You know what I realized? I LOVE RC fluff! Seriously, it's amazing. I am a HUGE RC shipper for two reasons:

I don't feel Christine was mentally mature enough to be with Erik.

You can't write fluff about Erik.

Erik: I can be fluffy if I want to! Me: If you want to think that, dear coughnoyoucantcough. Erik: grumble

But really folks, what would Erik have done with her? He could go outside, anyway. And if the opera went under and was demolished, what would they do then? Think about it.

Also, very soon a will post a one-shot about Raoul and Christine. It will be fluffy. Very, very fluffy . . . So thank your lucky stars this story is going to be more angst. This chapter ends with a cliffhanger. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

And as of this chapter (though this my sound sort of childish I feel it necessary), I expect at least three reviews, or I shall have to punish you crazed laughter

Chapter 4: Madeline

The Boufard household was simple, cozy, and friendly. In short, it was like nothing Erik had ever experienced before. Even though it was plain, he never got bored.

That same day when Henri inquired Erik about his face, the musician made a wonderful discovery. At dinner that night, he learned that Genevieve had the unexplainable habit of kicking the chair leg at regular intervals while she ate. Henri called it annoying. Erik called it a beat.

As they sat around the table with steaming plates of chicken, they did not speak. After five minutes of silence, Genevieve started to kick.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

At first the men both ignored it, but suddenly Erik's mind instinctively split the thumps into measures, one on beat one and one on beat three. On the second beat, he tapped his fork against his plate. It grew from there, as he added other taps, thumps from his own feet, and little hummed notes. He was soon lost in a miniature symphony; his thoughts were engulfed in music.

He did not know how long he had been playing, but when he was done he opened his eyes.

Father and daughter were both staring at him.

There was a moment were no one spoke, and then Genevieve broke out in enthusiastic applause. Henri still stared at him.

♪ ♪ ♪

Erik played his strange music at breakfast the next morning. He also showed them his talent for magic. They were basic tricks, what he showed them, but they were still fascinated. Genevieve was hurried out the door despite her complaints that school was boring and that she wanted to stay home with their guest.

Once Henri disappeared down the stairs to his workplace, Erik searched for something to amuse himself with. He read for most of the day. Genevieve came home from school at the same Henri finished his work and the two arrived at the upstairs apartment together. Though that evening Henri had not stayed long. He explained to them in a rushed and embarrassed voice that he could no longer support Madeline's care at the hospital without going completely broke in a matter of days so he was going to bring her home.

Erik enchanted Genevieve with his magic until they heard the door at the bottom of the stairs slam. The little girl jumped up and rushed to the top stair.

"Madeline! You're home!"

Seconds later, Henri appeared, supporting his oldest daughter on his arm. Erik could see that her right foot and shin were wrapped in thick gauze bandaging. Her blond hair was unkempt and her face had an expression of tired irritation. Her father helped her into one of the old armchairs in the corner of the room and she sank into it gratefully. She took a few deep breaths, her exhausted grey eyes never leaving the floor.

Genevieve practically ran in circles with excitement. "I missed you, Maddi! You were gone six whole days. But I didn't have much time to think about you though, because Erik was here and he was really sick so I had to take care of him. Papa found him alone in the opera house after the fire was out."

"Erik?" Madeline lifted her gaze from the floor. As soon as she saw the strange man in front of her, she stood up, turned on her hell, and limped awkwardly to her room and slammed the door.

"What was that?" Genevieve asked.

"I'm sure she's just had a hard day." Henri said quickly. "I cannot blame her for being temperamental. This is not an easy time for any of us, especially her. What with her injury and Armand's death and now she comes home and there's an unfamiliar man . . ." he threw his hands up in the air as a sign of helplessness. "I should start making dinner." he sighed. With that, he turned and began to rummage through the cupboards.

Again, there was speaking that night at dinner. Genevieve didn't even kick her chair. They all ate silently, except for Madeline, who did not even eat. She just stirred the broth in her bowl with her spoon.

Erik was beginning to believe every meal was going to be like this, until Henri finally spoke.

"Maddi . . . do you know when Armand's funeral will be?" he asked her gently, like a soldier handling an explosive that may go off at any time.

"They don't have funerals for the living." She said without any emotion in her voice. Henri looked at her, confused.

"You told me he was dead."

"I didn't want to tell you the truth."

There was a moment where things were silent again. Henri's gentle confused sorrowful anger could be felt by everyone. Henri had a way with his emotions, were no matter what he felt, he was always nurturing and soft.

"Armand isn't going to marry me anymore." She said simply "His face was so badly burned in the fire, he told me before he left the hospital that I didn't deserve the horror of looking at him for the rest of my life. Then he gave me the ring and left."

The others stared at her in shocked surprise. She looked at her bowl like she had before, like nothing had happened.

"But surly . . ." Henri tried to put his thoughts into words ". . . I thought Armand more sensible . . ."

Madeline shrugged.

"You didn't love him, did you?"

Genevieve and her father gasped at Erik's daring comment. Madeline looked up then, anger burning in her eyes. She stood, her fists clenched by her side.

"You bastard!" she shouted "Armand was a rich nobleman. He knew more about love than anyone else in this bloody district!"

"You did not answer my question, mademoiselle." Erik rose to his feet and stood across the table from her. His voice was calm. "He loved you, but did you love him?" her face went red with fury, and she limped around the table and stood right in front of him.

"You don't think a woman can love a man because that's what happened to you!" she screamed. Then, Erik realized what was really happening; Since Madeline had been at Don Juan Triumphant!, she had seen one of the singers unmasked to reveal a terrible disfigurement. Then a mysterious man with a hidden face who was found in the opera ruins showed up at her house. She had put two and two together.

He took a step back, trying to keep his temper from exploding out of his mouth like a volcano. "Mademoiselle, I am not admitting to any of your claims, but I fear your assumption is incorrect. I simply do not believe you felt any deep affection to that man because-"

"Oh, SHUT UP!" she screamed at him.

"Maddi," Henri said "Please, do not-"

"YOU TOO!" she turned back to Erik and addressed him again. "Haven't you done enough? Why can't you leave me be? My foot, Armand's face . . ." he tried to say something, but she stopped him. "I know why! It's because of this!"

With that, Madeline threw herself at Erik. He tried to stop her, but before he could push her back, her fingers curled around his makeshift mask, and it fell away from his face.

He heard Genevieve give a shriek of fright, and Henri saying something to his eldest daughter, but his hands were already clutching at his face, trying in vain to hide what they already saw.

And suddenly, there was a weight on him again, something stronger than he was, and he was pushed back, back . . . and lost his balance . . . and fell . . .

It was painful, he knew that, but otherwise, he felt strangely numb. Then he hit the ground.

His mind exploded into a red maelstrom of agony, and he thought for a brief moment he heard a voice call "You're right. I never loved him" just before he was enveloped in the merciful shadows of forced, dreamless sleep.