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Confession


Sunlight slowly pulled her eyelids open to see light streaming through the crack between thick curtains in an unfamiliar room. The soft crackle and pops coupled with the woody scent of burning logs in radiant heat spoke of the fire that should warm her. Even as the heat caressed her right cheek teased the warmth, she remained chilled and shivering in intermittent intervals. Why was she so cold? Why were these flames dancing in across dried wood so near her, not pushing out the chill she felt so deep?

Christine's gaze fluttered around the room, finding rather plain furnishings that sparsely populated the room. Side table, a single chair, a sofa that Charles slept on in a shirt much too large and a blanket pulled over him, along with an overflowing bookcase and lastly, a baby grand piano.

Because a grand piano would swallow the otherwise small parlor; or was it a music room?

When she lulled her head towards the fire, she flinched at the sight of waving flames which produced a mirage of the chateau burning in the charred logs. The motion sent a cascade of pain and aches coursing down through her body. Every cut and bruise cried a protest at the jostling. But her leg, worst of all, screamed. A pained gasp escaped her, but it hardly more than a raspy breath.

It was enough to summon him.

Erik appeared with a steaming cup in hand. "Christine," he spoke softly when he came to kneel at her side.

It was wonderful to hear her name on his lips again. Better now without imminent threat upon them. "Erik," she managed speak sotto voce as the corners of her mouth weakly tugged upward. "I've missed you so…"

His eyes flickered with something she could not read through the eyeholes of his mask. Instead of giving her a response, he slid a hand under her shoulders and eased her up enough to bring the cup to her lips. "Here, this will help with the pain."

She slowly consumed the deeply herbal broth, but even its heat did not warm her. When it was gone, Erik eased her back down and set the cup aside. With the liquid, her voice grew stronger. "Why is it so cold, why I am so cold…?"

Then she saw the sadness in his eyes and the shimmer glinting in the light as he took her hand into both of his. His touch so warm compared the what she came to expect of his normally cold hands. "I know, I know you are… and I cannot fix the cause, Christine."

She furrowed her brows, "What do you mean?"

Erik was slow to hang his head, and his hands trembled and his voice was choked. "Christine… you have a bleed inside you. I cannot stop it."

Tears prickled her eyes, but she needed to hear it from him. "What are you saying?"

A sob escaped him and she saw the tears trickle out from under his mask. "Unless there is some miracle and it stops…" he paused with an uncontrollable tremble in his chin. "You are dying, Christine."

It hit her hard, although she knew the words were coming, "Hold me. Please hold me, like you used too." Erik shifted and carefully pulled her into his arms, which allowed her grasp and caress the arm that crossed over her waist.

"Christine… who did this to you? Why would they harm you and the boy?"

She clutched his bicep. Speaking of yesterday was furthest from her mind when she had so many important things to tell him. But she knew if Charles was ever to truly safe again, these people had to be found. "I– I don't know who they are… or what they want. Only that Comte Philibert owed a debt he never paid before he died. Then, it fell to Phillippe, and to Raoul—now," she whimpered, "now it's on Charles. They would not just tell us what they wanted… I don't know why they wouldn't just tell us what they wanted. They could have asked for everything we had; we would have given it for them to just leave the three of us alone."

"They would not tell you?" came his incredulous question.

Christine shook her head against his chest. "It doesn't make sense."

Erik's hold around her tightened. "It does not," he said softly.

"Raoul gave his life for us," she said softly, clutching his arm still with one hand, and petting it with other. "For Charles. We would still be there if it weren't for him… I need you to know, Raoul loved Charles so much. He loved him so very much as his own, without a second thought. After everything."

"I should expect no less. Most parents would love their offspring in such a manner."

"No…" she choked as she felt her world growing colder, her heart beating faster, pounding harder in her chest. There was so much she wanted to say, so much she wanted to do. Erik was finally back in her life and now… she would be leaving his. "No…" she wept. "Erik, I…I need you know… I need you to wake Charles. You both need to know."

There was only the briefest of pauses as Erik shifted, and roused the boy with a gentle shake. Two shakes, and then Erik spoke softly. "Your mother, Charles."

"Maman! You're awake!" her son declared and soon burrowed into her arms, causing Erik to shift to accommodate. Pain flared but she cared not, even though she grimaced.

She held Charles close as she kissed the top of his head, savoring her son's love, and pouring every ounce of her love back into him. Into them. Although Charles took much of her ability to embrace, she would not release her grip on Erik's arm.

"I need you both to know…" she wept the words. "Charles… you must understand, that Raoul loved you very much. You were every bit a son to him, and he took you as his own… knowing— knowing that you were not his."

Erik went rigid, while Charles pulled up with confused eyes. "I don't…" his small voice began before it broke off a moment. "I don't understand, Maman."

Christine framed Charles cheek offering the best smile she could. "Erik is your father, Charles. He didn't know, I never had a chance to tell him."

She felt Erik tuck his head behind her hair, away from their son and felt the shudder of his sob more than she heard it.

Charles's broke into tears while Christine gripped Erik's arm, saddened that her world was growing darker still. Colder. "You," she tugged Erik's arm until he turned his head back towards her and their son. "You promise me, you will take care of him. There is no one else I trust more…"

"Yes, yes, of course, Christine," Erik rasped. She never heard his voice so weak and distraught that it pebbled instead of keeping its smooth and clear timbre.

"There are," speaking was making her winded. "There are… papers for you... In case," she sucked in a breath, "in case we found you. No one can take him…from you, ever."

Erik nodded against the top of her hair.

Christine fought the heaviness in her eyes as she hooked her finger under Charles's chin to turn his eyes up to hers. They were so full of confusion and fear while tears streamed down his redden cheeks. "I know, he seems scary," she flashed him a small weak smile. "But know this, sweetheart, you are safe with Erik. No one will keep you safer than him. No…one. Be good, Charlie," she tugged him closer so she could kiss his forehead.

In turn, Charles kissed her cheek and hugged her tight. "I love you, Maman…don't leave me," his cry was broken and muffled.

Christine ran weak fingers through Charles's hair. "I love you…" she whispered, her head lulled back into Erik's shoulder, looking up into his eyes. With the last of her strength, she lifted her hand to Erik's masked cheek and coaxed him closer, until their foreheads touched and his shaking hand came up to cradle her bruised cheek. "I love you both…"

As pain in her broken body faded into cold darkness. The only warmth she felt was that of Erik and Charles clinging to her.

The last thing her mind registered, was the voice of herAngel of Music singing the most beautiful notes. "Christine, I love you."


~x ~x ~X~ x~ x~


Ten years may have parted them.

A decade of pain and heartbreak from her walking out his life to spend her last years with Raoul de Chagny.

But Erik still loved her with every cursed molecule of his being.

To have her life wink out like the last bit of flame on a depleted wick ached as horribly as it would have if they never parted. Christine should never have died. Not like this. Not from the abuses of vile men who seemed to only want some pitiful excuse as motive for murder. It was murder. There was no consolation for what transpired, for her life to expire while still so very young.

The grief surging through his being, shattered his reality. Even as Erik and the boy wept until their tears ran dry, it was not enough. Would it ever be enough? The love felt for her might be of different shades between them, but it was no less potent in its gravity. Neither wanting to relinquish their respective holds on her. To do so would mean some level of acceptance that neither wanted. Not yet, not ever.

Still, Erik was to first to release her, after spending God only knew how long cradling her lifeless form in his arms as tight as he could without hindering Charles's need to cling to her too. As he carefully laid her down and gently sweep her fine colored hair from her face, Erik could accept her spirit was gone. It flew free of the form that could otherwise trap it.

Be free my Songbird, he thought, trembling as another sob escaped him with fresh tears watering his eyes. Fly high on your golden wings like the Angel you have always been to me.

With that, Erik climbed to his feet and stumbled towards the front door, steadying himself on anything that could bear his weight until he was outside. He slammed the door shut behind him, as he skipped the three steps of his front stoop in a long stride that took him to yellow grass, still glittering in morning sunlight from the night's freeze.

Not one, but two guttural screams ripped forth from his throat as he fell to his knees. In those screams of anguish, he managed expel much of his grief and rage in a manner that achieved some relief that just mere tears and weeping alone could not grant. It allowed to the raging storm over black ocean to calm enough to become only turbulent waters rather than massive swells capable of enveloping a fishing boat into its maw.

The frosted blades of grass melted into wet patches beneath his knees and forelegs as he hunched over, cradling his face in his hands as he struggled to ease ragged breathes into even cycles. In that, Erik wanted nothing more than to rip off his damnable mask if only to wipe away all the moisture that accumulated on his cheeks. However, that was not an option with a child so close.

Charles would have enough nightmares to haunt him from the last day alone. Erik did not need to risk adding them.

Instead, he looked heavenward at the clear cerulean sky as he allowed himself to sit on his heels and continued to calm the harsh rhythmic swells of his chest, and his mind.

Unbeknownst to him, Charles followed Erik outside and watched as the older man struggled to regain control over himself. The boy was slow in his approach to his new guardian, his blood relative. In a slow tentative extension of his right hand, he touched Erik's left shoulder with his ring then middle fingers.

Erik froze at the contact, and when jerked his head to the boy, Charles's full hand was resting on his shoulder. Though Erik was never one to fully grasp what he saw in another's face, he did see the mixture of fear, confusion, and grief in those blue eyes. Christine's eyes. It was more of a feeling than observation in understanding what the boy needed now, especially in the absence of any other soul within a considerable distance of them.

Turning to the boy more, Erik spread his hands slightly in fretful and silent invitation.

Charles lurched forward and flung his arms around Erik in a fierce, needful, embrace.

Erik could not stop his stunned gasp at the sudden and needful contact. Nevertheless, trembling hands encircled his son and held him close as Charles cried into his shoulder.

Before them loomed a new reality they did not expect nor were ready to accept. These uncharted territories where Erik would have to suddenly become a parent to a child he never knew he had, and Charles gaining a biological parent who was little more a stranger. The boy would bear the burden of this transition. He would be the one to suffer from Erik's inexperience and general lack of knowledge for his unexpected new role he had to play.

What did he know of being a parent? It was something he never truly entertained the thought of beyond a single fleeting fantasy. At least Christine was present in that imagining, she would know— no, she knew what to do with a child. She had the innate instincts of rearing a child. What did he have? Abuses, torments, with nary a single parental relationship to use a guide? He had no real understanding of such things beyond some mild interest in seeing what other, normal, children had with a loving mother or even a father. It usually only become a path to jealousy of yet another fundamental life experience for which he was denied.

At least the absence of any other source for it, Charles sought comfort in him. Erik could at least provide him that.

"I miss her…." Charles whispered, those small fingers clenching and unclenching against Erik's shirtsleeves.

Erik gave him a small squeeze– briefly wondering if he was doing this right. "I know you do, and you are not alone."