Disclaimer: I do not own POTO or any associated music/characters. I do not own the song "So Young," which belongs to The Corr. I own only the lovely cookies my reviewers so enjoy. :)

Two chapters in one day, don't you feel loved?

Lee

So Young

Christine

She woke suddenly, one long ache from crown to sole. Joseph was, thank Heaven, gone. God. Even my hair hurts.

You had this coming.

I know. But she had never longed more for the boy she had destroyed. Oh, Raoul. What did I do?

The memories of a funeral seemed to hover in the darkness. A wake at which she had sat silent and pale next to open caskets. Her fiancé's white face rose before her, marked and marred by the accident that had killed him.

The last moments came rushing back as she watched the car lights slide across her curtains. His last moments.

"Christine."

His eyes were glazed. It was so strange, so frightening to see Raoul, her Raoul, so still on the hospital bed. The heart monitor was a slow beep, too slow. The red of his ravaged face was stark against the white face, a shout in the solemn quiet of the hospital room.

Her tendons stood out starkly as she gripped his hand. His own grip was limp, he was already slipping. The firm touch, so reassuring, was no longer there.

"Christine, promise me-"

"Don't talk like that, Raoul. You'll be fine. You'll be-"

His quiet whisper cut her off like a scream. "Promise me you won't give up your music."

"You'll be fine, Raoul."

"Swear you'll find another love."

"Raoul!"

"Promise me!" He said hoarsely. He began to cough. She saw a trickle of red on his lips before a nurse came running in. Her heart constricted painfully.

"I promise."

His hand slipped from hers as the nurse brushed her back.

The monitor was silent.

She reached for her guitar, the only anesthetic for a lone girl at 3 o'clock in the morning.

"We were taking it easy

Bright and breezy

We are living it up

Just fine and dandy

We are chasing the moon

Just running wild and free

We are following through

Every dream, and every need..."

She and Raoul had been planning the wedding only days before the accident. Her lips stretched in the parody of a smile.

"What color do you think the decorations should be?"

He looked at her teasingly. "I think there's something to be said for white, myself."

She smacked his arm. "Raoul!"

He caught her hand and kissed it. His hazel eyes were warm on hers, deep pools of spring leaves. "Ecru."

She smiled back. "And the flowers?"

He reached across the table and took her hands in his, caressing the fingers. "Daffodils."

A tear slid, shining, down the burnished wood of the guitar.

"And it really doesn't matter

that we don't eat

And it really doesn't matter

that we don't sleep It really doesn't matter, it really

doesn't matter at all..."

Little memories, it was the little things she missed

"Christine, Taylor mentioned this Italian place downtown. Want to go?"

She pulled him down on the couch beside her. "Why don't we eat in?"

He grinned as she lay in his arms, sharing popcorn and the Wizard of Oz. She felt him kiss her hair gently as Dorothy met the scarecrow. Christine smiled contentedly and settled back against him.

She wondered what he would think of her now. She owed him so much for what she'd done to him.

"'Cos we were so young then,

we are so young, so young now

And when tomorrow comes,

we'll just do it all again."

There would be no tomorrow for them. Christine set down her guitar and let the tears come.

Meg

She knew something was wrong the moment Christine walked through the door. Her face was drawn, expressionless. Her eyes were clouded, shadows lurking beneath them. She moved stiffly, did not hear what was said to her at first.

"Christine?" She laid a gentle hand on the girl's shoulder. For all her apparent buoyancy, Meg had good people instincts.

Those instincts were clanging like alarm bells now.

Christine flinched. "Yes?"

Meg looked at her levelly, worried with the absent look in Christine's eyes. "What's the matter, Christine?"

She blinked, tried a smile. Meg knew a forced smile when she saw it. Christine tried to reassure her. "Really, I just didn't get a lot of sleep last night."

She bent down to retrieve her water bottle. As she did, her long-sleeved, heavy turtleneck rose.

Meg's breath hissed between her teeth. The girl's ivory back was riddled with dark stripes and bruises. "Christine, who- who did that to you?"

Christine straightened, whipping her head around like she'd been shouted for. Her face was drained, completely devoid of color. "Oh, no." She rushed forward. "It was my fault, promise me you won't tell anyone!"

Meg stared in horror at the fragile girl clinging to her. "Christine,"

"Promise me!" Hot tears scalded the dancer's skin. She held the girl close. "Christine, you've got to tell someone."

"No!" Her lips were trembling, whites showing all around her reddening eyes. There was shame in the brown depths. "Please, don't tell. Please..." The pain in her eyes sent a jolt through Meg's stomach. "You can't tell anyone, Meg." Her voice steadied, the tears were slowing. She was locking everything back in. "This is my choice, Meg. You can't tell anyone."

'It's the wrong choice, Christine. You don't deserve to be treated like this"

Christine's arms tightened on her shoulders, she laughed bitterly. "Don't I? Oh, Meg, if you only knew how much I really deserve."

"You deserve someone who loves you." Meg rubbed her back, trying to bring her back to the tears, anything but this cynical, twisted conviction.

Christine's lips twitched into something that did not resemble a smile. "I had someone. And it's my fault I don't have him anymore."

"That doesn't give your boyfriend the right to hit you!"

Christine pulled away. She was disturbingly calm, Meg felt goosebumps rise on her skin. "Are you so sure about that, Meg?" She left the room, pausing at the doorway. "Don't tell anyone about this." She looked over her shoulder. There was only the slight redness to her eyes to show that she'd lost her composure at all. "Please, Meg." Then she was gone.

Erik

Christine seemed lost today. Her voice had lost the passion of yesterday; mechanically, she reached all of the notes, sang automatically the music he gave her. She was looking into some far distance, distracted and wayward.

What's the matter with her?

Finally, he turned to face her. "Christine, what is it that's bothering you?"

She blinked at him in apparent confusion. "I'm fine, Mr. Destler, why do you ask?" Her eyes were innocently inquiring.

He sighed. "Perhaps because you have not sung to the potential I know you can. You are distracted, unfocused. Your voice has no emotion. So I will ask you again, Christine, what is the matter?"

Her smile did not quite reach her eyes. "I'm fine, Mr. Destler, honestly. Don't worry about me."

Like hell you are. he thought, trying to pierce the thing veil that clouded her eyes. What aren't you telling me, Christine?

Still, it was useless to pressure her for answers, he would get nothing but artless denial from her. She was skilled at controlling her body language, but he had long ago mastered the art of reading such signs, and her control was not as good as it might be. She had her hands in her pockets, a slight shifting of the weight that betrayed her.

He sighed and turned back to the piano. Perhaps Meg knew what was wrong with Christine. He would find out after rehearsal ended.

In the meantime, he aided in the only way he could.

He played for her.