A/N: There is a reference to a certain movie starring Tom Cruise in this chapter. Before you all roll yours eyes, read it and see if you can spot it. I will give you all cookies and Don Juan masks as a reward.

Hugs and candy to my most amazing beta Agent Sculder who only had kind words for this chapter. R&R!

The Calm Before the Storm

The next morning dawned bright and sunny and Brigitte ached to be finished her household chores. As the only servant in the house, modest as it was, she still did have a lot on her plate everyday. Brigitte did not mind for she understood Christine's reasons. It also made her feel somewhat special to be picked out as the sole caretaker of a de Chagny estate.

Besides, Christine's friendship had become quite important to her. Brigitte had been thirteen when Christine had married into the de Chagnys and, a young woman herself, had instantly taken a liking to the beautiful former opera diva. Her humble attitude and warm laugh had made Brigitte at ease, a feeling that was not easy to obtain among nobles.

However, Brigitte had sensed an innate sadness within Christine beneath her façade. Also, the innocence that one would associate with a woman so young had seemed to peter out of her eyes long before. That and her nightly vigil had alerted Brigitte that Christine was something more than just a viscomte's wife.

Truth be told, Brigitte related to Christine on a base level. She too had grown up without a father, but she had been blessed in that her mother had taken care of her. Perhaps taken care of was too strong a word, Brigitte mused. Her mother had been a drunk and a prostitute and had shopped Brigitte around as a maid so that Brigitte would not have to live the same life she had. Secretly, Brigitte had wondered if this was truly the reason or if Brigitte's existence in her mother's life had only hindered her.

Brigitte was ripped from her musings by a deep cough behind her. She turned around and her mouth fell open at what she saw before her.

There was Erik, the former Phantom, dressed impeccably in a midnight black suit, crisp white dress shirt and cravat and a porcelain mask that rivalled the pearlescent gleam of his teeth which were bared in a poor imitation of a smile. As Brigitte's eyes swept over him, she could not help but notice how lean and masculine he looked, from the tall intimidation of his height to the sculpted jaw which was strong and handsome. His eyes, which she had never noticed before, were a most peculiar green. Even his lips were sensuous, and Brigitte felt a slight blush creep up her neck. He was virtually unrecognizable from the poor, ravaged creature she had discovered only days before.

As he walked toward her, she was almost hypnotized by his panther-like grace. So this was the man Christine had been entranced by, Brigitte thought. It was not hard to see the allure.

"Mademoiselle Brigitte, is it?"

His voice took her by surprise as well, although it shouldn't have, given the way Christine have spoken of him. Low and lilting, he spoke as if he were thinking of something far away yet still, it captivated her attention.

"Yes, monsieur," she curtsied clumsily. "My, you are looking rather well. A vast improvement from that cage."

Shadow fell over Erik's features at the mention of his entrapment, but soon was replaced by a devilish grin. "Is that right, Brigitte?" He said her name as if tasting the way it rolled over his tongue.

Slightly bewildered by his familiar tone, but excited nonetheless, she nodded happily. "Oh, yes. I daresay you look handsome."

Erik studied her in silence for a moment and then closed the distance between them. Brigitte felt a sharp intake of breath at his approach; she did not know if it was from fright or something else. He reached out, his hand coming closer and closer to her face. Brigitte shut her eyes tightly.

When he did not touch her, she opened her eyes warily and saw a long pink rose. He held the beautiful flower in his hand, an impish smirk beguiling his face. Immediately, she felt embarrassed. The story of the Phantom had aroused in her foolish implications of Erik's character.

Erik extended the rose to her, speaking quietly. "A pretty rose for a pretty girl."

She took the rose and found herself apt to stutter, which was unlike her. "Th-thank you, monsieur –"

"Please," he held up a hand. "Call me Erik."

"Thank you – Erik," she finished dubiously. "I had thought you quite cross with me for my loose tongue. Christine always says that it will get me in trouble one day."

Erik stared at her hard and Brigette nearly wilted. She thought she had understood this man, who was not an opera ghost of gossip and fantasy.

"It already has," he spoke, a sharpness underlying his words that rivalled even the most deadly blade. "I do not give this to you as a token of my undying appreciation for your so-called rescue of me," he said sarcastically. "You should know better than to meddle, little girl, lest you find yourself at the deadly end of a noose."

His words left the kitchen ringing. Brigitte shook her head. "But, Erik, you would have preferred to have stayed there? In that horrible circumstance?"

Erik's lips drew into a smile. He liked the audacity of this girl. She was not so easily frightened by threats, empty as they may be. Perhaps she had been on the receiving end of many before him. "Comparing that prison of squalor and sin to her is much like choosing the lesser of two evils. Should I burn in hell in this fiery ocean or that one?"

Brigitte furrowed her brow. "You are awfully dramatic, Erik."

Erik surprised both of them by laughing out loud. It was a strange sound coming from so severe a man, but Brigitte allowed herself to giggle as well. "And you are impetuous, Brigitte. I am afraid I encourage such behaviour." He leaned forward, his eyes softening slightly. "And what does Vicomte de Chagny think of you?"

Brigitte leaned forward as well as if sharing a secret. "He does not think much of me at all, I am afraid."

Erik's eyes crinkled slightly and he chuckled, a hollow sound. "That boy never did have much of a sense of humour."

Erik became grim and his tone returned to that of aloof business. "Where is Christine?"

Brigitte was not bothered by Erik's sudden shift of emotion. She was getting used to the whirlwind that was this enigmatic and strangely endearing man. "She is out in the backyard maze, at the centre. There is a pond that she likes to sit at and – well, I am not sure what she does there. Perhaps you should not disturb her."

Erik eyed her rakishly and Brigitte knew asking anything of the Phantom, nay, Erik, was fruitless. She sighed a little, and resolved, "Would you like me to lead you there? The maze can be quite confusing."

"No," he replied shortly.

"Are you sure?"

"Brigitte," he said through gritted teeth, "if you are to learn anything, it is to cease questioning me, for you will find yourself out of my favour as a result. " Taking her hand and examining it as if it were a relic, he finished softly, "You would not want that. For Christine's sake."

"No," she quavered. "Madame de Chagny deserves her happiness, as do you."

Erik dropped her hand and nodded stiffly. He left without responding.

Once out in the sunshine, Erik almost stalled his confident amble. He had never been outside, the sun beating down on him, as a free man. The gravity of this realization almost made his knees buckle but he walked on, determined.

The maze was not hard to navigate, as least for Erik. Erik had lived most his life through books and had discovered that the secret to cracking most labyrinths was to keep one's left hand on the wall and follow it. Seeing as this was a simply constructed maze, Erik had no trouble reaching its hub.

The sight before him nearly took his breath away. He had always read, in romance novels, he thought derisively, of a man seeing a woman so beautiful that it made him breathless. He thought this was ridiculous conjecture, something writers said to weave romantic ideology around their characters. It sounds nice.

But there she was, stealing air from his lungs.

He had always seen Christine in darkness. Once, he had seen her outdoors but it had been winter and the sunlight had been bleak at best.

Sitting on a bench, her skirts curled around her and a book perched in her hands, she was the picture of perfection, at least to Erik. Her hair was swept away from her face, falling behind her in a tumble of reckless curls. She was poised in thoughtful repose, her delicate features looking even more angelic among the bright ambience of the sun. But she did not look like a girl anymore, he realized suddenly. Perhaps it was the hardening of her brow or the knowing curve of her lips. Her eyes, her eyes.

She was not the girl he had once held under his spell and yet he found he adored her with all of his heart.

A cardinal took flight and swept upwards in a flurry of feathers. Christine looked up in surprise and saw Erik silhouetted among the greenery.

"Oh," was all she could say.

Firming his slack lips, he walked towards her, again taking on the air of bored nonchalance. He steeled his heart, for her reflexive look of shock had made her even more beautiful. He did not wish to show her that she could affect him so.

"May I sit with you?"

"Yes."

Silence.

"It is lovely." Erik said this as if he were running through a shopping list.

"Yes."

He turns to her, looking upon her curiously. "No. It is beautiful."

Christine blushed.

They did not speak for a while, the silence between them as uncomfortable as it was comforting. The buzz of insects and soft lapping of water created a beautiful harmony that made Erik's mouth dry. The clearing was not large, but a comfortable size that allowed for a good-size pond. He could see flashes of orange and grey in the water as fish swam about lazily. The entire space was bedecked with small gardens of roses, petunias, impatiens, carnations, daffocdils – more flowers than Erik could name. Lilies rose out of the pond. Bees buzzed and the wind whistled. It was perfect.

He tried not to admire it so but it was difficult. He could not look at Christine or he feared he would break.

Finally, he spoke. "Does he make you happy?"

Flustered, Christine could not find words to speak. She yearned to tell him all that she felt, and found that it was hard to resist the urge. Something about this man made her honesty flow as freely as water.

"After we were married," she began, unsure at first, "We tried for a baby many times." She blushed at the thought that she was telling Erik about making love. "But it would not happen. After several months, I was finally with child and I was so happy. I felt it would complete us to have a child, the physical realization of our love.

"And the de Chagnys would be happy to have an heir," she added, almost as an afterthought. Erik thought her tone to be bittersweet.

"One night, I was feeling quite ill and retired to my room. I tossed and turned until I could feign sleep no more and got up to get a drink of water. I walked downstairs and slipped on the stairway. The way that I landed was such that – " She sucked in her breath, willing steadiness into her voice. "I lost it. Him, her, I don't know. I lost my baby." She did not cry and the dullness with which she said it shook Erik.

"I am sorry." He was.

"Thank you." She took his hand without glancing down. "Raoul was understanding and so caring. I could not ask for more." She felt his grip tighten slightly. Christine did not tell him that they had not made love since for she cannot bear the thought of losing another child.

"Erik?"

"Yes?"

"Let's not tell our sad stories."

Another silence, as they are the stars of each other's own tragedies.

Again he asks, "Are you happy?"

Christine burst into tears and said to him, "Yes. I am overjoyed." Her face is a stark contrast to her words.

Without thinking, he pressed a hand to her face to feel the acquaintance of her tears. She leaned into his hand, and kissed his palm.

This woman was breaking his heart once again and Erik felt his resolve slipping away. She released his hand and he withdrew.

Erik stood and offered his arm to her without a word, rigid tension lining every part of his body. They walked back to the house, the crickets making music all around the. No more words fell from each others lips.