Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom or any of the characters mentioned in the following.

Summary: When the managers agree to perform the phantom's opera with Christine as the lead, everything seems to be going perfectly for her and Erik. But will it last?

A/N: Thanks to Meghan and Brittany for being so supportive and not making me feel like such a dork.

Chapter Five

Rehearsals were in full swing for the new opera "Don Juan Triumphant," by a mysterious local composer. Christine Daae was exhausted from working so hard on it. She'd always wanted to have the lead in a major production, but she'd never realized how completely draining it could be. She had to learn all of her songs and blocking, plus there were costume fittings and her singing lessons. These days she hardly had a moment alone, except for when she was in bed for the night, and even those times seemed to be getting shorter and shorter.

She rarely saw Erik, and probably would not have seen him at all if it had not been for their singing lessons. The more of the opera they sang together the more she began to take notice of the faults in Pianji's voice. Erik could jump octaves like it wasn't even trifling, and he never missed a queue or cracked a note. The part was written for his voice, and Pianji struggled, to say the least, at measuring up to him. It hardly mattered. This was rumored to be the tenor's last show with the Opera Populaire. It was said he and Carlotta had made plans to leave Paris altogether, although nobody seemed to be able to pinpoint where they would go.

Christine shifted uncomfortably in her bed located in the ballet school dormitories. Maybe she really was becoming a diva. She'd slept here almost every night since she came to train with the ballet as a small child. It had always been good enough for her when she was in the chorus. Lately all she could think about when she lied down on her bed was how much softer the one Erik slept in was. With a groan she tried to reposition herself yet again to get comfortable. Yet again it proved impossible. Finally she gave up what had proved to be futile a long time before. She grabbed the robe she kept by her bedside for emergencies and tip toed out, carefully avoiding the bodies of the other sleeping maidens, as she had done on so many other occasions.

She tripped sleepily down the cobweb-strewn corridor that led to heart of the opera house. Her feet seemed to know the way by now so thankfully it didn't require too much input from her head. She was grateful she'd learned to avoid the murky waters of the lake when the drowned body of a rat floated past her. She shivered. Death had never sat well with her, even if it was something or someone she despised. Raoul's injury had proved that, among other things. When at last the candle lit haven came into view she sucked in a breath of surprise. Erik was slumped over his organ in exhaustion. The uncovered side of his face almost mirrored the deathly pallor of its artificial twin. His brow was covered in sweat and his normally steady hands shook every time he took a breath. Softly, almost inaudibly he murmured a name in his slumber, "Christine," he called softly. "Christine, come back! Don't leave me here alone!" It sounded more urgent now, nearly frantic. It tore at her heart to see him this way. She knew he would never allow himself to look so vulnerable when he was conscious. Even his dreams were riddled with insecurities. Was there nothing she could do or say to put his fears to rest?

Gently she laid her hand on his shoulder.

"Erik," she whispered softy, "Erik!"

He stirred, but seemed unable, to wake from his slumber. He writhed unconsciously away from her touch. In an attempt to soothe him she laid her hand on his face, but withdrew it hastily once she felt how hot it was. He was burning with fever. Christine wrung her hands anxiously. What could she do? She knew only the bare minimum about how to treat an illness. It wasn't one of the things that were likely to be addressed when one was training as a dancer. She felt so helpless.

For lack of a better alternative, she resolved to at least Erik to bed. Maybe then he would sleep more restfully. She took him under the arms, but staggered under his weight. She couldn't move him on her own. Quickly, she retrieved a blanket from one of the hall closets, and wrapped it around his shoulders. She kissed him briefly on the forehead, and ran to get the one person she knew could and would help her: Madame Giry. Her earlier stealth was not mirrored as she thudded back through the underground corridors that lead to her dressing room from the house on the lake. Indeed, by the time she reached the chambers of the ballet mistress she was quite disheveled.

The older woman awoke with a start at the entrance of the young ingénue. Immediately she asked, "Is it Erik?" Christine nodded mutely, and took her hand, leading back the way she had come, finding suddenly that her voice was failing her, and all her effort was needed to restrain her tears. What if he was very ill? What if he died? No, she mustn't think such thoughts. He couldn't die. She wouldn't let him. She'd lost the most important man in her life once, and she would be damned if she ever let it happen again. "Hold on, Erik," she whispered to herself, "Hold on."