Hymn Angelic does not own any characters, places, phrases, etc. from 'The Phantom of the Opera'.

Chapter 2:

'Homecoming'

Due to the weather, only a few stalwart servants gathered to greet the returning Viscount and Countess. However, those who did wait outside the de Chagny manor house were treated to an odd sight when the carriage pulled up. Their master was no where to be seen, the driver was flushed red from both embarrassment and windburn, their mistress held a strange man in her lap. With all this excitement, the strange man himself was the least mentioned in their preliminary mutterings. One of the grooms from the stable came forward when the driver beckoned to help carry the still unconscious man into the house.

"Take him to the guest room on the second floor. The green one," Christine called after the pair. She was ushered inside with much chatter, her shawl pulled off her shoulders before she knew what was happening. They all gathered around her, expecting explanations, but she had no time to give them. Not that there were any plausible explanations to give. So she pushed through the huddle and began striding down the hall towards the room she had directed her patient to. The maids and other servants followed in her wake, squeaking questions at her.

"But Madame, Madame," one of the cook's helpers cried shrilly, "where is Monsieur le Vicomte?" Christine did not cease in her pursuit, she was far too worried about her teacher's condition.

"He is fetching the doctor. Please, give me room!" She felt more empowered and stronger than she had for a very long time as she thrust her hands up, ordering her devoted servants to take a step back. They were always around. They heard everything, saw everything, knew everything. Her heart had nearly stopped several times in her first month of living here, as they also had the strange ability to appear out of nowhere and offer assistance. She was not used to this multitude of servants. Papa had never had more than one or two, if her memory served correctly, and they felt almost like family members. Not so here. Raoul's wealth and power required an army of servants to maintain both estate and appearances.

She walked past portraits of past members of the de Chagny line, stern men and women who glared down at her through narrowed eyes. Their mouths were all set in thin lines. She wondered if the painter had painted them like this as more a reflection of what would be impressive, as opposed to what they were actually like. The lot of them seemed wholly unfriendly, and when she tried to picture Raoul, with his lovesick grin and eyes that so often betrayed childish delight, up here, blending in with his illustrious ancestors…

She made a sharp left turn that left a few maids skidding down the polished hallway, trying to follow her and failing to turn fast enough. She silently cursed Raoul for being so wealthy, to afford such a huge home. It was beautiful and impressive to be sure, but was highly impractical in terms of mobility. In her mind, it should not take more than fifteen minutes to reach a room in your home. It was no longer a home then. The Opera House had been massive, but the living quarters condensed. It was cramped at times, but she liked to think of it as 'cozy'.

Finally, she pushed open the door to the room she had been seeking and shut it behind her, closing out the flurry of help who, after a few moments of annoyed whispering, dispersed to their own respective places of duty. This was the 'green' guest room. It was painted a pale, mint green, and other shades of the calming color adorned the long drapes and the covers on the four-poster bed at the opposite end. The curtains were mercifully drawn, but even in the poor light, she could see the figure sprawled over the bed.

"Madame," the groom nodded to her slightly, then continued to exit the room. He had only been waiting here until his mistress arrived. It was extremely unnerving to him, standing in the darkened room with the mysterious man. He was eager to leave and return to the stables. At least there he knew what was going on. Christine took hold of his arm to stop him before he left.

"Fetch Rosalie, please."

"Of course." He inclined his head again and was out the door.

Alone once again with the Phantom of the Opera. It didn't bother her. She had spent more time with him than with most other people she knew, whether she could see him or not. And she was seldom accompanied when she was with her teacher. Christine and the Opera Ghost did not need any chaperones, or 'friends' who would only clog up the conversation with useless chatter. Most of her conversing with him was nonverbal, or at least not spoken. They spoke through touch, and through song. Even though she knew it was highly inappropriate, she felt completely comfortable being alone with him, despite all that had transpired between them.

She came closer and sat down on the bed next to him. She brushed the back of her hand across his forehead. It was warm, and she tilted her head with worry and sadness. He was always cool to the touch, as far as she could remember. Then again, perhaps it was only his gloves that were cold against her skin. Or maybe it was because he lived in that damp, chilly place beneath the warm, bustling Opera House. The Opera House…

She had not allowed herself to think about it the whole carriage ride home. She had forced herself to think only of her patient, not of what she had promised to get him. I will never return here. Her Opera House, her home, closed to her forever. How could she keep this terrible vow? The Opera was her life, her fire. It would all go out if she was not allowed to return. If he tried to keep her here, she would wither away. But had she not been willing to sacrifice all of it for the sake of her teacher?

She shook her head, ridding herself of such depressing thoughts. She forced herself to think clinically about her patient. She surveyed him, and pursed her lips. She would have to remove his shirt. A patient. He is only a sick man. She swallowed hard, and slowly unbuttoned the plain white shirt. It was for his health. She was only behaving as a doctor would. The buttons were undone, and she gently lifted one limp arm and tugged the sleeve away from it, then leaned over him to free its pair.

She leaned back and bit her lip. He was so…she could not say thin, because the muscles he had developed over the years still filled out his form. But it was obvious he had not been eating. He was much thinner than he should have been. So now she was sitting in the dark, alone with a shirtless man who was madly in love with her, despite currently being unconscious. She smiled mournfully down at him. His unearthly pale skin stood out against forest green linens. It happened so suddenly. One moment she was only looking, the next, her fingers were trailing down his chest. It had not been a conscious movement, but she did not stay her rebellious hand.

"You should pray I do not tell the Vicomte of your affections, Madame."

Christine snatched her hand backwards and looked up in surprise. She smiled at the new entry.

"Help me with him, Rosalie."

The maid nodded, and hurried over to the bed to aid Christine in pulling the covers up over the patient. Christine watched Rosalie work and smiled. Rosalie was her personal ladies' maid, who was both servant and confidante. She was, she admitted to Christine unabashedly, a near perfect replica of her mother. The mother that had forced her down to a hopeless station in life. The child of a fishermen and a prostitute, she had been raised in a seedy Parisian neighborhood. It was assumed that she would follow in her mother's less than honorable footsteps when she reached the proper age. However, when her father discovered that his own wife was barren, he had returned to take his daughter home.

Her mother had needed to buy Rosalie's freedom, and, Christine thought with some embarrassment, if the physical similarity was as great as Rosalie claimed, it was not surprising her mother had made enough money to pay for her daughter. She had long hair that varied between black and darkest brown. It was usually put in a demure bun, but when let free, it cascaded in a waterfall of soft waves down her back. She was not tall but she was in possession of a 'desirable figure', a fact Christine did not note without a touch of jealousy, thinking of her own slight body. But the most attractive feature of Rosalie's was more striking than conventionally beautiful. Her eyes were wide and pale, 'moon eyes' she called them, that contrasted brilliantly with her dark hair.

In fact, Christine had more than once thought that Xavier, their butler, who was also head of staff, had perhaps assigned Rosalie to the task of ladies' maid to give her as little contact as possible with Raoul. But she never regretted the assignment for a day. For if Rosalie's appearance was her mother's, her personality was without a doubt her father's. She was cheerful, sarcastic and loud. She had been moderately well behaved when she first began serving Christine. But their friendship had grown and now she took more delight in flustering her mistress with highly inappropriate sayings than in anything else.

"So, Christine, is one attractive and wealthy man no longer enough to satisfy you?" Christine blushed, as Rosalie knew she would.

"He's a friend. He has no where to stay, and I just," she ducked her head, and the other girl placed a caring hand on her shoulder. It would usually be unheard of for such intimacy between mistress and servant, but their relationship was different than most. Christine had been removed from the bustle of what she considered her "extended family" at the Opera. She had hoped to stay in close contact with dear Meg, but Madame Giry had accepted a post as dance mistress at an academy near Brest. They still exchanged letters, but it was far too great a distance to really remain close. The void she had felt simply could not be filled by Raoul, no matter how hard he tried. And he certainly tried.

It made her ache in those days, knowing how very hard Raoul was trying to make her feel at home. He did everything he could to please her. He took her on trips, and they visited his many friends in their massive manors. And he never knew that she would have been far happier remaining in Paris. She hadn't told him. She had meant to, several times. But whenever she would work up her nerve to tell him she was not enjoying herself, he would look at her with round, hopeful eyes. So she would tell him she was having a lovely time, because she couldn't bear to see his face fall with disappointment. All she really wanted was to be grounded in one place, and to have a friend. Raoul wanted to be her friend, but he was her husband. While a husband is often the greatest friend a woman has, she needs to have other friends, female friends. All Christine wanted were friends who understand her aggravation, who she did not have to strive to please and impress. She was certain she would never find even one such friend now that Meg and the other ballet rats were scattered.

Then Xavier presented Rosalie to her. Her attention was drawn immediately to the eyes. Those terrifically strange eyes, so out of place yet so intoxicating. 'A maid, to help you dress.' That's what Xavier said, looking down his long nose at the two women. He always behaved like that when he felt he should be impressive. He was really a dear, sweet man underneath the slick exterior. And Rosalie curtsied, bowing her head. 'If it pleases you.' Christine had not cared in the slightest. Another maid to get underfoot, she though cynically, though her face remained blank. She had agreed without much emotion, as she knew Raoul had certainly ordered Xavier to find her a ladies' maid, and the poor butler would not have a moment's peace until she accepted one. Before she left the room, her eyes met once more with her new maid's. And she had the strangest feeling that this maid would be different.

Her premonition proved itself correct, and tenfold. Rosalie was much more than just a girl who tightened her corsets and brushed her hair. She was truly a dear friend, who Christine would have hated to lose. She was also, in a tragic way, the perfect ladies' maid. There was no worry she would ever marry and abandon her post. For no matter her charm or even the wealth she could attain through servitude…a whore's daughter was considered little more than a whore herself. And no man would marry a whore.

"So," Rosalie removed her hand, breaking Christine's reverie. "What is the name of this dear friend?"

Christine opened her mouth, then froze. She had never realized it before, now it slapped her in the face. Her teacher, father figure, her Angel of Music, her captor…she did not know his name. He knew all about her, and she had never even asked him for his given name. It had never seemed odd before now. She had always just called him 'Angel', 'Master', and, in the later days, 'Phantom'. She did not know what his mother had called him, and that thought made her ache. How could she claim to care for this man, whose identity was no clearer to her now, than it ever had been? She couldn't admit to the household she was unaware of their guest's name. But what name could she give? She did not want to invent a name that he would dispute once he awoke, shattering her story.

"Monsieur Fântome," she said quickly, before she had fully understood her own thoughts. Rosalie bit her lip to contain her laughter.

"Aha," she said with a knowing smile, "a gentlemanly lover is he, whose name we cannot speak?"

"No!" Christine blushed a bright pink. "No, Rosalie, it's nothing like-"

"Do not worry, my fair mistress," the maid inclined her head dramatically, "I shall not tell your missing husband that your love no longer belongs to him alone."

"Rosalie, don't you dare-"

"If, in fact," Rosalie bowed her head, shaking it in mock sadness, "Monsieur le Vicomte is even still alive."

"Rosalie," Christine cried, pushing back some curls that had escaped during the trip home, "you will be the death of me." The maid in question just smiled cheerfully at her.

"I do my best, Madame, always my best."

The conversation might have continued as such for longer, but Raoul burst dramatically through the door, a very haggard looking doctor in tow.

"Christine!" He ran and embraced his wife, as though he had not seen her in years, rather than hours. Christine felt, for the first time, uncomfortable with his shameless affection. The doctor was eyeing them with an unfriendly look on his face. Christine felt certain he had not wanted to come, and only a large amount of "convincement" from Raoul had summoned him.

"If I may," he said with a small scowl, brushing past the embracing couple and Rosalie, who had wiped the devilish grin off her face as soon as her master entered. Raoul followed the doctor's movement to the patient and, without a doubt, noted the sudden absence of a shirt. Christine winced slightly. Questions about that would have to wait however, as Raoul stared at her in shock. He looked at her as though he had never really seen her before.

"Christine!" He cried in horror, "You are not dressed!"

Confused, Christine looked down at herself. True, there was a strip missing from her petticoat, and her dress was a tad worse for wear after the trip to the cellars, but she was certainly clothed. Raoul saw her confusion and elaborated quickly.

"The dinner, Christine! The dinner!"

"Oh," Christine allowed a pale hand to fly to her mouth in shock. The dinner, of course. For weeks Raoul had set the servants to planning this meal. The Baroness de Lyon and her two sons would be visiting the de Chagny estate for the first time since her husband died. It was also the first time she would meet Christine, who was expected to be a radiant and polished jewel of a hostess. She should have started preparations hours ago, according to custom. However, with all the excitement, she had completely forgotten.

"Come Madame, it will take but a moment if my fingers fly," Rosalie curtsied deeply, more for the doctor's benefit than anyone else in the room. Christine nodded and hurried out of the room, Rosalie behind. She walked quickly, but elegantly until the door closed. Then, she took off at a near run down the hall towards her quarters. She couldn't go very fast, due to her delicate slippers and thick skirts. Rosalie, however, being free of most protocol in this situation, and clad in a simple servant's dress, pulled her skirts scandalously upward and sprinted ahead of her mistress. She needed to get to the room first, and could start pulling out dresses and jewels to dress Christine in.

Christine's breathing was heavy, but she kept going. Bitterly, she thought of how she and Rosalie often joked that there should be carriages in the halls, to transport you between rooms. It now, more than ever, seemed like a very good idea. She should mention it to Raoul, though she knew he would be aghast at such a suggestion. In a few minutes, she reached her room, panting. She had no time to stop however. She entered, and immediately Rosalie was upon her, undoing her dress.

"This one time," the maid hissed under her breath as she worked feverishly, "we will cheat." Instead of completely stripping Christine of her garments, and starting over, Rosalie did not remove the corset or stockings. She merely tightened the corset, so Christine gasped, trying to both regain oxygen she had lost during her run and breathe through the tightness. She went through the motions at least at double speed, barely even paying attention to what was happening around her.

"Simple and elegant," Rosalie said from behind a mouthful of decorative combs for Christine's hair. She had selected a gown that did not need an elaborate hairstyle to complete the ensemble, to save time. With her skill and experience, before Christine knew what had happened, Rosalie was clasping a necklace around her neck. She stepped back and smiled. "Truly lovely, Christine. Madame le Baronne will be impressed."

Though she trusted Rosalie's skill and judgment, Christine still gazed upon her reflection critically. The gown was a pale blue, with full skirts. There was silver lace around her sleeves and square neckline, as well as silver embroidery on the bodice. It complimented the paleness her skin still held, and she smiled. Her hair had been swept away from her face with ornate combs, but some curls stilled trailed down over her shoulders. Rosalie had painted her lips a delicate pink that did not overpower her face, as most cosmetic colors did. She had also added depth to her eyes with some neutral toned shadow. The run, Christine thought with a small smile, made her cheeks a pleasant pink as the full flush faded. To finish the outfit, Rosalie had selected a simple necklace, a single teardrop diamond hanging on a silver chain, as well as a few diamond bracelets.

"Thank you, Rosalie. I look like…" she would have bitten her lip, had she not been avoiding marring the perfect color and shape Rosalie had created. She had been about to say "a noblewoman". But she was a noblewoman now. This was how she must always look, to maintain her husband's reputation. It was, she thought suddenly, a strange life to live. To always be a perfect doll, who always speaks the correct pleasantry to the correct people, who never acts in any unexpected way. It was as though her whole life had become a strange opera. She must always be in character, and in costume.

"Never mind it now, Madame. You may extol my virtues after you have suitably entertained Madame le Baronne." In a very scandalous motion for a servant, Rosalie waved her hands, effectively shooing Christine from the room. The Countess did not argue, but left the room quickly. Though she was physically prepared, there was much still to think of and do before the Baroness arrived.

"It is, of course, a dreadful shame," Baroness Madeleine de Lyon said, taking a sip from her wine glass. "But there is nothing that can be done."

Raoul hastened to agree with her, and Christine did her best to keep her expression blankly pleasant. She felt so drained, sitting her and trying to continually smile, though Madame de Lyon grated on her nerves. The Baroness was a tall, and very thin, woman with blonde hair that was stiffly coiffed. She was covered in jewels and draped with finery, and upon seeing her, Christine had felt very much a child attempting to pass for a lady. Baroness Madeleine was also a queen of high society, and her smiles were always tainted with some other emotion. Christine did not like her one bit. But as Countess, she was expected to entertain and admire this unpleasant woman.

Her sons had been quiet throughout the evening. Little Jacques, who was only four, had perfect table manners. He had wispy blonde hair like his mother, and deep blue-green eyes. But his slightly round little face was solemn, and it made Christine very sad to see a young child already stiffened by society. The elder son was probably Christine's age, or maybe a year or two younger. Jean-Luc was named after his father who he apparently greatly resembled, with smooth auburn colored hair and deep hazel eyes. He too was silent, but Christine was sure she saw derisive smiles leaking through his well-mannered mask a few times during dinner. He was an attractive young man, and she was certain he was well aware of the fact.

"Christine?" She turned quickly to look at Raoul who was smiling expectantly. "Perhaps you would care to show Jean-Luc and Jacques the library?"

"Oh, of course." Christine stood, not bothering to stifle her dancer's grace, and her skirts swept out behind her. Jean-Luc rose fluidly upwards as well, and Jacques slid as gracefully as possible off his chair. She led them out of the room, where Raoul and Madeleine continued their conversations. Despite feeling a bit annoyed at being shunted out of the room as one of the "children", Christine resolved to be sincerely pleasant to the young boys. It was not their fault how they had been taught to behave. She smiled a little to herself when she realized she had put Jean-Luc in the same category as his brother, when he was almost as old as her.

They had reached the library, and she pulled the thick door open and allowed her guests to go in first. They did, and she followed, closing the door gently behind her. The library was truly a beautiful place. The ceiling was high, and those who looked all the way to the top would see a beautiful painting, commissioned by a de Chagny countless years ago. Raoul would know who, Christine thought to herself, admiring the colors, I must ask him about it. There was shelf after shelf filled with books, and Christine had not yet read even the spine of all of them, though she often spent rainy afternoons here. Most of the books were dusty; they did not get much use. She supposed it was really more of an issue of appearance. Like everything to do with wealth and influence.

"I like books." She looked down unexpectedly at young Jacques, whose eyes had lit up the moment he saw all the leather-bound volumes. Christine smiled and knelt to his eyelevel.

"Would you like to find a book to read?" He nodded. Her smile brightened. She loved children. They were so sweet and adorable. "Come, we'll find something for you." She held out her slim hand, which he took with his youthfully pudgy one. She glanced back at Jean-Luc and gave him a small smile. "Would you like to find a book too?"

He arched his eyebrows at her and shook his head. She shrugged off his disinterest, and led Jacques towards the shelves. She released his hand as he began running his short fingers along the spines, reading the titles excitedly.

"Maman doesn't like you," Jean-Luc said off-handedly, as though stating the weather. He leaned against a desk along the wall and waited for her response. Christine tensed, but she forced her voice to remain steady and unaffected.

"Oh? Why do you say that?"

"She said so," he replied with a shrug. Christine left Jacques to his hunt and emerged from the stacks to face the other brother. His legs were crossed in front of him and he grinned at her.

"What do you mean?" She asked, hating herself for asking, but needing to know. It was clearly the effect Jean-Luc had been hoping for because his smirk intensified.

"She said you were 'an Opera House harlot who was scooped out of her debauchery by a deeply stupid man blinded by her wicked charms'." Christine gaped at him. Could Baroness Madeleine truly think such a thing? But why would Jean-Luc lie about it? Why indeed…

"I'm terribly sorry she feels that way," Christine responded neutrally, recognizing the need for etiquette in such a hazardous situation. Any impolite words would no doubt be given directly back to the mother, which would be disastrous for the de Chagny reputation. Jean-Luc looked at her in surprise.

"You're not going to deny it?"

"It is not the truth, but I words cannot change someone's heart. I will simply have to show Madame le Baronne my courtesy, and hope she will see the truth in time." Jean-Luc, Christine noted, looked far less attractive with his mouth agape. He closed it momentarily before slyly asking another question.

"Come now, Madame, surely you had many…admirers, being a prima donna." Christine smiled.

"I was only prima donna for a very short time. As for admirers, I must admit my dressing room was flooded with flowers. But I only ever met with one of them." Jean-Luc's eyes flashed with anticipation. "And that was Raoul." His face fell, denied the excitement he had been hoping for.

"For a virtue-less mistress of the night," he said with a rueful smile, "you are rather dull, I must admit." Christine laughed at that. It was very true, and shockingly wrong all at once. Her life had been far more of a whirlwind than anyone else could possibly imagine. However, for all that had happened, she herself was not a remarkably fascinating person. She was still very much Gustav Daaé's little girl. The maddening events of years past had not driven her insane, so she had remained the same.

"I'm sorry to have not entertained you, but I am only what I am," she said with a smile, "and I am only Christine." Jean-Luc's returning smile was friendly, but then it took on another dimension. One Christine was not sure she liked. He came forward slowly.

"Maman may not like you," he whispered, then gently stroked her hair, "but I do."

He gazed down at her, and her discomfort swelled. Before she could say anything, however, the door swung open. Jean-Luc immediately took a large step backwards at the same time as turning around. Raoul stood, still grasping the door, and smiling.

"It's time to go, boys."

Jean-Luc nodded, and Jacques emerged from behind a shelf, clutching a book. He looked up at Christine, clearly worried.

"I did not finish," he said softly, with a slight lisp. Christine smiled, despite the twisting in her stomach, and patted his shoulder.

"Take it with you. You can bring it back when we see each other again." He smiled broadly and squeezed the book to his chest.

"Au revoir, Madame," he said politely, and toddled off towards the door.

"Au revoir, Jacques. Au revoir, Jean-Luc," she added the second sentence with obvious tension. The young man only grinned at her wolfishly.

"Au revoir, Madame," he bowed his head mockingly, and the two were gone out the door. Christine leaned up against a shelf, feeling a tad faint. Raoul smiled at her.

"That was a lovely evening, wasn't it?"

Author's Note: Thank you for all the kind words! I know this took a while, but I'm doing my best to continue the story at a nice pace and length. I hope you enjoyed this installment. Concrit will be squee-ed for, and if anyone would be interested in beta-ing for me, I would greatly appreciate it.

Tamelia: Thanks…dude. Heh heh. I know what you mean about Raoul. I don't like him particularly much, but that's just 'cause he gets in the way of EC. He's an actual person, and I'm gonna do my best to show him as such. He really does care about her and everything.

Emmanuelle Grey: You reviewed, so I can put my pretzel stick away. . Glad you like it…you doubt whether it's EC or not? I must not be doing a good enough job with the sexual tension. Shame on me.

xAdenX: I hear you with the story alert thing. All too true for me. Yay, you like! Compliments make me feel warm and cuddly inside.

Vicangel: Props to you, first reviewer! (I'm so not able to say the word 'props' without looking like an idiot, so I use every opportunity to type it.) Glad you like.