May 26th 1882

It had just reached half midnight and the Vicomte was trying exceedingly hard to maintain a smile as he stood with his final guests on the doorstep of his home. He chuckled as convincingly as he could at a final anecdote rattled off by the elder gentleman in the group before giving a less than enthusiastic wave to the family as the coach finally took them towards the gates and off his property.

Raoul pushed the heavy front door shut before slumping against it and letting out a sigh of utter exhaustion. He could feel the bags under his eyes and his feet had numbed from being up all evening, trying to ensure he'd seen to each individual guest they'd invited. The party had been a nuisance really, Raoul thought to himself as he pulled himself upright and began to head toward the staircase. Neither he nor his wife had even wanted one – purely social protocol, as always…

"Monsieur Vicomte?" The voice of the butler caused Raoul to wearily turn his head, one eyebrow raised in question. "One of the maids is missing, sir. She was meant to be on duty at the party but she hasn't come back down to her quarters…"

Raoul raised a hand to stop the man: "Perhaps she is somewhere else in the house?"

The elder man opened his mouth to protest but, seeing the fatigue on his master's face, merely nodded and went back toward the kitchen. Raoul smiled slightly in relief, his mind now drifting to focus on Christine. She seemed to have retired early from the gathering downstairs but of course Raoul understood this – he hadn't expected her to hang about all night in her condition.

The Vicomte dragged his feet slightly as he grew closer to the bedroom, the thought of collapsing next to Christine and letting sleep take over all too inviting. He stifled a yawn as he paused for a moment outside the dark nursery, a smile crossing his face at the thought of a newborn sleeping here within a couple of months. He had already made a promise to himself he wouldn't turn into a distant father, that he would take a hands on approach. Raoul knew it would be hard work – his sisters' husbands had already admitted that to him – but he would refuse to give up like they had, like his father had. Perhaps if it had been any other woman bearing his child he would feel differently; it was the fact this child would be part of Christine that would keep him going. Raoul didn't know why she had such an effect on him, but even as children when he'd heard the cries of the Swedish girl whose scarf had been lost, his little heart had skipped a beat.

These thoughts of Christine finally drew him away from the nursery, suddenly anxious to wrap his arms round her sleeping form and drift off to the movements of the baby she carried. Raoul grasped the brass handle and slowly turned it, cracking the door open ever so slightly so as not to wake her. However as his hazel eyes adjusted to the darkness he could make out only the discarded garments Christine has been pulling on and off previously, the sheets had not even been pulled back. A lump formed in the man's throat as he pulled the door shut again and held a hand up to his forehead – he'd been so certain she would've snuck off to bed early that he found himself flustered by her absence.

Trying not to panic, Raoul took a deep breath before marching off in the direction of Christine's favourite refuge. But even as he reached the door he knew the silence that had settled down the corridor signified she was not at the piano – his eyes merely confirmed this as he peered round the library door.

Raoul felt his knees begin to give slightly and the lump in his throat grew heavier as he tried to think where on earth she might be but he knew it – Christine couldn't be in the house. The man let his hands come up to his face, his fingers pressing back against the tears that threatened to spill as he tried to think of anywhere else she might've gone to…

"Monsieur?" He jumped at the sound of his butler's voice yet again and used all his discipline to force a smile over his face. "The maid isn't anywhere, Marie is missing…"

The name triggered Raoul's memory – the blonde girl with the brown eyes who looked strikingly like: "Meg…" he whispered the word, bringing his hand back down as his eyes widened in realization. Neither of the Giry's had left the party at the end, yet they weren't anywhere to be seen and he hadn't even given it a second thought.

Raoul bolted down the corridor, ignoring the protests of his servant as he found new energy in a sudden adrenaline rush. He heaved the front door open and immediately rushed toward the gate, too confused and desperate to even think of riding or fetching his carriage. The Vicomte forced himself to keep running toward the Opera house – surely someone there would know of the Giry's whereabouts – but he was losing any sense of direction and all the streets began to look the same to his over-tired mind.

As Raoul paused for a moment trying to work out where exactly he was he suddenly heard the clang of horseshoes and jumped out of the road just in time to prevent being trampled by a passing coach. As he pulled himself off the ground he noted the vehicle had stopped and two gentlemen were exiting the car. Sighing at the thought of facing one of his more proper business contacts as a complete lunatic, Raoul quickly brushed himself down and ran a hand through his hair before turning only to come face to face with Monsieur Andre and Monsieur Firmin.

"Monsieur Vicomte!" Andre gushed at the sight of the young man, pale as a ghost and rather worse for wear. The man pulled off his jacket and handed it to the shaking aristocrat who looked slightly puzzled at the gesture but nonetheless took the garment, though still not putting it on.

"I hate to ask the obvious question… But was there any reason for throwing yourself in front of our horses?" Firmin questioned gruffly, looking slightly bemused. "If you don't want to sign our contract you only have to tell us Monsieur…"

Raoul managed a weak smile before realizing the men weren't going to cause him any harm and gratefully pulled on Andre's offering, his shivering slowly ebbing. "Not at all, Firmin, I'm just trying to find the Giry residence…"

"Well then you're in luck!" Andre's exclamation interrupted Raoul's sentence, for which he was slightly grateful – he wasn't particularly keen to share his wife's escape. "Antoinette had been telling us they were planning to stick around in Paris for a short time – just until the end of Summer, I believe. She gave us her address so we could contact her if any hopes of a rebuild came up…" Andre winked at the mention of the project before reaching into his trouser pocket, his brow creasing slightly as he tried to find the paper he was sure he'd been given.

Firmin let out a snort before reaching across and pulling the address from the breast pocket of Andre's dress shirt. This earnt him an exasperated look from his partner but Firmin merely laughed as he passed the address to the Vicomte without a second thought.

Raoul quickly scanned the card and looked around trying to clock his whereabouts when Andre pointed him in the right direction - "Straight down there, my boy, it'll be on the right side of the boulevard…" And before the sentence was even finished the Vicomte had rushed off down the street, catching a final shout from the men; "This best mean you'll take another look at that contract we've sent!"

Raoul probably would've laughed had he not been so set on his mission to find Christine now – it was coming to be past one and he still hadn't even a clue if his wife was at the Giry residence. His eyes clocked the slither of light coming from one of the townhouse's downstairs rooms when he was still over eight houses away, he knew this was where he wanted to head. Raoul finally came to a stop outside the building and took a moment to take it in – just like all the rest in the street yet the lace curtains were letting out an almost other-worldly glow.

The boy took a deep breath, slightly unnerved by how quiet the house was, before pulling himself up the few steps to the pale blue front door, the paint peeling off as he tapped his fists on the wood. He only did so once for the door opened by itself and Raoul stepped in over the threshold, softly pushing the door closed behind him. It didn't take him long to work out where he wanted to go – there was only one door to his right that clearly led to the lit room. He only took one step when a flash of movement caused him to look to the left instead – Raoul's jaw dropped…

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Erik swallowed hard as the Vicomte locked his eyes onto him like a predator to its target. Internally he cursed himself for not having been quick enough – he'd been locked to the sofa waiting for anyone, anything to emerge from the room since Christine's screams. He wasn't sure how long had passed but his muscles were stiff from waiting and his attempt to escape at the sight of the boy was hindered by it.

The two men stayed very still, nothing breaking the silence between them, but Erik could see that the drowsy look that had been blinding Raoul's eyes was now draining and being taken over. Anger, that was what Erik was starting to see now, mixed with fear – probably a disastrous combination if he didn't get away while he could.

The elder man took one step backwards, trying to get to the wooden steps without triggering a reaction, but of course Erik knew he would have no such luck. A second step led to a screech from a protesting floorboard and Raoul snapped – he launched himself towards his enemy with power one wouldn't think he possessed. Of course, Erik was still fast in spite of age and was up the stairs within a matter of seconds but he could hear the Vicomte coming fast behind him. He rushed to his door but the handle was stiff and as he desperately fumbled with it he felt a heavy fist pummel into his spine.

Erik buckled as he fell to the floor, but was pulled up by his collar and pinned to the wall by the boy's arm before he could even breathe. He tried desperately not to meet his opponent's eyes but Raoul forced him to do so, grabbing his face and knocking his mask off in the process. Raoul grimaced at the sight of the deformity and Erik felt the pressure that had been pinning him loosen – he had to take advantage of this. Before the boy could do anything, the older man had slipped from beneath his forearm and made a try to get to the door again but he had no better luck this time – he felt the Vicomte grab his arm and wrench it against his back, causing Erik to writhe in pain.

"Let me go…" he hissed, finally finding his voice and beginning to fear any noise might cause panic downstairs.

"Give me one good reason," The Vicomte spat the words with pure fury that made Erik nervous – something he hadn't been used to in combat. "You think letting us leave the place cancels everything you did? You think that gets rid of all the memories and the hurt you caused?!"

Erik closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying not to feel so threatened by the low steady tone of the boy. "You've already won…"

"Won?" Raoul twisted his arm further causing him to let at a slight gasp. "This was never a game, how can you say one of us won?"

"You have Christine don't you…"

"And I have to help her through the rest of her life with the mental scars you've left behind!" Erik flinched at the words – he knew there was truth in them, but nonetheless he refused to accept this. "She has nightmares about you, she wakes up sweating and terrified and I cradle her until she can bear to close her eyes again." He felt Raoul's lips right beside his ear now as he growled: "How is that winning, sir?"

These words had been too much – the thought of Christine hating him, terrified of him, hurt too much for him to think straight anymore. Erik's sanity snapped for a moment and in that moment Raoul had lost any chance of over-powering him.

Erik lashed out at the man, his strength surprisingly overpowering the Vicomte as he tore himself out the younger man's grasp and clenched his hands into fists. Before he could be caught again Erik had already laid a punch, hitting his enemy directly in the nose and causing a sickening crack that brought him back to his senses. He watched in horror as Raoul's nose, now crooked, spewed blood and the boy fell to his knees and slipped into unconsciousness on the floorboards in front of him.

Trying to think of anything to do, Erik spotted his mask and quickly stepped over the Vicomte to retrieve it, slipping it on and finding some comfort in masking his face once more. Then he turned his attention back to the collapsed body and sighed as he tried to gather his strength together. Erik lifted the boy's torso, grunting slightly with the weight of it, before shifting the body up over his shoulder and beginning to slowly plod down the stairs. Before long he was able to lay the Vicomte's unconscious figure along the sofa, quickly propping his head up with a cushion before stepping back and taking a deep breath – Erik knew what was next…

His pale eyes shifted to the slightly ajar door of the downstairs bedroom. He knew the doctor was still in there, as was Antoinette, the only two people who'd be of any use fixing up the bloodied mess he'd caused. Erik knew that he was going to face some serious confrontation from Madame Giry but much as he hated the Vicomte, there was no way he could just leave him the way he was. The least he should do was get bandages and then they could re-focus their attentions once Christine was ok – as he knew she would be.

Erik cautiously went over to the door, trying to swallow the lump in his throat and stop his hands shaking with nerves as he slowly pushed it open. He couldn't even begin to look for the help he sought when he caught the sight of her – his beautiful ingénue was pale as the sheets she was cushioned in. He could see her eyelids fluttering and for someone giving birth she was surprisingly lifeless – this was not the look of a young, healthy mother-to-be Erik knew.

He had been so startled by the sight of her that he'd failed to notice she had fixed her eyes on him too. Panicking, he moved back away from the light of the room and into the comforting shadows of the hallway but still able to view her. However Erik saw that she'd somehow gained some life from the brief moment he'd stood there – he felt tears reach his eyes. She looked in so much pain, she had looked so ready to give up… perhaps it was him that'd made the difference, but he preferred to think she was carrying on for the child. That baby was lucky, he thought – would his mother have carried on for him, had she known what awaited her?

Erik slowly brought himself out his thoughts and was startled when he heard what he knew to be a glorious sound – the first cries of an infant child…

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You all hate me for leaving it so long and then forcing you back in time so you're no closer to knowing what the baby is like ;) Next chapter I promise! Which may come pretty quickly in succession to this cause I'm inspired to write at the moment :3 I hope you like this chapter, originally this action was gonna spread across two chapters but then I thought I've made you guys wait too long for this so yeah just get on with! :)

Please review, let me know whether you're liking this action and characterisations, and if you're wanting a little bit of something different I have a little Phantom one-shot up too about Christine arriving at the Opera House. ANYWAY enjoy! Not abandoned ever :D