Disclaimer: Me? Own this -insert own fantastic adjective here? –bursts out in hysterical laughter-

"Are you sure about this?"

Erik looked sideways at Christine and swallowed. They were standing just outside room 334, intensive care, and, no he wasn't sure. But he was certain that the feelings deep inside of him weren't going to fade unless he ignored all instinct and stepped into that room.

She gripped his hand tightly as he led the way through the door and into a small, pastel-colored room. Flowers adorned the walls along with several teddy bears and what looked like fifty get-well cards. Christine had never met this Joseph Buquet specifically, but she vaguely remembered seeing him with Raoul at the party. A football player, she assumed, if the large balloon in the corner was anything to judge by.

"Did you know him?" she asked Erik quietly as they came to stand by the comatose boy's bedside.

"I'm his third cousin twice removed, remember?" he quipped, using the cover story they'd cooked up to get him in. The hospital staff was rather picky about who they let into the "coma-ward".

"I'm serious, Erik," she replied, poking him in the side. He squirmed.

"A little."

"Really?"

"Christine, I know everyone a little. He's on the varsity football team, lives with his mom, does his homework. He's a bit of an ass, but nothing compared to some of them. I can say one thing for him: he's never thrown anything." A wry smile lifted under his shadow.

"Why do you think someone would do this?" she asked.

"I don't know." He sank down in a gray plush chair and scrubbed his hands against his face, pausing with his fingers pressed against his cheek as if he'd burned himself with his own flesh. "What I want to know," he continued before she could comment on this, "is why anyone would bother to suspect me."

"You were at the beach," she offered timidly.

He looked up sharply. "So you think I did it? Just because I was at the fucking beach?"

She drew back, frightened by the sudden surge of anger. Erik never used such coarse language around her and he rarely showed his temper. Exercising control over himself had always seemed his best trait.

Now, however, he was out of his seat and towering over her, mouth razor-thin. "You think it was me, don't you? God, Christine!"

She shook her head, reaching for him and drawing him into a tight embrace in an effort to calm him. He seemed to lose all the strength in his legs, crumpling against her body.

"I didn't do it," he muttered into her hair. "I swear it, Christine! I would never do that, not after what I've gone through…"

"I know," she whispered back, clutching the back of his head as one would hold a child. "I know it wasn't you. I know you, Erik, you wouldn't do something like this."

"Why do they keep asking me?" he questioned, voice muffled. "What did I do to them? That damn officer keeps coming after me…I've seen her outside my house, Christine. My house! She just sits out there, watching me as if she thinks I'll snap and plead guilty. Why won't she leave me alone? I didn't do it!"

Christine said nothing, only held him closer. Finally, he drew away, sniffling slightly. She could see the tears on his face, snaking down across his cheeks and lips. She kissed him, tender, her hand moving unconsciously to wipe away the tears she couldn't remove with her mouth. Her fingers slipped upward, into the shadow, into uncharted territory…

His hand shot up and captured her wrist in a painfully-tight grip. He pressed her backwards into the wall, pulling back from her kiss.

"What are you doing?" he demanded and she was surprised to hear not anger but pure panic edging his tone.

"I'm going to prove to you that I don't give a damn about your appearance," she answered defiantly. "Erik, we've built this entire friendship up without my ever seeing your face. I think I deserve a bit of credit here."

"Is that what you think?" he asked in a quiet, trembling voice. "You don't get it. The reason you've always been able to deal with me this way is because you have got some mental picture of me as this mysterious tortured artist. You probably have all the details worked out in that fantasy portrait. But that's just what it is, Christine, a fantasy. The face that I have, the one I was so cursed with, is not a dream visage, my dear. It's a nightmare!"

He wrenched away from her, facing Joseph Buquet's sleeping body once again. The boy had short brown hair and an All-American face. If it weren't for the bruises covering his eyes and cheeks, or for the smashed look his broken nose had, he would've looked like a perfectly nice boy.

"Looks mean nothing," Erik whispered, more to convince himself than anything else. "Appearance is non-existent."

Christine's hand closed over his shoulder. "I think it's time we got out of here," she murmured. He nodded, wanting to be anywhere but here, in this hospital room…with her.

A/N: Short, yes, but it was a happy little…okay, not happy. But it was an update! Can't deny that, can you?

Review Replies:

Paranoia- Actually, my friend just told me about that song. I'll have to track it down.

Fox Xanatos- I'm glad that scene amused so many people. I was kind of nervous writing it…

ENTR'ACTE- Not a series of song-fics, no. I'm just adding in the occasional song I hear that reminds me of Erik. And there are quite a few of them…-twitch-

Xoxerikangelxox- lol, all right there? That bucket wasn't too cramped, was it?

MadameAngel- Umm…-watches helplessly as yet another fangirl removes my hero- I kind of need him…

Alixy- Woah, you don't like cookies? –eyes bug out of head- That's blasphemous! Kind of like my friend who hates pizza…but never mind. What exactly is the difference between fluff and mush?

GabreilsGirl- It is kinda perfect, isn't it? Just the whole thing about how appearance is so important in school….yeah.

Just-an-Echo- Voila! More!

Silent Tragedy- Uh…-blinks- What was that, exactly?

AMLisdabomb- I have no idea what you were talking about with the…stump thing…umm…yeah, I don't have AIM, I have yahoo…and you aren't an asshole, you're very sweet for reviewing so much. And I still think that "shit happens" thing is utterly hilarious. I love black humor…

Jedi Blu, Lady At Large- Well, that's a frightening image. Here, have an update!

La Foamy- lol, I personally loved writing the penguin thing…I wondered how you guys would react. Glad it was positive.

V Leader of Amoi- Ah, I see. Everything now makes sense….

SmileVampy- Drama queens are just so much fun…

EmailyGirl- When I get a chance, I'll do that.

Padfootwolfboy-nervous twitch- Ah, um…okay. I'll let my alter-ego know…

erik'sangel527- Sorry! I don't mean to forget you guys, I swear I don't…

Angel-of-Music1331- How is that logic, exactly? To quote the great Buffy: "Your logic does not resemble our Earth-logic." Hah, sad, yes I am…

Aki T- No, she hasn't, as you can see here. I have a frightening fascination with song lyrics and have never been in a choir class because when I sing, people's eardrums bleed. Thus, I come up with randomness. –grins charmingly- There, exposition that you really didn't want or need.