A/N: I do not own the Phantom of the Opera or any characters within it. I do own David though and he is going to be the sweetest little thing!

Greetings readers! New story, not going to be updated nearly every day like the last one, that almost killed me, because school has started again and I am a lazy, lazy girl. So tell me what you think!

Slightly cliche, I know but I wanted to write a story that's going to explore Erik's 'mommy' issues without suddenly introducing his mother. Note when David says his name. Ahh, I love taking psychology classes and reading Phantom of the Opera. It's good stuff.

---

The Fair

Damned winter; always so damn cold.

Erik stood in the drifting snow with his arms full of parcels and watched some idiot yell at his horses. Oh yes, that was how you got them moving. Unless your horses were trained to canter when you took the lords name in vain the damned carriage wasn’t going anywhere. Erik sighed and debated the wisdom of crossing the street in front of a team of jumpy horses. If the damned things weren’t used to the city then they should not be in the middle of Paris threatening pedestrians.

“Maurice, if she doesn’t love you, she doesn’t love you.”

Erik tuned his hearing to two young men that were standing behind him in the ever growing crowd of people that waited to cross the street.

“But, my heart belongs to her and I know that if I were handsome enough to woo her…”

“Which you are not, so let it go. She will only break your heart.”

Erik swallowed hearing Madame Giry’s voice in his head, she will only break your heart. She had in the end. He had traded his heart for one tearful kiss. Maybe she had loved him, but not how he wished to be loved. That boy’s love was light and airy like a spring morning. Erik could have only offered her darkness and cold winter nights.

“But if only she knew what I felt…”

“Enough. You saw her with another man and that has still not awoken you to what treachery she can bring you? What pain? No, you would do best to forget about her. Forget about this witch who has broken your heart and move on.”

“Amen,” Erik whispered under his breath as the horses finally moved forward.

---

Erik trudged through the snow ignoring other pedestrians and growling to himself under his breath. He paused for a moment to adjust his hood before coming to another cross street. It was getting late; he still didn’t have any idea why so many idiot people were out in the snow. It wasn’t as if it were a holiday or something. Erik blinked, was it? No, no, it was just a Sunday. Maybe that was why; some people didn’t work on Sundays.

He sighed and made his way across the slush covered roads and down the next block. It was bad enough that he had his lair raided again. The managers were having the rubble of the opera house cleared away so that they could sell the land, and a damned group of workers had found their way into the catacombs.

He had hidden in a passage as they picked through his home like vultures. He had wanted to kill them all but fear of last years events still struck him. He wanted no more attention from anyone. Missing workers brought attention, bodies brought attention. He had eventually scared them off by making it appear that whispers were coming from every corner of the cavern at once. It was now his hope that they would be too superstitious to return.

So far that notion had seemed to be working.

Erik paused on the corner of the last block. He could see the blackened shell of the Opera Populair over the rooftops now and it gave him some comfort. After all was said and done at least something waited for his return. Despite all that he had done to the poor building.

He stifled a yawn and looked across the street. Despite himself he smiled. A little girl, no more than five was eating a steaming turnover. He could see her golden curls gleaming beneath her dark bonnet as she ate carefully as to not make a mess or burn herself. What had made him smile though was that a long length of pink ribbon that was tied around her waist while the other end was tied to the wrist of what looked to be a much harried governess. The pair stood on the opposite street corner apparently waiting for something or someone.

It was a silly sight, and he wondered if the child had a tendency to wander or if the governess just wasn’t good at keeping track of her charge.

A carriage passed between them and the moment was broken. Erik closed his eyes for a moment and then continued across the street in the other direction.

It was moments like those that made him hurt. Moments that almost made him feel like a normal man. He could imagine a wife, bustling and running errands while trailing behind her a string of children. His wife would be smart enough to tie a ribbon to a wandering child. She would be strong enough to keep the child wise and well behaved. She would be kind enough to keep her husband from falling apart.

Erik thought of Christine, but he couldn’t imagine what kind of wife she would be. Those were practical thoughts, far away from the flaming passion that she had embodied at the opera. He had wanted her for himself but that was as far as his mind had ever gone with her. He would have expected her to love him, to stay with him, to save him.

He shook his head, of all the goddamned idiotic nonsense. It sounded as if he were reading those terrible gothic romances that the women found so endearing. Well, truth be told, he had read one and found it full of sugared lies and head spinning images that would have made a woman of the night blush. Who the hell read that drivel? It was no small wonder that women couldn’t keep track of their own children with that frippery infecting their heads.

Erik growled; there were three workers sharing a cigarette outside of the Rue Scribe entrance to the theater. Damn it. He slipped down an alley and began the extra march around the building.

His head was so full of curses and expletives that he didn’t hear the music and calling until he was almost right on top of it. He froze at the familiar sights of tents and people. Everyone was jeering, everyone was staring.

Erik shuddered; the traveling fair was back in town.

---

“Dirty animals,” Erik cursed under his breath and tucked his head down.

He would have to skirt the array of tents if he wanted to get to the side door of the theater. If he could bear his discomfort for only a moment more luck was with him that he would draw no undue attention.

“See the fat lady!”

“Mama! Look!”

“For only a coin you too can…”

He wanted to be sick. Quickly he looked about before kicking the iron window open that led into the chapel. He dumped his parcels down and was about to jump inside.

“Come see the devils child!”

Erik felt his heart freeze in his chest.

“See the child that the devil himself bore!”

He didn’t know what it was but he turned from the theater and stared at the small tent that was erected along the edge of the others.

“See the child with the devils mark!”

“The devil himself…”

Erik’s world blurred for an instant as the past sought to claim him. Slowly he straightened and watched the crowd stream into the tent. A sudden angry calm came over him as he adjusted his hood once more. Then he went and joined the crowd.

---

Same stinking tent, same dirty cage, same…

Erik stared at the small figure huddle in the corner of the cage. It took him a moment to see beyond the rags and the filth that it was a little boy. The crowd huddled around the cage as the boy’s master crowed and spouted quotes from the bible. The boy was covered with a dingy blanket that he had wrapped around himself like a cloak.

The crowd reached a jeering roar. Then suddenly the moment came, the master slammed the cage open and yanked the blanket from the boy. Erik found himself staring into a pair of frightened brown eyes.

“See the devils mark!”

The crowd laughed and yelled and threw coins. The boy wasn’t deformed; Erik recognized the twisting scars of fire when he saw them. They were on the boys back and they flowed up to the right side of his face. He could see patches where the boy’s dark hair hadn’t and probably never would grow back. His right eye was misshapen from the scars as was the side of his tiny nose.

The crowd’s dull roar faded and Erik felt his heart break.

Was this was people had seen when they had looked at him?

No, no one could be that cruel, to see this and only laugh, to see this and be able to move on with their lives, unaffected.

The snap of the whip broke him from his thoughts. The boy tumbled from his sitting position as the master tried to make him stand.

Erik felt his anger shatter, “Let the boy alone!”

In an instant he had hidden in the shadows as the master looked up for the voice, but the moment was lost. The crowd fell silent, no longer staring at some devils spawn, staring only at a little boy who lay curled up in a filthy cage. The people started to leave, the same looks of sick and pain upon their faces.

Erik closed his eyes and shook his head.

He followed the crowd out into the night.

---

The walk back to his lair was slow and his mind clamored with too many thoughts to be content. Erik paused as he stepped out of the boat. Madame Giry had been here or perhaps Nadir, but someone had lit the fires in the grates and left him tea, on a tray on his desk. He put his parcels in the makeshift kitchen and recognized Giry’s smooth handwriting.

I trust that you noticed the dreadfulness outside the theater; do not stay up too late. The past is only the past. I shall return on Wednesday with the violin you asked for, that’s three days from now.

He snickered, damned woman and her nosy nature. He was a little disappointed however to have missed her visit. Nadir had been around to bother the hell out of him a week or two ago. At least he thought it was a week or two ago. Maybe it had been longer, maybe it had only been yesterday. He didn’t remember time anymore. He had judged time in performances and the length of rehearsals. Now he only had silence to judge it with. He was sure it was Sunday, wasn’t he?

Erik sat down with a sigh in the leather chair in what he claimed to be a study. Every time he closed his eyes he could see the tiny body in front of him, tumbling forward into the stale straw on the bottom of the cage. What on Earth had possessed him to go into the tent? What did he expect to find there? Some other poor soul sold into servitude? Erik opened his eyes. What was he talking about? He had found another poor soul. He remembered the screaming fear so evident in the boy’s eyes. Fear that echoed what he himself felt deep in his soul.

They will all hate you.

They will all laugh.

You are alone…

Erik had wanted a wife and a child. Hesitantly he stood; perhaps he could forgo the wife...

---

It was silent and dark now. He had waited almost two hours until the last of the crowds had left and the lights had been turned down.

The tent was empty and as cold inside as it was outside. Erik slid in through a gap in the cloths, not the actual door. The child was curled up in the exact middle of the cage shivering under his blanket. Erik knew the place, if you were in the middle of the cage it was harder to get kicked or slapped. The master would have to put in some effort if he wanted to beat you, and the gypsy that Erik had known had been a lazy bastard.

Silently he wrapped his hands around the bars and the cage door shook ever so slightly. It was enough, the boy’s head jerked up and he scrambled to the opposite side of the cage.

The boy stared at him, his eyes wide, with the thin blanket making a makeshift cloak around his body. What did he think of the dark hooded figure that stood before him?

“P-p-please M-monsieur,” the little voice broke the silence, “Y-y-you will get int-to t-trouble.”

Erik smiled and shook his head, “I am not going to get into any trouble. Come here so that I may see you.”

The boy shivered but to Erik surprise crawled hesitantly towards him and stopped a foot away from the bars.

“Moure s-s-says it’s a c-c-opper to look at me.”

“Moure? Is that the name of your master?”

The little head bobbed.

Erik leaned forward just a little, “He isn’t going to get a copper from me, in fact, I don’t think he’s going to be making any more money off of you.”

Erik produced a crowbar from underneath his cloak and slid it between the lock and the latch on the cage.

“Boy, do you think you can trust me?”

The boy was staring at the lock and the crowbar and then he looked at Erik, “Y-y-ou w-will get into t-trouble, w-w-why w-would you do this?”

Slowly Erik pulled his hood away from his face and watched as the boy’s eyes fell onto his mask.

“Because I’ve been in this cage before.”

The boy blinked and then looked down, “I-I can’t run.”

Erik followed the boys gaze and saw the deep wound in the child’s calf.

“I will carry you then.”

He nodded and Erik made sure the boy was ready. The lock made a loud crack in the silence and Erik knew that others must have heard it. He threw the crowbar to the ground as the cage door swung open. Haste was needed but he didn’t have to say a word for the boy had his arms out and Erik swung him easily out of the cage and hugged him to his chest.

They were already at the door to the chapel when he heard voices cry out and they were already in the chapel by the time he heard footsteps rush out of the tent.

Erik grinned to himself as his heart pounded wildly in his chest and he made his way back the lair. He had done it; he had gotten away with it, with the child. The tiny body he clutched which seemed to be made of ice and he felt the bridge of a small nose being pressed into his neck. Erik held the boy closer and was pleased to notice that his shivering had nearly ceased by the time they reached the gondola. Erik let the boy down gently into the boat and then took his cloak off and wrapped it around the dirty thing.

“Boy, do you have a name?”

The little brown eyes were now filled with curiosity not fear. The child was looking everywhere, all around the catacombs but he looked up at Erik at once and smiled brightly,

“My mama called me David, it means beloved.”

Erik found himself returning the smile,

“Hello David, my name is Erik.”