Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom, but this idea is all mine!

Notes: This is an alternate universe Phantom fic. What if Erik never escaped from the traveling circus? What if it came to Paris and a certain ballet chorus member saw him?

UPDATE: I've gone through this story and edited it a great deal. I've corrected spelling and grammatical errors, as well as fleshed out parts, giving them more description, and making the characters a bit more full and realistic. I hope everyone enjoys, new readers and re-readers alike!

The Circus Affair

XXX

"Meg, I don't want to be here!"

Christine Daae walked next to her best friend, arms folded across her chest. Meg had dragged her from the Opera House an hour ago, gleefully talking about the traveling circus that had stopped in the bois earlier that day. Christine didn't know why she had even agreed to go, she hated circuses, she hated seeing the starving, caged animals and the dirty employees, and she hated having to pay outrageous amounts of what little money she had in order to be made so uncomfortable. However, Meg had begged her, and so, Christine went.

Now they were walking past a man with rotted teeth who exclaimed gleefully to passers-by that he could eat fire. Meg stopped, wide eyed, and watched as the man put the torch into his mouth and brought it back out, a thin tendril of smoke coming from the snuffed-out end. Christine rolled her eyes and kept walking, lowering her head so as not to be singled out as the bearded lady called out for companionship and the midget prostitute made lewd remarks.

Meg caught up, frowning and grabbing at Christine's arm.

"You could at least try to have fun!" she exclaimed, and Christine sighed.

"Meg, it's getting dark. We really should be heading back." she insisted, and her friend sighed and nodded.

"You're right... maman will have a fit if we're out too late." she said, obviously dismayed at having to leave. Christine sighed, taking Meg's hand and leading her between two tents. "Come on, let's just leave this way, it will be faster." she said, pulling Meg through the back areas where no displays were at.

Suddenly, the sound of beautiful violin music reached Christine's ears. She stopped, tilting her head and listening.

"Christine? I thought you wanted to-"

"Shh! Listen!"

The two girls stood, mesmerized by the beautiful music, and Christine began to follow it. After a few minutes, she and Meg were back behind the tents that the circus people lived in. Guests to the show weren't allowed back here, as there was nothing for anyone to see. Moving behind a stand of trees, Christine's eyes went wide. There was a cage on wheels, just like the ones with the lions and bears, but through the darkness she could see that this cage showed the back of a shirtless man. He was leaning against the bars, a violin to his chin, and Christine moved a little closer, than gasped.

There were horrible open wounds on this man's back, as well as numerous scars, and Christine rushed forward. The playing abruptly stopped, and the violin was lowered, but the man did not speak.

"Please, don't stop playing... it was so beautiful." Christine whispered, and she saw the shoulders tense. Reaching out, she touched his arm through the bars, and the man jumped, lunging away from her and huddling in the middle of the cage, trembling.

"Oh! I won't hurt you, it's okay…" she whispered.

"Christine! Look!" Meg suddenly cried, and Christine turned and saw a sign leaned against a tree, obviously taken down.

Meg read it with a quivering voice.

"'Monsieur Gargoyle - come see the Devil's Spawn'! Christine, this is the... the monster that little Jammes had the nightmare about yesterday!" Meg cried, and Christine frowned.

"You know very well that Jammes would do anything for attention, Meg."

"Christine, this is a monster, come on!" she cried, grabbing Christine's arm and trying to pull her away. Christine wrenched her arm free, frowning.

"He's hurt, Meg." she said simply, moving to grasp the bars in her hands.

"Please, come back over here. Those wounds on your back... Please, let me clean them, at least." she murmured, and the man did not respond.

"I won't hurt you, monsieur." she murmured, reaching out to him through the bars. "Please, I only want to help."

Shakily the man crawled back toward her, keeping his head lowered and to the side, his face shadowed as he turned his back toward her again.

Sucking in a deep breath, Christine ripped a strip off of her dress, ignoring Meg's cry of surprise.

"Christine, that's your only good dress!"

"I can get another, Meg." Christine hissed, taking the canteen of water that she'd brought from her flat and pouring some of it onto the strip of cloth.

"This might sting a little..." she murmured, before pressing it to a particularly bad wound on the man's back and dabbing at it gently. He made not a sound, but she could tell that he was in pain by the tightness of his shoulders.

"How did this happen?" she asked, eyes filling with tears.

The man was silent for a moment, before he spoke softly. "An animal must be trained somehow, mademoiselle." he said simply, and Christine gasped. His voice was beautiful!

"You... aren't an animal." she said simply, continuing to clean the wounds. "Why do you let them do this to you?"

The man stiffened and tried to move away. "Do you think any man would subject himself to this pain and humiliation willingly?" he hissed, hands clenching into fists. "For thirty-five years I have been trapped here."

Christine gasped, a hand going to her throat. "You're a prisoner!" she exclaimed, and the man nodded, still keeping his face in the shadows.

She was about to speak again, someone appeared from the darkness.

"Ahhh... monsieur Gargoyle has made a new friend," Javert said, advancing on Christine, "Only employees are allowed back here, monsieur Gargoyle had a nasty accident and is unfit for performance. Do come back tomorrow night." he said coldly, giving a bow toward Christine and Meg, effectively dismissing them.

"He's hurt!" Christine cried, looking at Javert with wide eyes. "These wounds could become infected, how could you treat him this way!"

Meg grabbed Christine, looking at Javert with wide eyes. "I apologize for my friend, we'll just leave now..." she said quickly, trying to pull Christine away.

"No! Meg, let go of me!" she turned to Javert. "Please, let me help him!"

Javert snorted. "Why on Earth do you think I would allow such a thing? Go home, little girl." he said, turning to walk away.

"Please! I... I'll pay you, just let me go to him!" she cried, rushing forward to grab Javert's arm. She wasn't sure why it was so important to her, there was something about seeing a man who was obviously talented and intelligent being treated so inhumanely that struck a chord deep within her breast.

The man in the cage turned his head slightly, peeking at the girl who was begging to help him. He didn't understand what she wanted from him, why was she being so kind?

Javert frowned. "How much?" he asked after a moment, and Christine reached into the pocket of her dress, holding out a handful of coins. "It's all I have, please!"

Javert took the coins and counted them carefully, then nodded and unlocked the cage. "Make it quick, then." he said, and he gave Christine a rough push to the shoulder. She stumbled up the few steps and into the cage, and it clanged shut behind her, than locked. Stooping over, she walked toward the man and knelt next to him.

His head was turned sharply and a hand was against his face, obviously keeping his horrible visage from Christine's line of vision. Taking a deep breath, Christine touched his arm, frowning as he jerked away.

"Where else are you hurt?" she asked softly, and he faltered, than turned to let her see the various wounds on his torso. Sucking in a deep breath, Christine tore another strip from her dress, ignoring Meg's protests and gently cleaned the other wounds. Javert watched in boredom, leaning against the side of the cage.

"Anywhere else?" she asked, and the man swallowed hard, then nodded. "Yes."

"Let me see, then." she said, and he shook his head.

"No. It's my face... you can't..."

She reached up, gently touching the hand on his face, and he scrambled back from her a bit, and she was surprised to hear an sound almost like the frightened whine of a dog coming from him.

"Please, let me help you..." she begged, and he took a shaky breath, then slowly lowered his hands and lifted his head, letting Christine see his face.

"Oh!" she gasped and a hand flew to her mouth, and Erik's face flamed.

"I'm sorry." he said automatically, turning to move away, and Christine grasped his arm.

"No! No, it's just... this wound above your eye... it's horrible!" she cried, grasping his face and turning it up to her again. It truly was a nasty gash, but although she would never tell him, seeing his sensitivity on the subject, her gasp had been more from the terrible shape of his face itself than the injury on it. The skin was stretched thin over his bones, making him look gaunt and almost skeletal. His eyes were deeply sunk within his skull, and his nose… well, there wasn't much to see at all, and what was there appeared slightly twisted. His lips seemed to have escaped the fate of the rest of his face, and appeared full, although the lower one was split at one side, obviously from a blow to the face. However, this did not shock her nearly as much as the texture of his skin. It was… nearly beyond description, really. His flesh looked like horrible burn tissue, but also splotchy and rough, like someone had taken a bit of sanding paper to him. In areas the skin was so thin that she could see the veins beneath, blue tendrils across his features, making him look primal and dangerous.

Despite all of this, Christine began to clean his forehead, mind racing. The man's eyes fell closed, and Christine gently dabbed at his lower lip. "This should be stitched, but I can't.."

He said nothing, just allowed her to continue him gently.. After she'd finished, she gently cleaned the grime from his face, eyes overflowing and tears falling down her cheeks.

"What is your name?" she asked softly, and the man swallowed hard. He hadn't spoken his name in so long, hadn't heard it in even longer...

"Erik."