Author's Note: Rating Bump Up, someone's starting to get moodier.

Also, writing Raoul is not my strength, especially this one with keeping LND in Mind, I hope to hear what you think of him.

Not Forgotten

Cornflowers? If she wanted cornflowers, he would get her god-damned cornflowers. Let the damned Vicomte balk at them further!

Bastard.

Erik shed his jacket and vest over the backrest of his sofa and loosened the first few buttons of his collar as he began pacing the length of his parlor. At the current rate, he was sure to wear a hole into his lavish Persian rug sooner than later. It was only minutes after Christine had parted the opera house with that insufferably pretentious, entitled drunk.

Oh, de Chagny might not be a drunk yet, but it certainly was in the cards for him. That boy was as useless as he was unworthy. To think that he once considered that de Chagny deserving of being Christine's husband, made Erik's stomach twist into unbidden knots of self-loathing. De Chagny was supposed to be the better man. He was to be the better choice in giving Christine the world and anything she wished. Light and day with talks of summer instead of Erik's dark nights in the cold of endless winter.

No, instead, the Vicomte de Chagny drank his woes away with his fortune on a roulette table. Then, he expected Christine to stay with him while he led them to ruin? Worse yet, ignoring the boy that was a son to him before the truth came out.

My Son… My Christine…

A guttural scream escaped him in the building frustration.

Erik never wanted children. Never expected a child. Less yet, to sire a child that did not inherit his curse. But in having known the boy for a few days and only a handful of hours alone, Gustave was never far from his mind. The boy was a causality of this strange new reality of Erik's endeavor to right the ship from a course of misery.

No one would remember him. No one would ever know of him. There was no possible way for the son Erik knew to return to the world. Even if he won Christine's heart and they never parted ways, Gustave could not exist. They could and possibly would have a child again – Erik being more agreeable to the idea of fathering progeny because of Gustave – but any child that now lay in their future would not be Gustave. Erik would be an unyielding presence in that child's life. The child would have proper love and affection from their father.

Even if Erik would be utterly useless in child rearing, he could at least give that child every ounce of his attention. Well, perhaps not all. There was Christine who deserved that attention too, but certainly, all his love, affection, and attention would be given to them. Everything he had or was worth, would be theirs. That went without question. While he always considered himself absent of any parental inkling, Gustave's life being in danger proved otherwise.

He was protective. Infinitely protective of that boy, and Christine.

But beyond that? What could he offer a child beyond that circle of protective affection? He had no frame of reference to what a father was supposed to be to an offspring. What knowledge was suitable to impart on such a young mind? Much of what he was went beyond unacceptable in many regards.

No matter. That bridge was not yet crossed, and far from being even considered.

Yet, Gustave lingered.

Countless sketches and a few paintings that captured the boy's essence littered Erik's home when Christine was not present. Serving as a constant reminder of what was at stake. For Gustave's memory, for Christine's future…and his chance at happiness.

Erik looked to one of those sketches resting on a side table from when he stared at it shortly after returning Christine to the world that morning. Before rehearsals started. Gustave's eyes, the very essence of them captured in coal, stared back in that quiet pleading way that Erik often saw in them.

A choke welled up in his throat, the anger of before dissipated with the spring of tears watering his eyes now. Erik discarded his mask onto the sofa as well, gently grasping the edge of the drawing and sinking towards the floor as he did.

"What was I thinking?" he whispered to himself in a choked sob. "I did not even consider you in this, did I? Not in the way that I should have. She leaves you to my care, and I abandoned you so easily. How am I any better than him? You just wanted a father to love you, just as I have wanted. When I could have given you that, I snatched it away from you selfishly."

Erik shook his head, setting the image of Gustave on the floor beside him before burying his face in his hands.

This was not the first time Erik tortured himself with these thoughts since the reversion of time. Erik imagined the emotions washing through him, pain, guilt, self-loathing, were akin to actual loss of a child. In a sense, this was a loss. Perhaps not by death, but a loss none the less. He was the cause of Gustave's absence. So quickly he leapt at the chance to start it over that he did not spare his son a thought.

The son left sleeping so innocently in the next room. Fitful, restless, having cried himself until exhaustion claimed him as Erik clutched him close in his arms in fruitless efforts to soothe his child for the loss of an Angelic mother. And he left him! Left Gustave for selfish wanting and the chance to re-write history without even…asking him.

How would that subject even be broached? 'Gustave, I have a chance to go back in time and give your mother the life she deserves, but it come at the cost of you'?

Erik shook his head, flinging his wig away to pull at the little hair he possessed upon his scalp to feel the mild pain it caused.

In truth, Erik was no better than Raoul de Chagny in this regard.

But he would be better, one day. He had to, for the sake of his sanity and his son's memory.

Gustave might be gone, but Erik's love for him remained.

Allowing this swell of anger towards de Chagny would only benefit the Vicomte's outcome. Erik could not risk it in tainting his vision and end goal for Christine. Driving her away from him in fear was not an option.

L'Chantseur needed to make an appearance again tonight. He would need to bear the pain of sharing space with that entitled fool and fine tune his own skills as an actor. Bury the pain, bury the anger, lock it all away and focus on drawing out Vicomte's true colors for Christine to see before it was too late.

~x ~x ~X~ x~ x~

Conversation flowed easily as though the years never parted them. They reminisced about good old times of when the world was large and unmarred by the drudgery of reality that weighed down the soul with every passing year. Speaking of old times could never last of course. There was only so much that could be said without it becoming mundane, so they moved on to more recent topics as they caught up with each other's lives.

It was over dessert was that she learned more of Raoul's more current adventures. After attending University of Strasbourg, Raoul had joined the various expeditions with the French Navy as a Junior Officer, Ensign Second-Class. Some of these trips were not just on the Atlantic, North Sea, and the Mediterranean, but across much of the world. Many of his cruises were of rescue missions or various exploratory expeditions to broaden French interests beyond their shores.

For all his adventures, Raoul was noble in his work and commitment in helping others, even if it was largely merchant vessels in duress from pirates or more hostile nations. But after trails in his last voyage, he was granted an extended leave. He did not give her specifics as to what happened out there, only that it was privileged information that he could not discuss outside of those who had appropriate clearance.

"There isn't much to say beyond that," Raoul sighed. "A lot of what we do out there cannot be expounded in further detail without posing various security risks. Regardless, it's hardly appropriate in discussing with a lady such as yourself. Too much unpleasantness."

"I don't think so, I find it all quite fascinating really," Christine replied as she dreamily had envisioned some of these voyages as Raoul told them. "You get to go out there and see things that I can only imagine. The closest I get to interesting adventure is what I read in books, a bit of vicarious living if you will."

"And acting on the stage?"

Christine smoothed her hands over the napkin in her lap. "In a way…yes. It is not the same though. I loved performing last night, it was really a marvelous feeling to be able give into the role and be a Countess for a few hours."

"It really isn't a surprise, when you think about it," Raoul nodded as he cut off a bite-size piece of fluffy cheesecake with a strawberry glaze. "Your head has always been in the clouds of fantasy and imagination instead of more practical things, so being an actress is only suiting."

Feeling rather small now, Christine's eyes fell to her own slice of decadent dessert. Collecting her fork, she too cut a suitable section off to eat.

Sensing her discomfort, Raoul gave a gentle switch of topic. "We've spoken enough about my adventures, what of yours Christine?"

Christine took that moment to gather her thoughts as she took a bite of her the creamy cheesecake, her mouth tingled in a delightful way at its richness of flavor and sweetness. "There isn't really much to say. I have hardly had any adventures worth noting. Only that as Papa grew ill, we ended up staying with Professor and Madame Valérius, — the Professor being an old friend of my mother. They were so kind in taking us in and giving us a roof over our heads when Papa could no longer work. I was sixteen when he died. The Professor and Madame, in trying to keep Papa's dream for me alive, sent me off to the Paris Conservatory."

"Just like that? They sent you away? Hardly seems considerate of you and your grief."

"Yes… They were never able to have children of their own. I was a kind of daughter…or rather granddaughter to them. Truthfully, I don't think they quite knew what to do with me other than see me off to have an education in music and arts. It is what Papa and I always wanted, and I was grateful for the opportunity. Because of them, I was able to meet the Girys at the Conservatory, which has been more than a blessing."

"Why is that?" he asked as he continued eating his dessert.

"Madame Giry is like a mother to me, a real mother. Meg has been a sister and my dearest friend. I would have never gotten in to the opera without them, and would have become quite lost in life. They gave me a home when the Valérius's died. Professor Valérius succumbed to age last year. Within months of his death, Madame Valérius died as well. I believe her heart just wasn't in it to go on without her husband."

"That is the kind of love to aspire to," Raoul said as he met her eyes. "A love so deep that moving on without that loved one is near impossible."

Christine pursed her lips into a thin line thoughtfully. "It is no less a shame, Raoul. She was still had many good years left in her. Many close friends, nieces, nephews…myself, we all would have loved to have her around a while longer."

"You discount her love for her husband?"

"Heavens no, but it seems like it is much of a life at all when loss stops you from living it." Although the death of her father very nearly had that effect on her. That misery was something Christine wished upon no one. "There is more to life than that, isn't there?"

"Is there?" he challenged gently. "When so many people pine and seek love as though nothing else matters, it only seems natural. My parents were hardly in love at any point in their marriage, and all I saw was their misery. I would want more out of marriage than empty tolerance, don't you?"

In taking another bite of her dessert, Christine swallowed hard at Raoul's words. Unsure what to think. "My parents loved each other deeply. I may not remember much of my mother, but I know for certain that she did not what my father and I so lost without her that we could not go on living."

"Well, that is simple enough, as they had you. Your father had you for his reason to keep on living, which is even more noble."

Christine's brows furrowed, unsure just how to process this turn of conversation. It was not the morbidity of it or rather… the heartbreak? Even describing it as heartbreak seemed a disservice to just what was being communicated. Neither point they made was wrong, but it certainly was of no comfort either.

"Forgive me Raoul, but it sounds as though that you want a kind of marriage that should you die some untimely death, that you would want you wife so grief stricken that she should follow suit. That you rather she gives up on life than push to continue on, unless there is a child involved."

Raoul froze a long moment, eyes widening before setting down his fork. "I can see how you may have come to that conclusion, given our discussion on this rather morbid matter. I assure you that was not my intention. I was only remarking on that level of love is a love worth having. Of course, I would want my wife to move with vibrance in her life."

Despite his words, Christine continued to feel unnerved by the notion.

"Moving on," Raoul commented as he wiped his mouth with a napkin. "I'm sure you have other stories worth telling. Other experiences, such as how you've become the opera's newest starlet. Perhaps more on this, dear friend of yours, who sent you those flowers?"

Speaking on that would bring more adventure to her otherwise pained monotony of life. How would she start the tale? What would she even say to color the tale with interest. 'Raoul, remember how Papa promised to send me the Angel of Music? He did… in a way. The Angel of Music is a man named Erik, and he is the Opera Ghost…'

That would go over well, Christine thought it budding sarcasm. In yet another search for words to delicately answer Raoul's question without betraying Erik's trust in her, her eyes drifted around the room until the thought and a glance of a distant clock caused a near panic. "We must go," she breathed. "I need to get back and start getting ready."

Raoul stared her in brief confusion until her words sunk in and he gave a nod and gesture to their waiter.

It was late when they returned from their luncheon. Any hope Christine had of resting before having to get ready was dashed. She only had twenty or so minutes before the costumer would arrive to bind her in that oversized dress. Hardly enough time to rest without worsening her state.

In returning to her dressing room however, she could not help but smile at the new vase of flowers waiting for her on the vanity. Cornflowers as blue as a clear spring sky, accompanied by a few of its white bloomed variants with a purplish center to highlight the tones of her favorite color.

Erik, she thought warmly as she went to hang her cloak in the freshly painted white wardrobe.

She was not the only one to see them. Raoul followed her all the way into her dressing room, and his eyes were on the new addition and his face was without expresses as he plucked the card nestled in the arrangement and read the inscription "Who is this L'Chantseur?" he asked.

"My singing teacher," she replied as she shut the doors of the wardrobe and strode to him, hand held out for the card.

"From the Conservatory?" he asked as he passed it over.

"No," she answered and stepped away to read. "He knew my father, and stepped in to continue my vocal training when I could no longer afford the Conservatory." It was not entirely a lie. Erik did continue her training and put life back into her passionless voice.

Mlle. Daaé,

Due to unforeseen circumstances, I regret to inform you that I will late in my attendance this evening. Thus, I will be unable to assist you in your preparations. However, I should be there by the start of the overture.

Regards,

M. L'Chantseur

"It appears that your singing teacher is a bit overly thoughtful to keep sending you these flowers, assuming he is the one you sent you those," Raoul motioned to the original vase.

Christine dropped her hands, still clutching the note in white knuckled fingers as she gazed upon her reflection in the mirror before turning back towards Raoul. "I do not care for the insinuation, Raoul."

"I apologize. I only worry for your well-being."

She bit her lip with the stab of guilt. "I am grateful for your caring. But it is unwarranted. I am L'Chantseur's best student, and I would not be here now singing for the Paris Opera if it were not for his guidance."

"I can respect that, however that does little to rest my concerns."

Christine looked down to the little stiff piece of parchment in her hand and resisted her urge to look towards the mirror again. "Perhaps, but that is not…my concern, Raoul. E–he is a dear friend to me, and has been a more active part of my life in these last few months than you have in years. So, I would kindly appreciate it if you leave this matter, and me alone. I have to prepare for tonight."