Well, after my fairly successful attempts at humorous phanfic, I have finally decided to take on something a little more serious. I guess we'll see how it goes over. If you liked it, or even if you didn't, please stop a moment to review it. And by that, I mean feel free to express pleasure, criticism, disgust, the opinion that I should stick to parodies, and any suggestions you many have. I don't have much experience in writing serious pieces and your input, positive or negative, would be greatly appreciated. Don't be afraid of insulting me.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own all of the characters or material utilized in this story. Many of the characters and plot developments were originally created by Gaston Leroux. I have also taken a lot of inspiration from author Susan Kay, especially concerning the circumstances leading up to and immediately following Erik's releasing Christine, and have kept the name of Nadir for the Persian, as well as his history with Erik. However, these are not necessarily meant to be her characters. Any discrepancy between my plot and hers or my plot and Leroux's is intentional. I write this with greatest respect for the original creators and owners of these characters and this is a completely non-profit endeavor.

EYE OF THE BEHOLDER

Chapter 1

The noises coming from inside the bedchamber sounded horrible. The midwife was pelting Julie with commands, demanding water, then more towels, her full, throaty voice echoing around the large room, broken only by the strangled cries of the mother-to-be. When Raoul heard the clatter of china shattering on the floor, and Julie being severely berated, he cringed. Raoul had wanted to stay by Christine's side through the whole ordeal. He couldn't help but feel that he was letting her down in her moment of greatest need. However, when the midwife, who intimidated Raoul to some extent, noted that it would not be an easy birth, she had forced the men out of the room, for dignity's sake. Now Raoul stood with Gerard, his manservant, waiting impatiently in the hallway, listening to the sounds of agony in the next room, and fervently thanking God that he was not a woman. Gerard, whose wife had already given birth to five sons, and who was quite used to the ordeal, was counting the number of supports that held up the banister along the staircase. He stifled a yawn, for the sake of his master's nerves. Raoul meanwhile felt his palms sweat. He said a silent prayer for Christine, the fourth in the last ten minutes. His only fear was that Christine might die giving birth. He was not worried about the child at all. Indeed, he quite hoped that the child would die. That would make his upcoming task much less difficult.

When the midwife's encouragements implied that the baby was finally being brought into the world, Raoul turned to Gerard and instructed with all the sincerity he could muster, "Run and fetch the priest."

"Aww, Monsieur." Gerard smiled patronizingly, "She isn't going to die. My wife's had five a' them, and there isn't a one that's died yet. And my wife was making a lot more noise than Madame!"

"I have a bad feeling about it, Gerard. I don't think there's much hope. You know how weak Christine is. I'd feel better if the priest were present…just in case. And send Doctor Roche up while you're at it."

Gerard shrugged and obeyed, rather pleased to have something to do, all the stereotypes he'd ever heard about new fathers running through his head as he left. Raoul watched him, followed quietly to make sure he'd gone out the door, before returning to his post in the hall.

Christine began to shriek and Raoul distinctly heard his name among the incomprehensible ejaculations. His protective instincts flared again, but he managed to keep still until he heard the baby's first scream. Doctor Roche appeared at the top of the stairs even as the midwife opened the door and showed the hollering child, wrapped hastily in a blanket, to the man she supposed was it's father. Raoul stepped forward and reached out for the child.

"I normally give it to the mother first, Monsieur. With all due respect, I assume you don't know how to hold a child properly."

"Just give it here." Raoul said sharply, and took the baby awkwardly from the plump woman's arms. If possible, the child shrieked louder.

"Certainly has lungs." The midwife commented.

Raoul did not answer. "How is my wife?" he asked quickly.

"Fine. The worst is past. I thought she might suffer some side affects, but she seems to be all right now. Once the afterbirth is finished, everything should be all right."

"Good. Now, if you don't mind, I would like to be alone with my son."

"But, Monsieur..." the midwife looked appalled. She had seen proud fathers before, eager and nervous fathers, but never had anyone attempted to simply take over immediately after the birth, especially not a young man who looked as though he'd never witnessed a birth before, and who was holding the baby like it was a large chunk of ice.

"I'm not paying you to stand around gawking at me. see to my wife!" Raoul commanded and the woman slowly backed into the bedchamber with a look of serious doubt on her face. Raoul closed the door behind her.

Roche took the child from the viscount's arms, crooking it firmly in his own. The screaming lessened and even paused for a breath. The doctor unfolded the blanket and examined the squirming, naked body. "It's a boy." He said unceremoniously.

"I know it's a boy! I can see that as well as you!" Raoul snapped testily, tired of having everyone treat him as an idiot.

"Monsieur is certain?" he said in a calm, unaffected tone. For a moment Raoul could only stare at the doctor, until he realized that the man was not referring to the child's sex. Then he nodded. Roche continued, "I could kill it, which would erase certain technical problems and keep you from all suspicion."

Raoul shook his head vehemently, "Ah, but I am not the murderer."

Roche puzzled over this odd declaration only a moment. He swiftly removed a tiny, blue bottle from the insides of his cloak and administered the contents to the baby through a small nipple. The child drank the contents greedily and, within moments, was fast asleep. Roche called his aide from the landing, handed the sleeping child over to the wiry, grim man- who looked as though he should be working for an undertaker, and not a supposed healer of the sick and bringer of life- and brought the bundle that the aide had been carrying to Raoul. He pulled back the uppermost fold, revealing the face of a child. A child with unseeing eyes and pale, unmoving lips. The face of a dead child.

"Still born, last night, to a farmer." Roche explained as Raoul turned away in disgust. "His wife died as well. He was too aggrieved to bother about the child. He won't miss it."

Raoul wasn't listening. He could hear Christine calling for him in the next room. When Raoul entered, the midwife came to take the child to it's mother. She was no idiot. When she saw the child in Roche's arms, she instantly knew that it was not the child she had just delivered. But before she could protest, she found a 500 Franc note being pressed into her hand and the voice of the viscount saying softly into her ear, "If you should feel the need to invent any ridiculous fictions about what happened to my son, I will be forced to publicly denounce you for the terrible liar that you are. Are we understood?"

Raoul had correctly assessed the woman's principles. This was not the first time, by far, and she shoved the note into her bodice without a word. In the meantime, Doctor Roche was breaking the news of her son's death to the hysterical mother in the most calm way he could conceive of.

When Gerard returned with the father from St Catherine's, the two men were greeted with the tragic tale of the still-birth. Raoul was comforting his stricken wife, trying to quiet her sobs as she insisted that she had heard the baby's scream. The midwife told her that it had been her imagination, confused and stressed by the birth, then she took her leave, glad to be rid of the whole affair. Raoul had the corpse buried as quickly as possible with no ceremony and greeted the well-wishers who came to comfort the family in the subsequent days with as many tears as he could conjure.