christine winced, he sounded so angry.

"Keep your voice down, Erik," Khan admonished. "She has a concussion."

"Did she fall?" He inquired, the fury in his voice rising still.

"Carlotta made an appearance at rehearsal. She was upset about Christine's new position as the resident Prima Donna and she slapped her! Christine obviously couldn't prepare herself for the blow and knocked the back of her head on the floor. She passed out for a minute," Meg chimed in, too upset on Christine's behalf to worry about the dark figure that loomed beside her.

"THAT OLD HAG DARED TO STRIKE HER?" The shadow shouted in absolute rage. Christine flinched at the level of his voice, the pounding in her head mounting.

"Erik, you must calm yourself or you will make Christine's head trauma worse. And do not yell, someone might come in," Nadir warned in a low tone.

"Erik…" Christine moaned lightly while shakily reaching her hand out to the side, still somewhat disoriented and confused at the jumble of voices bickering above her form. She relaxed as the cool leathered touch of what could only be Erik's hand clasped her fingers.

"I am here, Christine. How do you feel? What can I do? Does it hurt badly?" he whispered, a desperation creeping into his tone.

"Do not…do not worry…'bout me," she slurred, her head lolling to the side of the armrest.

"Khan, what do I do? Tell me how to help her!" Erik demanded.

"Erik, remain calm. Her head has been hit rather hard and so she will be confused for perhaps a day or so. She needs rest and someone to monitor her condition. However, her pupils are normal and I do not believe there will be any lasting damage as long as she doesn't exert herself for at least a week." The Daroga remained the voice of reason, gentle but firm in his instructions.

"I will look after her, in my home." Erik announced automatically.

"Monsieur…Erik," Meg interrupted for the first time in a while. "I know you have been courting her, and it would not be proper for her to stay in your home overnight. She must stay at her own residence or with a woman. I would offer her Maman and I's place but Maman has left for the next two weeks to visit an ailing family member and I must stay at the Opera House for rehearsals…"

"The young woman is right, Erik. I will take Christine to her home and monitor her condition for the next few days." Khan offered.

"This is absolutely ridiculous. Why is it permissible for you to look after her and not me?" The man protested.

"Because I am a doctor and you are not," the Persian replied.

"You practiced medicine in Persia, not France," Erik bit out.

"You're a doctor and a detective, Monsieur Khan?" Meg inquired, curious.

"I filled many roles in my home country," he replied politely.

Christine stirred, her fingers tightening around Erik's even in her hazed state. "Daroga, I cannot stand leaving her in this condition," the man whispered. The tenderness in his voice was not lost on Meg.

"Perhaps it would be alright if you visited her," the girl offered softly.

"Yes, that would be fine," Nadir added. "You can take over my watch while I rest."

"Yes," Erik agreed quietly, stroking the back of Christine's hand with his gloved thumb. "I will kill that woman," he muttered.

"No killing," Nadir chided. "Now, let us get this poor girl home."

Christine did not remember the ride back to the residence, or how she came to be tucked safely in her bed. When she woke up once more, her clothing was lighter, and she realized she wore a nightgown. "Hello?" she asked. Her head was not quite as fuzzy as it had been right after the impact of the unexpected blow.

"How are you feeling, Mademoiselle Daeé?" The kind voice replied.

"Monsieur Khan? Is that you?" Her voice was steady, clearer than it had been earlier.

"Yes. I have been monitoring you since the…incident." He spoke carefully.

"Oh…thank you. I-am I in my bedclothes?" She could not hide the alarm in her voice.

"Your friend thought you might be more comfortable in a nightgown. The managers allowed her to bring you home with me. She has since returned to her flat."

"Oh, that was very thoughtful of her-the bedclothes that is," Christine commented, relaxing somewhat. "And Erik?"

"He is fine. He insisted on carrying you out to the carriage but reluctantly let me take you when the driver appeared," the smile in his voice was evident. "I told him that he may come to monitor you during the evening while I rest in the parlor, if my presence here is not objectionable to you, of course. I do not wish to overstep any boundaries."

"Oh, not at all! It was very kind of you to help me this way." She slumped back against the pillows, suddenly exhausted from even the limited conversation.

"Are you alright?" he inquired, likely noticing her state.

"I am just tired," she replied drowsily.

"That is understandable. Head trauma often causes one to suffer from fatigue. Does anything else bother you? Headache? Nausea? Are you hearing anything…strange?"

Christine shot up at the last suggestion, the movement causing an onset of dizziness to wash over her. "Why…why would I hear anything strange?" she asked cautiously, swallowing the nausea down.

"Head trauma sometimes brings on auditory hallucinations. These symptoms usually disappear when the individual recovers," he explained patiently.

"What if-what if one were to hear strange things without a head injury? Would something be terribly wrong with them?" she asked, anxious.

"Erik has told me of your concerns, Christine. You have heard the voice of your lost guardian, yes?" No judgment had entered his voice, encouraging the girl to be honest in her answer.

"I-yes. It started the day I moved back into the residence…the day after her funeral. She asked me if I wanted anything to eat." Christine quickly wiped away the tears in her eyes as she recounted the incident. "She was always fussing over me so. Mama always said I was a little waif of a thing. Her voice sounded as if she was in the kitchen and I thought she was alive! I know it isn't rational but I ran to find her. She asked me what was wrong….I went to embrace her and there was nothing, just air," her breath hitched as she finished.

"Was that the only occurrence?" The Persian inquired gently.

Christine shook her head. "I heard her after the opening night performance of Hannibal as well. I suppose I was very emotional, and crying, I am embarrassed to say, but as Meg was taking me away I heard her…, and I know it was her, Monsieur Khan. Being blind, I am very skilled at separating people by their voices, you see. She said 'poor dear'. It is exactly what she would have said if she'd been there, alive. It was something she always crooned when I was upset...And still, I hear her. Just simple phrases really. Not every day even. Oh, monsieur Khan, do you think I've gone mad?" she cried softly.

"No, my dear girl. You are not mad. Grief can cause us to hear or see things. When someone leaves us, our body does not fully register the loss until much time has passed. I remember when I lost my Rookheeya." He spoke with a sorrow long held. "When I would come home after she was gone I would smell her perfume. Sometimes at night, I would hear her whispering to me. As you said, simple phrases. Often, I only recognized her tone and not the words…"

"Erik told me you lost your son as well," Christine commented quietly.

"My son. My boy, Reza. He was so sickly. With him, death was expected from the time he was born. He was a light though, and his laughter sounded just like my wife's. Erik visited him often. He would bring toys and music to entertain the child…Reza was so happy during those visits. He died before he reached the age of nine, quite a feat as they estimated his death to come much sooner."

Christine's heart swelled at the thought of Erik entertaining the sickly child of his friend. "That is so awful, Monsieur Khan. To lose a child and a wife…I am so sorry." She bowed her head, tears spilling once more.

"You have lost many loved ones as well, Erik told me. It is a hard cross to bear, especially as young as you are." His voice was soft in return.

"I wish I could escape it. The threat of death. Sometimes I fear it so much…I worry about Erik, about Meg. If I were to lose one of them, I do not think I could go on." Christine choked out.

"Allah forbid anything happen to them, Christine, but the human spirit is strong and we continue still in the face of much sorrow. You would live, and you would find a way to make life meaningful." He sounded sure in what he relayed.

"It just, it always feels so unbearable when someone leaves me," she whispered.

"It is the way of life, dear girl. There are moments when the loss of my Rookheeya and Reza overwhelm me." His voice shook slightly.

"What do you do then?"

"I take a walk. I listen to the birds and feel the sun on my skin. I imagine their laughter. I see Rookheya in the flowers that bloom in the spring. I see Reza in the ducklings that follow their mother in the Siene. My wife and son would not want me to drown in sorrow for eternity. I find peace in remembering this," he finished, a reverence in his tone.

"That is beautiful," Christine replied, unable to find any other words to express the gratitude she felt at his sharing. "Thank you," she said quietly.

"Thank you for listening. To be able to talk about them, it makes them feel as if they're back with me. I do not want their memory to die."

"I understand completely. I fear talking about my Papa too much because I don't want others to become tired of me. But talking about him makes me remember all the love he gave me and others. It is the same with Mama Valerius, my guardian." Christine smiled sadly.

"Well, perhaps we can meet and share the memories of our loved ones with one another when we think it is necessary. Then we won't have to fear anyone tiring of the tales," the Persian suggested with a hint of hope.

"I would like that," Christine replied, her eyes watery. "You remind me of my Papa, Monsieur Khan. He was so kind and he cared so much for others."

"Please, call me Nadir." He insisted warmly.

She grinned. "Nadir." There was a pause before she spoke once more. "And you must now call me Christine."

"Christine, I am honored to hear I remind you of such a great man. I told Erik the first time you and I met, that your eyes reminded me of Rookheeya. She could look right through you and uncover the truth if you were lying. And her eyes sparkled with such life," he sighed.

"She sounds beautiful," the girl commented.

"You and her have the same spirit." He returned gently.

Christine cast her head down once more. "I am honored."

The pair sat and spoke of her recovery: the expectations and instructions.

"Hopefully the Populaire can afford to lose their Prima Donna for a week." Nadir declared.

"I am not their Prima Donna anymore. Carlotta has returned, and the contract I signed says I must give her the lead role without protest," Christine explained rather sadly.

"I am sorry, Christine. I know the arts are not usually fair to even the most talented."

"It will be alright. I still have my place in the costuming department and perhaps...perhaps I may find another place in which to sing." She concluded albeit sorrowfully.

"No you will not," a low timbre entered the conversation. Erik.

"You are early," Nadir commented lightly.

"Carlotta cannot take away the role of countess," he stated, ignoring Nadir.

"I signed a contract, Erik. I agreed to their terms and she has returned," Christine replied, her head starting to swim again.

"A piece of paper will not keep you from the stage, especially after what she did to you," Erik growled.

"Erik, please. Don't do anything." The girl begged, pressing a hand delicately to the back of her head where she could feel a small scab already forming. She winced, the dizziness washing over her once more.

"Christine?" she heard the worry in Erik's voice as his footsteps approached. Nadir must have crossed over to examine her as well.

"She is pale," the Persian commented, lightly pressing his fingers to the back of her head to check the healing wound. "Erik, do not excite her! She needs peace in order to recover fully. No threats about the Opera right now."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." She heard him whisper as a gloved hand brushed a strand of hair off of her forehead.

"I'm alright," she insisted, her eyes fluttering. She really was very tired.

"We should let her sleep, Erik." Khan announced.

"No, stay," she grabbed for her love's hand a little too desperately.

The Persian's sigh was unmistakable. "Alright. If you are to stay with her, no speaking of anything upsetting. It might be best if you were to remain completely quiet. I will go wait in the parlor. Call to me if I am needed," Nadir instructed before leaving, the door not quite shut behind him. Erik crossed over and twisted the knob closed anyway.

The back of Christine's head hurt and she struggled to rest on the pillow without pain from the contact. Finally, she turned on her side, toward Erik, and closed her eyes. "Thank you for staying," she murmured as she felt him lightly touch her curls.

"Of course. Christine, I was so worried. When I saw you in the dressing room with your blood on Nadir's fingers…and your eyes were closed," he choked.

"Shhhh," she soothed, reaching for his hand on her head and taking it within her delicate fingers. "I am alright. Although I do seem to find myself hurt a bit lately," she jested before becoming quiet, thinking of her ankle caught in a trap under the Opera on that awful night.

"I cannot bear to see you hurt anymore, Christine." He replied quietly.

"I know. You are so good to me Erik. I promise you I will be alright and I will be more careful."

"It is not your fault that cow hit you," he uttered with rage lurking under the surface.

"Do not call her that Erik," Christine admonished lightly, pressing his knuckles to her lips.

"Am I upsetting you?" he asked, worried.

"A little," she replied.

"Forgive me, my love. But I will not let her get away with what she did." He still sounded furious.

"I am tired, Erik." Christine mumbled, choosing not to encourage his anger.

"Yes, just sleep, my Christine." He whispered, stroking her brow oh so lightly. She scooted over and silently bid him crawl in beside her.

"Nadir will not approve," Erik stated, the smirk in his voice undeniable.

"It is for my recovery," Christine countered, knowing he would not deny her. Sure enough, a presence pressed beside her on the bed, although she stayed tucked tightly beneath the covers and he lied on the surface. Her arm floated across his waist as if on its own accord, and the girl's head rested lightly on his bony chest. His heart thundered loudly, signaling his excitement at the physical contact. She smiled, closing her eyes as he stroked her forehead.

"I love you, Erik," she murmured, entirely comfortable now that he was watching over her.

"I love you more than I can say," he replied quietly. She knew he meant it.