A/N: I've decided I like the last chapter.

Ahomelesspirate: Thanks for the review! He is a vivid man and I just thought that I could see his emotion in colour.

Modesty: Loved the new chapter, left review! Thanks for your review… maybe I am getting too predictable?

Reltistic: Thank you for the review, I try to keep the character s in character as best I can but with my own spin. This is the point of fanfiction. Review very very much appreciated!

'Me
I'll take her laughter and her tears
And make them all my souvenirs
For where she goes I've got to be
The meaning of my life is she' – 'She' Elvis Costello

Chapter 31- Raoul.

Raoul lay awake with a small picture of Christine in his hands, crumpling with wear. He didn't think that he had put the picture down in days, maybe even weeks. His heart ached and he knew that he was dishevelled, looked half the man of his past. He barely even cared.

He had wondered why Christine was so unhappy, she had taken to her room and hardly left it for weeks. The night she left, after he had let her go, his heart screamed at him to stop her and to tell her to stay, that whatever it was, they would work through it. His mind stopped him. His mind told him that if she wanted to leave, and she obviously did, then it was best to simply let her go. There was an old saying that sprang to his mind.

If you love someone set them free and if they love you too then they will return to you. She had yet to return and in all honesty, his hope was fading rapidly. Philippe had been there for him, as a good brother should be, but he could sense his irritation now and avoided him. Raoul knew that Philippe had not given up the effort to find Christine and his appreciation was unbridled.

Still they hadn't found her. For a while Raoul had a horrible feeling that something terrible had happened to her, that she was hurt or ill or worse, dead. But after a while the feeling past and he knew, in his heart he knew, that she was well and hiding. And he couldn't blame her. He had been horrid to her. Absolutely horrid, and he loved her too much to force her to live with him when he is being an ogre. He only wished that he could see her, at least once, to tell her that he was sorry for the way he had spoken to her. He was sorry if she thought that he didn't trust her or that he didn't want to help her.

If she then turned around and left him at least he would know that she was ok and continue the arduous struggle of getting on with his life. His existence. Raoul guessed that some women simply had this effect on men, this overwhelming power to make them feel as high as the clouds or as low as dirt.

He also knew that Christine did not do it deliberately.

The fading light of the dying sun covered his face in a vain attempt to mask his pain, he shielded his aching eyes with the back of his hand and sighed. His heart bumped against his chest. What would he do without her? What if this really was a permanent thing? Christine, his childhood sweetheart, his best friend. What was there to life without her?

Then he heard Philippe's voice in his mind and he grimaced at his own self. He glanced down to his feet, his baggy trousers and un-tucked shirt. He reached up with his hand, rubbed his fingers around his jaw, felt the stubble. He eased himself up and sat at the edge of the bed, looking into the mirror. He looked a mess. His eyes were blurred with red corners, there usual shine gone and replaced with a dull puffy texture. The roughness of his jaw was evident and he was almost embarrassed to look at himself. There was no grin where there usually was, no laughter could possibly exit his lips, he couldn't sound happy when he was so sad. His hair looked dirty and was too long and he watched his reflection attempt to neaten it but then give in. What was the point?

He thought for a moment, pictured Christine's sparkling eyes, filled his head with images of her easy smile and perfect skin. He wondered what she was doing, how she was, who she was laughing or crying with. His head spun and he shook it, trying to let the pictures to spill out but then he wanted to catch them and put them back, so that he could keep them forever.

'Raoul?' He looked up and stared at the door waiting for his brother to walk in. There was a gentle knock first.

'Yes?' he said as Philippe walked in, clicking the door closed behind him.

'Look at you…' he said, closing his eyes and shaking his head. Raoul grunted and lay back on the bed. Philippe strode over and pulled his brother up to his feet, turned him around to face the mirror. He stood behind him so that Raoul's full reflection stared back at them and he pointed.

'And?' Raoul was becoming defiant. He would not be bullied, he wanted to grieve.

'I know you're upset, but really Raoul, honestly, can't you just think about it for one second,' Philippe said, as if reading his mind. 'She isn't dead, I'm sure of that and if she's not dead then I will find her and when I do, do you really expect her to come back to you in this… state?'

'If she loves me then yes,' Raoul said quietly.

'Do you doubt her love for you?' Philippe asked, turning Raoul by his shoulders to face him.

'She isn't here is she?' Raoul said, staring at Philippe's strong features. Philippe had their fathers dashing looks but missed out, unlike Raoul, on their mother's soft, yet beautiful, traits.

'Then why do you mourn her?' Philippe asked, watching for Raoul's reaction.

'Because I love her,' Raoul replied, Philippe shook his head.

'Then why did you let her leave?'

'She wanted to,'

'We've been through this, have we not?' Philippe said sounding commanding, as he often did when he was getting frustrated with his brother.

'Yes,' said Raoul, blinking back tears.

'Enough,' said Philippe attempting to hide his contempt. 'Wash and change, Raoul, right now. We're going to dinner.'

Raoul stared at him but didn't move.

'Raoul,' he said. 'Now.'

And then he did.