A/N: Wow, I got some really great reviews for the last chapter. It's truly amazing to me when I read some of them. I'm like, "People cried over this? For real?" I am very thankful for all of you who review, it makes my day to get them in my inbox. Just keep 'em coming, I'd like to hear what you specifically like or don't like. Thanks again!

Sandra: Thank you, I try to make this whole thing realistic.

The Singing Fox Demon: Silly Raoul thought that Christine chose Erik over him in the final lair scene because she wanted to save both their lives from the "madman". Grrr.

Raine: I know how it's spelled. I spelled it that way because I wanted to make it like slang when the driver was talking.

Terpsichore314: It's in reference to when Erik was pretty much at death's door, and Nadir's son told him to wake up and the next morning he did.

Potostfbeyeluvr: Kay's book isn't inappropriate, not in my opinion anyways.

Nekona: Yay, someone knew what that was from::chants: Reza power, Reza power!

Rhianna-Aurora and power-of -the-lightning-bolt: Thanks! Welcome to my little fan club… lmfao I'm just kidding! I only wish I had a fan club. :)

Masqueradetta: Thank you! I want to be published in the future. Not this story though, lol!

Rhana: Really? That's actually first time I've heard that… I would very much appreciate some feedback as to why you think so. :)

mymagic: Did you just compare me to the great Leroux::in shock: I am humbled….

Aravis Silvertree: You should post your story! I'd love to read it. :)

Lady Damyria: Actually, I'm trying not to make Raoul a jerk, lol. I want to keep them all in character!

et-spiritus-sancti: I was lucky enough to find a copy of the Kay book at my library! I keep checking the used books stores, though. I think you can read it online somewhere, but I'm not sure. And I'm glad you understood about what Erik did when Raoul found them, I was afraid some people wouldn't.

Soofija: Miss Cliffhanger, that should be my new pen name… hee hee.

Lucrecia LeVrai: I thought there was too much crying, too. However, I'm not writing what I would've done or what I would've preferred, I'm trying to write what Christine might've done. After all, she's only sixteen. :)

Chapter 20

The next morning dawned no better. Erik's pallid skin had grown flushed and heated, and he stirred jerkily in his sleep, occasionally moaning and mumbling a word or two so softly it was inaudible.

"What happened?" Christine questioned Nadir. "Last night he was so silent, so pale… hot to the touch, yes, but – "

"His body had little blood then. Now he has fully recovered from the blood loss, enabling the flushed skin and fever. The bullet missed vital internal organs," Nadir replied as he changed Erik's bandage. "But infection has set in – " he was cut off by Christine's gasp at the inflamed, ragged wound.

"Oh God," she whispered, mindlessly crossing herself, her hand falling from the act halfway through. "If he is going to… to…" she couldn't finish the sentence. "Just tell me..."

"I don't know," Nadir replied shortly, moving away from her and picking up his coat from where it was slung over the little desk in the corner. "I was hoping he would heal on his own, but… I was wrong. He needs a doctor."

With a last lingering glance at Erik, he continued, "I will return soon. Is there anything I can get for you, anything you need?"

She stared back at him. "Erik," she whispered. "I need Erik. So please go fetch that doctor, Monsieur."

With a curt nod, Nadir buttoned up his coat and strode out, shutting the door tightly behind him.

Christine turned away slowly and retrieved a small cloth from the washstand, dipping it briefly into the porcelain water bowl and wringing it out. She crossed the small room and sank into the chair by the bedside, folding up the wet rag and laying it across Erik's forehead.

He made a soft sound as the cool cloth touched his burning skin and Christine jumped at the it – every time he made the slightest noise or motion her heart sped up in anticipation that his eyes would open, and their gazes would meet… but each time she was let down. This restless fever was almost worse than his deathly stillness of the night before. She wished he could say something coherent instead of the soft, unintelligible and all but inaudible words that punctuated his rough breathing.

"Oh Erik," she whispered, pushing a lock of damp hair from his face. "I don't know what to do if…" she let the sentence trail off.

It seemed he was all she'd ever known, and all she ever wanted to know. That daring taste of childish romance with Raoul had not made her long for freedom – it had only convinced her how much she wanted what she already had. The very thought of continuing life without him was unimaginable, not even a complete idea. It seemed an impossibility! Life would not be life without him – his sonorous, enchanting voice that evoked her darkest fantasies and sweetest secrets, the force of his both mysterious and familiar personality, the very strength of his presence beside her. The feeling of utter security when she awoke in his arms that morning just a few days past, the masculine grace with which he moved, his rare smile, the look in his eyes when they made love for the first time…

The very idea that these memories would be the only ones she would ever have of him terrified her, and she grasped his hand tightly, her hair falling over her face as she pressed her trembling lips to his knuckles.

What on earth would she do if he… she skipped that word over in her mind. It seemed highly unlikely she could return to the Opera – even if the damage was repaired, the scandal and gossip surrounding the recent events would be unbearable. She had few other skills with which to get a job; the Opera had been her entire life.

Then there was Raoul. He was a good Catholic – would he take back a woman who had already belonged to another man? Would he even know?

She did not even care to find out. She knew now that she had no wish to marry Raoul. Dear friend – yes. Lover – no. He would be a good husband… to someone else. Christine knew there was only one to whom she would ever truly belong. A great ache welled up in her chest, but she did not cry – could not cry. It seemed there were no tears left.

X X X

Several hours passed in which Christine hummed, sang, prayed softly and unconsciously under her breath.

"Hail Mary, full of Grace, the Lord is with thee
Blessed art thou among women,
and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.
Holy Mary, Mother of God,
pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of death…"

The sound of the door startled her from her reverie.

Nadir stepped through the doorway, followed by a short, skinny little man with a wispy mustache, clasping a black doctor's bag.

"This is Doctor Gautier." Nadir said mechanically.

"Good afternoon, Mademoiselle," the man said, and Christine rose, ducking her head. "Good day, Monsieur." But her eyes never left Erik, and the doctor followed her gaze. He moved past Nadir and towards the bed. "How long has this condition – "

"About three days," Nadir replied before the man could finish. Gautier frowned. "Did you not call for a doctor before this?"

Nadir's expression grew strained. "I have a slight medical knowledge, and I believed the wound would heal on its own."

The doctor looked skeptic. "Medical knowledge is not a simple thing to come by. Did you train at a school?"

Nadir nodded towards the bed. "This man himself taught me a minor amount. Many years ago."

Gautier merely sighed and moved past Christine. Suddenly he gasped, his eyes fixed on Erik's face. "You said a bullet wound!" he said, stepping back from the bed, shock written on his thin face. "This… this…"

"A bullet wound is the matter at hand," Nadir cut in curtly. "You are a professional man, Monsieur. I am sure you will be able to ignore the obvious… and you are indeed qualified to deal with the injury?"

With a last look at Erik's exposed features, Gautier nodded slowly. "Rest assured that I am."

"And can I rest assured that you will be… discreet about this entire visit?"

The doctor stared for a moment, eyebrows raised. Then he blinked quickly, and raised his chin. "My job is to preserve life and good health, not to gossip like an old woman."

He turned away, setting his bag down on the floor and pulling the sheet away from Erik's torso. He reached to touch the bandage, then glanced at Christine. "You should probably step from the room, mademoiselle."

Christine toyed fretfully with the front of her skirts, swallowing awkwardly. "I… I have seen it before." He eyed her for a moment, but said nothing more, merely bent to retrieve a small pair of steel scissors from his bag to cut the bandage.

Christine sucked in a breath, closing her eyes and looking away. She could hear the doctor snipping away the bandage, the silence as he examined the wound, but her eyes flew open when he exclaimed, "You fool, you didn't remove the bullet!"

Nadir stepped forward, a perplexed frown on his face. "What?"

"Medical knowledge, my foot!" the doctor fumed, running his hand through his graying hair. He let out a long breath. "Excuse my reaction, monsieur, but how can you claim to have medical knowledge but somehow miss the fact that parts of the bullet are still inside?"

Nadir looked torn between embarrassment, worry and frustration. "I never claimed to be an expert; my limited knowledge runs more in the line of illnesses. Besides, there is an exit wound – "

"Yes, yes, an exit wound," Gautier replied, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Part of the bullet came out. There are still shards throughout the entire area."

"But… how?"

"It is very possible that the bullet struck the hip bone and shattered. In fact, it is most likely. It would account for the raggedness of the wound. I will know more when I remove the pieces."

With a sigh, he pulled off his coat, draping it neatly over the bedpost and glancing over at the washstand. "If you could refill that bowl with clean water, please…"

"Wait!" Christine stepped quickly in front of the doctor as he moved towards the washstand. "What are you going to do?"

"I must perform surgery on the wound, of course," he replied, looking surprised. "It is the only way to remove all the pieces."

"Surgery?" she replied slowly. "It… couldn't you just… pluck the pieces out? From the surface?"

"Of course not." For a moment, Gautier's expression was one of condescension, but it softened to sympathy. "If my prediction is correct – if the bullet hit bone and shattered as it exited the abdomen – there will be many shards, scattered deep throughout the entire area."

Christine stared down at Erik, fiddling mindlessly with the ring on her finger. Gautier noticed the nervous fidgeting. "It will not be a pretty sight. It is best you leave the room, Madame."

"Mademoiselle," Christine corrected faintly. The doctor glanced down at the ring, but said nothing.

Christine jumped when Darius touched her arm – she hadn't even noticed him enter the room.

"Come, Christine."

She shook her head slowly. "I would like to stay."

The doctor stared in disbelief. "I must assume you are joking!" He scowled disapprovingly. "It is not at all appropriate for a young lady to be present during surgery!"

Christine opened her mouth to protest, but Darius grasped her arm more firmly.

"Please, Christine," Nadir said quietly. "You wouldn't want to see this."

X X X

The hotel's small sitting room seemed to be more a library than anything else – the walls were lined with books of all kinds, and her gaze bounced nervously from one title to the other, her hands knotting her dress agitatedly in her lap. She strained to hear any sound from the room on the landing, but there was none.

An aged grandfather clock ticked steadily in the corner. The newspaper Darius read crackled each time he moved. A gray cat crouched under an armchair and thumped its tail loudly. She wanted to scream.

She was clenching her hands so tightly they were cramping – she loosened them slowly, smoothing the wrinkled fabric.

"Darius," she whispered. The sound came out hoarse and raspy; she cleared her throat and tried again. "Darius."

This time he looked up from his paper, raising his eyebrows in an invitation to speak.

"How does Monsieur Nadir know Erik?"

Surprise registered in Darius' dark eyes. "You do not know?"

"No."

He blinked several times, glancing up at the staircase. "If you do not know about Erik, perhaps it is not my position to tell."

There was a long silence.

"Monsieur, I do not know anything about that man except that I love him. Now he may be… dying…" her lips stumbled over the word and she paused before she trusted herself to speak again. "Please… just tell me something."

Darius watched her for a moment. He let out a long breath before speaking. "Nadir and Erik met many years ago, in Persia."

Christine stared. "Persia? Erik was in Persia?"

"Yes. They were both involved in the royal court. Nadir was Daroga… that means chief of police. Erik was – " He paused. "I do not know the word. Magician? No, that is not quite right. It was more than that. Conjurer… designer… political… he had much influence."

Christine blinked slowly. "Influence? How so?"

"It is hard for me to say, mademoiselle. There are no specific words. He was… highly favored. For a time. For many reasons… his feats of conjuring were astonishing, his skills of design and architecture without compare. He was… is… very clever. Very cunning. Both highly prized attributes at the Persian court."

"Influence…" Christine repeated. "Designer, inventor… what did he invent?"

"Many things, mademoiselle. Everything from child's toys to a great palace – "

The sound of a door latch halted the conversation and Christine shot from her seat, Darius's words forgotten as she turned to see Gautier emerge from the room and step out onto the landing, followed by Nadir. The doctor was conversing with him in low tones, and he turned his head to Christine as she rushed over to the staircase, gripping the banister tightly as the pair descended. "Doctor Gautier?" she breathed. "He – what…" she tripped over the words and closed her mouth quickly, not wanting to give the impression of a stammering child.

Gautier set his bag down as he reached the bottom step, taking a moment to button his coat. "I removed all fragments of the bullet, and thoroughly cleansed the wound," he said, smoothing the lapels of his coat. "Which should increase his chances. All you can pray is that the infection and inflammation will subside." He picked up his bag again and tipped his hat to her and Nadir. "Good day, Mademoiselle."

As soon as the heavy front door had closed behind him, Christine turned to Nadir, a question in her eyes. "May I…?"

Nadir gave the smallest of shrugs. "Of course. I know you will anyway."

She brushed past him, her feet sounding hollow on the stairs, moving quickly down the long landing and swinging the bedroom door wide open. Her eyes flitted from the wadded, bloodstained sheet on the floor, to the pink-tinged water in the porcelain bowl, to the freshly white bandage tight around Erik's lower torso.

"Oh, Erik," she murmured hoarsely, crossing the room and sinking to her knees at the bedside. His face was flushed but serene, his breathing peaceful, and Christine realized the doctor must have given him some drug.

"Erik, you have a chance… don't give in. Please… stay with me." She rested her forehead against the mattress, letting her eyes drift shut. She couldn't remember a time in her life when she had felt so emotionally drained.

Wait – yes, she could. When her father had died. Those days had been filled with misery and childish confusion – but more a dull, numb grief than this raw, wrenching pain she felt now...

She didn't know how long she stayed in that position, drifting in and out of a light doze and fragmented dreams until a touch to her shoulder startled her.

"Your muscles will cramp if you sleep like that," Nadir said mildly. He was holding a small bowl. "The owner's wife was kind enough to make this for you." He handed it to her. "You must eat something."

She agreed. Now that food was placed in front of her, she recognized the gnawing ache in her stomach and realized that she hadn't eaten since lunch yesterday. Her stomach must be trying to eat her from the inside out. She took several bites of the thick porridge, tasting a hint of brown sugar and cinnamon. "Thank you," she said after she swallowed. She wanted to eat, but her mind was preoccupied – she kept missing her mouth with the spoon. She finished the porridge quickly and set the bowel down on the wooden floor, biting her lip before saying "Nadir… what are we going to do?"

He had settled himself into the chair, and he glanced up at her. "What is there to do?" He paused for a moment. "I strongly suggest that you return to the Vicomte's sister." Christine opened her mouth to protest, but he shushed her with a wave of his hand. "No, listen to me. Chagny will be looking for you soon, if not already. Do you really want a repeat of what happened before?"

She shook her head vehemently. "No!"

"Then you must go back."

She shook her head violently again. "No, no, I don't want to...

"I will be in touch."

"No, Nadir, I don't want to go, I want to stay with Erik – "

"Christine Daae! Stop being such a child!" Nadir fixed her with a look that made her snap her mouth shut. "If you stay here, the Vicomte will find you! Are you that willing to endanger Erik's life and both your futures?" He stopped abruptly, and sucked in a deep breath, his face softening. "I apologize, Christine. That was uncalled for."

"No… you're right." She hung her head, staring into her lap, her cheeks burning. He was right. She hadn't even thought of Raoul.

Nadir extended a finger and titled her chin back up. "Return to his sister's house. Apologize for your absence – invent an excuse. Tell them you needed time to think, to be alone." Christine nodded slowly, swallowing hard.

Nadir stood and offered her his hand. She took it, and he pulled her gently to her feet. "Good girl."

He watched as Christine turned, pressing a long and tremulous kiss to Erik's forehead, his lips, his cheek. She squeezed his hand tightly, brushing her lips on his palm.

She turned back when she reached the doorway, her damp eyes lingering on Erik for a long moment before glancing at Nadir and following him out the door.

When she and Nadir were outside on the busy street, he hailed a brougham for her and helped her step inside. He shut the door and placed his hand on the windowsill, looking up at Christine.

"I might be wrong," he said slowly. She frowned in puzzlement for a moment. "You are a brave young woman, Mademoiselle. Erik would be proud of you."

Her eyes filled with grateful tears, and she placed her hand over his, mouthing the words thank you. Nadir gave her a small smile, and stepped away from the carriage, signaling to the driver. The cab jerked to a start and rattled away down the road, Christine's small pale face disappearing from view.