When his brother had initially secured the appointment aboard the Requin, Raoul had been very excited. Since he was a little boy, he'd always wanted to have some grand adventure - to be the hero. It was the reason he'd rescued Christine Daaé's scarf from the sea one windy afternoon. Well, that, and because he'd been desperate to meet her after hearing her sing. Now, because of her, he could not muster any sort of enthusiasm for the expedition; not that he blamed her in the slightest for his apathy. As much as he sincerely hoped there were survivors of D'Artoi's expedition, he no longer had the desire to be counted among their rescuers. His only concern with the voyage was that things progress as quickly and as smoothly as possible. He had too much to live for to risk suffering the same fate. He wondered what sort of person would possibly care about adventure when it meant he must leave behind someone like Christine. Once he was home, he wasn't going to let her out of bed for at least a month. He was not sure how that would work with their secretive arrangement, but he would find a way. There was plenty of time to plan, especially since he did not feel like making much of an effort to be social.

Raoul was the youngest of the 35 men aboard the Requin. He was an adequate sailor, but he was severely lacking in experience compared to the rest of the crew. The selection process had been grueling. There had been countless applicants slowly whittled down to the best and most qualified. Every other person aboard was someone who had earned their place. He was only accepted because of his brother's influence, and everyone knew it. He could feel their eyes on his back. Before Christine, he would have viewed their judgment as an opportunity to prove himself. As it was, he thought they were right, and wished himself home.

He wondered what the others would think if they knew that in the last few weeks of his furlough, he had begged his brother to use that same influence to get him out of it. The definitive and final conversation had taken place at breakfast two days before Raoul was to depart. He made one last effort, but was denied again.

"Absolutely not," Philippe had said, "It's far too late to try, and we've been through this; I went to quite a lot of trouble to get you on that ship. Now you would give it up, and for what?"

"You know what!" Raoul retorted.

"Yes, I do," Philippe sighed. "She's just a girl. Maybe she will be here when you come home. Maybe she won't be. It doesn't matter - there are plenty of pretty girls in the world. I don't know why you insist on behaving as if she were the only one."

"I love her! You know I'd marry her immediately if you'd stop being so stubborn." Raoul trembled slightly as he lied, and hoped his brother thought it was his anger.

"You are not marrying her. You are not damaging your career for her, or any other woman. Is that understood? This is a silly infatuation, and it will pass. Now please, and I understand that this is a difficult request at your age, stop being ridiculous."

Raoul glared at him. To think that Philippe had encouraged his pursuit of Christine in the beginning, only to become angered by it the moment he had discovered the depths of Raoul's affection for her. It was infuriating.

Philippe lowered his voice and leaned closer to him, "And don't think for a moment that I don't know what you've been doing, sneaking off at night."

Raoul blanched.

"Yes, little brother. I know exactly where you've been. I'd congratulate you, if you didn't insist on attaching some kind of grand, romantic importance to it."

"How dare you?" Raoul rebounded. "I won't let you sit here and imply that Christine would ever do anything she shouldn't. She's not like that."

Philippe quirked an eyebrow at him. "So what have you been doing?"

"Not what you're implying," Raoul said, fighting tears. He did not want to cry over her in front of his brother, especially not now. "It's just that I went so long without seeing her, without knowing where she was, or if she were alright. And now you want to separate us again."

Philippe softened his voice. "It's not about separating you. You were committed to this before you found her again. You'll see... Once you are there, on the ship, that this is what is best. You will forget about her."

"No, I won't."

Raoul knew his brother loved him, loved his sisters, had loved their parents, but he wondered if he had ever actually loved someone. Occasionally, he thought that perhaps his brother did love Sorelli in some small way, as he was only too willing to wait around in the foyer holding her gaiters like a sop. Then, Raoul would think better of it. Whatever was between the two of them, it wasn't enough for Philippe to be willing to give up anything. It almost made Raoul angry on her behalf, but he did not know her well enough to have the slightest idea how she felt about it. Perhaps she was using his brother just as he was using her.

As much as Raoul wished he had not left with that conversation hanging between them, he would not back down just to please Philippe. He had nearly started a letter to Philippe with the assertion that he had yet to forget to Christine, but quickly thought better of it. At the moment, he was attempting to write to her. He would be able to get a few letters off before they were too far away from civilization for normal communication. But what could he possibly say to her? He did not wish to make her feel guilty or responsible for his current state. And even to his lovesick mind, filling up an entire letter with nothing but expressions of love seemed like a waste. Whatever he wrote to Christine, he wanted it to be interesting, worth reading. He pulled out a photograph she'd given him along with a lock of her hair. He stroked the hair with his thumb, admiring the way the dim light played on it.

The door creaked, causing him to jump. Before he could hide the picture and lock of hair away, his bunk mate was looking over his shoulder. "She's quite pretty."

Raoul flipped the letter over, hiding what little he had written. Unsure if he should put the picture away or leave it out, he turned to face the other man. At 27, Albert Marion was the second youngest person aboard the Requin. He was the ship's second engineer, and Raoul felt wholly unnecessary next to him.

"I didn't mean to startle you," Albert apologized, though he sounded mildly amused. "Who is she?"

"Her name is Christine," Raoul replied softly.

Albert nodded. An awkward silence passed between them. Raoul had always struggled to make conversation with people he didn't know well. "So," Albert continued, "How did you meet her?"

"I... well... We were friends when we were children," He didn't want to go into the entire story of the scarf and the sea. "I hadn't seen her in years, and we met again in Paris..." He wasn't about to divulge more information to this man he barely knew, but from the way Albert was looking at him, it seemed as though he were expecting more. "I'm trying to write to her, but I'm not sure what I should say. A day to day account could not possibly be of interest to her. Nothing of import has happened yet. If I had a good story to tell her, she'd like that, but nothing comes to mind." It was so much easier to write to Philippe and his sisters. He didn't care so much about what he said to them.

Albert shrugged. "You could always make up something, if you're so eager to impress her. She won't know the difference."

Perhaps with someone else, that would have been an option. With Christine, Raoul did not think it was a good idea. Even though they had been children, it still made him uncomfortable when he thought about how eager she had been to believe in korrigans. She had even claimed to see them, though he knew she had trouble seeing things in the distance. He'd wanted to believe in them, too, but not so much as to claim to see something that was not there. No, Christine was not someone who needed to be told any tall tales.

"I don't think she'd appreciate that."

"Then write about the boring things" Albert recommended. "People are usually so happy to have a letter from someone at sea, that they don't care very much about what it says. My wife keeps every letter I send her, no matter how dull it is."

He hadn't known that Albert was married; that information made Raoul take his advice more seriously. It also made him wonder what had possessed Albert to vie for a position on a dangerous expedition, but he would not ask. That was not the sort of question to ask a person one barely knew.

He sent off his boring letter at the first opportunity, and was pleased to have a letter from her. She was well, as was Mme. Valerius. The Opera was as it always was. She had a new vocal instructor whom she quite liked. Her news was nothing more earth-shattering than his own, but he was glad to have it. He read it again and again. He would have slept with it, but was too afraid someone would find out. She would most likely feel the same way about his letter, he reasoned. He was slightly bothered by the news of the vocal instructor. He wasn't jealous of her spending time with another man in a strictly professional capacity, it was just that she would have to give up the stage when he returned. For his own sake, he didn't care if she sang on every stage in the world. But if she were ever to win over Philippe, it would be necessary. He could not shake the guilt that welled up in him. She should not have to give up her father's dream for him or anyone; it wasn't right.

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