A/N: Hello, everyone, sorry it has taken so long to get this chapter up, as I said, I've been away. Things take a more dramatic turn here, but wait for the next chapter to have questions answered….

Christine smiled. Erik. Her Angel's name was Erik…

"Erik," She whispered, and he nodded again, "It suits you."

Once more his half-smile appeared. It had been a rarity to see him smile at the Opera, she remembered. He had, and always would be, an amazingly intimidating presence, both to the chorus girls who heard tales of him, but even more so to those who were graced into his company. There was just something about him, and Christine, even now, could not put her finger on it. For years, as a child, teenager and young adult, she had been alone with him, in sprit, at times as often as once a week. She had longed for his comings, waited anxiously for her lessons, excited as any normal child would be at Christmas, or at a birthday. But Christine neither counted these nor looked forward to them after her father died. Even now, with children of her own, and a legacy to her now, she missed him with a physical pain in her chest. But her Angel had lessened it greatly, as if he was sharing half her burden. He had spoke kind words to her when the other girls had been cruel, had sung her so softly to sleep when she had been crying, had taught her so many things…

Had tried to capture her and kill her husband.

She gasped at loud in shock of how painfully strong that memory still was. It was always there, of course. Those days, hours, minutes that the Phantom – that Erik – had kept her captured, formed a vast whirlpool of agony within her. She did love Raoul, and she could never bear to see him hurt. But this man, Phantom, Angel, or whatever he might be, had taught her everything. And she did, for all his afflictions, for all his unmerciful and wrong actions, love him.

"Christine?"

She jumped back to reality with another painful gasp, to find Erik now kneeling in front on her, his hands wrapped around hers, and his face locked deep in concern.

"Christine?" He asked again and she could this time feel the panic in his tone. She thought numbly how well he normally concealed his emotions.

"Yes." She answered weakly. "I am here."

"Are you alright, Angel?" His soft tone made her look him in the eye. In them she saw so many emotions: pain, worry, sadness, hurt… love.

"I am, thank you." She nodded so slightly it was barely visible.

His hands stayed gripped around hers. She trusted him. His hands, as ever, were cold, wrapped in their black gloves, which added no heat to the skin beneath them.

Erik stayed in front of her for a few minutes more, then stood abruptly and moved to his seat. The suddenness of his movement made Christine jump again, and her eyes whirled to meet his.

The man was not looking at her, but at the covered window to his left, and she could not tell anything about his emotions, save that he was deep in thought. They both sat in silence, Christine observing him, and he staying locked in his mind.

"You did not pull away," He said gently.

She frowned, causing a ripple in the beautiful material of her face.

"What?"

He turned round to face her again, and with a wave of horror she realised there were tears pouring down his face.

"I held you hands in mine and… you did not pull away."

"Oh, Angel," She cried, and was next to him in a second, her arms around him once more. She could feel him sobbing lightly on her shoulder and she struggled to retain her own.

"I would never pull away, Erik." She murmured.

So many thoughts were running through her mind. The absurdity of the situation had not as of yet, she would consider that latter. The idea that she was hugging and holding the Phantom of the Opera would also strike her as amazingly obscure later, she was sure. But he was in pain. Mentally, and yet, she sensed, physically. Something was wrong. Deeply, terrifyingly wrong. Christine had no idea at all what it could be, but the feeling of unknowing only added to the fear she already had. And there was, inside, only one thing Christine knew to do in this situation. And that was –

Suddenly, she became aware of his irrational breathing. Glancing up at his face, she realised his eyes were closed and his breathing sounded rather like someone was muffling him, like a wad of material had been stuffed into his mouth… like a lasso was around his neck.

"Erik?"

He didn't even acknowledge her voice. His eye lids fluttered very slightly, but his breathing became more of a raspy movement than an intake of air.

"Erik!"

This time she pulled back and grabbed him by the shoulders. His eyes flew open, and then squinted as if trying to shut again. By the second his breathing was becoming worse, and Christine was becoming more and more desperate.

She looked closer now, terrified, to see his pale face damp and ashamed. Biting her lip, she whispered, "Forgive me."

Then she reached up and pulled off his mask.

He tried with a tiny movement to weld her off, but she barely noticed this or the deformed face which used to bring her so much terror. Right now her only thoughts were of Erik, and of making sure he was proper.

Acting quickly, she moved to her draws. Erik slumped slightly without her support. It was his state that was scaring her most. The Phantom had always been such an imposing force upon the young girls of the opera. Even once she had known him, he had always been in such control, not only of himself, but of situations, of other people around him. But now, the legendary Phantom was slumped over in a chair, struggling to breathe and semi-conscious. Rattling through the many bottles and potions she had, she finally found a wad of linen and a small box of smelling salts.

Wrapping them up, she hurried back to him, and held the lavender scented pouch under his almost non-existent nose. It caused him to take a deep shuddering breath, and more live seemed to enter his eyes.

"Its okay," She whispered, "I will take care of you." A small smile crept onto her lips. "You were my protector for a long time, Angel. Now it is my turn to protect you."

She slipped an arm around his waist and Erik twisted his head slightly to try and give her a helpless look. Struggling under his weight, she somehow dragged him through to the conjoining bedroom and placed him, as delicately as she could, onto her large bed.

After adjusting him so he was sitting up slightly, and making him hold the pouch of salts, she rushed out again. Once more entering another adjoining room, this time a bathroom, Christine filled a silver bowl with cool water and grabbed another wad of linen, before rushing back to her friends side.

Dampening the cloth, she held it to his forehead. Still, she barely acknowledged the disfiguration to his face. It meant nothing to her, sincerely, at this moment. Perhaps, when he had recovered, the shock would strike her, but she would be able to deal with that once he was well.

It was hard to believe, despite her heart brushing over her mind, what was happening. Hard to take in. Laughingly confusing. The ghost of the Opera Populaire, laying in a damnable state should any man have walked in at that time. Christine was partially aware of Raoul's return in three days time. He was not to know, she decided firmly. After all, she was looking after a friend. This, Christine knew, was not the type of visit Erik had been intending. He could not have seen that he was to fall ill. She would care for him, even if he had, until he was well enough. Despite having servants in the household, it was not uncommon for Christine to care for Raoul or the children should they fall ill. She had even, on occasion, cared for a few of the servants when they became seriously ill. Being too poor to call for a doctor, they had waited until the Comte was out of the château and then ran for Christine's help. It wasn't that Raoul didn't like helping the servants. He had asked many a time if they were happy, for, although he was a dutiful man, he was also a genuinely kind man, and cared for the well being of all within his care, be them servants or his family.

Well, Christine thought firmly, Erik is in my care now. And I will care for him as best as I know how.

By now his breathing was more regulated. Erik's face, as pale and malformed as it was, held all the emotions of the world. It was placid at present. But his eyes stayed locked on her as she continued to bathe his head. She didn't meet them.

At one point, he made an attempt to move the salts away. She took them from him and placed them by the side of her, next to the water bowl, on the fine ebony cabinet. He made a move to speak, however, and she silenced him quickly.

"Hush, Angel. You will be well enough to speak soon enough. All this will be resolved. But, for now, please – get some rest. We will talk later. I will come in to see how you are in a few hours time."

She stood, then paused, and turned back round, kissing him softly on the forehead. Then, with a silent smile, she walked out of her chamber, closing the door behind her.