Yes…you guessed it…ANOTHER FIC!!!! Wow. Anyway, you can count on my other ones still to be updated at the most random times. I am completely at the mercy of my muse [Muse holds up Punjab lasso] Me: GAAAAHHH!!! [Hand at the level of my eyes]

Since I am most obviously busy, Erik steps in to write my disclaimer.

Erik: Ummm…..Why am I here? Oh yeah! I don't own Phantom of the Opera! I mean, wait a second….I am the Phantom of the Opera!

Auronlives: [back] And I am the lowly Phantom of the Auditorium! Back, or I shall bonk you with my flashlight! I don't own Phantom of the Opera either. Sigh.

More A/N- this story is based on a little bit o' Kay, Leroux, Lloyd Webber, and my own personal interpretation. P.S.- I hated Kay's ending, didn't you? Her Christine sucked. So I have basically remedied the continuing part with this story! Behold the new misfortune which has befallen our dear characters! Review!!!! Constructive criticism embraced. Flame all you want, I'll only write more to piss you off.

RAOUL

I held Christine's hand as she sweated and struggled. She gasped, and I felt her grip tighten like a clamp on my hand, but I did not let go. I would never let go of my Christine again.

It pained me to see her suffer, even though the midwife had warned us it would be a difficult birth. She was almost certain there would be twins, and had warned us with an ashen face that the second born only had a fifty percent chance of survival. Christine had announced her conception glowingly, however, and hadn't let this revelation worry her. She would laugh gaily every time she suffered an onslaught of kicks from the growing babies inside her, saying that she could not believe they were not both as strong as they could be. She had been the happiest I'd ever seen her in the months that had passed since our marriage. She spoke of Erik as though he were no more than a fleeting fantasy, a dream evolved from a childhood tale.

In a way, I think I felt more responsibility toward the poor wretch than she did. The way he had just…let us go. The way he had given his love to me in the hopes that she would be happy. And even though just the thought of him sickened me, I felt obliged to see his hopes fulfilled. I could not let that poor monster down, somehow. Lately, when I was plagued by contradicting memories of the incident, I even felt myself desiring to talk to him, confide my feelings in him, but I would shake those thoughts out of my head as quickly as they came. The Opera Ghost was dead to me, and it was better that way.

I remembered, with stunning lucidity, the conversation I had had with Christine the night she declared herself pregnant. She had seemed perfectly happy, everything a proud new mother should be. I wish I could have said the same for myself, but there was something wearing on my mind. I decided, against my instincts, that it would be best to put these thoughts at rest by confiding in her. "Christine," I had said nervously, "I know this is a highly personal question, but I feel like I can ask you anything…not that you have to answer, if you don't want to…"

"Raoul," she had interrupted, concernedly, cutting off the tail of my unnecessary babble, "What's wrong? Does it have something to do with the baby? Oh, Raoul, you know you can ask me anything; you're my husband, for heaven's sake. What is it?"

"I was just wondering…is this baby mine…or his?" There was no need to specify who I meant. Christine's face grew dark, and I hastily apologized for my impertinence.

"No," she said distantly, "No, don't apologize. I haven't thought…Oh, Raoul, I don't know! My G-d, it could be either! I just don't know…" she trailed off, seemingly lost in thought. I was just about to comfort her when she snapped from her trance and brightened, as though a spark had just caught in her head. "There's no need to know! I'll just assume he's yours, we'll never know for sure, but no matter! He will know no father but you!" And, seemingly unconcerned, had rolled over and gone to sleep. There was no dampening her mood lately.

But I could not be as easily put off. I had put that shadow behind me, forever, I thought. And now, I was seeing the possibility of having it born again. What if it was his child? What if he took after his father in every way? What if, instead of moving on, I had to stare my past in the eyes every day? It would be like having Erik's face and constantly being surrounded by mirrors. Could I do that, and still manage to keep my Christine happy? I wasn't sure.

And I had no-one to ask, now that my brother was dead. His body had been found by the lake; no doubt that monster's doing, but I felt no anger toward Erik for it. If anything, I blamed Philippe, for not being able to restrain himself from nosing into my affairs. He never could stand to leave me to my own devices. Even though I was a perfectly capable sailor, he had felt the need to use his influence to find me work, instead of allowing me to procure it on my own, like any other man. I think I could have gotten the same position without his help, but now I'll never know. Perhaps that's why I retired from sailing. Not because I wanted to be a family man, but because I felt I had not earned my rank by my own accord.

At any rate, here I was, not in the middle of an ocean, but in the middle of a bedroom, drowning in the dry, labouring breaths of my poor wife, as she struggled to bring two children into the world that might not even be mine.

Add that I had been here for nine hours now, and you may begin to see my frustration.

"Ssshh, madame, don't fret. Keep breathing…that's it. He's almost out, just a little longer."

Christine squealed at bit, and then let her breath loose in a slow, controlled manner that reminded me of how she warmed up before singing. No doubt Erik had taught her that. No! Why could I not escape from my thoughts of him? Had he, when he surrendered Christine's mind, in turn grabbed hold of mine? Was he going to use my guilt somehow, was this all just part of his plan? I shook myself a bit. I was overreacting. The revelation that the baby might not be mine had been more disturbing than I had at first realized.

"Just a bit more…there!" The midwife uttered a little exclamation of triumph, as the baby slid into her hands at last. "Oh, he's a beautiful baby," she cooed, handing him to Christine, who drew him close to her breast. And he was a beautiful baby. All doubt was removed from my mind as Christine relinquished her vice-grip on my hand to stroke the child's head. Nothing as perfect as this child could come from that monster. He must have been my child after all. I leant down to give him a little cuddle of my own.

No sooner had I touched him than Christine grabbed my hand even more tightly, if that was actually possible, than before. Her contractions had begun again. "All right, madame, stay calm, it's time for child number two. Just do exactly as before, and everything should go perfectly."

If Christine's gasping had been terrible before, it was nothing compared to the unearthly wails that were issuing forth from her now. The midwife's kind words of encouragement and instruction were completely lost amid her cries. The birth was longer and obviously more painful than most second twins, and it wasn't until at least two hours later that the baby was delivered into the midwife's expectant hands.

She looked as though she were about to cry out. All of the colour drained from her face, and her hand flew instinctively to her mouth, almost dropping the baby in the process.

"What?" I inquired nervously. "What is it? Is it dead?"

"Let me see my baby!" Christine managed to gasp, just before losing consciousness. The midwife continued to stare at the child.

"Well?!" I exclaimed impatiently, wondering what on earth it could possibly be.

"No, monsieur," she said, slowly. "No monsieur, she is not dead." Without another word, she deposited the baby in my arms, and went to assist with the afterbirth. Sensing that my presence was no longer needed, I left, the child still in my arms. What could possibly be wrong?

I raised the corner of the blanket, and felt as though all of my insides had melted together. The face of the child…I could recognize that face anywhere…

It was His.

I felt a pressing need to sit down, and hurriedly helped myself to the contents of the decanter sitting on the table next to me. So these were his children after all. I hardly noticed the child start to cry, tentatively at first, but then, receiving no result, began to crescendo slowly until her sobs were almost deafening. I rocked her mechanically, lost in my own thoughts.

I could not allow this. I didn't want Christine to bear the burden of having to raise this child, and I doubted our capabilities anyway. Hadn't we both been repulsed by His face? I didn't want the child to have to live with that revulsion surrounding her. I could think of only one person who might be able to raise her. And it was the very man whose face she bore, and whom I had decided to erase from my mind forever.

The midwife left, eyeing the bundle in my arms and giving me a sympathetic look as she bade me farewell, and informed me that Christine was now sleeping peacefully with the other child still clutched to her breast. I knew immediately what I had to do. I called to one of my servants. "When Christine wakes, do as the midwife instructed you. If she asks about the other child or me, tell her that it was a stillbirth and I have gone to arrange the burial immediately. Tell her I love her," I added weakly, "And that I shall return as soon as possible. Understand?" The servant nodded, and I left, without even a cloak or a hat, treading the road to the train station unconsciously. All I could think about was the child, and the task ahead of me.

Some time later, the train stopped in the Paris station. The whole time, I had been staring subconsciously at the poor child, carefully guarding her face from the view of the other passengers. It was laced with haphazard crevices at the bottom of which you could see her blue veins, and was complexioned an odd, sickly, pale shade. She had her father's nose, or lack thereof, and similar twisted lips. Her eyes were slightly sunken in, and the green shade of a fly's back, so that they seemed golden in the half-light. She was just barely recognizable as female.

She was not a complacent child. The entire ride she had writhed and kicked in my grasp, whimpering and flailing blindly, as though trying to push something away. "Ssshh…ssshh," I murmured, trying to soothe her, but she would not be calmed, until finally, near the end of the train ride, she fell asleep.

Still in an almost trance-like state, I carried her down the dark alleyways, across the broad avenues, and finally, up the very stairs of the Paris Opera house. Staring at the doors, I held her protectively. No matter what I did, this hideous, pitiful creature could not win. Either she would spend her days isolated and hidden from the world underground, or exposed and terrorized by it above. I sighed, looking at her once more, and rocked her gently. I love the girl, I realized, but I can't give her what she needs. I would have to surrender her to her true father.

I tried the doors, and by some twist of fate, to my great surprise, they opened without protest, allowing me free admission. No doubt there was somebody still here, other than Erik, or else those great doors would have never stood unlocked. I would have to be stealthy.

I crept in, but it seemed to me that each tiptoeing step I made echoed deafeningly throughout the building. Surely Erik would hear me down in the fifth cellar! But, in contradiction to my thoughts, I remained undetected.

Carefully, I retraced the steps I had taken with the Persian to the third cellar. There, I picked up an iron table leg that had been part of a set for some opera, and tucked it under my arm. I knew I would fall into Erik's torture chamber, and was prepared to smash my way out if necessary.

I pushed the stone aside, picked up the child from where I had set her down to accomplish this, and sighed as I looked down the hole. If I remembered correctly, it was a long way down. And this time, there was no Persian to catch me, and keep me from smashing the already frail creature I held in my grasp flat. I turned around. Hunting among the set pieces, I found a length of rope. Once again, fate seemed to be with me. Hastily, I fashioned a kind of crude harness, allowing me to lower both baby and weapon together. When I was sure she had made it safely to the floor, I let myself drop as far away from her as the small hole would allow.

Mercifully, I landed on my feet, and did not crush the child, but I had not removed my boots this time, and made a noise to waken all of Paris if it had been sounded above ground. I immediately sensed that someone in the house was alerted to my presence.

I waited a few seconds. It seemed he had chosen to ignore me for the time being. So I called out into the darkness, toward what my best guess was the correct wall. "Erik! Erik, let me in, or I will have to tear down this wall! I have not come unarmed this time!"

"Oh, I see the proud husband has come to finish me off at last. No matter. I'd have died of my own accord soon anyway," came a voice from behind the wall, slightly to my right. There was a note of bitterness in his tone that scared me, but I knew I had to do this. I adjusted my position accordingly, and prepared to plead like I'd never pleaded before.

"No! Erik, listen to me, man! It's not that, I swear to you! I swear to you upon the one I love!"

"Well then, what is it? Answer me, Chagny! You try my patience!"

"I need…" I exhaled, preparing myself for what I had to admit. "I need your help."

For once, the old devil sounded surprised. "My help? Help of what nature?"

"I could tell you, if we only stood face to face."

He laughed. "My dear Vicomte, you are hardly in a position to strike up a bargain. Don't you know that with one flip of a switch, I could have you at my mercy? Have you learned nothing over the course of your acquaintance with me?"

"Yes," I said, trying not to choke. "I know. But I trust you."

He seemed a bit taken aback at this response. I took advantage of his silence to add, "Erik, I do not grudge you. And I made sure that Christine has been the happiest she's ever been these past months."

"Christine…" he muttered distantly, his manner changing completely with the mention of that name. "Oh, Christine…"

I let him have his moment, while I busied myself with groping around in the dark for the baby. I found her, and loosed her from her bonds gently, lest she wake up and start crying, at which point I would lose the one card I had in my hand against Erik: his curiosity. But, luckily, she remained silent, sleeping as deeply as that iron table leg, exhausted from the day's effort of being born. It would be the deepest and longest she would ever sleep in her life.

When I had completed this task, and was once again clutching the unfortunate child against my chest, I decided to speak again. "Erik…" I said softly. "Erik please…"

I heard motion in the next room, the turning of a key, and an invisible door opened roughly in the direction I was facing. I saw Erik, imposing, black-clad, and masked as usual, gesture wordlessly for me to follow him. He closed the door behind me, and led me to a couch, bidding me to sit down. He dutifully took up a position opposite me.

"You have great courage, Chagny, I'll give you that. It is certainly a commendable quality that deserves to be rewarded. So here you are. And what is so important that you would risk your neck to talk to me, if all is obviously well with Christine? Does it have anything to do with that bundle in your arms?" He gestured carelessly toward the baby that I still held as tightly as though she would fall from my grasp at the slightest breeze. I started, unaware that he'd noticed it. He hadn't rested his eyes on it, as far as I had seen. I sighed, for what felt like the hundredth time that day. I had sighed a lot. I imagined that I was getting quite good at it.

"It has everything to do with it," I replied.

"Well? No need to be so dramatic, boy! Just go on!"

"This belongs to you," I said softly, and reluctantly placed the baby in his arms. Sensing the change in the one who held her, she promptly woke up and began to cry.

"A baby?!" Erik uttered, sounding quite alarmed. "But…I don't understand…"

I set my lips in a grim line. "Look at her," I said. "You will."

Cautiously, he drew back the blanket, as though doing so would trigger a huge explosion. He started at the site of the face, and I noticed that he seemed to be in conflict about whether to stare, or to snap his gaze away. He looked up at me slowly, all of the traces of malice that were in his eyes before gone. "Quite a chip off of the old stone, isn't she," he said, half sarcastically, half seriously. I looked away. I had trained myself to look upon that baby's face without horror, but I could not train myself to look at the grief I saw in Erik's eyes, not if it sat before me for a hundred years.

"I told the maid to tell Christine she was dead," I said softly, still not daring to look, focusing on the child's face instead, as Erik ran his thin fingers along its mutated contours. "She was a twin, and the other child was perfect. He'll spare Christine from a lot of grief."

"I'll see to it that she remains dead," Erik replied in a preoccupied tone. "You have nothing to worry about from this child. She will stay out of your family's happy life as long as I live. And it seems I have been cursed to live a long, long time."

"No," I said sadly, finally bringing myself to look him in the eyes. He seemed surprised by my tone. "No. It isn't that. I don't fear her, and I don't hate her. It's true she is hard to look upon, but that's not the reason I'm giving her to you." The child had hushed, but was fully awake, and staring at Erik with her wide, greenish eyes. It was only then that I noticed a tiny patch of skin on her face, beginning below the hinge of her jaw, crossing the very corner of her greatly misshapen lips, and ending just before her chin that was normal, and free of deformities. Instead of softening her appearance, like you would think it would, it only made the rest of her face look worse by contrast. "I don't think she belongs with Christine and me. She would only trouble Christine, and be met with scorn by everyone. I think you may be the only one suitable to raise her." There. I said it.

I was surprised to see pity in Erik's eyes. This was a side of him I'd never even glimpsed. "You're right, of course," he said, with a calm that was almost infuriating to me. Here I was, ready to burst into tears, and he was cool and collected. I couldn't give in to him. Even in this moment of rare understanding, our unspoken rivalry was still very much alive. So, I forced back my tears as I uttered, "I love her."

"I know," he said simply.

"Could I visit her sometimes?"

Erik thought for a minute. "I suppose. But she can't know who you are. Christine and anyone connected to her must be as dead to this child as she is to her. You can pay her a visit on her birthday, but only then. We don't need a disaster beyond our imagination to occur." I was sure he smiled a bit as he said the last part. I did.

He shook my hand. "Now, monsieur, I believe you know your way out. You'd better use it, before I begin to feel murderous urges. You are, after all, my greatest rival."

"And you are mine," I said. "Goodbye Erik."

"I will see you in a year," he replied coldly, as though a year was nowhere near long enough, and the odd door shut behind me.

Well, what did you think? Love it, hate it? Review!!!!! If you leave me a helpful review, I will be grateful forever!!! Next chapter will be from Erik's perspective.