Disclaimer: I do not own POTO or any of the associated music or characters. Nor do I own the song "Little Wing", which belongs to Jimi Hendrix. On a brighter note, free cookies. :) Lee

With A Circus Mind

Christine

She woke up feeling groggy, which was nothing unusual, and glared at the incessantly beeping alarm. Her memory came back fuzzily. Mr. Destler, the play, 7 o'clock.

She looked at the clock again, slamming it off. 6:30

Damn.

Christine lunged out of bed, a feat that made her head spin. She tied up her hair- there was no way it would dry in an hour- and took the fastest shower since her high school gym classes. She grabbed a water bottle and rushed out the door, hailing a taxi.

6:50

She straightened up, getting out of the cab and stared as she got her first glimpse of the Opera Populaire.

"Imposing, isn't it?" A dark-skinned, friendly-looking man was lounging by the doors. "A bit too Baroque for my taste, but the managers like it well enough." He smiled and held out a hand. "You must be Christine Daae."

"Have I kept everyone long?" She asked worriedly. That's the LAST thing I need, to have a whole cast and crew annoyed at me for holding them up.

He shook his head, white teeth flashing. "Not at all. My name is Nadir Khan. I work for Mr. Destler, who you've met." He made his way up the steps. "Come on up. I'll show you around."

Christine couldn't help contrasting the man with his employer. Nadir- he insisted that she call him by his given name- was an incredibly approachable man with a great deal of personal warmth and charm.

Not that Erik Destler didn't have charisma or magnetism. But whereas Nadir was sunny and comfortable and drew people like children to a picnic, Erik Destler was aloof, polished. He drew people like fire did, for the beauty of it. But fire was meant to be kept at a safe distance. Nadir was easygoing and personable. Erik Destler exuded a more subtle, less vibrant pull on the people around him.

And then she spotted him up ahead, dressed impeccably in a black turtleneck and slacks. His back was rigid, arms crossed as a strong-browed woman berated him at the top of her yowling voice.

"Erik!" Nadir called. "She's here."

"Thank God." Erik strode over to them "That woman is whinging about her costume again, and I can't deal with it at the moment...spoiled diva."

Christine's lips quirked as he raked a hand distractedly through his hair. "Tough day?"

His eyes, blue sheened with green from the lights, flicked toward her. "And it hasn't even started yet. Come, I have a copy of the script. This is Meg," he continued as a willowy blonde made her way toward them. "Head of the ballet corps. She's agreed to be your guide. "

The girl had the air of irrepressable cheerfulness. "Hi, Christine. I'm Meg Giry. My mother tutors the chorus girls here. Come, I'll show you where to put your things and you can look over the script. We're not doing the scenes you'll be in today, give you a chance to look at the script and Mr. Destler to discuss it with you"

The girl rushed off. Christine followed. Does she do anything at a normal pace? The girl was a mad whirlwind. By the time the reached the antechambers behind the stage, Meg had managed to thaw the ice around Christine.

"So, where do you live?"

Christine shrugged and set down her water and her bag. "On the other side of town. My boyfriend and I share the flat." She didn't elaborate. Meg's brows raised, but apparently she took her abbreviated answer to be either nerves or jealousy. Christine had known a few women who didn't advertise their boyfriends simply because they didn't want to share them with their friends.

How far is that from the truth? If Joseph wanted another girl, he wouldn't care if I tried to stop it.

No. Joseph had been with plenty of other women. The occasional Thursday nights, when he came home smelling of cheap perfume and cigarette smoke. She knew. She had tried to ask him about it. Once. She flinched in memeory. Only once.

"...ever worked with Erik before?"

Christine started. Meg cocked her head, blonde ponytail swinging. "Christine?"

Christine smiled reassuringly. "No, I've never worked with him before." She laughed and hoped it didn't sound too forced. "In fact, before yesterday, I'd never met him."

"Really?" Meg's face was openly curious. "How did that happen?"

Relieved at the change in subject, Christine gave her an overview. "He heard me singing, in a cafe if you'll believe it! There I am, packing up and ready to leave and up comes this tall, dark and lyrical stranger and he asks me if I wane a job at the Opera Populaire, if you please"

"You forgot handsome."

She blinked. "I'm sorry?"

Meg grinned. "Tall, dark and lyrical? It just doesn't have the same ring, Christine."

Christine felt the same expression spreading across her face. Small, but there. Unfamiliar, but it felt so good. "Is he really?" She asked teasingly. "I hadn't noticed."

Meg snorted disbelievingly. "Come on, then, Ice-woman."

"Ouch. That was uncalled for." Meg's eyes crinkled, the light eyes sparkling with good humor. "You said it, not me."

"I did no such thing."

"Keep telling yourself that, Christine." the blonde dancer said. She smiled wickedly over her shoulder at Christine.

Erik Destler appeared around the corner. "Meg, Ms. Daae, as delighted as I am to see you two getting along, we have work to do."

Christine could have sworn she saw the shadow of a smile on his face.

How much did he hear? She stared off into space for a moment. Do I even want to know?

"Ms. Daae?"

Her head whipped around. "Yes?"

"We're using one of the tutoring rooms. I'll be coaching you myself. Follow me." He nodded to Meg, who set off determindly back toward the stage.

He opened a door left slightly ajar and waved her in.

The room was barren save for a piano. The walls were sound-proofed, the lights bright and steady.

Her tutor seated himself at the piano. "Scales." She opened her mouth, he tilted his head as he played, listening intently. "Stop." She fell silent, half-curious, half-wary as he stood. She could hear her breath catch as he stood behind her. "Relax." he told her calmly. He placed a hand on her abdomen. "Breathe from here. Now, stand straight and let's hear it again."

She wasn't sure if she liked the presence at her back. Strange tremors went up her spine, her body went hot, than cold. He was warm against her back, voice soft in her ear. The faint scent of cinnamon and wood smoke lingered around him. She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. Did he feel her heart beating so wildly?

"Relax." He murmurred. She felt the tension leave her as the rich, sensuous voice brushed her ear. She repeated the scales until he was satisfied, amazed at what the man behind her had done to her voice.

Erik.

Erik

"Relax." He told her softly. She was incredibly light against him, a whisper of song in his arms. He could have sworn he felt her heartbeat, racing.

Of course she's nervous, Erik. Don't be an idiot.

Still, there was something in the way she fit so surely against him, the way her voice floated around them in the stillness. Her hair, soft as a breath of wind, brushed his bare skin as he spoke into her ear.

He released her slowly. Reluctant to loose the music he had held in his arms, however briefly.

There was an odd stillness about her after he loosed her. The hair on the back of his neck prickled.

"Christine, are you all right?" She looked over her shoulder, smiled. The gesture unsettled him. It had been lovely, but something hid beneath it, something that she covered quickly as she turned to face him.

"How did you do that?"

He looked at her inquisitively. "Do what?"

Her expression was odd. Half joy, half terrible sorrow. "I haven't been able to sing like that since...for years." She corrected.

He had not missed the flash of pain in her eyes. Since what, Christine? What are you hiding?

Then he reprimended himself. It isn't your business, Erik. She has a perfect right to have a few secrets. Stay out of it. He handed her the sheet of music for one of her scenes. "It's my job. I should be good at it. Do you think you've warmed up sufficiently?"

Christine

It was much later when the day was brought to a halt. She was slinging her bag over her shoulder when she heard a voice.

"Care to join me for a coffee?"

She turned. Erik Destler stood casually in the doorway. He raised an eyebrow in polite inquiry.

She looked at her watch. She had time. "Sure."

The sun set around five in December. Christine looked up and savored the pinpricks of brilliance in the sky. It was snowing lightly, a peaceful night. There was no conversation between them, but the silence was companionable. The cold almost put her to sleep, as it always did.

She revived a bit over coffee. Enough to ask the man across from her a question that had been teasing at her mind all day.

"Who is Carlotta?"

He grimaced. "The spawn of-"

She fixed him with a look that was both laughing and not laughing. "Be serious."

His lips curved. "I assure you, I have never been more serious in my life." He apparently realized that she found this statement lacking, for he elaborated. "A Prima Donna, once the toast of the Opera world, now losing her touch, though she hadn't had much in the first place. Although you would be hard pressed to get her to admit it. She loves opera less for the art of it than she does for the limelight."

Christine raised her brows. "That's a pretty hefty judgement."

He rolled his eyes expressively and set his coffee down. "You try putting up with her someday."

She gave him a sweet smile. "Thank you, but no thank you." Than her eyebrows drew together. "She's not that bad, surely?"

"Have you ever heard a cat in a blender?" He asked dryly.

"No, I can't say that I have." She replied mock-seriously. She looked at the cafe clock. "Is that the time?"

He glanced down at her wrist. "Has your watch stopped working?"

She groaned and rubbed her eyes. "Naturally."

He stood. "I'll take you home"

"No-really- it's all right"

"Why should you pay for a taxi when I can drop you off for free?"

She couldn't answer that question without sounding paranoid or rude. Or both. "Thank you, then."

"Not a problem, Miss Daae." He unlocked the door for her.

"Can you give me directions?"

She nodded. His headlights flicked on.

Erik

The car glided smoothly to a stop in front of a building that had seen better days. "Is this it?"

She nodded, seemingly eager to be off. "Yes. Thank you."

"You're welcome. See you tomorrow."

She nodded distractedly. "Thank you again. Goodbye."

He waited for her to get inside the building, than headed for his flat. He had heard fear in Christine Daae's voice.

What is she afraid of?

Christine

"You're late."

She winced. She'd hoped that he would be later than usual this time.

No such luck. Joseph sat, arms crossed, brows raised sardonically. "Who was that man you were riding with?"

"He works at the Opera House. He offered to give me a lift." She decided not to tell him about the coffee.

"I don't want you seeing him again." Joseph said flatly.

Christine sighed patiently. "That will be rather hard, considering that I work with him."

In a moment he was behind her, arm like a vice against her ribs, one hand forcing her head to turn sharply toward his. His eyes were black and entirely unamused. "Don't play games with me, Christine."

"Calm down, Joseph," Christine said pacifingly. "I think you've had too much to drink tonight."

She tried to squirm away. His hold tightened. She felt her ribs protest. His hand pressed on her throat, painfully. She'd have bruises there tomorrow.

"Joseph, why don't you go lay down and I'll-"

He picked her up, crushing her frail body to his. "Why don't you come with me?"

"Joseph, calm down"

"Are you two-timing me, Christine? I wonder."

"Joseph, please-"

"No need to beg, Christine."

"Let me go!" She struggled, her hand glanced off of his jaw. Somehow she was standing again.

He forced her head back. "Enough, Christine. I'm just giving you what you deserve. Remember that."

He twisted her arm savagely. "Always remember that."

The night was no longer peaceful.

Well, what do you think about that? Reviews are appreciated.

Lee