November, 1847

Sixteen year old Private Erik Black moaned in his darkness, emitting a throaty sound of agony. His eyes were tightly closed, and yet he continued to see the flames that had driven him from the world of the living. Surely he had now entered some kind of realm that hovered between life and death, thrown from the battlefield by an explosion of cannon fire – fire that haunted him still. He was hardly aware of how much time had lapsed since his injury – his last memories were of mid September, of the battle for Mexico City itself.

Now he found himself fading in and out of consciousness in a southern Texan hospital. When sight came to him, he found that only one eye granted him vision, the other was wrapped in bandages. Erik understood that his injuries had been grave, and yet he had managed to retain all of his limbs as well as his life. There was a chance he would loose his right eye, and he knew he was being overcome by a raging fever. Still he fought for life, unwilling to pass into the realm of eternal darkness.

A voice spoke to him softly in his fitful rest, soothing his inflamed mind. Her distant voice reminded him of his mother, who had died when he was only seven years old. His father had died before he was born, and his mother had been gifted with enough good sense to send Erik to a carpentry shop to learn a trade at a young age. When she passed away from fever, Erik had remained a carpenter, growing fond of his work. When he was fifteen, Erik set out to join the military, willing to serve for a two year term. And this is where it had left him – wounded and dying in a hospital that seemed impossibly far from his hometown of Augusta, Georgia.

And what of Lucy?

Dimly, Erik thought of his sweetheart back home. She had agreed to marry him one day, and promised to wait for his return. He had once been quite handsome: his skin was tan, his eyes a peculiar shade of blue, and his hair was jet black. He usually kept his hair slicked back and well kept, and prided himself on being clean-shaven and maintaining a dignified appearance. He was quite reserved, and kept to himself as often as possible. Because he had been orphaned at such a young age, Erik had been unable to attend a proper school, and instead contented himself to reading whatever old discarded books he could afford from the local bookstore.

He was a brilliant young man. Erik had quickly learned arithmetic, able to make extraordinarily accurate measurements. He had also become quite talented at drafting, as well as learning the art of music. The boy was entirely self-taught, becoming unusually apt at learning to play the pianos he helped to carve from soft pine. Now he clung to life desperately, becoming increasingly dependant upon the soft, mother-like voice of the nurse who attended him.

One day, Erik felt consciousness at last return to him. The dim haze that had hung over his mind in previous returns to the world of the waking had faded. Erik was able to see clearly at last, and he looked around the sunlit room he was being held in. It was a private, two-patient room, which surprised him. Usually, soldiers were not held in such places, instead left to crowded hallways of the wounded. Perhaps he had been more ill than he first thought. A shadow passed into the room, and Erik struggled to get a view of the woman dressed in white.

"Nurse?" his usually toned voice was raspy from lack of use.

"You are awake!" Ah. So it was the woman who sounded so much like his mother. He watched as she came into view at last, seeing that she was quite different from the woman who had died ten years past. This woman had striking emerald green eyes and long, dark brown hair that hung in a braid over her shoulder.

"Thank you," the visible half of Erik's face softened to an expression of gratitude. The nurse nodded to him and placed the back of her hand against his forehead.

"It seems your fever broke sometime during the night." She nodded in approval as she reached to a table beside the bed.

"Who are you?" Erik winced as she placed a cloth dripping with cold water against the side of his face.

"My name is Anna Giry," she replied softly. "And who might you be?"

"They didn't tell you when I was brought here?"

"No. Several men were wounded in the explosion, and all of you were burned beyond recognition. There is a list of men you could be, but your identity has been unknown for a little over a month now." She lightly touched the bandages over the right side of his face, and he felt a sharp pain from the contact. Burns…

"I am Private Erik Black. Pleased to meet you, ma'm." His breath came out in a hiss as she slowly began removing the cloth wrapped around his head.

"Your bandages must be changed, Erik." She spoke in a no-nonsense tone, not allowing any room for protest. Slowly she unwound the cloth, and Erik tried his best to bear the pain.

"You are still in no condition to leave," she answered his unspoken question. "You are a slow healer, my friend." Erik offered a weak smile. He had never been stricken ill in the past, indeed, he hadn't even caught the disease that killed his mother.

"I have never fallen ill before," he swallowed, becoming increasingly aware of his need for water. "Nurse Giry, might I have a bit of water please?" She nodded and moved away from him for a moment, returning with a small bowl.

"Lean your head forward," she instructed as she placed one hand behind his head for support. Part of him felt frustrated that he needed such assistance to merely take a drink, but he understood there was no other way. Once his thirst had been quenched, Erik leaned back again, simply wondering at the feeling of air reaching his wounded flesh.

"How bad is the burn, ma'm?" He watched as she slowly applied a small amount of lotion to her hand, and lightly touched it to his right cheek. He sucked in a breath at the pain, but did not cry out.

"It is severe," she answered shortly. "But I believe you will be able to regain use of your right eye once the swelling recedes." Erik closed his eyes in acknowledgement. It would most likely scar. He only hoped that his face was not too terribly marked from the incident, that he would still be appealing enough for his beloved Lucy.

And so the days continued to pass. Erik formed an odd sort of friendship with 24 year old Anna Giry. She was native to the state of Mississippi, but she had moved to Texas with her daughter in order to be of more use when her husband, Captain James Giry, enlisted in the army. She had been trained as a nurse, and she thought she could be closer to him by transferring to a Texan hospital. Her 4 year old daughter, Meg, shadowed her about wherever she went. Erik soon grew to become amused by the fair haired child that regarded him with the utmost curiosity the few times that Nurse Giry brought the child with her to his room.

"Do you know Daddy?" The child hovered at the edge of the bed, taking care to be on his left side. Erik regarded her for a moment, and then shook his head.

"I have heard of him," he replied. "Captain Giry is well respected among his men, and a fine soldier. But I do not know him personally." Meg beamed at him and quickly skittered out of the room to interrogate more soldiers about her father. Erik smiled faintly to himself. In the past few weeks, he had become more social than he ever remembered being in his life. He had quickly grown to trust Nurse Giry, and he felt an annoyed sort of amusement for her shy little girl. He could not remember anyone regarding him in such a non-judgmental way.

Back home, everyone was well aware of Erik's "tragic" situation. He had been quite unique – not being taken in by a Church based orphanage. Instead he was a working boy, perfectly polite, but very withdrawn. He was not particularly well liked, and when others dealt with him, they stuck strictly to being as polite as the situation called for. That was how he was treated – with politeness, never warmth.

Lucy had been different.

She was the daughter of a farmer, and she often stopped by on various errands in the town. The fiery red head had soon been taken with an insatiable curiosity about the reclusive carpenter boy, and they had soon grown accustomed to one another. They claimed to be in love, and Erik didn't know any better. Lucy had been his only friend, and perhaps he was in love with her. He was uncertain about the prospect of marriage, but she might be the only girl to ever accept the withdrawn carpenter.

He only hoped that she waited for his return.

December, 1847

The new month was marked by a fresh arrival to Erik's private room. He had soon learned that Nurse Giry insisted he be placed apart from the others for his health, and it was her continued suggestion he remain here, because she had soon realized his withdrawn nature. Erik was amazed by how quickly he befriended the distant nurse, and their friendship became almost teasing in nature.

When Captain Day arrived to the small room, he was in very poor condition. The man had received a blow to the stomach, and such wounds quite often proved to be fatal. Shockingly, he had managed to maintain a feeble grasp on life, and Nurse Giry thought his chances better in an airier, more private room.

"I do hope you aren't too put out by the fact you must share your space," Nurse Giry commented over her shoulder as she attended to the unconscious soldier. Erik only watched her curiously.

"What did you say his name was?"

"Captain Charles Day," she replied. Erik raised his eyebrow in vague recognition.

"I have fought alongside this man," he said slowly. "I served under him. He is a brave soldier. I hope he recovers."

"As do I," Nurse Giry straightened and studied the fitful man laying beneath her. "His daughter is here."

"His daughter?"

"Her name is Christine. She is only five years old, and her family has lived here for a few years. Her mother died not long ago, so a few members of the hospital staff have agreed to keep watch over her while her father is a patient."

"Would you happen to be one of those staff members?" Erik smirked. As cold and distant as Anna Giry pretended to be, he had grown to realize she was truly an extraordinarily compassionate woman. She cast a suspicious glance at him over her shoulder and looked away before answering.

"It just so happens that I am. I have a little girl around her age, if you recall. I think it best the children play together to pass the time."

"A hospital is a strange playground for children."

"My dear sir," Nurse Giry turned to face him and headed towards the door of the small room. "Unless you would like to volunteer responsibility for the little Day girl, I suggest you keep such opinions to yourself." With that, she tossed her braid over her shoulder and left Erik to his thoughts. He frowned in thought. Just what had she been so testy about?

"Sir?" A small voice pulled Erik out of his state of half sleep. He had still been unable to rest easily, and the remains of fever lingered over his healing body. He opened his cloudy blue eye and looked over at the child who was perched on the side of his bed. Her hands were lightly placed at the edge of his bed, her eyes impossibly large, the color of dark chocolate.

"Child?" he returned her questioning tone in the same manner. She tilted her head curiously, dark brown curls spilling over her small shoulders.

"You can wake up!" Her voice was almost musical in nature, and strangely crisp for such a small child. Erik's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Certainly I can wake up," he answered. "Why do you say such a thing?"

"Daddy won't wake up," she lowered her gaze sadly. Erik flicked a glance across the room, at the still form lying there. This must be the Day child.

"Christine?" He tested his theory.

"How do you know my name?"

"Your father told me about you, not long ago." He fixed the girl with the same curious expression she bestowed upon him. Her dark eyes lit up with an inner shine Erik had never seen before.

"Really? What did he say?" She smiled at him, glowing with the strange internal light.

"He said you were an angel," he replied quietly. Now he was able to understand why his commanding officer had said such a thing of the girl. She certainly looked like a heavenly being, just the sort of child that happily played about the very throne of God. He returned her smile, in spite of himself.

"Why Mistah Black," Nurse Giry's voice cut into his thoughts, and Erik's smile faded as he looked over at his friend. "I believe that is the first time I have ever seen you smile." Her bright eyes glinted playfully as she patted the top of Christine's head. "Child, I must attend to him now. Run along." The girl nodded, and with a lingering glance over her shoulder, she left the room. "You seem to have taken a shine to the girl." Nurse Giry looked at him curiously.

"I listened to her father speak of her, on long nights." He did not adopt any sort of defensive tone. He knew she was merely curious about his strange behavior of actually smiling. "Is it so odd to think that I am capable of emotions other than distant, cold politeness?" Now Nurse Giry smiled faintly.

"Perhaps not. I am well aware that you are not as cold and distant as you appear to be, although I was indeed surprised to see you speaking so kindly to the child. You are usually less patient with Meg's questions."

"Meg is a little…" he trailed off for a moment, searching for the proper words. "Insistent upon maintaining a conversation."

"She's too curious for her own good, you mean." The nurse laughed quietly as she changed his bandages. The pain was not as severe as time wore on, and she risked leaving his face exposed for hours at a time, just to breathe in the fresh air. The swelling had also receded considerably, and it would only be a matter of time until he would see if he retained vision in his right eye.

Two weeks passed, and Erik's hopes regarding the matter were realized. He was soon able to open both eyes, and found that his vision was just as sharp as it had ever been. He was quite thankful for such a situation, and he soon grew hopeful that he would be able to leave the hospital. He was soon able to rise and walk about the room, trying to regain the strength in his worn body. Several times he asked Nurse Giry for a mirror, to see just how extensive the damage to the right side of his face had been, but she insisted such a request was foolish.

One chilly morning, Erik watched little Christine perched in a chair beside her still unconscious father, drawing a picture.

"What are you drawing, child?" She regarded him for a moment, and then slowly looked down at the pad of paper in her hands. She looked uncomfortable, almost embarrassed.

"I am drawing an angel, sir," her voice was quiet, and she would not look up again. Erik raised an eyebrow.

"Is it in honor of Christmas?" The holiday was quickly approaching, although it was hard to tell in the solemn setting of the Texan hospital. Christine shook her head.

"No," she answered quietly. "I never liked Christmas."

"Why is that?" Erik was quite taken by surprise by her answer.

"Mama died last Christmas." His heart went out to the girl, so vibrant, but so touched by loss. This was the first time he had seen such sadness creep into her bright face. "And now Daddy will die soon too."

"Christine!" It was the first time he had used her name, and she snapped her head up to meet his gaze. Erik was unsure of what to say, only that he could not stand to see such innocence in pain. He did not want the child to become cold and distant, loosing her inner light, as he had. "Don't say such things."

"Adults like to pretend that nothing is wrong, because they think it won't make children sad." The girl made a haunting statement, her large brown eyes never leaving his. He wished fiercely that there was some comfort he could give. Although she doubtlessly counted him as one such adult, he knew he had scarcely passed from the world of childhood himself.

"I won't tell you that nothing is wrong, child," he kept his voice even and serious. "Your father is gravely wounded, and yes, he might die. But it won't do any good to think about his death unless it happens. Until then, you ought to be content that there is a chance he might live." He swallowed, praying the right words would come to him. "And Christmas is not about death, child. It is about new life. Whenever something passes away, something new and wonderful joins the world. I lost both my parents at a young age, but I discovered something within myself that allowed me to go on. So you see, it is simply part of life… to loose and to gain, it follows a strange cycle beyond our understanding."

"Before he went away to fight," Christine's voice was strangely distant, dreamlike. "Daddy promised me that an Angel would watch over me while he was gone. My very own angel! Is that what you mean? I have to loose my Daddy to gain an Angel?" Erik felt his heart breaking for the beautiful child across the room from him. What answer could he give?

"Yes, child," he replied at last. "And if you are right, if your father never leaves this room, I swear to you that I will be that angel." He scarcely knew what he was saying, making such an oath. How could he, an unmarried, wounded, 16 year old carpenter's apprentice hope to care for a five year old girl? "I give you my word, I will always protect you." The light quickly returned to Christine's eyes as she beamed at him.

"I know," she answered. Erik was taken aback.

"You know?" he prompted.

"I knew you were an Angel as soon as I saw your face without that cloth wrapped around it. You don't look like other people do, and I knew you would get well in time to be my Angel." Erik drew in a breath, shocked. His face was completely uncovered these days, and he had assumed the damage was not as bad as Nurse Giry had initially suggested, for the little girl had not reacted in disgust or fright upon seeing him. He never thought there was anything more to her curious stares.

"Look," Christine rose and lightly stepped across the room, her pad of paper in hand. She held up her drawing, and he saw that it was a crude likeness of himself. He stared at the strange scribble she had scrawled over the right side of his face, and his fingers lightly touched the burned and twisted flesh there. What did he look like?

"You should enjoy Christmas," he said at last. "A child like you deserves to enjoy the holiday. It is a time of celebration of life, not of mourning. It is a time to express love to your neighbors. And it is a time of wonder and joy, especially for young ones." Christine tilted her head curiously. "Tell me child, do you know any Christmas carols?" She shook her head slowly, and he nodded. "Would you like me to teach you some?" Christine slowly nodded her head in affirmation. Erik took in a breath, and began to sing an old hymn he had learned from his mother. Christine leaned on the edge of his bed, utterly enraptured by his beautifully toned voice. Erik knew he possessed an unusual talent, and he adored music above anything else in his life.

Once he had completed the verse, he slowly helped Christine to repeat it. The child had quite a bit of potential in her high voice, and Erik nodded in approval. Christine enjoyed the session so much, she asked him to teach her something new every day. This was how they passed the days until Christmas came upon them.

On the day of the holiday, Christine skipped into the hospital room happily. Erik was sitting up in bed, reading, as he usually did to pass the time. He glanced up as the child entered the room, hopped over to her father's bed, and kissed the sleeping man as she always did. Then she whirled around to face Erik, her hands behind her back and a mischievous glint in her dark brown eyes. Erik raised an eyebrow and slowly lowered his book.

"Good afternoon, child," he greeted her, wondering why she was in such a mood. She smiled and politely dipped into a small curtsey.

"Good afternoon, Sir," she replied. "And Merry Christmas!" He smiled warmly at her, knowing just how difficult it must have been for her to release the pain of knowing she had lost her mother only a year ago.

"Merry Christmas," he answered softly.

"I brought you something!" she chimed excitedly. Erik's face showed an expression of surprise.

"Oh?" What on earth could the girl be thinking? She hopped over to his bed, and held out her hand. A string dangled from it, with a single, shining brass button hanging upon it. Erik reached out and she dropped the strange gift into his hand, never once loosing her excited smile.

"It is an Angel pendant!" she exclaimed. "Mama told me once that my guardian Angel would want to always have something of mine, so that he could always find me. So, since you are to become my Angel soon, I am giving you something of mine so you can always find me!" Erik felt tears burning his eyes at the sheer beauty in her innocence. He pulled the makeshift necklace about his neck, watching as her coat button settled to hang just over his heart.

"I shall wear it always," he said quietly. Her smile only grew.

"I love you, Angel," she chirped. Erik closed his eyes and wondered how he had ever managed to earn the love of such a wonderful child.

A/N: I suppose I ought to offer a bit of an explanation for the origin of this story. I have recently rediscovered my own Southern roots, and have begun studying the Civil War. The next logical step was to somehow combine this newfound interest with my current obsession, and thus an AU fic was created. I altered some ages around a bit… I know in several PoTO versions, Erik is more than 11 years older than Christine, but I didn't really want to do that in my story. I prefer to keep them closer in age. I have also played around with some names, trying to Americanize them, so that they don't all sound French.

Please let me know what you think so far, and tell me if you think this story is worth continuing. I believe I would like to continue it regardless, but initial reviews are always rather important to me. I don't claim to be a historian, so if inaccuracies appear, I apologize for them. Also, in regards to the progress of my other stories: "The Strength to Try" shall still be my most updated phic, and "Bound" is nearing it's conclusion. That story is quite slow moving, so I apologize for anyone waiting for me to update. I shall write on this story in between updates of "The Strength to Try".

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or concepts from any version of The Phantom of the Opera. This disclaimer applies to all forthcoming chapters of this story.