A\N: Here it is... Enjoy :-) Now... I am leaving for London soon (who in the world flies over to London for a day to see Phantom? ) , then proceding to get handed from one relative\friend\other type of person to another. I have no idea when I will be able to get hold of a computer with internet connection again. Hopefully soon. But know that I am writing!

Chapter Five

"Matthieu, hold still, s'il tu plaît," Christine begged in a desperate voice. At eighteen months, the little lad possessed enough energy to consume all of Christine's patience and worries.

In response, the toddler let out a high-pitched laugh and once again threw off his hat.

Christine glared, then sighed in defeat. Already, the trip to the museum proved to be more trouble than it was worth. At least the gloves stayed on this time…

"Ma-man!" the impatient boy spurted the word, clinging onto his guardian's arm.

Christine retrieved the disposed hat, carefully picked up her child, and propped him securely on her hip. Placing a quick peck on his forehead, she walked out of her house.

A gust of chilling air greeted her. The sky was relatively bare and the sun was allowed to bathe the world in its presence, a sight that pleased the Vicomtesse. It was mid-September, and a season of stubborn cold weather descended upon the Northern part of France. In addition, it generously brought along its faithful companion- a series of clouds that seemed to hold their throne in the sky until the end of time. Today, pity seemed to be shed upon the area's inhabitants, and the shield floating in the sky was blown away. However, while the sun could once again face the earth, it did not mean that the low temperatures and biting wind left.

Pulling Matthieu closer to her, Christine gazed out across the landscape. The trees began to paint their leaves with vibrant hues of warm colours, marking the beginning of the year's annual dance. Involuntarily, a simple song about autumn's march appeared in her mind. Almost hesitantly, she hummed the short verse, examining her son's contours the whole time. As soon as her last note faded into the wind, he began to fidget.

The suppressed energy rushing through him, along with a collection of various items that seemed to be of unbelievable interest, quickly caused Matthieu to wriggle out of Christine's protective embrace and stumble upon the ground with a pair of shaky feet. Placing one foot in front of the other in a focused manner, he reached his goal: a pile of colourful pebbles carelessly discarded along the edge of the path.

Poking them timidly with a stick that was conveniently resting on the ground, Matthieu leaned over the rocks. He poked again, and the top pebble rolled leisurely to the ground. Grinning, the toddler turned toward his mother, pride of his accomplishments obviously evident. Pointing at his toys, he poked again. Another tumbling pebble caused him to squeal in delight.

Christine smiled and held out her hand. There would be no point in visiting the Rennes Museum if her baby would be grumpy with a desire to sleep. "Let's go, my little one."

After several more beckonings, Matthieu reluctantly returned, and the couple proceeded slowly down the road. After several unsuccessful attempts at catching disturbed birds, the little boy resigned to simply stomping lazily a step behind Christine.

Soon, the silhouette of the museum became visible, its red roof cheerfully standing between two ancient trees. Its walls were built with white bricks and thick wooden windows revealed only small portions of the plethora of artistic materials inside. Twin towers spiralled on either side of the structure, alluding to a master's castle, yet possessing the cheerful qualities of a child's building blocks. On one end, a flag bearing the French colours waved proudly, while on the other side, a flag bearing the official Rennes logo greeted any visitors.

The Vicomtesse scooped her baby up and walked around to the side entrance, avoiding the looping road that allowed various vehicles to drop off its passengers. It being a Tuesday afternoon and the majority of France's population busily occupied at work, the museum seemed to be functioning slowly; only two other cars were abandoned in the adjacent parking place. Christine let out a sigh of relief, grateful that Matthieu's shrieks of amusement would disturb a fewer amount of people.

Pushing open the wide wooden doors, she slipped inside, immediately saluted by the thick silence of the massive building. The ceilings arched high above her, murals of the Earth and heavens painted with an amazing degree of detail. Angels shared the landscape with stags and dolphins, children played with squirrels and danced among the flowers, various birds perched themselves on the Lord. The ocean's waves faded into clouds that marked the floors of the holy realm above. The unity of life shone dominantly throughout the painting, securing every organism into its own role in life.

Twin columns stood elegantly, supporting the canvas above. On them, multiple plants and other articles of nature were sketched into the stone by an expert hand.

All of these wonders were lost on the young Matthieu, who screeched with excitement and pointed eagerly toward a stuffed horse displayed near the lobby.

Blushing, Christine shushed him and quickly paid the required amount of francs to enter the actual exhibitions featured at ­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­the museum.

To the right lay the countless amount of European art, ranging from the soothing tones of landscapes to the fires dancing wildly in the eyes of gods. To the left, collections of stuffed fauna were displayed, bringing the world of wild animals into a single room. Naturally, Matthieu tugged his mother toward the animals, where he could finally experience the pleasure of inspecting an animal without it sprinting away at the first opportunity.

The small hallway lead to an open room. Conveniently silenced with amazement, the toddler began a subconscious routine of slowly approaching a displayed animal, staring at it for a moment, walking around it if it was particularly interesting, pointing it out dutifully to his mother, then pitter-pattering over to the next one. Zebra, lion, panda, beaver, moose…

"Maman!"

The panic cry exploded throughout the room, startling a nearby couple. Matthieu stumbled toward Christine, tears building up in his eyes. Once safely settled in her arms, Matthieu's wail subdued to raw whimpers. He buried his face in her thick hair, arms wrapping themselves skilfully around her neck.

"Matthieu… mon petit, what is the matter?" Christine whispered in soothing tones, rocking him against her with a comforting rhythm.

Without turning his head, he thrust his finger in the general direction that he came from.

Christine looked. The moose, the owl… she gasped. A solid three feet in diameter, a spider was propped up with several pieces of wood. It was completely black, with an abundance of black hairs coating the back and fading away as they reached any of the eight repulsive legs. Gleaming teeth stuck out of the mouth at odd angels, while the eyes popped threateningly out of the skull. Of course, it wasn't real, but the source of Matthieu's fear was obvious- the thing was truly hideous.

"Shhhh.. it's only a model. Spiders may be ugly, but they don't mean any harm. Please stop the tears… Look, Matthieu! Look at the pretty books!" Christine walked to an opposite corner and knelt down in front of a small bookshelf. She pulled out a colourful cover. Animals for the Young. Trying her hardest to distract the distressed boy, she began flipping through the pages. "Look, a puppy! Yes, short brown hair. What does a puppy do?"

Matthieu gazed earnestly at his mother for a moment before replying in a small voice. "Woof."

Christine beamed and rewarded him with a hug. "That's right! Woof. Yes, that's a wolf. And a bird…"

Her whispers trailed away as the boy began to flip through the pages by himself. Sighing, she sat down in a nearby chair and allowed her head to relax. Just a few seconds would be enough to give her tired eyes a much needed break. As long as she could hear Matthieu, he was fine.

Yet as his quiet mumbles and soft turn of pages continues, Christine's rest deepened, eventually leading her to a welcoming realm of peace.

Suddenly Matthieu's attention travelled to something moving near the doorway. The cat that he so intently studied went unnoticed by Christine, even as it left the room and Matthieu followed. A real cat held much more interest than a flat picture of one.

Checking once more that his attire secured the face underneath, Erik glanced out of the window, and, seeing that no one lingered around the carriage, stepped out.

It would do him well to get out of Paris for a day. His determination to continue his life without any traces of Christine de Chagny was strengthened after their unlucky encounter at the Opera Populairé over two years ago. For once, mercy seemed to be shed upon him. The woman had not returned to his life and he was able to enter a job regarding construction. His years argued with his desire to build, so he settled upon drawing out the floor plans that swirled sparingly in his head. Yet when a vision appeared, the overall work required for the building was amazing. Such details and desires were not yet seen by any of the constructors that were asked to give birth to the actual structure. Many explanations and diagrams later, Erik's wants were finally understood and managed to be carried out to a level that even Erik was forced to approve of. However, he knew that if he were granted the ability to sculpt away on the stone, he would do a much more appealing job.

Soon, Erik's plans were honoured throughout France under an anonymous name. Lately, he spent all of his free time clarifying requests and answering to companies that wanted to buy his ideas. He decided that he had the right to treat himself to a little trip to Rennes Museum. While there, he wanted to look at the architectural furnishings on the staircases that lead to the towers… he heard good things about them.

Entering the building, he glanced up at the painting overhead. He smirked bitterly; such an accepting portrayal of life could only be seen in the artworks of young artists with minds unscarred by reality.

After regarding the painfully happy cashier with a sickened stare, he paid and made his way through the framed paintings. Most of them featured similar concepts. The reuniting of loved ones. The longing between loved ones. The separation of loved ones. The interaction between loved ones. While they were unmistakably beautifully furnished, their effect was lost upon Erik. Perhaps not as much lost as ignored. Rather, tried to be ignored. He gave up and moved toward another section of the room.

Walking unhurriedly, he ventured deeper into the museum. In a way, the building reminded him of his own lair; so many corridors snaking in various directions and random dead ends. Suddenly, his pace slowed even more and his gaze narrowed as he approached a particular painting. With an unrecognizable expression on his face, he trailed one of his gloved fingers over the rough texture of hardened paint.

The whole canvas was covered with shades of black and blue, save for the ghostly moon that loomed fearlessly in the sky, softly tainting the other objects. The bare trees that hugged the sides of the scene were bent at awkward angles, as if bowing away from the nightly orb's presence. Yet one can not hide from nature, and hollow highlights gleamed upon the gnarled bark.

At day, the trees were bathed generously in the carefree sunlight, but the other half of each cycle they were handed over to the guarding grip of the moon. However, the moon gained its light from the sun, so was it really so different? Perhaps the light was manipulated- subdued- to meet night's characteristics, but was it not essentially the same?

Erik's eyes swept downward to the glistening ponds etched into the landscape when a content exclamation of "cat" sliced through his concentration.

The phantom turned around and found a smiling infant clutching the wall with one hand, the other extended in a pointing gesture. Again, he laughed, and, shedding Erik a proud look, repeated his sprouted form of "cat!"

Erik glanced down to where the child was indicating, and indeed found a black cat sitting with dignity near his feet. With an annoyed twitch of its tail in the general direction of the young boy, the cat stared back tiredly at the phantom. Presenting an impressive yawn, it began cleaning its mane of glamorous fur growing around the neck.

Erik pitied that cat. Being chased around by curious toddlers was not one of his favourite past-times.

Apparently, the majestic yawn was an attraction in itself, for the young boy squealed and once again began walking a clumsy path toward the feline. Sensing danger, it gave a disturbed hiss and sprang away. The boy's path momentarily faltered, and then his gaze was brought back to the phantom.

"Uh-oh," he declared with a guilty grin. With an enthusiastic flap of his arms, he began to advance upon Erik.

Shit, he thought, glancing in the direction of the departed cat. What kind of mother allows her child to wander around a museum by himself?

The toddler paused a few steps in front of Erik, raising an expectant face to the phantom's, where distress was engraved into every one of his features. He held out a small hand and stumbled out a greeting consisting of "bou joo".

"Matthieu!"

Both faces turned in surprise to the panicked voice.

Christine ran across the hall, her gaze completely focused on her child. She knelt beside him, scolding him for running away and stressing what a fright he gave her, but all the time clutching his small body against hers and covering his head with kisses. When she was content that the boy was once again safe in her presence, she began straightening his collar. She then turned her attention to the man that Matthieu had been pestering, her gaze slowly travelling from his shoes upward.

"Pardon me, monsieur-" her eyes reached the figure's face. A deep blush erupted on her cheeks as she took in his mask and bewildered eyes observing her.

After a moment of tense silence, Erik pointed at the child and asked, "What is that?"

Christine rose and linked hands with the toddler.

"That is my son, Matthieu," she replied in a surprisingly steady voice.

Erik's shock was quickly replaced with amusing satisfaction as he realized that the boy resembled Raoul as much as a slug resembles a bear. The dark curls occupying his head were obviously ancestors of Christine's hair, and the striking clear green eyes were exact replicas of his mother's. Even the stubborn curve of the jaw was similar.

But what astounded Erik the most was the way that his angel looked at her son. Such a level of unconditional love Erik had never witnessed, even when she lay cradled in Raoul's embrace. The pure connection of heart and soul was astonishing, and her aura of devotion clearly radiated over him.

Matthieu beamed up at Erik before tugging on Christine's hand. She bent over and he clambered into her hold, comfortably nuzzling his head against her breasts. He contently stuck a thumb into his mouth, signalling that his adventures were over for the day.

Straightening, Christine faced her former teacher and awkwardly motioned to the still bundle lying in her arms. "I'm sorry if he caused you any trouble."

When Erik didn't reply, she continued. "I must get going. He is ready for his afternoon nap and is bound to get rather heavy shortly."

The phantom remained silent.

"Good day to you, Erik," the Vicomtesse bid him farewell, his name sounding forced upon her lips.

She walked past him, her eyes determinedly focused straight ahead of her. Her hold on Matthieu tightened as she could still feel Erik's gaze lingering upon her back. Or perhaps the small head that rested upon her shoulder? She quickened her pace. Letting out a tight sigh, she opened the wooden doors that had greeted her earlier and began walking the stretch toward her house.

When the pair of doors closed, Erik's shoulders sagged as a mixture of emotions stormed within him. As idiotic as he might have seemed with his unusual silence, at least he didn't say something that he would regret later.

He walked toward one of the grand windows that occupied the walls. Brushing aside the thick curtains made from rich velvet painted in scarlet, his eyes followed the Vicomtesse, trailing her path until she blended into the surrounded landscape. Even then, he continued to stare out of window, one thought repeatedly resurfacing in his jungle of tangled feelings.

No soul was more lucky that Matthieu.