Disclaimer: I do not own POTO, only the storyline and the unaffiliated characters. Thank you for all of the very encouraging reviews!

Note I- Ausculto translates to "I listen"

Note II- I do not know when I'll be able to update again, but I will when I'm able.

Lee

Ausculto

Christine

She found a strange determination in her now, when she sang. It was no longer only for her own sake- or even for that of her parents.

It was for him she now strove to excel. Strove to see the sky-colored eyes warm as though they were lit by sunlight, to hear the relaxed warmth of the melodic voice. Strove to break the darkness note by note, word by word, with the most tenuous rays of light and hope.

She sang to watch the faint smile he would sometimes turn on her. She sang to see the distance lessened, the coldness faded, the pain alleviated. Two weeks of healing, she had given him thus far, two weeks like the fading of winter, as the ice receded from the rivers, pale, frosted blue shadows melting away into the true depth and vibrancy of the earth's rebirth. As though she watched rime slipping away, becoming translucent before fading into mist. As though she watched the first touch of sun upon a garden, bright and clear.

She trembled, sometimes, afterward, with the force of emotion that moved through her. That left her still, spirit and body alike aglow with the remnants of her song. The depth of it shook her, a wild majesty that she found sometimes she was merely a vessel for. She found it choking her sometimes, flooding and consuming her, rocking her as a great wave, an impact like the bright flare of sunlight upon eyes that had lived for years in darkness.

Christine did not dwell as much on her own pain now. He was there to hold her when she cried, this was her chance to repay that. Every time he held her, every word of comfort, was a gift to return; to offer to him as he had to her. To show him just how much that had meant for her, how grateful she was for it. How much she cared.

Her chance to give him the same compassion he had given her and teach him the joy of the journey of healing. The sudden release of grief, like a great flood running down, leaving exposed the suspended emotions, the seeds of life. Giving breath and light to hopes and dreams. How the tender, tenuous strains of emotion would begin to stir, the soul to rise again.

How one began to hear the breath of life again as it moved through them. A singing joy that thrilled through the body and left a brilliant light in its wake, so that the soul blazed like a beacon.

Christine smiled as she lay on her bed, basking in the sunlight. Her book lay open, unread before her. Outside, it was scorching, burning. Heat haze rose from the pavement, shimmering in the humid air. In here, sheltered by clear glass, it was perfect on her skin. Here she could look out and contemplate the world while the sun touched her, a relaxing warmth, like balm soaking through her pores. She hummed absently as she gazed out at the park. I wonder if he's ever lain like this, looked out at the world and wondered at what lay beyond, just out of sight. She reflected on the idea, the blue eyes gazing curiously, probing at the fabric of the world, seeing deeply into the world, so deep. A yearning in them, to venture beyond the illusion of the horizon. I wonder if he's ever simply lain this still, so still, and listened to the sound of sunlight singing against the skin?

I wonder...

The sharp shrilling of a phone jarred her sharply from her thoughts. Christine slid reluctantly off of her bed and made her way down the hall to the kitchen. She plucked the phone from its cradle, cutting it off in mid-jangle.

"Hello?"

Erik

He traced over the music. Don Juan Triumphante. It was to be his magnum opus, the outpouring of the world as it moved through him. Every sensation that touched him in the night was laid into the score, the music that brushed his spirit under the illumination of white candles.

"Will I ever see it?"

Wistful, questioning eyes upon him. Glowing in the light, wondering and infused with the aura of music. The mysticism of his music room flowing through her, drawing out her voice. Lifting her song to the heavens, freeing the entombed girl within.

"Perhaps someday."

Why was it that he heard her voice when Aminta sang? That clear, seraphic voice soaring through the notes of his opera?

Why do I...?

A sharp ringing brought him back from his musings. He left the piano, going through the door and down the hall. The incessant jangle moved through the air in fractured bursts, hardly conducive to composing.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it ceased. He heard Christine's voice as he paused on the threshold of the kitchen. She stared out the window as she talked, uncertainty and worry moving across her face like clouds over the sky. The sun illuminated her face with a flaming touch. Her voice was overlaid with false brightness, almost cheerful enough to be convincing.

Almost.

"I'm fine, Raoul, you?" A pause, her brows contracting. "Now? Raoul, do you realize how hot it is outside?" She sighed, half-smiled at whatever he replied. "Well, if you say it's important... all right. I'll meet you there in ten." A shadow flitted over her face. "You too. Bye." She laid the phone back in it's cradle, looked over at him. "Oh. I didn't see you there." She ran a hand through her hair, seemingly uneasy.

"Going out?" he asked casually, hoping to drain the tension from her. Her arms were crossed over her chest in an awkward gesture. Why does she keep meeting with him when he makes her feel so ill at ease? he wondered. Was her kindness, her compassion so much stronger that she put another's needs before her own? Her tolerance was a source of amazement to him.

She shrugged. "More or less." She shifted, seeming reluctant to move. Her eyes flickered along the floor, following a sunbeam.

He eyed her fair skin. "You'll burn if you don't put on sunscreen."

She smiled wryly, some of the unease draining. "Oh, I'll use sunscreen, don't worry. I remember the last time I didn't listen to that advice..." she laughed ruefully, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. The glassy look faded from her eyes, a warm sparkle taking its place.

He felt the warmth of it suffuse the room. "The last time?"

Christine's laugh was wistful. "One time when I was ten, I wouldn't listen when my father told me that same thing." She grimaced. "As I recall, my skin was an interesting shade of red for the next week." There was a fond note of nostalgia in her voice. "I should have listened to him more."

Erik shook his head and smiled. "I hope you'll remember his advice now."

She raised her eyes to his, smiled as she moved past him. "I will."

He watched her go.

Raoul

Three weeks. Three careful weeks of treading lightly, moving ever closer. It was like coaxing a deer to come, by soft cajoling, patient stillness.

Three weeks of sunlit meetings, where he sought to gain a quiet laugh from her, a small smile light her moon-pale face. To see the warmth in her farseeing eyes, to bask in that strangely familiar aura of comfort.

Three weeks of learning about her, each other. Sunlit hours whiled away with harmless pastimes. Platonic, with only the hints of overtures on his part.

There had been something new between them. An anticipation, almost a tension. An expectation, in the way she would look off questioningly into the distance, her eyes moving briefly over his before seeking the sky. The slight catch in her voice, a barest hesitation.

Maybe it was time.

Maybe now she was ready to hear what he wanted to say to her.

He looked up at the skitter of gravel under her shoes. Her hair was pulled up, off of her neck, escaping in small curling tendrils. She touched it awkwardly. Christine offered a tentative smile, there was an uncertainty in her eyes. As though she did not know quite what to say or do.

He sympathized with the sensation.

Raoul smiled, trying to relax her. "Hey, Chris." He patted the bench beside him. She lowered herself cautiously. Her eyes were serious on his.

She relaxed a little as she settled against the bench. "Hey. What did you need to talk about?"

"Chris," he began calmly, keeping his voice level. "How long would you say we've been meeting now?" A note of intimacy escaped him, entered his voice.

Her brows contracted. "Around three weeks, but why are you-?"

She broke off as he took her hands in his. A spark of comprehension entered her eyes. And- oddly- a nervous light.

Or maybe it wasn't so odd. Christine seemed nervous by nature, from what he had learned in his time with her. He ran his fingers over the back of her hands comfortingly, the fair surface like sliding his hand over water.

Raoul kept his eyes steady on hers. "I've been meaning to ask you for some time. I'd like to be more than just friends with you. I care for you very much, Chris, and I'd like for us to go further." He felt a tender smile play across his lips. "I think I love you already, a little." He paused as her eyes looked beyond him, as though she stared at a far horizon. She was still, eerily still.

She seemed frozen. His smile faded, replaced by concern. "Chris, are you feeling all right?" Her eyes were glassy, her skin paled and beading in the sunlight. He touched an errant strand that curled against her cheek, damp with humidity. "Chris?"

She blinked, then seemed to come back to herself, looking at him again. "I have to go." She rose abruptly. Her eyes were wide and dilated, the sun striking the mahogany depths with an amber, almost fey light. He saw the muscles of her slender throat work, heard her breath quicken. His heart skipped.

Oh, no.

"Chris-!" he started as she slid back, shaking, stood and backed away. The words poured from her like water from a broken fountain, sporadic. "I have to go, Raoul- I'll call you if- I'll-" She broke off and, turning, began to run.

He started after her, called her name, then stopped. If he did this, listened to the need to follow her and explain, it would only frighten her further. He hit the bench open-palmed, feeling suddenly helpless.

Why is she so afraid of staring something?

Christine

She approached him apprehensively, finding it hard to think through the heavy summer heat. She felt something moving through the languid summer air, something with the scent of change. Her veins hummed.

He looked up at her, smiled. "Hey, Chris." She sat down at his easygoing invitation, forced some of the tension out of her body. "Hey. What did you need to talk about?" Christine kept her voice nonchalant, belying the nervous whispers in her spirit.

His voice was quiet, a hesitation behind it. "Chris, how long would you say we've been meeting now?"

There was an expectancy in his eyes, he leaned toward her slightly. Her nerves rippled, an uncomfortable fluttering beneath her skin. "Around three weeks, but why are you-?"

The words were torn from her when he took her hands in his, holding them gently, almost... tenderly. In some part of her, a comprehension sprung forth- and with it, a fear. She felt trepidation enter her eyes as his fingers slipped over the back of her hands in repetitive motion. It would have been therapeutic, had it not been him. Let this be something else, don't let him say what I think he will-

His eyes did not flicker on his, holding them levelly. "I've been meaning to ask you for some time.-"

-Oh, God.-

"- I'd like to be more than just friends with you. I care for you very much, Chris, and I'd like for us to go further." She saw a smile, sweet and soothing, touch his eyes and curve his mouth.

She felt herself plummeting. No. No, no, not this...

"I think I love you already, a little."

Not this...

She went cold at those words, spoken so warmly. Something in her disconnected at the words, fleeing the reality of the moment, sweeping her up toward a place she could deny those words.

"Chris, are you feeling all right?" She felt, as from a great distance, him brush away a curl from her cheek.

She blinked and came back to herself. He was frowning slightly, all attentive care and concern. His hazel eyes held a shimmer that spurred a surge of hysteria. She wanted to reject those words, those hazel eyes, to deny the existence of his confession. Christine wanted to repudiate the words he had spoken- it was not right for her to be here, for him to speak them. It was not right for either of them. Bile rose in her throat. This is wrong.

"Chris?" He seemed genuinely anxious.

"I have to go." she managed. Tugging herself away, she rose. There was a pounding resounding through her now, a hot humming in her veins. A fear budding. Her breath felt suddenly harsh, burning throat and lungs. This is wrong.

This was wrong.

"Chris-!" he exclaimed as she retreated from him.

"I have to go, Raoul-" she stammered. "I'll call you if- I'll-" Christine stopped. Run. whispered the voice inside, settled near the depths of her soul.

She listened, the summer sun scorching her skin, hot air searing her. Her eyes stung with salty sweat, burning against her skin as she ran, the wind ripping past her.

Christine heard him call her. If he was pursuing her, she couldn't tell. There was nothing but the red pounding of the sun, heat pressing in all around her, her brain a torrent of confused thoughts like flames swirling mindlessly.

She did not look back.

Erik

He heard the door slam open from where he sat in the living room, musing over the score before him. What the hell? He walked out into the hall, score in hand, wondering what had brought such force to the simple opening of a door.

He was met with a jarring impact as Christine literally ran into him. He looked down at her in surprise, her body shook against his, her hair was in disarray, sweat slicked her skin.

The music fell to the floor. "Christine," he asked gently, voice calm, the antithesis of how he felt, "what happened?" Concern extended tentative veins through him, tension reverbrated through her.

She stood numbly against him, body shaking. What on earth? The worry spread, a faint alarm ringing in the back of his mind. He tilted her chin up. "What happened, Christine?"

He blinked at the change from the girl of this morning. Her eyeliner twisted down her face in dark veins, her eyes were wide and swirling with nameless things. She looked as though she were about to be physically sick. He felt those mahogany eyes drawing him in and downward, a maelstrom, looked steadily. "Christine?"

Her lips quivered.

Erik tried for a more direct approach. "What did Mr. DeChagney say to you?"

The dam of silence broke in a torrent, a deluge of words surging past him in horrified shock, indeterminate, tumbling over one another. He put his arms around the shaken girl, alarmed at the emotions roiling in her eyes, through her body, that hissed in the air around her. "It's all right, Christine. Calm yourself." His voice dropped.

"It's all right, Christine."

She halted. He rubbed her back, soothing. Her tremors lessened, but were not gone. She looked up at him with a semblance of sense in her eyes. "Now." he kept his eyes on hers, trying to draw her away from the raw emotion she was drowning herself in, back to lucidity. "Tell me what happened."

Her eyes did not fall from his. He managed to gather that the boy had sprung a romantic declaration on her. Erik felt his hands tighten involuntarily. The idiot. Of all the insensitive...

"He told me that he loved me-" The veneer of her calm began to fade, her voice raised and twisted with anger, guilt. Her eyes burned feverishly, skin pale and gleaming with sweat as she began to shake anew. "I never asked him to love me- why does he love me?" Her voice broke, but the words continued, ripped from her as wind denuding a tree in autumn, in a cascade of swirling leaves. "I never asked for this, Erik! It's not fair to him, why should he love me when I can't love him back?" she cried. Her breath was harsh, wracking her. Her body shook against his. He felt adrenaline speeding under her skin, a rush of torment and anger. She was taut with the emotions running rampant through her. "Is there something wrong with me, that I can't love him?" She sounded almost sickened with herself. "Is there something the matter with me?"

She looked up imploringly at him, eyes desperate, magnetizing in their anguish. Shining with the tears that flooded and spilled over her skin. "Why is this happening- why, Erik... why!" Her eyes held his a moment longer, the light on them trembling, before she dropped her eyes to the floor in something like shame. Tear tracks gleamed brightly on her skin as she fell silent.

He held her closer, hands moving calmingly over her back. Slow, steady motion. He felt her relax against him, the frenzy driven out of her, replaced by a numb weariness. Her head sank listlessly to his chest. "Christine, you can't choose who you love or don't love." He heard his voice become distant with memories. "It's not a choice to love someone."

Star-filled green eyes filled his mind. A pealing laugh, the scent of jasmine seemed to drift past him. "You can never choose who you love." he whispered, to himself or her, he didn't know.

She looked up at him again. Her eyes had stilled, the raging whirlpool subdued.

He was struck, suddenly, by the sight. In that moment, she was not Nadir's goddaughter. She was not the teenager who had stood on the doorstep that first day.

She was Christine.

He realized that there was a questioning look in her eyes, smiled reassuringly. The mahogany eyes looked at him a moment longer before falling as she lowered her head against him again. "How can you be so sure?" Her voice was muffled against his chest.

He lifted her face up. "Christine, I promise you, this does not make you evil."

Her eyes were sickened, a fear emergent. "What if I can't love anyone? What if-"

He broke in gently. "Even if you don't love him, Christine, that does not mean that you are incapable of love. You are-" he paused, sifting through his words carefully. "You are very- compassionate, Christine. I do not think you could ever succumb to that inhumanity."

His words seemed to ease her, her heart no longer beat so wildly against his skin. "Thank you." Her voice was low, tentative. There was a question behind it, and in the mahogany eyes.

Erik wiped away the dark rivulets on her face. Christine. What has this been doing to you? She closed her eyes against the touch, mouth twitching slightly. She was ashen, trembling. Her breathing sounded dry. He frowned. "Did you run all the way here?"

She offered a tremulous smile that shook only slightly. "More or less." Her eyes flickered.

He steered her to the kitchen, sat her down. Pouring her a glass of water, he put it in her hands "Drink."

She put it to her lips obediently. Her eyes searched his over the rim of the glass.

Erik brushed back the tangled hair, damp and curling, from her face, rested his hand against her forehead. She was warm, but not feverishly so. "How do you feel?"

She blinked, sagged slightly as she began to register her body. "A little dizzy. Nauseous." Christine rubbed a hand over her eyes. "Tired."

"Why don't you go clean yourself up and rest?" he suggested gently.

She dropped her head to her arms. "I suppose I look about how I feel, then."

"You look like a woman who has had a very trying day and deserves some peace." he replied as she rested her head on one side to look at him. Her eyes had softened, weary, but calmed.

Christine smiled faintly. "I think I'll go do that, then." She stood, fatigue in her movements.

She surprised him, wrapping her arms around him in a brief, tight embrace. "Erik- Thank you." she whispered against his shirt.

He found that he was returning the gesture. "You're welcome, Christine."

Christine

The door swept open before her, she continued blindly running before she hit something with a force that knocked the breath out of her. She stumbled back, would have fallen if he had not reached out and held her. She heard, dimly, the rustle of paper falling.

She closed her eyes, a twisting at her core, as his voice flowed, calming, soothing, over her. "Christine, what happened?"

He placed light fingers under her chin, raised her eyes to his. "What happened, Christine?" His voice had a note of urgency in it now. The sky colored eyes were alight, intent on hers. The twisting in her was interrupted by a sharp jolt through her middle, an electric shock. His eyes were so strangely vivid...

"Christine?" he prompted her gently. She felt her mouth tremble, words falling just short of passing her lips.

His eyes sharpened slightly, a bright clarity. "What did Mr. DeChagney say to you?"

The name was too much. She found the words pouring out of her, almost unintelligible in their rapidity. Dark things pounded through her, beating against her skin with punishing wings. Her mind chased itself in circles. She felt bile rise in her throat, her insides twisting...

The feel of his arms around her halted the hysteric storm of words, buffering the frenzy inside. "It's all right, Christine. Calm yourself." His voice softened, suffusing her with some relaxing balm, like the touch of the sunlight of that morning. "It's all right, Christine." he reassured her.

She felt some of her shaking slacken. His hands moved over her back in calm litany, like the ebb and flow of the ocean against the shore. "Now." His eyes were searching hers. "Tell me what happened."

She looked up at him as steadily as she was able, giving a brief anecdote of the meeting. Her words trembled in the air, she found she could not describe it in any great detail without a rise of the same sickening emotions.

"He told me that he loved me." she whispered, fighting the creeping sensation, like revulsion, in her veins. A shadowed flutter over her skin. "I never asked him to love me- why does he love me?" she burst out. The words tumbled more quickly now, laced with anger and darker things, things she feared to touch. "I never asked for this, Erik! It's not fair to him, why should he love me when I can't love him back?" An empty gap opened in her stomach, a void torn by the harsh injustice of it all. Her lungs burned, eyes stinging. She felt herself shaking. A tempest brewed inside of her, emotions searing and ripping at her. "Is there something wrong with me, that I can't love him?" What kind of inhuman thing am I?

Christine looked up at him as though he could answer that thought. "Why is this happening- why, Erik... why?"

Why was her world so wrong?

She felt tears starting, blurring and distorting her vision as she looked down from the bright eyes, so searching on hers. She felt them slide down her skin, stinging.

He did not answer her. His arms tightened, holding her closer to him. His hands moved over her back in soothing litany. She felt the wildness draining out of her, a dull apathy taking its place. His heart beat against her temple as she dropped her head to his chest.

"Christine," his voice came from over her, washing down upon her like rain, "you can't choose who you love or don't love."

His voice softened with remembrance, faded. "It's not a choice to love someone." His breathing filled the silence before he spoke again, so quietly it almost eluded her. "You can never choose who you love."

She lifted her head, eyes going back to his. There was a deep stillness in her now, the roiling waves subsiding into small ripples. The sky colored eyes held hers for a long moment, searching, a faint surprise in them. The side of his face not covered by the mask had an attentive look to it, as though he were trying to listen to something hovering on the horizon. The moment swelled around them, something intangible just out of reach. Her breath shuddered.

Her head dropped to his chest again, an entirely different anxiety thrumming through her. "How can you be so sure?"

His fingers skimmed under her jaw, raised her face so that she looked into the summer blue eyes. "Christine, I promise you, this does not make you evil."

The soft intensity in his voice almost convinced her.

Then the doubt surfaced again, the horror inside to breathe shallowly. "What if I can't love anyone? What if-"

"Even if you don't love him, Christine," he stopped her words, his own reassuring, "that does not mean that you are incapable of love. You are-" he hesitated, seemingly at a loss. "You are very- compassionate, Christine." His voice quieted. "I do not think you could ever succumb to that inhumanity."

She let the words soak through her like sunlight, a soothing warmth spreading in their wake. "Thank you." She looked up at him, not realizing the question in her eyes.

What does he think of me?

His eyes dropped from hers, passing over her face. A slight frown crossed his face, he reached out. She closed her eyes as he wiped away the tears, fingers sliding smoothly over her skin. Her breath trembled, passing her lips. Her throat felt suddenly dry, her body shook.

She opened her eyes at the sudden question. "Did you run all the way here?" Concern settled over his features.

Christine tried a weak smile. "More or less." She suppressed the flutter that rippled through her body.

He kept his arm around her as he guided her to the kitchen. She found a glass of water in her hands once she had sat down. "Drink." Erik said firmly, eyes brooking no argument. He stood over her as she did, her eyes on his. He swept the unkempt hair from her forehead, resting his hand lightly against her skin. The coolness eased the hot pounding in her head. "How do you feel?" His voice was quiet, a note of care overlaying it.

"A little dizzy. Nauseous." she replied, massaging her closed eyes. A clouded fog, filled her. "Tired."

His voice was gentle. "Why don't you go clean yourself up and rest?"

Christine laid her head on her arms. Her body felt strangely, suddenly heavy. An aching dullness settling throughout her body. "I suppose I look about how I feel, then." She looked up at him, not lifting her head. He half-smiled, the left side of his face softening.

"You look like a woman who has had a very trying day and deserves some peace." he answered her quietly. His eyes were warmed, the complexities that had continually puzzled her moving in them like ripples through water.

"I think I'll go do that, then." she replied with a half-smile. Christine stood up, weariness seeping through her.

He started as she embraced him. She suppressed the urge to do the same, surprised by her impetuous gesture. Her arms tightened involuntarily. "Erik-" She did not look up at him. "Thank you."

She felt his arms come around her. "You're welcome, Christine."

She felt the aura of safety, glowing in the way the sun did, as it hit their skin as they stood in silence. A sense of serenity flowed through her, she heard the gentle movement of the tides in the beating of his heart under her ear. Tranquility filled her, her spirit basking in a soft light.

The darkness was gone.

Again, I don't know the next time I will be able to update- I'm going away over spring break. I hope this can hold you till then. Thanks for your patience!

cookies n' hugs

Lee