Disclaimer: I, the author of this phic, do solemnly swear that I do not own POTO or any of the associated music or characters, nor the song "Only When I Sleep" by The Corrs, so help me fanfiction dot net.

Thanks for the fantastic reviews, it's a delight to read them. Keep them coming!


And When I Wake From Slumber

Christine

Indistinct murmurs echoed through her head. Faint sensations. Tears on her cheeks, a low voice in her ear. Warmth, someone holding her close. The only connection she had with the world.

"Don't let go." She whispered. Shadows whirled around her. She was adrift in a sea without sight, a dark place without up or down, lost in gray oblivion. The touch was the only connection she had with the world, the most tenuous of threads keeping her from losing herself in the numbing ocean around her. She heard faintly, as though across immeasurable distance, a whisper, an angelic voice allaying her fears.

"I'm here, Christine. I'm here." It seemed to say. Heat cupping her body in a shell of reassurance.

Raoul? She wondered.

Her vision swam, slowly coming into a hazy kind of focus. She felt out of touch, the slipper smoothness of the dream world clouding her vision still.

Am I dreaming?

She lay in the arms of someone that was not Raoul or Joseph. Christine had the vague feeling that she knew him, from somewhere. His head fell on one shoulder, the left side of his face serene, relaxed. Dark strands swept across his face, she brushed them back with an unsteady hand. He stirred, face moving toward her at her touch. "Christine?' His voice was a bare whisper, almost too soft to hear, hazy as dreams often were. She saw a glimmer of blue between parted lashes, glittering under the dark length of them. The sculpted mouth curved gently.

An angel. Christine realized. An angel held her in her dreams. "Angel?" Her voice was faint, as though it came from another, faraway place. She laid her head against the firm chest, the slow rise and fall rocking her back into that place beyond dreams. "Angel..."

Gentle fingers stroked her cheek tentatively. "Sleep, Christine."

She closed her eyes obediently. Her hand, splayed across his chest, wavered. Blue eyes looked on, guarding, as she fell back again into dreamlessness.

Erik

"Angel?" she asks. He does not have the heart to disillusion here. Her eyes are clouded, the rich color of autumn leaves muted with sleep. She looks up at him with trusting eyes, the innocent, unquestioning faith of a child. "Angel."

He dares to touch the girl that rests against him with complete trust. Dares to stroke the alabaster skin, darkened briefly by thin, half-healed scars and lightening bruises.

"Angel..." she murmurs. Her breathing slows, eases. He brushes her cheek with his fingers. "Sleep, Christine." She closes her eyes, laying back against him. He smoothes back the tangled curls from her face. "Sleep."

She is still.

A soft tap at the door stirred him, brought him from that moment beyond time. He slipped away from her, making no noise as he went to the door.

Meg stared, hand raised to knock again. He realized he was still in the clothes from last night. Meg pursed her lips, than seemed to decide against mentioning it. Instead she raises a eyebrow. "Didn't get much sleep"

"No." He replied. "She started having nightmares." He hesitated, knowing he may be invading Christine's privacy. "Did she ever say anything to you-?"

"About something that may have given her nightmares? Only that... she blames herself for her fiancé's death. And, she believes Joseph Buquet is justified in hitting her."

Erik walked over to the table, gripped the edge. Hard.

"Am I too believe, then," he managed "that Christine feels she deserves to suffer?"

Meg crossed her arms defensively. "I didn't say she was rational at the time. I still have my doubts about her reasoning. But, Erik, she's been through a lot. And... I don't think she was very stable in the first place. She seems to depend on others. I think she still did, back then."

His face was completely still, inside his emotions ran rampant. "That would explain a great deal." he said calmly.

Meg seemed slightly unnerved by his poise, but recovered herself. After all, when had she ever seen him lose his carefully cultivated control? The dancer fiddled with her ponytail. "How is she doing?" she asked, as the silence stretched uncomfortably.

"I'm fine, Meg. Thank you." Christine emerged from the spare bedroom, wrapped in a blanket. He had to smile at the picture, the blanket trailed behind her like a cape.

Christine seemed to guess what was so amusing. Her lips formed a small smile. "I suppose I do look a bit ridiculous."

"How are you feeling?" Meg asked, rushing forward to take the other girl's hands. Erik started toward the kitchen.

"I'll put the coffee on, shall I?"

Meg nodded absently, her attention for the most part taken up with Christine. He could hear indistinct voices from his place in the kitchen.

"-are you sure, Christine? Erik said that you were having nightmares." Erik walked into the room in time to catch the end of Meg's question.

Christine frowned, pensive. "Did I? I can't seem to remember anything past..." her voice trailed off, eyes glazing over.

"Joseph?" Meg offered. Christine nodded absently, thoughts locked behind blank eyes. Then she seemed to notice Erik's presence. "How is the theatre doing?" she asked in an effort to change the direction of the conversation.

"I wouldn't know."

"Rehearsals went well yesterday. Nadir handled everything very well." Meg interposed.

"You didn't go?" Christine looked between them, confused.

"You were not in the best of health, Ms. Daae. Someone needed to stay with you."

"But your opera-" she said, flustered.

"Nadir is a perfectly capable person. He has, however, no medical training." Erik replied calmly.

Two phones rang out. Meg jumped, rummaged in her purse. She flipped it open, getting up and walking to the hall. "Hello?"

"Excuse me." Christine nodded as Erik headed for his own phone. He was not sure how he felt that Christine did not seem to remember that night. Relief, regret. Perhaps it's best she doesn't. He had been remarkably unguarded with her, and she with him. Perhaps it was better for both of them if she didn't remember, begin to depend upon him. As much as he wished they could have more such time. At least he still had the memory of those magical, surreal hours with her in his arms. In those hours, he had held an angel in his arms, fleetingly.

At least he had the memory... Erik picked up the jangling phone.

"Erik Destler."

Nadir's voice came from the device. "Erik, I'm at the theatre. How is Ms. Daae doing?"

"Christine is a great deal better than she was when she arrived."

"Erik?" Nadir's voice was layered with a strange combination. Warning, caution.

He raised an eyebrow. "What is it, Nadir?" He could imagine the man's eyes boring into him, serious.

"The theatre will talk, you know. This will get out."

"I see no problem with the current state of affairs." Erik snapped. "I will not have my employees abused."

"Some people might see her as more than your employee, Erik."

"Some people need their heads examined. I have dealt with situations of this nature before." Erik replied coolly.

"One of those people is me."

Erik was silent as Nadir continued. "Erik, be realistic. Before, you've always had me find such people a place. You have never taken them into your home, or ignored a rehearsal because of them." He heard Nadir take a deep breath. "I'm just warning you, Erik. Be careful. There are some who might want to see her brought down."

"Like who?" Erik was no stranger to the cutthroat business of the opera world, but who would want to hurt Christine?

"Janet, for one. She's still fuming over her replacement. And she does have a small circle of- associates- in the theatre. So even with Carlotta's protection, Christine is quite vulnerable to... rumors."

"Carlotta's protection?" Erik asked incredulously.

He could practically hear Nadir shrug. "Don't ask me how she managed it, I've no idea. But she's lucky she has it. Janet is still having difficulties accepting this... exchange of hats."

"Nadir, people will realize that she is jealous. Do you honestly think they will listen?" Erik knew very well what the answer was. Humans lived off of gossip, whether it was rooted in truth or not.

Nadir knew as well. "You know better than that, Erik"

"Then deal with it." Erik was surprised at how cool his voice sounded. "I don't care about the particulars of the matter, just deal with it."

Nadir's voice was unsurprised. "You do care about her."

"What brings you to that conclusion, Nadir?" His voice lowered to a dangerous purr.

"For a man who wears a mask, you're remarkably transparent, Erik." He paused. "It's not my business, Erik, but... be careful."

Erik sighed. "Thank you for that remonstration, Nadir"

Nadir's voice had a quirk of a smile in it. "I am delighted to serve in any little insignificant way that I can."

"Including acting as my conscience?" Erik shook his head, amused.

"Well, seeing as you don't seem to listen to your own common sense-"

"Nadir," Erik began warningly.

The man interrupted himself. "Oh, excuse me, Erik. One of our stagehands is throwing a tantrum. I told them I wouldn't let them play, even while you're not here, and they seem to take it quite badly." There was a loud explicative from Nadir's end, and then a hurried goodbye from the man himself.

Erik hung up the phone, smiling to himself. Yes, Nadir had everything in hand.

He walked back out as Meg emerged from the hall. She looked distinctly harried. "I'm terribly sorry, Christine, Erik, but I have to go. The pharmacists have mixed up mother's medication again and she's giving them hell and..."

"And heads will roll if you do not get over there in time." Erik finished. "Give your mother my regards, Meg."

She nodded distractedly and practically flew out the door.

Christine

She woke. Erik had had her rest again after forcing water and a small, mild meal upon her. She lay in the darkness, thinking. Erik had seemed distracted after the mysterious phone call, his usual facade slipping often as he ran a hand through his hair, stared into nothingness. "Erik?" she had ventured after a while. "What's wrong?"

He had started, seemingly surprised to see her, than the charm-the-birds-from-the-trees smile was in place. "Problems in the workplace." he replied to her unasked question

"Problems about me?"

"You are annoyingly intuitive." he collapsed into a nearby chair.

"I'm sure I'll be ready in time, Erik. How could I not, with such a great tutor?"

He looked over the back of the chair at her, a hint of a smile on his face. "Flatterer."

"It's not flattery if it's truth."

"Flatterer." he repeated, a wicked glint dancing in his eyes. "I think it's about time you slept again."

"I think you're right." she had replied. He had to help her to her room, she didn't quite trust her feet.

And now she woke, a strain of the strangest music floating around her, a soft voice singing, velvet and tender.

She rose, hypnotized, and headed toward the sound.

"Close your eyes

let your spirit start

to soar..."

She paused, leaning against the door. The last note vibrated through her being, leaving a bright trail in its wake. Her eyes were closed as she savored the inhumanly beautiful sound. Soft, sensuous. Intoxicating.

The door was ajar, she pushed it open gently. Moonlight entered through the windows, bathing him in soft radiance. He did not seem to register her presence immediately, as immersed in his music as she was. It was a few minutes, a few more minutes of glorious song, before he stilled and turned. His face was remarkably calm, his pose tranquil.

"How long have you been standing there?"

"A few minutes." she answered, still breathless. "That was..." she was unable to find words to express the wonder of his unearthly, angelic song.

His eyes were soft, assessing. For once, she saw him with all his walls down. Save the white mask which she would not ask about. Not yet. Erik's eyes seemed to glow in the darkness, lit by something more than moonlight. A seraphic light, warm and serene. "Did you need something?"

"I just- I wanted to say- thank you."

His lips curved, white teeth flashing in a smile. "You got up in the middle of the night to say 'thank you'?"

Christine shrugged, remarkably unembarrassed. "What was that song?"

He hesitated. "The Music of the Night."

She seated herself next to him on the bench. "May I hear the rest of it?"

Hmmm. Whatever will happen next?

Lee