Disclaimer: I do not own POTO, nor the song "Full Circle" by Loreena McKinnett. I own only the storyline and the unaffiliated characters.

Note I- Arcanum is Latin for 'secret' or 'mystery'

Thank you, for all of your reviews. Wow. I'm a bit overwhelmed here. In a good, touched, awed and humbled kind of way. Thank you so much, everyone who reviewed.

Lee

Arcanum

Christine

There seemed to be a sort of unspoken agreement between her and Raoul, to forget their conversation of the past week. A tacit understanding between the two of them that any mention of that day was taboo.

But an agreement only not to speak of it. He still gave her that odd, sidelong glance, a mix of attentive worry and care. His voice still carried the undertones of warmth and concern. When he touched her- and refrained from touching her- there was still that wistfulness to his movements, an unvoiced longing.

There was a sense that he was waiting.

But for what?

For her?

She didn't know. But she had begun to wonder. Would it be so harmful to give him a chance? Had she really been fair to him, to pull away when he so clearly wished for nothing more than to be able to comfort her? At least now she knew that there was more to their relationship than a wish on his part to 'fix' her. There was a sense that he wanted to do more than that. That he might want to feel affection for her, even love her.

Would it be unfair to deny him at least a chance?

It was this that had led her, had led the two of them, to be walking in the park together. It was noon, there were children running through the grass, screaming with laughter and intent on games of their own. The sandy gravel crackled underneath their shoes, the sun felt warm against her face. Christine brushed back a curl escaped from its constraints. Birdcalls flitted past them in cheerful trills and whistles. The bright sunlight, shining as a magician's mirror, seemed to have brought out all ages to revel in the growth of summertime.

An unoccupied bench beckoned. She and Raoul seated themselves and leaned back against it. The sunwarmed wood pressed hard against her spine.

Raoul laid an arm over her shoulders as her eyes followed a golden retriever racing after an airborne frisbee, a red blur that it snatched out of midair. Christine forced away her uncertainty at the touch and resisted the urge to pull away.

Is it so wrong to give him a chance? she thought distractedly. She felt vaguely unsettled, there was a nebulous murmur that whispered to her to run and keep running. A faint fluttering as though she longed to fly away. The elusive presence brushed against her soul, appealing to her to go. That she didn't want to be here. That she shouldn't be here. Christine fixed her eyes on a distant flock of crows, hovering on the outskirts of a picnic, and hoped that they did not give her away. That there would be nothing in the mahogany depths to betray her.

She ignored the tremulous sensations, the quiet whispers. Raoul's eyes on her were so warm, so hopeful. How could she run when she could help him? How could she deny him that hope? He only wanted to do the same for her.

Perhaps she only needed time.

Maybe I can...

Nevertheless, on that bright summer's day, the sun cast a shadow of doubt into her heart. She looked up into the blue sky, as though she hoped to find an affirmation in the bright depths of the heavens.

That brilliantly blue sky.

Angel... why do I feel like this isn't right?

Angel... what should I do?

What can I do?

Raoul

The summer's air was almost a narcotic to him as he sat beside her. He knew that he had upset Chris with his impulsive question seven days ago. He knew that neither of them were to mention it.

But surely there was something in that she had agreed to meet with him again, even if she seemed to have chosen to forget his query. Surely there was something in her agreement to come with him to the park this afternoon. In that she had consented to see him again when he had called the day after that conversation- and continued to see him.

The thought, the hope that stirred inside him when she did not pull from his touch made him almost lightheaded. She seemed to be giving him another chance, and to say that he was thankful for it was an understatement. His relief, his gratitude, washed over him in a restorative, balming wave. The summer sun seemed suddenly brighter.

He had to smile at her, as she stared off pensively into the distance. He played absently with an escaped curl, so lightly that she did not notice it. Just so had he and Dawn sat, one summer's day much like this. Just so had her dark eyes glowed with the amber light of summertime.

What was she thinking of, with that faint cloud of trouble on her face? What was she thinking, as her eyes turned up to the blazing sky, where they suddenly seemed to question?

Chris... what's the matter?

He rubbed her shoulder comfortingly and her head turned toward his, eyes slightly surprised, as though she had been startled in the midst of some daydream. He smiled reassuringly. After a moment she returned it, her eyes slipping from his to lift up once more to the brilliant sky. Her lips moved faintly, briefly. Silently.

She broke from her reverie with a suddenness that startled him. "I think I'd better be getting back."

He smiled. "Sure." He wasn't going to push her when he had just gotten close again. He wasn't going to be taking any chances for a while.

Erik

He heard her voice bidding someone goodbye and paused in his playing.

Him. The boy. Erik felt a twinge of annoyance. Having the boy around, however briefly, grated on his nerves. Such a sanctimonious, thoughtless boy. He was more of a child than her, Erik noted wryly.

And that he should be pursuing her so blatantly, so obviously while she was still under the shadow of her father's death... well, it didn't sit well with Erik. That he should be so selfishly interested in her when she was still mourning, not allowing her a time to grieve before whisking her off. As though he hoped to make her forget, rather than accepting that she could and should grieve.

For she did still grieve. There had been nights where he had heard her screaming, nights of broken cries.

Nights where there was only a numb and hollow sobbing.

He knew. It was he who answered when the terror and the grief held her fast. It was he, in the guise of her Angel of Music, who comforted her. A masquerade, but one he performed without resentment, if it calmed her. If it eased the pain in her tear-bright eyes.

It was he who comforted her in the music lessons, when she would suddenly cease to sing and the tears would run slow and gleaming down her skin as she looked into nothingness. It was he who tried to give her peace when her soul was in turmoil.

He who soothed the young woman who had had her world warped and twisted like a shattered mirror.

Christine smiled at him as she leaned against the door to his music room. "I thought I'd find you here." Her voice glowed with the faint blush of sunrise.

He looked up. "Your acuity leaves me in awe, as ever." he replied dryly.

Her lips curved in a smile, chestnut eyes gleaming warmly. "Would I be interrupting if I asked for a music lesson?" She worked a hand through her hair, letting it tumble free. The sudden cascade caught the light like a reflection of flames caught in copper.

He shook his head. "Of course not, Christine. Come in."

Of course not.

Christine

She felt as though a great weight had slipped from her when the door closed between her and Raoul. A tenseness she had not even noticed was there relaxed as she made her way toward the back of the apartment. A weariness that lifted as his footsteps faded away.

Christine listened carefully, brows knit. She was sure she had heard the sound of a piano, pausing as she said goodbye to Raoul.

She heard it resume as she slid out of her sandals. Christine smiled and made her way down the hall.

Christine paused on the threshold of his sanctuary. There was a note of unease in the way his hands ran over the keys. A quickening, a restlessness.

Christine smiled at the figure intent so intent on the music. "I thought I'd find you here."

He paused, looked over at her. One eyebrow rose eloquently. "Your acuity leaves me in awe, as ever." His voice was dry, but the hint of a smile hovered about his mouth. The eyes the color of a summer sky were welcoming.

She felt her lips form into a smile. "Would I be interrupting if I asked for a music lesson?" she asked. She smoothed a hand over her hair, working the hairtie out of it. She let it tumble free, relaxing.

Erik shook his head, smiling slightly, voice warm. "Of course not, Christine." His hand moved in a gesture of invitation. "Come in."

Christine returned the smile as she complied. She felt the nameless potency of the room brush against her once more as she stepped over the threshold, caressing and warming her. There was an elusive sense of mysticism, a sanctity to this room. It eased her, murmuring a soothing reassurance to her as though she stood under a vaulted chapel.

It was only when she stood beside the piano that she noticed a new addition amongst the papers.

A photograph. Her brows knit. A pale-haired woman with brilliantly verdant eyes. A man with dark hair and eyes like summer. An embrace, eyes intent on each other. A laughing look she cast him, that he returned with a smile of such warmth it made Christine ache hollowly. His hands rested lightly on her waist, hers on his as she smiled up at him. Christine felt a longing at the joy in their eyes, the radiance of their smiles. An emptiness in her, a sharp pang. As though she looked upon something from across a wide void, a barren plain.

Then she looked at the man sitting at the piano, who looked up at her with suddenly guarded eyes, a stark and almost painful contrast to the figure in the photograph. Christine felt her heart moved, compassion stir as she wondered what had brought him to the wary aloofness that kept all else at a safe distance. That had raised the walls that she had seen beyond so rarely and so fleetingly.

The question was out in the air before she could stop it.

"Who was she?"

It hovered, breathless, in the suddenly still air and seemed to tremble there for a moment. He seemed momentarily frozen, a veil coming over his eyes like ice encasing a waterfall. Face suddenly statuesque.

Then he reached out and gently laid the photograph facedown. There was a stillness in his eyes, as though she hovered on the edge of a tempest. His eyes were downcast, the definition of his features suddenly heightened under the tautness of his face. He inhaled softly, let it out slowly in what was almost a sigh, but did not answer her. She felt an undercurrent of tension move through the air, a twisting, twining tangle that pulled her every way. There was an anger and resentment as he brushed a hand over the keys, a keen note of rejection in it.

And behind it, so tenuous and yet so raw, a pain.

She reached out to him. "Erik- are you all right?"

He looked up at her levelly. "Scales, Christine." His voice had cooled, from the fire-warmed velvet of moments ago to chilled silk. Her hand slid back in the face of that distanced gaze. There was a darkness about him now. He seemed suddenly remote, locked within himself, but for the anger she sensed, like fire under smoke. It would burst into a blaze if she continued to question him, she knew. She could sense the dangerous flare of it, like a line of flame in smoldering wood, a flame that could turn into a wildfire. She could not question him further without provoking that veiled anger.

So she did the only thing she could to ease the emotions that tangled through the room.

She sang.

Erik

How could she ask him that?

He felt a wave of coldness sweep him at the question.

Christine extended a tentative hand, touched his shoulder gently. "Erik- are you all right?" Her voice was worried, hesitant.

It was as though ice crept over him, freezing and numbing what lay in its wake, but for the smoldering fires of pain and resentment.

He forced away the darkness slipping over him. "Scales, Christine." His voice was perfectly controlled, unemotional. For which he was grateful.

He felt her eyes upon him, did not look. What might he see, if he did? Pity? The pity of the girl he had comforted in the night? Who called for him in her nightmares? Who he had given peace, as much as he was able?

Pity. A chill seeped through him, a cold and shadowed numbness as he brought up his carefully constructed walls. As though he wanted that.

As though she would give you anything else, Erik.

Christine

The frozen walls around him chilled her. It was as though he had encased himself in ice, isolated himself from light or warmth. Why is he closing everything off like this?

What had happened, that he hid from? Who was that woman in the photograph? What had passed between them, to bring him to this?

One thing was clear. Erik Destler had never had an Angel to comfort him as she had. There was no peace about him now, only a mute suffering endured because there was no other choice. Only a desperate clinging to the past because there was no future.

Hadn't he told her to mourn? What was stopping him? Had he no one to hold him as he had held her as she cried?

Erik- have you never allowed yourself to be comforted?Have you never prayed for an Angel to come?

She felt a sudden wave of compassion, an empathy of moving through her like waves upon the shore. A soul-stirring compassion for the pain that she saw through his eyes as though through clouded glass. She saw with piercing clarity, that the man who had comforted her had a darkness of his own, one that dimmed the bright eyes and shadowed the music he wove around him. A darkness that she could not penetrate.

But perhaps she could lift it- if only barely and briefly?


"Stars were falling deep in the darkness

as prayers rose softly, petals at dawn.

And as I listened, your voice sounded so clear.

So calmly you were calling your god."

She tried to recall the essence of her Angel, the healing she had found when he answered her cries. The warmth and the beauty, a divine effervescence, that moved through her spirit as her prayers were answered. A promise of comfort, a protection and a healing offered. An glowing aura that shielded her and chased back the shadows in the night, encircling her with light. Could she give that to him- the comfort she had received from her Angel of Music?

Have you never prayed for an Angel, Erik?

Have you never known that comfort?

Her voice rose in wordless melody as she poured her spirit through it, as a river baptizes the earth. As the oceans cradled the shore, so her voice moved. She sang, allowing the music to transcend the boundaries that mere words fell before. She extended a nebulous hand through her song, an offering of comfort. If only he would let the walls fall and crumble away as she had. Did he not know the healing of that? The breaking of those walls like a flood of sunlight let into a prison?

Or did he not believe in allowing himself to heal? Was this what he feared- moving forward, toward uncertainty? Releasing the pain that he seemed to have known for so long, so familiar and comprehensible? That had extended like splinters of ice into him, so much a part of him now that he feared to remove it?

"Somewhere the sun rose o'er dunes in the desert.

Such was the stillness, I n'er felt before.

Was this the question, pulling, pulling, pulling you?

In your heart, in your soul, did you find peace there?"

What dark things do you torture yourself with? Why do you feed the pain with your memories?

I know that pain, Erik. What I see behind your eyes, I've known. Why do you cling to it, as I did? Has there been no one to teach you how to let it go?

Why haven't you done for yourself what you've done for me? Why do you hold on to your loss?

She watched as the ice began to recede from his eyes, flowing away, forced back with the shadows. Watched the tense lines of his body ease, and felt relief seep through her as the distant paralysis faded. Her song ascended as she allowed the sensations inside to spill. All her empathy, her compassion, all her gratitude for the healing and acceptance he had shown her, she let into her voice, and offered back to him.

If only he would listen to it.

"Elsewhere a snowfall, the first in the winter

covered the ground as the bells filled the air.

You in you robes sang, calling, calling, calling him .

In you heart, in your soul, did you find peace there?"

Have you never had an Angel to give you peace, Erik? What kind of loss have you known, that you can't let it go? That you let it fester and spread?

Christine closed her eyes, recalling his hands on her shoulders as she sang to Heaven that day. Recalled the arms around her when she broke the walls of the mausoleum she had encased herself in. The warmth, the comfort of them, the voice so soft and soothing, the eyes so brilliant with understanding. Now, she thought she knew the reason for the depth of that understanding.

Let me help you find peace.

Recalled the life she felt begin to flow again, as though her tears had broken a winter inside of her like the first spring rain. The first rain to wash away the cold snow to reveal a cleansed earth. The rain that exposed the chilled earth and the growth housed within to sunlight once more.

Let me give you peace, Erik.

"In your heart, in your soul, did you find peace there?"

Christine reached out to the man at the piano with her voice. She couldn't hold him as he had held her, she couldn't tear down the walls of pride and restraint around him as he had for her. But she could give him this. Even if she could never hold him as he had held her, she could give him this.

Find peace in what I sing to you, Erik. Don't hide from yourself like this.

She watched the ice and the shadows fade, reaching out to him with light and warmth. Don't hide from me.

Her earlier wondering came back to her. Have you never had an Angel?

We all need an Angel sometimes, Erik.

The same insistent urging she had felt that night when she had first heard him sing rose anew, stirring like flames coaxed from glowing embers. A potent, pressing sensation that came from every way, settled within her core to whisper encouragement to her. A breathless murmur that moved her forward. She reached out, touched his shoulder. Let me help you, Erik.

Let me be your Angel.

Erik

He felt the ice broken, the shadows faded. The ephemeral voice still scintillated through him. It was like a light bringing him back to harbor, the proverbial candle burning in the window to guide home the traveler in the night.

Her voice evanesced and for a moment, there was only the breathless silence. A silence that wove around them, some meaning to it just beyond their ken.

He felt slender fingers upon his shoulder. He looked up at her. "Well done, Christine." he said softly.

Her eyes stayed on his, a steady mahogany luminescence. "Thank you."

It was not pity that he saw there.

It was compassion.