Christine was no stranger to blood. She was a doctor; it went with the territory.

Working in the ER kept her on her toes more than her childhood ballet class. Tonight was no exception, as she was summoned to yet another bay.

"Car crash," Meg informed her. "His mom was driving. She's in Bay 5, but she's mostly okay. Just a few cuts and scrapes. Her son, on the other hand…"

The man was barely alert, though he looked like he'd rather not be. Staff members were bustling around him, attempting to clean up the bloody mess that was his right side. But the blood was commonplace. What drew her attention was the mask.

"I'm Dr. Daae," she said. "I'll be taking care of you."

His eyes found hers and he nodded with difficulty. "Do what you need to do."

Then he lost consciousness.

Working on the emergency side of plastic surgery meant that she'd seen a lot of faces inside and out. There had never been one quite like his.

The mask was not easy to remove. Its plastic-like material had cracked and twisted on impact. Shards of it were embedded in his cheek, a few of them still attached to the main section.

The extraction was a process in and of itself. She felt like she was there forever, but it had to be carefully removed. Piece by piece, the mask came loose.

There was a collective intake of breath as the mask came away from his face. They all stared in disbelief. The heart monitor continued to beep. If not for that, they might have thought their patient was a corpse.

Christine felt a pit form in her stomach. Generally, her goal was to achieve a natural result, but there was nothing natural about the unharmed part of his face. While she suspected that he might have a broken nose, she wasn't prepared for the complete absence of one.

She pushed aside her scientific curiosity. He wasn't a specimen for her to study. He was a patient. He was a man. His name was Erik and he had a very nervous mother who was probably wearing a track into the waiting room floor.

Christine got to work.

Christine knew she should head home. Erik's surgery had been among the most difficult of her career, and she was exhausted. She was done for the day, but she had one final visit to make.

The hospital room was quiet when she entered. At least, it was as quiet as hospital rooms ever were. Erik was barely recognizable, his head almost entirely encased in bandages. She would check on her work tomorrow. For now, she was content to let him sleep.

Beside the bed sat a tiny woman with graying hair. She looked up as Christine entered.

"Mrs. Matthews?" Christine asked.

The woman nodded. "Please, call me Gina."

"I'm Christine Daae. I'm the plastic surgeon who worked on your son's face today."

"Is it...bad?"

"I did my best," Christine said. "Your son has a rather unconventional face. Reconstruction was more challenging than usual, and I can't say for sure that his face will heal the same way as yours or mine would."

"Reconstruction?"

"There were a lot of glass bits from the car window. The mask he was wearing splintered on impact, and the pieces dug into the underlying structures. He will have some scarring and some motions might be difficult, but he should make a full recovery."

"Thank you, doctor." Gina buried her face in her hands. "I'd like to find those rotten kids from his high school who made him think the mask was ever necessary." She sighed. "But I'm shifting blame. I should have realized the other car was making their turn too wide. I should have protected him."

Christine sat down in the second chair. "That doesn't sound like it was your fault."

"My baby got hurt. I know he's thirty-five, but he'll always be my little boy in some sense." She sighed. "He could have died today and it would have been my fault. I somehow messed up his face before birth. Now, I've managed to make it worse. It's all my fault."

"It's not." A male voice cut her off.

Gina squeezed her son's hand. "How long have you been awake?"

"I wouldn't say I'm awake. I can only see out of one eye and my head feels awful. I can barely move my jaw."

"Then how are you speaking?"

"Remember when I was twelve and I learned ventriloquism?"

Gina shook her head. "Of all the skills to come in handy…"

"What happened?"

"We were in a car accident. You got pretty torn up." She turned to Christine. "This is Dr. Daae. She's the plastic surgeon who worked on your face."

"I thought I could save you," Christine began. "I don't think it will be functionally different once it heals, but it might look a bit different."

"Don't worry about saving this face, doctor. That ship sailed long ago." He flexed his fingers appraisingly. "Is anything else broken?"

"You have two cracked ribs and some cuts and bruises. Your face was the main issue."

"Isn't it always?" he mused. A thought seemed to occur to him. "Wait a minute. Mum, are you alright?"

Gina squeezed his hand. "I'm fine. Just a little banged up, and worried about you, of course."

"Go home and get some rest. There's no point in you sitting here watching me sleep."

Christine could sense Erik drifting off. In truth, she was surprised that he was this coherent. She saw that Gina was about to protest his request.

"I was about to head out myself, Gina. I can give you a lift home if you need it."

Her statement was punctuated by a quiet snore from Erik. Gina shook her head at her son and reluctantly got up.

The two women made their way to the elevator in silence.

Six Weeks Later

"Well, Erik, it's your last followup appointment."

He gave her a crooked smile. "What? You're not going to try and sell me on surgery to fix the rest of it?"

Her expression must have been sour, because he continued. "Don't worry. I don't expect you to fix all of this." He gestured to the rest of his face.

The side of his face was now mostly healed, but she could tell it was less expressive than the other half. A spiderweb of scarlines spread across his cheek. "Why do you do that?" she asked as she inspected her work.

"Do what?"

"Make fun of your own face."

"It's easier to beat other people to the punch, I suppose. At least I'm actually funny."

"Are people really that rude?"

"Sometimes." He toyed with the mask in his hands. "The mask makes things easier. The healing time since the accident is the longest I've gone without it since I was a kid. But even with the mask, people stare. It's best to have a sense of humor about it."

"Even at your own expense?"

"Especially at my own expense." He chuckled to himself. "I promise it's not as bad as you and my mom make it seem. Regardless of what happens, at least I have her in my corner."

"It's sweet how close you two are."

"I don't know what I'd do without her." Again, he gave that crooked smile that tugged at Christine's heart.

"Take good care of her." She pulled herself back to the situation at hand. "I think you're all set."

He held out his hand to shake hers. "Thank you for all of your work. Seriously, thank you." There was a note of hesitation in his voice. "There aren't many people who look at me and bother to see a person. It's refreshing, to say the least."

She looked at the sincerity burning in his eyes and was reminded of why she'd become a doctor. It was moments like this that made everything else seem worth it.

The "You're welcome" she managed to choke out hardly seemed adequate.

One Year Later

Christine had always loved the opera. In many ways, it was her second home growing up. Sometimes, if Mamma Valerius wasn't available to watch her, she would come to work with her father and watch the show from the orchestra pit. She'd curl up in a corner of the pit and let the magic overtake her.

Remy, the current conductor, had worked with her father. He chattered on as he ushered her into the pit for old times' sake.

It felt strange to be back here as an adult. It felt strange without her father, though she felt him in every inch of the building.

She kept her eyes away from the string section as long as she could. She didn't know what would be worse: seeing her father's empty chair or seeing some stranger sitting in it. Most of the musicians had left by the time she finally steeled herself to look.

Erik.

She'd recognize his stature, even if the mask didn't give him away.

"Oh, and this is Erik," Remy prattled on. "He's our current first chair violin, not that anyone could ever replace your father."

Erik was packing his instrument, but he looked up at the sound of his name. His eyes lit with recognition. "Dr. Daae? What are you doing here?"

Remy looked between them in confusion. "You two know each other?"

"Yes." Erik looked at the conductor as though he'd just realized the man was there. "Remember that accident I was in over the summer? Dr. Daae is the plastic surgeon who worked on my face."

"Do all your patients wear a mask afterward?" Remy's attempt at a joke fell flat as Christine's cheeks reddened.

Erik's tone was clipped. "You know the mask was here before the accident. Dr. Daae is the reason I even have a face to wear it on."

"Of course, of course." Remy chuckled nervously. "I didn't mean to suggest otherwise."

Christine was still staring at the ground in embarrassment. She thought of the scars on Erik's face and tried to quell the feeling of guilt.

Remy looked as embarrassed as she felt. Under Erik's glare, he stumbled through an apology and excused himself. He left the pit in a hurry, saying something about how Christine knew her way out.

Erik's demeanor softened as soon as Remy was out of sight. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

Erik shut his violin case with a soft snap. "I'm sorry, Dr. Daae, but you don't look fine."

"I'm not at work. Please call me Christine." Unconsciously, she made her way to her little corner. She sat down and stared up at the empty stage.

"Christine, then." Erik settled himself on the floor next to her. "Do you want to tell me what's wrong?"

She bit her lip. "You were one of my most difficult cases. Did you know that?"

"No, I didn't."

"And I've spent a lot of time wondering what I could have done differently. Could we have lessened the scarring? Could I have made the recovery easier? If I'd been a better surgeon, if you'd gotten a different surgeon, would your outcome have been better? I'll never know."

"What I told Remy was true. It's not because of you that I wear the mask. If anything, it's a wonder it still fits." Erik leaned his head back against the wall. "My mom told me how bad it looked in the ambulance. If it was half as bad as she made it sound, then you're a genius for fixing it."

Christine gave him a sad smile. "I only did my job."

Erik slid the mask from his face. "When all of this was healing, I remember thinking how precise it all looked. I was amazed because, normally, no one cares to look at my face. Yet here you are, concerned that you didn't do a good job fixing it! You're worried that another doctor would have done it better? What if another doctor had stitched me together haphazardly because they couldn't look at my face? What if I was left with a mangled mess and a doctor who just told me to wear the mask if it bothered me? Yes, Christine, I have a scar because of you. I have that scar because you took the time to care and make sure it was done right. You could have said, 'Well, he was already ugly' and forgotten all about me. But you didn't. Plus, you made sure my mom had a safe way home that night. You care, Christine, and that makes you a good doctor."

"That's one of the sweetest things anyone has ever said to me."

"Then everyone else needs to up their game and give you the praise you deserve." He smiled at her, and his smile was a little less crooked than she remembered.

"Thank you."

He shrugged. "Don't mention it."

She glanced at her watch. "I'm so sorry. It's late and you just played an entire opera. I'm sure you just want to go home and crash."

"I do have to be up early tomorrow, but I'll tell you what." He dug through his bag and emerged with a pen and paper. He scrawled something across it and handed it to her. "Here's my number. We can grab coffee sometime, if you'd like." A blush spread over his cheeks and suddenly his face looked a little less like death.

She found herself smiling at him, feeling strangely giddy. "How about Tuesday night?"

"Six o'clock at the coffee shop on 15th and Elm?"

"Consider me booked."

He slid the mask back into place and retrieved his violin. "Then I will see you soon, Christine."

It seemed like he melted into the shadows. Christine shook her head. He looked like a corpse and moved like a ghost, but she still remembered the rhythm of his heartbeat and the warmth of his blood on her gloves. No, he was a man like any other.

Tuesday couldn't come soon enough.