A/N: Firstly, yes, this is re-uploaded, so any reviews I might have had are bye-bye, please feel free to go back and review as I post, most appreciated! Secondly, picture if Gerard Butler had taken Ben Lewis's place in the Australian production of LND and if you took the movie version of PotO's history! This will make things much easier.

"So, what are you saying?" Raoul crossed his arms, his face composed into a stony grimace.

Erik sighed, rubbing his left temple, "Look, we both have something to hide from and something the other wants. I can't leave the island for obvious reasons and I have money. You can't go back to Paris because of your outstanding debts and you have Gustav."

"I already agreed to our wager, he's yours." Raoul tried to be nonchalant, but the strain in his voice when he said that was all too clear.

"No, that isn't right. Raoul, you are his . . . well, you've been part of his life for a long time now, and he sees you as his, er, anyway," Erik sighed again, closing his eyes, "I'm offering you a place to stay, to help me look after Gustav."

Raoul blinked slowly, "Then we are at an impasse, neither of us can move an inch."

"It would seem we've hit a wall." Erik nodded, "I'm asking you to do what you feel is right for Gustav. I will not say anything more on the subject to sway you."

Raoul laughed, but it was pained and mirthless, "You honestly can't believe that I wish to step out of my son's life. On the other hand, I'd rather not stay anywhere near you, but I will agree to stay because I know what's best for him."

"Then we've reached an understanding?" Erik leaned forward, pressing his palms into the table, his gaze sharp.

"Yes."

Gustav stood there, staring up at Erik as he sat at his piano, he looked so small, so helpless, the grief of mourning had truly taken its toll on the child, his eyes red and puffy from crying, the slight trembling in his hands.

"Are you . . . alright, Gustav?" Erik asked gently, speaking to a child was foreign ground for him, so he thought a quiet voice was the best tactic.

He blinked slowly, "Mhm."

"Gustav, there you are, I-" Raoul stopped, "Oh, well, then, I needn't have worried, you're safe."

Erik raised an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly, but he said nothing as Gustav turned to Raoul,

"Papa, I wanted to ask . . . um . . . " Gustav looked at Erik, as if unsure of how to address him, then he seemed to give up on that, "If I could go outside for awhile, the leaves are turning color."

"I'm sure that would be alright." Raoul gestured to the door, "Grab your coat."

"Yes, Papa!"

They stood in silence, Erik swirled a patch of dust on the wood of his piano, not looking at Raoul, he knew what expression was on his face, the arrogant triumph exuded from that part of the room.

"So, are you going to tell me your name? Or should I call you Mr. Y?"

Erik looked at him, a little caught off guard, "My name is Erik."

Raoul blinked, the glass of water (Erik had warned him about the consequence of drinking alcohol) stopped at his lips, "That's it?"

"What do you mean?" Erik scowled slightly, "It's my name."

"Well, I just pictured something more grandiose, something more, I don't know, inspiring?" the younger man shrugged.

Erik huffed, "It isn't my birth name, just one I acquired years ago."

"'Acquired'? How do you acquire a name?"

"Its very simple, I seem to recall being referred to as 'OG' and 'the Phantom', now I've acquired 'Mr. Y', if a name suits me, I use it."

"And you think 'Erik' suits you?" Raoul grinned a little despite himself, the whole thing was so ridiculous.

"Yes, I do." Erik stood slowly, "Well, this has been a most compelling conversation, but I have a business to run. I'm sure you'll find something to do with your time, housekeeping, perhaps?"

Raoul glared at him, "Very clever, Erik."

Erik would not return until later that night, he looked tired, worn-out even.

"I'd ask where it is you go, but I think I'd rather not know." Raoul didn't look up from his newspaper, Gustav was sitting on the floor at his feet, scribbling on some paper.

"Hm." Erik sighed, sitting down in one of the chairs, rubbing his left temple slowly.

Gustav looked up and crawled over, "Um, Sir?"

It took Erik and Raoul a second to realize who the child was speaking to. Erik looked down at him, unsure what to do,

"Yes?"

"Will you . . . look at my music?" Gustav ducked his head shyly, holding up some sheet music.

Erik blinked slowly, eyes wide and he actually looked at Raoul as if for permission before taking the paper.

"Of course, Gustav." He murmured, licking his lips at the silence that hung in the air. Quelling the dismay of his son speaking to him so formally.

Raoul actually leaned forward in his seat, interested in something his son had written, watching a little anxiously as Erik's eyes skimmed the lines, his lips moving to the different notes.

"It's very good, Gustav," He says finally, breaking the tension, "When it is finished, I'd like you to play for me."

"Alright." Gustav nodded and took the paper back, retreating to Raoul's part of the room to continue scribbling.

The two men stared at each other, both a little surprised by what had just transpired here. Gustav had asked for Erik's approval over something. This sent a shiver through the older man, he sighed contentedly and settled back in his chair.

Three days later, Raoul sat in the parlor, reading, and looking up every so often with mild interest as Erik moved about the apartment located over the music hall. He'd never seen the man in anything but black dress clothes and a cape, so to see him in a pair of regular trousers and a white shirt with a few of the buttons undone was strange at best.

"How old are you, anyway?"

Erik blinked, looking up from a pile of papers, his visible eyebrow raised sharply, "What difference does it make?"

"I'm a little curious to see how much older Chr- . . . she preferred." Raoul faltered, he was trying to make light their situation, but mentioning her name, accidentally or not, brought on a wave of sadness, bordering on tears.

Erik just stared at him, the expression on his face, however briefly it flashed across his almost completely obscured visage, gave in to concern, then to what might have been amusement, "A bit older, I'm almost forty."

Raoul head snapped up, "Wait, what? I thought you were much older than that, I mean, your hair is-"

"Graying? Yes, I'm aware of that, it started to lose its color when I was very young. Due to trauma or malnutrition, but I'm not sure." Erik crosses his arms, irritation at Raoul's exclamations.

"But . . . that means that you were, what?, twenty-eight, twenty-nine at the Opera house?"

"Yes." Erik nodded slowly.

"Well, then, you're only . . . nine or ten years older than me." Raoul counts off in his head.

"Feel better knowing I'm not a decrepit old man?" Erik snorts, organizing his papers.

"I admit it does make me feel a little better." Raoul smiled to himself.

Gustav was having another of his dreams. Erik's hand reached out hesitantly to the boy,

"Gustav, wake up." He said softly, the boy's eyes flew open, full of fear and uncertainty, at first Erik thought he should go and get Raoul, but then a small hand snatched at his sleeve.

"Don't go!" He whispered urgently, tears already forming, "Don't leave me!"

Erik blinked, "Alright, I'll stay."

He slid to the floor next to Gustav's bed, sitting up and staring at the hand still clutching his sleeve.

"Don't go . . . " Gustav's eyes were already drooping.

"I'm not going anywhere." Erik whispered, his other hand reaching to smooth down the child's unruly hair,

So much like Christine, he thought, all the better he doesn't have a scrap of me-

He stopped his thinking because he stared into the eyes, they were such a soft, liquid blue; Christine's were dark, chocolate colored, those were Erik's eyes. He had to catch a sob in his throat, Erik didn't want to upset Gustav further by breaking down here. He waited until the reflection of his eyes were closed in the blessed escape of sleep before brushing his lips on the warm forehead and carefully sliding his sleeve out of the hand. He slowly, carefully backed out of the room and retreated to the study, where he could be alone.

Erik sat at the piano, not even touching the keys as tears rolled off his face, forcing him to remove his mask or risk it falling and shattering. He covered his face with his hands and wept softly, his heart, so carefully guarded all those years, was suddenly raw and vulnerable again as it had been that fateful night on the pier, aching at such a small thing as seeing himself in his son, seeing what he might have been, could have been, if not for his face. Oh, the unfairness of it all . . .

Raoul stood there, watching Erik, he was unsure of what he was supposed to do about this, the older man was sitting there at the piano, crying as if his life was over. It would not do to disturb him and Raoul knew that if that were him, Erik would be the last person on this Earth he would want to see. So he turned and quietly closed the door on the weeping man.

Like any other morning, before the sun rose, Erik was already awake and dressed, sitting at the kitchen table, sipping coffee. He didn't actually like the stuff all that much, but it was hot on a cold day, snow flurries falling softly on the window pane announcing that fall was almost over, and the wind making it's endless complaint through the trees. Raoul came in, startled by Erik's presence before sliding into a chair across from him, a cup for coffee in his own hand.

"Don't you ever sleep?" He mumbled, rubbing at his eyes and filling his cup.

"A little." Erik conceded, "I don't find that I need much sleep."

"Huh, lucky you." Raoul yawned and stretched, then he glanced out the window, "Gustav will need a winter coat, it looks bloody cold out there."

"I'll see to it." Erik nodded, glancing out the window too, "Winter here is so bleak. Truly, the snow covers all the imperfections of the city for the briefest of moments before it too is sloshed into a grimy mess and becomes part of the city once again. The moon plays such lovely silver light on everything, making the city soft and kind until the sun rises, casting every line and detail into such sharp relief as to hurt the eyes and force one to look away out of fear of oneself also being exposed, every imperfection of the soul and body laid bare for all to see." Erik rubbed at his forehead.

Raoul blinked, "Are you making a joke at my expense? I say something about the weather and then you have to top me?"

"A joke, sir?" Erik chuckled, looking at him, "I wax poetic. I'm simply making an observation, you might find it unnerving, but it is how I see the world. And I have seen much of this world, yet I find the city with the most people is the easiest to hide in. The crowds afford liberties of not having a single person give a damn about who you are or what you look like. They believe they've 'seen it all'."

"So, is that why Coney Island?"

"I blend in rather well, do I not? 'Just another circus freak', is how you so eloquently put it." Erik snorted, finishing his coffee then reaching for the percolator to refill his cup.

Raoul sighed, "If its any consolation, I was rather drunk when I said that."

"But, it is how you felt, was it not?" Erik rested his chin on his fist, contemplating Raoul with bright eyes, "I imagine the idea that your competition was a disfigured recluse might have caused a little hostility."

"A little?" Raoul's eyes widened incredulously, "I had everything a woman could desire, yet it was only on the rarest of occasions when you were mentioned that her eyes lit up again and she would smile, it escaped me how you could get a reaction like that in her and I could not."

"Perhaps, it was my music, that was all I could offer." Erik murmured, his eyes distant, "I could give her nothing of the comforts that you no doubt bestowed on her, I had not a home, or money, or a future in mind. All I had was my talents, and I laid them at my muse's feet for her own uses."

"There, that right there," Raoul pointed at him, "That was what I couldn't grasp."

"I don't understand." Erik sat up, looking down at the accusing finger.

"You can be poetic about snow for the love of God! You had the words and that's what I lacked." Raoul sat back in his chair, gazing into his now-cold cup of coffee.

"Yet, she went with you at first."

"Only because you stepped aside."

The two men looked at each other, both trying to wrestle with conflicting feelings on the matter, maybe they weren't so different in their deep love for Christine, it was just that neither could express it properly. Not that either would voice such an idea.

They turned when they heard a noise and there was Gustav in his pajamas, hair tousled and eyes bleary with sleep.

"Gustav," Raoul slowly turned in his seat, "How are feeling?"

"Alright." The boy murmured, rubbing his eyes.

"Would you like some breakfast?" Erik asked uncertainly, "I have to go to work, but, Ra- er, Papa can get it for you."

"You're leaving again?" Gustav's eyes widened in confusion.

"I'll be . . . coming right back." Erik fidgeted nervously, willing the child not to burst into tears, if Gustav cried anymore, he'd shrivel up!

"When?" He whined, wringing his hands. Raoul raised an eyebrow curiously, turning to look at Erik who seemed as distressed as Gustav.

"Later today." Erik assured, standing up and sliding his chair in, "I'll come back."

"Promise?" Gustav asked, running up to wrap thin arms around Erik's waist, much to the masked man's surprise, but, then he relaxed and put a hand on the child's head.

"Yes, I promise."

Erik came back late again, looking very tired as he slid his coat off, hanging it up on the rack then moving into the parlor, welcomed by a roaring fire and Gustav.

"Sir, look, I finished it!"

Erik looked down at the boy, smiling wearily, "Then will you play it for me?"

"Oh, yes!" His eyes had lit up with the wonderment they used to have always.

Erik smiled and moved to his chair, glancing at where Raoul was sitting, looking out the window. He had a mind to toss something at the younger man and get his attention, but thought better of it and resigned to paying attention to Gustav at the piano.

The boy's playing seemed to wake Raoul out of whatever stupor he had slipped into, his head snapping forward to better hear. Erik looked at him with concern, but quickly covered it with indifference. Gustav kept playing the slow, quiet melody that sounded horribly sad, so melancholy, that Raoul had the urge to stop him before he was overcome with the depression that already plagued his alcohol-deprived mind, but Erik was leaning forward to stand, moving to Gustav's side, his hand ghosting over the child's back. Then the song ended and all three were silent until Erik bent down and whispered something in Gustav's ear to which the boy nodded, gathered up the music and then scurried off to his room.

Erik sat back down, tilting his head back and staring at the small chandelier on the ceiling,

"Do you find it tiring?" He asked softly, not looking at Raoul.

"Find what tiring?" Raoul sat up a little, resting his cheek on the heel of his palm.

"Living. Do you find living tiring?" Erik turned his head slightly, looking at Raoul with his bright blue eyes.

"Sometimes. Especially now that I don't have her." Raoul swallowed, breaking eye contact, he didn't want to talk about this.

"Hm," Erik sighed, pressing his fingertips together in front of his chin, "I do."

Raoul blinked at him, "I know the answer is obvious, but, why?"

Erik chuckled mirthlessly, "Its the simple intake of breath that bothers me, the will of the body to live when the heart and soul just aren't in it, not caring about tomorrow. Oh, to be colorless and flat, without feelings or desires and to-" He stopped, sitting up a little, "I'm carrying on again, aren't I?"

"Yes." Raoul nodded, but he had leaned forward, he found Erik's descriptions of things strangely comforting.

"Forgive me, I have a tendency to talk too much when someone will stay long enough to listen." Erik sighed again, rubbing his left temple.

"Does that . . . hurt?" Raoul asked, pointing at the mask.

Erik blinked, ceasing to rub at his pounding head, "No, not really, one gets used to things like this. I barely notice it anymore, really."

"I can't imagine being able to ignore something on my face all day." Raoul shook his head, fingers running through his thick, light hair, "Where does one purchase something like that?"

"A good friend of mine made them for me."

"Who?"

"It doesn't matter anymore, he died several years before you came to the Opera, Vicomte, tuberculosis, unfortunately. He was in a lot of pain, toward the end." Erik's eyes became distant.

"Did Christine know him?" Raoul leaned forward.

"Yes," Erik stood up and moved to the window, "But, not that well, she knew he was there and that he helped me, that was all."

"Oh." Raoul sat back, then after a moment of internal conflict, "Erik?"

"Yes?" Erik didn't turn, he merely kept looking out onto the city.

"Why did you kill Buquet?"

There was silence, then Erik started to chuckle, "He insulted me, claimed to have seen me on many occasions, so, I thought the last thing he should see was my face. Fool that I was."

Gustav ran back into the room, smiling for the first time in a long time, "I finished it truly now!"

Erik took the heavy parchment paper, the title scrawled across the top in the child's hand, "Good, very good, why don't we get it a folder?"

"Oh, yes please!"

Raoul watched, the dark memories of that night at the Opera playing through his head, had he not desired to get revenge on someone who ridiculed him at a social gathering? Or, recently, in public and in front of his son? How was he so different?

That night, Raoul wasn't sleeping, he could hear mumbling in the other room, Erik's room, he threw on a robe and padded down the hall, carefully opening the door and sliding in. There was a candle by the bed, the wick slowly burning it into a stump. Raoul tip-toed forward, his heart racing as he leaned over. Erik was on his right side, the wig and mask on his dressing table, the covers slid down to his waist and Raoul's breath caught in his throat. Erik looked so different, the scraggly brownish-blonde locks with streaks of gray were cut short, his chest moving slowly, inhale, exhale. He was dreaming, his lips tugging in silent words, eyes flicking back and forth behind closed lids. But, Raoul could not take his eyes off the face, the part that was scarred was pressed into the pillow, all that showed was the whole half, and Erik was handsome, or might have been. The sleeping man's hands twitched and he rolled onto his back, and Raoul held in a gasp of horror at scars that he had not seen before, on the man's sides, scars that looked to reach back and stretch across the back. Good God, what kind of horrid being could do these monstrosities to another human? Then, without warning, Erik sat up, eyes snapping open, chest heaving with a cry as his nightmare finally woke him,

"Agh!" Raoul fell over backwards in surprise.

Erik blinked several times before turning to the younger man who was sprawled on the floor, "What are you . . . ?"

Raoul quickly got to his feet, "I-I heard a noise, but you were, um . . . it was nothing."

Erik stared at him before remembering that he was sitting there, bare-chested and mask-less, his hand snapped up to cover his face, "Well, if you've satisfied your curiosity, go away."

Raoul stuttered an apology before running out the door, irked by the venom in Erik's eyes when he had been anything if not worried.

The next morning Raoul sat at the table as Erik stalked in, he was, as expected, already dressed and he looked at Raoul for a moment,

"I'd like to apologize." The younger man said softly, clutching his mug tightly, "I . . . I had no business in your room and I'm sorry."

Erik leaned on the counter, his head tilted to the side, sharp eyes fixed on Raoul, "Really?"

"Yes, I couldn't sleep and I heard noises, so I thought it might have been Gustav." Raoul rubbed at his eye with the heel of his hand.

Erik snorted, causing Raoul to snap his head up, ready to defend himself from whatever ridicule, "I find that very amusing. You're forgiven." Erik tipped his head down, raising his cup to his lips.

"What is so amusing?" Raoul demanded, his hackles rising.

"Nothing, just that you are apologizing to me. I came here with the very same words on my mind. I realize that you were not simply being an ass and invading my privacy, and I am . . . sorry when I snapped at you."

They stared at each other, Erik sat down across from a stunned Raoul,

"Am I forgiven?" Erik smirked, tipping the cup to his lips again.

"Yes." Raoul stared at him, then he shook his head, sighing heavily, "I don't understand you, at all."

"What is there to understand? You and I cannot, it would seem, grasp what the other is feeling or thinking, it is the way things are. I'd rather not divulge my secrets, my thoughts and I imagine you don't want to tell me anything, so why try? Why do we sit across from each other and try to bridge a gap that cannot be crossed, nor do either of us have a desire to see what is on the other side. I don't, I don't want to see how I look to people, because I know what I look like and I know I have done wrong, I cannot take it back no matter how much it repulses me." Erik sighed, "We don't have the time or energy to try and re-hash our pasts, we're too different, Raoul, too different to even try."

"Are we?" Raoul lifted his eyes from his cup, "I don't think so, at least, not with some things. We both loved Christine with our very souls. We both love Gustav and want what's best for him. Perhaps, I don't understand this music you shared with her and I can't understand half of what you say or do, but I don't think we're as different as you think. We're both lost without her and . . . maybe I don't know how you feel, maybe I was a cruel, selfish, spoiled child, maybe we were both wrong, but . . . I want to try, not for me or you, but for Gustav, if we're going to live, er, together, I think we need to come to some sort of understanding."

Erik stared at him for a few moments, "Alright. Fine, you want to know something about me, then ask, I warn you, nothing I can tell is a happy tale."

"Where are you from?" Raoul had decided that simple questions would be the best start.

"I don't know." Erik sighed, looking at the ceiling.

"Really?"

"Really, I could not show you on a map where I came from because I honestly don't know." Erik leaned back in his chair, the clock read a little after four in the morning, "Learning to live with little sleep, are you?"

"My dreams don't allow for sleep. So, you wouldn't be able to contact your family?"

"Ah, well, I'm more than sure my mother would rather I didn't." Erik chuckled darkly.

"Why? Is she dead?" Raoul blinked, resting his elbows on the table.

"No, well, I'm not sure, actually. I just got the feeling that she wasn't too fond of me." Erik looked the other way.

"She was your mother, surely she-"

"My mother didn't possess the maternal instincts I'd always heard mothers are supposed have." Erik said quickly, "She . . . couldn't stand the sight of me. I . . . I disgusted her."

"You were scarred from birth, then?" Raoul's shoulders slumped a little, how cruel a woman could she have been?

"Yes, my mother was . . . such a beautiful woman, I remember her face so clearly, when she would come close enough. I always thought she was so pretty, unhappy and distant, but pretty. I didn't even know anything was wrong with me until she pushed me away. She gave me away to a man that ran a circus when I was quite young." Erik's voice got quieter, he swallowed thickly, "I was so jealous when I'd see how much Meg's mother loved her . . . wondering what had gone wrong with my mother that she didn't-"

He stopped, thinking he'd gone too far.

"What about your father?" Raoul tried, hoping to smooth over any hostilities, he should have known better.

"I never knew my father, he abandoned us before I was born, at least, that is what I was told."

"I see." Raoul stared at him.

They both just sat there, the only sound the muted ticking of the clock.

"So," Raoul said softly, "Even if you knew where your mother was, you wouldn't want to speak to her anyway."

"I didn't say that." Erik murmured, "I would give anything to speak to my mother again."

"What for?" Raoul's brow crinkled in confusion.

"To ask her 'why'."

They stared at each other again, Raoul was the first to clear his throat and break the silence,

"So, then you ended up escaping the circus and living under the Opera house." He leaned back.

"Yes." Erik nodded, taking a deep breath.

"And you fell in love with Christine."

"Yes."

"And that was where I came in."

"In a nutshell, yes." Erik nodded slowly.

"Why did you do it?" Raoul asked suddenly.

"Do what?" Erik blinked.

"Why did you let her go?"

Erik stared at the younger man for a minute, "Because I loved her."

"But, if you loved her, why did you let her go with someone else?"

"I thought, that . . . I was doing what was best for her." Erik stood up, "I think that's enough questions for now. I need to go to-"

"Work? At four-thirty in the morning?" Raoul raised an eyebrow.

Erik stood there, looking away, visibly breathing hard, "I don't know how you fill your time, Vicomte, but I have a business to attend to, and since half my staff has disappeared to places unknown, I must try and pull it together before the season begins again."

"Gustav will be wondering where you've gone." Raoul sipped his coffee, pulling a face at how cold it was now.

"I won't be gone long." Erik sighed, "There are just a few things that need looking after before I lock the gates for the winter."

"What do you do, though?" Raoul stared at him, "What is so pressing for you to-"

But Erik was already pulling his coat on and leaving.

"Alright then." Raoul sighed, tilting his head back, "Fine."

The hours trickled by and Raoul ended up sitting at the piano, staring at the cold, ivory keys, impassive and silent. What was it about? Why did music speak to them while it meant nothing but sometimes-pleasant drabble to him? How could it be so powerful that it could twist his life into a million directions and change the world beyond his understanding? Who was Erik that he could charm someone's very soul with a few notes, a few black dots on a line?

"What does it mean?" He murmured, then jumped when a hand was on his arm.

"Papa, what are you doing?" Gustav asked, his eyes light with curiosity.

"Oh, nothing." Raoul smiled, Gustav was looking much better, at least, he'd been able to sleep soundly these past nights.

"Can I show you what I'm working on, Papa?" Gustav scrambled up onto the bench next to Raoul, a sheaf of papers in his hand.

"Of course." Raoul moved to make room, watching the child poise his hand's over the keys and then-

The music flowed out from the piano, it was a good melody, light and less melancholy than the last song Gustav played. Raoul smiled, gently running his hand over his son's hair, watching the same expression he'd seen on Christine's face spread across his son's . . . Erik's son's face. Raoul swallowed, oh how it hurt to know that she'd kept this from him! Why? Why would she, the woman he'd loved with such passion, allow this secret to fester until now it came out with such agonizing sharpness that he felt his heart being ripped apart. He'd devoted his life to his son only to find that Gustav wasn't even his . . . He loved the boy with every measure of his being, he would gladly give his life for the child . . . and now, Raoul had agreed to help another man raise him.

He still calls me Papa.

That thought gave such comfort to the aching wounds the truth had inflicted, he did not doubt that Christine had told the truth, there is no point to going and meeting one's maker with a lie in your dying breath, no, she had had no reason to lie. It must be true. And even now, as the unfinished little song came to an end, it was all too clear that Gustav was not his, there was not an ounce of him in the boy, not one sign that this was his child.

"Papa?" Gustav said, his voice quavering with concern, "Didn't you like it?"

Raoul blinked, suddenly pulling back into the present, "Hm? Oh, yes, Gustav, I did."

He smiled, leaning forward to hug the boy, Gustav smiled up at him, his bright eyes reminding Raoul of Erik before the child hopped back down and ran to grab a pencil from Erik's desk. Raoul sat there, the smile gone from his face, he hugged himself, drawing a shuddering breath.

"I am sorry."

He started, holding in a yelp when he heard Erik's voice.

"Good Lord, do you never make noise when you walk around?" Raoul breathed out slowly, then he blinked, "For what?"

"For all of this." Erik sat down, resting his elbows on his knees, "All of it. I should have told her to go, I should have . . . known what a mistake I was making."

Raoul didn't speak in case Erik continued.

"I only realized afterward what I had done, I had allowed her to stay a night and it nearly destroyed us all. Hell, it did destroy us! She's gone!" He looked up at Raoul, tears rolling down the mask and flesh, the eyes had a mania that did not sit well with Raoul, "I was such a fool to think that I was supposed to be happy! Good God, why did I not turn her away? You were to be married and I was . . . I made the woman I held in such high regard fall from her pedestal, down to my level." He looked back at the floor, "I . . . just . . . couldn't stop myself."

Raoul could not help but wonder where all this was coming from, then, "You went to her grave."

Erik swallowed, not looking at Raoul.

"That's where you've been going? You've gone there every day?" He leaned forward, "And you stay there all day? Why?"

"I . . . " Erik swallowed again, sliding a hand up to pull the mask away, but he ducked his head, hiding from Raoul.

"Why?" Raoul asked again, his voice hardening.

" . . . She was my everything." Erik whispered, shuddering.

"She was mine too, dammit! Now you need to wake up and look around, you have a . . . a son to look after, you have responsibilities! You can't keep sitting at the cemetery and pining away for her! She's dead, Erik! You have to find something else worth living for, isn't Gustav worth that much?"

Erik blinked, licking his lips, "You don't understand . . ."

"No, I don't. If I wasn't here, would you leave Gustav all alone so you could stare at a tombstone?" Raoul demanded, anger replacing any pity he might have felt. This was ridiculous, there were far better ways to deal with grief than this, life must go on!

Erik pressed the mask back onto his face and looked at Raoul, the old hatred was back in his eyes, "I wouldn't expect a stuck-up, spoiled, alcoholic to-"

"Don't you dare start on that! Did we not just get done agreeing to act civilized? Dammit, man, how can you get angry at me for my vices when you can't seem to get over your own?" Raoul was standing now, his voice raised as he glared down at Erik, until he too was standing, "Why is it so difficult for you to-"

Erik was about to yell something very hurtful in response, but they both stopped when they noticed Gustav standing there, staring at them both with no expression on his small face. Everything went quiet, both men didn't dare to even breathe for fear of the slightest noise causing a meltdown, from any one of them. Then, Gustav calmly walked over to Erik and took his hand,

"You miss Momma, don't you?" He asked softly, then he looked at Raoul, "You both do."

Erik took a slow breath, closing his eyes before answering, "Yes."

Raoul blinked down at Gustav, "Very much."

"Then we should all go and visit her. Together." Gustav said these words with such force to make one think he was not a ten year-old boy, but an adult of more maturity than either of the adults in the room had shown.

"Alright." Raoul said softly, "If you want to, we can go."

"But, not tomorrow." Gustav said, letting go of Erik's hand, "I want to go and see Phantasma before it closes for the winter."

Erik looked at the boy, his shoulders sagging a bit, " . . . alright."

So they all went to Phantasma, Erik wasn't really in it, but he went through the motions, showing Gustav everything. Raoul himself was less than thrilled with the request, but he could not help asking the occasional question and Gustav showed such enthusiasm that it wasn't long before all three were far from their worries and lost in the dizzying world that Erik had built.

"Oh, Sir, Papa, look!" Gustav exclaimed, running to a set of strange mirrors that distorted one's reflection.

Erik and Raoul watched the boy as he ran through the different areas.

"So, now is the time I apologize to you and try to once again carry on." Erik sighed, "I do not have much practice with interacting with people beyond the occasional order given. I admit that keeping my feelings to myself and not trying to connect with people has been my comfort zone for a long time and it is a habit I must try and break."

Raoul looked at him and chuckled, "I imagine that I should apologize as well, I have not thought of how this arrangement makes you feel, I myself have not been the most open of people. And, I admit that I have found myself lapsing into apathy about life in general these past few days."

The two men didn't speak after that, they just watched Gustav until a noise caught there ears.

"Mr. Y!" One of the messengers ran up to Erik, "There is a man here who says he has some business with you."

"Thank you." Erik nodded and then the messenger was gone, "Well, I imagine it must be important."

"Come along, Gustav." Raoul called as Erik turned to leave, Gustav ran up to take Raoul's hand.

"Where are we going?"

"I'm not sure."

They made it to one of the buildings where a tall man was standing with a pamphlet.

"You are Mr. Y?" He asked, his voice sounded oily, like a salesman, thought Raoul.

"Yes, I am." Erik crossed his arms.

"I have things might interest you." The man smiled, showing a few gaps where teeth were missing, Gustav slid closer to Raoul.

"Oh?" Erik raised an eyebrow, "The season is over for this year, I won't be conducting business transaction until the first of April. If you are determined, than I will take your card."

"Of course, Mr. Y, my card is here." He handed Erik a crumpled piece of paper and then departed, "I will be back, no?"

"Who was that?" Raoul asked, trying to read the name on the card.

"Not sure, but, he isn't the first trader to come by. I have had many dealings with his kind. They aren't pleasant, but they are a necessary evil to this trade."

"What does he sell?"

"People." Erik looked up from the card, "He sells freaks, acrobats, all manner of those who have no freedom, money, or family. Typical gypsy trade, really, although, he was not one, it is still the same principle."

"That's horrible, didn't this country abolish slavery?" Raoul recoiled from the card as if it was a snake, Gustav, thankfully had been distracted from the conversation by a pair of monkeys in a cage.

"Not the underground market, it is still alive and well, and global, if memory serves." Erik tucked the card into his inner coat pocket.

"You're still going to do business with that man?" He could not help but feel angry at the whole situation.

"Yes, can you imagine how liberating to be bought by someone who has been in your position? I take care of them. I cannot buy them all, but I do what I can." Erik looked at Raoul, "We should go, it is getting dark out."

"Hm, yes, Gustav, come here." Raoul held a hand out for the boy.

"Are we going home now?" Gustav asked, his other hand reaching for Erik's.

"Yes." Erik said softly, feeling the warm, much smaller hand in his own.

A/N: And there you have it, I'll get more updates as I can and JB, if you be a dear and . . . send me the corrections? I have oodles of time now so I can actually get them done as I go and I'll love you forever!