Raoul had never been comfortable at parties. He felt like he simply hadn't learned the skills of conversation and social graces that everyone around him had. He couldn't get the hang of the society talk everyone else engaged in effortlessly. His conversational topics were limited to stories from his time in the Navy or at the Academy and things his siblings had said or done. Her apparently wasn't good at making either of those interesting, and he almost invariably ended up feeling awkward and lost.

Usually, he clung to Philippe as much as he could. Now, he could give his brother a reprieve and instead stay glued to the side of his fiancée. Christine was far more adept in social situations than he—maybe it was part of her being an actress—and she seemed not to be annoyed at having to carry the weight for both of them.

He'd never had trouble getting dressed though.

Yes, he'd occasionally needed the help of Philippe or one of his sisters to help him with tying his tie or make sure he was put together in general. But, his fingers had never trembled as he struggled to make himself tighten the tie all the way.

He needed to do it. If he was going to go out, he needed to wear a tie and it needed to be tight. He couldn't, though; he couldn't do it to himself. Not when it felt like choking.

Like a noose.

There was a knock on the door. Raoul dropped his hands so the shaking wouldn't be obvious. "Come in."

Christine entered, flawless in her gown and smiling brightly. "Hello, dear."

"Hello, Christine. You look beautiful."

"You're quite dashing yourself." She crossed the room to stand by Raoul in front of the full-length mirror. "Ready to go?"

"Just about." He knew that the only half-done tie was obvious.

"Here, let me help."

No!

She grabbed the fabric and pulled it tight.

No, no! I can't breathe, can't breathe, can't breathe…!

Her hands were still there, knuckles brushing his bare throat, while she kept pulling. Oh, God, Oh, God!

"No, please!" He jerked back, hands flying up to protect his throat. "Please, please!"

All of a sudden, he was simultaneously in his bedroom and in the underground lair—cold, wet, the noose digging into his flesh, tighter and tighter, pressure building, his eyes feeling like they were going to pop, his vision darkening.

Can't breathe, can't breathe. Going to die, going to die, going to die!

He knew that the noose wasn't there, but he still couldn't breathe. His lungs still wouldn't work. His brain was overwhelmed with pure, blind terror.

"Raoul." Christine's voice was high and shrill with fear of her own. "Raoul, what's wrong?"

What was wrong with him? He wasn't in danger. He was safe in his room, so why did he feel like he was in mortal peril? He was terrified, panicking, about nothing. He was pathetic. He couldn't do anything right. Worse, he was scaring Christine; he was hurting Christine.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He could barely choke out the words. His body was rigid, hands curled into claws in front of him, muscles taut. Everything except his heart, which was pounding like it was going to burst. He shut his eyes as tight as he could, unable to even look at Christine when he was in this state.

"It's all right. You're fine. Everything's okay."

Everything was okay. But he was still acting like this. He was still panicking over nothing. He was weak and pathetic and broken and Christine deserved better. He was hurting Christine just by existing.

He opened his mouth, because otherwise he was going to pass out, but then he couldn't stop himself from breathing frantically, unable to get enough air in and out fast enough.

Christine lightly touched his shoulders. She had to be frightened. He was frightening her. Suddenly he had no strength. He crumpled to the floor, knees to his chest, face pressed into his knees, hands on the back of his head. He wanted to curl into tight enough of a space that he would disappear. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Raoul. You're not doing anything wrong. Just try to breathe. Breathe a little slower."

The best he could do was stop and hold his breath. When he let it out, it was harsh and jagged but a little bit slower. He forced himself to pause before sucking in the next breath.

"Good. Good job. Just keep breathing. You're doing great."

Every breath stuttered with the effort of keeping it under control. Still, found that his muscles relaxed by a tiny fraction just as a result of his lungs not working overtime.

"Okay. Okay. Good. Raoul, can you hold my hands?"

He tried to answer, but the only words that he could form were another stream of, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

"It's okay." She brushed her hands against his, then started to ease her fingers between Raoul's palms and his scalp.

He forced himself to lift his hands, then gently fold his fingers in. He wanted to keep his hands tense, but he knew he had to be gentle with Christine's soft, delicate little hands. Fraction by fraction, his hands relaxed.

"Good. Just like that. Now just keep breathing. That's all you have to do."

Raoul did as he was told. The more he did it, the easiest it was to keep breathing in and out, not too fast. He felt the rest of his body starting to relax. Eventually—he didn't know how much later—exhaustion took over him. His hands slipped out of Christine's and fell limp on his thighs.

"Okay. Okay. Good job. Can you look at me, Raoul?"

He swallowed hard. It took a huge effort to raise his head. When he opened his eyes, He realized that they were wet. A few tears escaped and raced down his cheeks.

Christine's eyes were soft with concern, the tiniest smile curling her lips. She slowly, gently put her hands on his. "Do you think you can talk to me now?"

He nodded. "Yes." His voice was small and weak to his own ears.

"What happened?"

"I—I don't know. I just got scared out of nowhere, for no reason. I'm so stupid. Stupid. Pathetic."

"No, no, no. You're fine. It's all okay." She paused. She hesitated a moment. "It was after I touched your tie. Did I hurt you at all?"

"No, no, of course you didn't."

"It's all alright. You can tell me anything, Raoul."

"I… You… you touched my neck. You touched my neck, and you tightened the tie, and… I remembered. God, I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Oh, God…"

"It's okay, Raoul. You're all right." She pulled his hands away with the gentlest pressure. "You have nothing to apologize for." She shook his loose hands a little. "Nothing."

"It… it just hurt so much, Christine. Down there. I felt like I was going to die—I knew I was going to die. And, I just can't forget."

"Oh, Raoul," she said in a pained voice.

"I'm sorry." He shook his head, loosening another tear. "It was months ago. I should be able to move on, but I can't. When you touched my throat—whenever anything touches my throat—it's like I'm back there underground again, and… I'm sorry."

"Raoul, what happened back there was horrible. I haven't forgotten it, and neither of us are going to be able to forget it in just a few months. Raoul, what happened to you was wrong. It was awful, and you have the right to feel this way." She squeezed his hands and shuffled in a little closer. "You haven't done anything wrong, and I will never think less of you."

Christine had been there. She was the only one who had any idea of what had happened—and she thought that he hadn't done anything wrong. She wasn't angry at him. She didn't blame him.

Moving in slow, jerky motions, he pulled her into a clumsy hug. "Thank you, Christine."

She hugged him back. "I love you, Raoul."

"I love you, too." He freed a hand to swipe at his damp eyes. "I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for." Moving slowly, giving him the chance to pull away she wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head against his chest.

For a long while, they just sat like that. Eventually, Raoul was breathing normally and he was fully aware of the situation. He shook his head as he eased out of the embrace. He was about to apologize again, but he realized that Christine wouldn't let him. "We're going to be late for the party."

"Do you want to go?"

"I…" He wiped away a tear hanging in his jaw that he hadn't noticed. "I don't want you to miss it, or not have fun because of me."

She shook her head with a smile. "Don't worry about that. Meg isn't even going to be there. I'd be forced to join everyone else fawning over that young German composer everyone thinks is God's gift to music, while he talks himself blue in the face about how much better he is than Meyerbeer or whoever is under his skin that day. There's no way I'd want to be there without you."

Christine had complained about the composer before, so Raoul didn't doubt her. Still, he couldn't smother the miserable, guilty feeling that he was holding her back.

Useless, stupid, weak, pathetic, awful, useless…

"To be honest, I would actually love to stay in and practice that aria that's been giving me trouble. We could start a fire, have some coffee and something to eat. You can read that new novel you wanted to start." Her smile widened. "I can't tell you how much I would rather do that than go to any party."

He found himself smiling as well, in spite of himself. "I would like that too."

"Good." Once again, she moved carefully as she went to kiss Raoul. He met the kiss, as soft and sweet and wonderful as always. A bit more of his nerves eased away.

She helped him to his feet. She made to hug him, but a flash of anxiety made him step back. The immediate rush of guilt was mitigated by Christine's smile.

"It's all right. From now on, I'll do my best not to touch your neck. If you ever feel uncomfortable, you can tell me. Always."

He wanted to apologize, but he swallowed the impulse. "Thank you. I love you, Christine."

"I love you, Raoul; more than anything." She squeezed his hand. "Now, let's go see Durand and have him prepare the fire. You and I can fix the coffee, and we can pull out those eclairs."

"That sounds wonderful." He drew her hands to his lips to kiss her knuckles. He wanted to assure her that he was feeling better and she didn't need to worry.

Maybe someday he would tell her about the attacks that happened when he was alone. Maybe he'd tell her about the nightmares: the horrible dreams where he was choking, dying, while the deformed face sneered and giggled.

In the worst ones he was choking to death, and he saw Christine. Then, she turned to face him, while she and the Phantom held each other close and smiled. In those moments, her knew that he was going to die alone, helpless, mocked. Sometimes he woke up and had to clamp his hands over his mouth, because tears were coursing down his face, and he was worried he was going to sob out loud in sheer, overwhelming fear.

Maybe. Not now, though. This was all that he could manage for now. It was enough for him that Christine was by his side, supporting him.

She led him out of the room, her arm hooked in his.

For now, this was enough.