Finding A Place Next To You

Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom :(

A/N: I am so nervous right now. This is the first time I have ever tried to write for Phantom. I adore the movie, and have had this idea stuck in my head for quite a while, though, so I hope you enjoy it :) And - as I've sadly never had the opportunity to see this wonderful show performed - this story will be strictly movie based. And, I mean, let's face it - Gerard Butler as the Phantom was...awesome. Thanks for reading!

Length & Updating: So I'm going to try to make these chapters as long as possible (this will be a multi-chap!) and I'm going to focus on this story right now, rather than my two HP ones. Unfortunately, I have a busy schedule (class, work, teams and such, etc.) so updating is hardly ever regular. But I'll try to make it happen about once a week :) Oh, and I'm going to put A/N's and such at the bottom of every chapter, but the disclaimer at the top is for the entire story - I don't own Phantom or any of its music :) Thanks!

Final note: For any new readers, please note that the "Introduction"'s writing style is not the way that the entire story is written - it's an explanatory several paragraphs just to catch everyone up...in fact, it's not even neccessary to read it if you already know what's going on. Okay - enjoy!


Prologue


"What grieves you, child?"

"T-They don't understand you, Angel! They think I'm m-making you up!"

"It matters not what those immature brats think. You believe in me, and that is all that matters."

"But I have to live with them, Angel of Music. And when you're a fifteen year old girl, it's hard to go on with only one or two friends. I only wish they didn't hate me so."

"Anyone who could ever hate you is undeserving of the kindness and friendship you wish to show them."

"That doesn't make it any easier."

"I'm here to listen to you, Christine. To guide you as well as to know you. Your father sent me to do more than just teach you to sing."

"You're the only one who cares, Angel. I wish I could see you for real. Then you could hug me like my father used to and everything would be alright no matter what."

"I care for you very much, Christine. More than you know."


Introduction


It took seven months after the disaster at the Opera Populaire before Christine Daae could stand even to be near it. The large, pristine building held far too many memories for her taste - some memories that she would rather have kept locked away. It had been amazing how quickly her home and safe haven had turned into a prison. Back when things had been simple...back when all Christine had had to worry about were the other girls thinking she was strange...she could have just gone to her Angel of Music. Ten minutes of praying to him from the small chapel within the Opera could have mended the wounds inflicted on her heart by the careless words of petty, jealous girls. But then it had all changed.

When Christine's idol, her Angel of Music, had shown himself to her in jealousy, she had realized what part of her had known all along; her angel loved her, and she him. He was a man, a tangible human being, and she had forgotten her childhood sweetheart, Raoul, almost completely. His affections paled in comparison to the love bestowed upon her by her Angel of Music. But then she'd had to be cruelly reminded that her friend, her idol, her teacher, was not just the Angel of Music - he was also the Phantom of the Opera.

Christine had broken the heart of her Angel and Phantom. She had shattered the already broken man into a thousand pieces. And then, in the fire that had destroyed most of the home Christine had come to know for twelve years, she had lost nearly everything.

The flames had licked away Christine's home, her place of work, her passion, and her pride. But they had also consumed her teacher, her friend, her idol, her confidant, her Angel, her Phantom, and the music of the night.

The headlines had been excited about the news, of course. The constant in-your-face front page photographs of the Opera eventually became so overbearing that Christine no longer read the news.

The Phantom of the Opera Is Dead

Those Who Attend Shows At The Opera Populaire Need No Longer Fear

The Opera Ghost Is Just a Memory

Christine had lost her grip on who she was. She'd had no home, no coworkers, no music, and no Angel. She could not bear to look into the eyes of the man she had thought she loved, and she had told him so to his face shortly after the first headline about her Angel had arisen. She would be the friend of her dear Raoul, but could give him nothing more than friendship. He had taken it hard at first, as she had expected he would, but his heart had eventually healed enough that he had accepted her offer of friendship.

Work to restore the Opera had begun immediately, and those in charge of its maintenance had told all of Paris that the Opera Populaire was a very lucky structure indeed. The fire had mostly only destroyed the stage and the seats up to the balcony - the dormitories, basement, and dressing rooms were still in fine condition. The building was still completely intact, and it would only take three months to finish the work that needed to be finished. Everyone had been ecstatic that they would not have to wait too long before everything could go back to the way it was.

But Christine had stayed away when the Opera had begun their rehearsals. Madame and Meg Giry, Christine's only true semblance of a family, had questioned her continuously about when she would return, but she did not let their persistance sway her decision to take her time getting ready to go back.

Meg had been confused, but Madame Giry had seemed to understand. The same sad look was shared in both of their eyes at the passing of the Opera Ghost. While Paris had rejoiced, they had wept.

Christine had loved her Angel of Music with all of her heart. But she hadn't realized it until it was too late.


Chapter One

Missing the Music of the Night


Christine Daae stood nervously in front of the entrance to the Opera Populaire. Its managers were expecting her, and were eager to shower their new prima donna with handsome sums of money and the largest dressing room they could give. Christine had plastered on an excited grin for their sake, but found herself saddened by the thought of performing onstage again without knowing her Angel's opinion of her voice and acting skills.

She had always been slightly thrilled when she performed because she knew that he would always be watching - after every performance, he sent to her a red rose with a black ribbon tied around its stem just to let her know that he was proud. How would she be able to stand coming offstage to nothing but meaningless bouquets that random strangers had sent? Those meant nothing.

Christine took a deep breath, swallowed her fear, and became numb - it was her go to when she could not get ahold of the feelings that weighed upon her heart so heavily. The moment she stepped foot over the threshold of the opera house, she was embraced and welcomed and talked at by many people all at once.

"Ah, Miss Daae!"

"How we have missed you, m'dear!"

"Over here, Christine! Don't you remember me?"

"Is it true what the papers said, Christine?"

"Yes! Did you truly meet the Phantom of the Opera?"

"Were you the one who killed him?"

"Did he love you?"

"Was it he who killed Piangi?"

Christine sighed. Aside from her managers, André and Firmin, all that anyone who met her at the door wanted to know was her connection to the Phantom. They wanted her to tell them the stories of her 'abduction'. They wanted more gossip and rumors to spread around the Opera - things must have been especially boring without anything to fear or threaten anyone anymore.

"That's enough!" arose a strict voice from the crowd of people who had circled Christine. She breathed a sigh of relief - here was Madame Giry, to her rescue once again. "She only just got here! Back away, leave her alone! Back to rehearsal, all of you!"

The disappointed crowd slowly dissipated, leaving only André, Firmin, Madame Giry, Meg Giry, and Christine left in the lobby. Christine gave Madame Giry an appreciative look.

"Thank you." she said earnestly, her soft voice echoing through the room. Madame Giry allowed her daughter in all but blood a small, sad smile.

"It is good to have you back, my dear. You've been greatly missed."

"Christine!" chirped Meg excitedly, running to Christine. Christine gave Meg a small laugh, and wrapped her thin arms around her best friend. "Oh, Christine! I've missed you so much! We've so much to catch up on, really we do! Your room has been left untouched, ready for your return! Oh, it will be so nice to have my roommate back again!"

"I've missed you too, Meg." said Christine, the smile that graced her pale face not reaching her eyes. Meg didn't seem to notice.

André and Firmin sensed that their presence was interrupting a private moment, and they politely excused themselves. Christine was grateful - she was overwhelmed as it was seeing all of her old friends and colleagues at once.

"Meg," said Madame Giry. "Why don't you take Christine's bags back up to the dormitories? I have a few things I wish to discuss with her...privately."

"Is it about Erik?" questioned Meg innocently, unaware of the internal flinch her mother had experienced at the sound of the name. "You know you don't have to hide anymore, mother. He's dead, he can't come after me. I'm sure Christine will want to -"

"Meg!" snapped Madame Giry. "Now is not the time. Take Christine's bags up to the room. Then you may come back down and join in whatever conversation I may still be having with her."

Meg looked like a scolded puppy. "Yes, mother." she whimpered sadly, bowing her head in shame. She took Christine's two small bags up the steps immediately, leaving Madame Giry alone with her former pupil.

"Erik?" questioned Christine. Madame Giry shook her head.

"His name." she replied softly. "It does not surprise me he never told you. False identities can be masks, and he never did like to show too much of himself to any one person."

Christine held back her tears. For seven months she had not spoken to anyone so much of her Angel at one time. "It seems that you might be an exception to that, Madame."

Madame Giry gave Christine a watery smile, and Christine could see that her wise eyes were glassy. "You knew more about him than I did, Christine."

Christine suddenly became very interested in the pattern of the floor tiles. "I miss him," she admitted softly.

Madame Giry straightened herself and swallowed her emotions. "It certainly has been quiet around here."

Christine seemed to sense that Madame Giry was closing the subject, so she nodded mutely in understanding. "What performance has been selected for rehearsals this season?"

"We open with Il Muto in two weeks." replied Madame Giry curtly. "Very few selections remained after the fire, so it was between that or Don J- or another show that no one would have been too fond performing. We are awaiting new scores to arrive to us from London at their earliest convenience."

Christine nodded. The role of the Countess was a role she knew well - she would be able to sing it. "I'll make my way up to my room then."

Madame Giry gazed at Christine fondly for a moment before placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. All too quickly she was gone, leaving the young prima donna to go to her room alone.


"Is it terribly strange to be back?" questioned Meg later that evening when Christine had settled back into her old room. Meg had not been kidding - everything had remained utterly untouched.

"Terribly strange," agreed Christine, taking in her surroundings with wide eyes. "It's different, though."

Meg looked at Christine with understanding. "Mother won't speak of him," she stated softly, tears welling in her large blue eyes. "She tries to make me believe that it's because she didn't care about him, but I know it's only because she misses him. Speaking of him hurts her heart so. I know she wouldn't want me to bring it all up in front of you, but I know you, Christine, and I know that talking about things helps you."

Christine sighed. Meg had always been able to read her emotions far too clearly. She slowly joined Christine on her bed, sitting in front of her expectantly like they used to when they were children. "If you don't want to talk about it, we won't, but I know there isn't really anyone that you can share your feelings about him with, so I'm here for you when you need me."

Christine was overwhelmed by Meg's unending kindness, and she immediately burst into tears. Meg cradled her gently, letting her release all of her pent-up sadness. Meg knew that there was nothing she could say to ease her friend's suffering, so she sat there quietly until Christine was ready to talk.

When Christine was finally able to form coherent words again, she asked, "How do you know about all of this, Meg?"

"It was after the fire," the small ballerina responded immediately. "I had realized that my mother knew more of the Opera Ghost than she had always led me to believe, and I forced her to tell me the truth. The walls finally broke down, and she told me everything. She'd never been so open with me before. I think it was all in response to his death, honestly - she said that it was she who he had always trusted with his secrets and his notes and his needs. She'd always felt responsibility for him."

"How did he...?" Christine trailed off, unable to form her question into words. It did not matter; Meg seemed to understand.

"A man came forward to the papers three days after the disaster and told all of Paris that he'd found the Phantom's body famished and burned several miles outside of the city. He must have been trying to flee the country. The man claimed that he'd taken care of...him, but he'd felt that it was his duty to let the citizens know that they were safe from the wrath of the Opera Ghost."

Famished. And burned. It was nothing Christine had not expected, yet her heart still shattered at the words. The confident, talented genius had been killed by things that could have killed a normal man. He'd been destroyed by something almost too primitive.

"I miss him." said Christine to Meg with trust. "Ever since the night of Don Juan. As I was leaving the lair with Raoul on the boat, I could hear my Angel...Erik...I could hear his voice. He sang, maybe not to me, but about me. He said that without me his music was dead, and then I heard glass shattering. I'd been worried then, but I thought maybe he'd just broken something in anger or sadness. I never thought that I'd never hear from him again...the Angel of Music had always been a constant in my life, but his sudden absence left a hole in my heart."

"I remember you once told me that you could sense his presence all around you." noted Meg carefully. "Does it feel different now without him?"

"It feels empty," said Christine heavily, trying to hold back more tears. "His company used to completely fill this Opera House. Now it just feels like someplace I'm intruding in."

"But you aren't!" assured Meg whole-heartedly. "You belong here, Christine! More than anyone ever has!"

"Not everyone, Meg. There was one before I who belonged here even more."


Hounded out by everyone

Met with hatred everywhere

No kind words from anyone

No compassion anywhere

Christine, why?

Why?

His broken whispers still lingered in Christine's mind for long agonizing minutes after she'd awoken from the nightmare. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and her nightdress clung to her body. She hadn't dreamt of his sweet voice in months, yet being back at the Opera had reawakened everything. Even if it was a dream about the most sad and distressing time she had spent with him, it was still a dream about Erik, and for that she was grateful.

It didn't stop the tears, though.

From her large doe eyes they cascaded like raindrops down her white cheeks. It was a mournful, loud sobbing, like the tears she'd shed when she'd lost her dear father. Although she knew there would be no one there to comfort her anymore, Christine silently fled her room and made her way down the wooden steps of the ballet dormitories. She tried not to pay attention to the creaking sounds in the walls and floors, she tried not to be frightened since she'd forgotten a light source to make her journey easier, and she tried to get ahold of her manic crying before someone heard her and noticed.

It took longer than usual for Christine to reach the small chapel held several stories below her room. Her father's candle was still there, waiting to be lit. Just being in the warm, candlelit room was easing her nerves a bit. She took a deep, shaky breath and tried to let the tears finish running their course. She lit her father's candle, muttering rehearsed prayers as she did so. She knelt before the image of an angel that hung above her, and began to sing.

Angel of Music, speak I listen

Stay by my side, guide me.

For some reason, Christine had hoped that her plea would be heard and she would be graced with a response. No such response came. Christine's wishes to hear her Angel became more frantic.

Angel of Music, I denied you

Turning from true beauty!

Still nothing. The tears began again, fresh and returning with a vengeance. All Christine could think about was never seeing Erik again, never hearing his sweet voice, never receiving another rose or comforting word, never again having him teach her proper breathing techniques or helping her warm up. Each image that came to mind was another knife in her heart.

Angel of music, my protector!

Come to me, strange angel!

Nothing but silence. Sobbing violently, Christine gave one more heart-breaking request to whoever was listening. It was an apology, the most heartfelt she could come up with. The words meant something entirely different than the last time she'd sang them to her Angel of Music and she hoped, wherever he was, he could hear her.

Erik my soul was weak, forgive me!

Enter at last master!

Ten minutes of cruel, mocking nothingness later, Christine gave up and slowly picked herself up off the floor. Giving one last longing look to the angel mosaic, she blew out the candle she'd lit for her father and with it, extinguished the flame Erik had lit in her heart.


"You cannot speak, but kiss me in my husband's absence!"

"No, no, no - this is an opera, not a play. Sing the words, please, Miss Daae."

"Serafimo - "

"Miss Daae, sing, I beg of you!"

"But Monsieur,"

"Sing!"

"You cannot speak, but kiss me-"

"No Miss Daae, you are the one who must not speak! Fine! Ten minutes to collect yourself and then we'll try again."

Christine was not yet even rehearsing in costume and the show was already a disaster. She found that she could not successfully sing her part without some sort of motivation. The music had just...left her. And she wasn't certain how she was planning to bring it back.

"Christine!" called a very concerned Meg. Christine turned from her spot on the stage to where her friend was coming from ballet warm ups. She, unlike Christine, was very much in costume and makeup. "What on earth is the matter?"

"I don't know!" cried Christine, frustration leaking into her tone. "I simply cannot sing!"

"There isn't anything simple about that!" said Meg, shocked. "You're the finest singer I know, Christine, this should be nothing on your perfect voice!"

"I don't know what to do," admitted Christine with fear. "What if I'm never able to sing again? What if I truly no longer hold a place here?"

"You must not think such things!" exclaimed Meg. "Why don't you retire to your dressing room for a few minutes? Rest your voice, drink some water, collect your thoughts. Don't think of this with any...emotional attachments, Christine." Meg gave Christine a knowing look. "This is simply professional. I know that you can do this."

Christine gave Meg a grateful smile. "Thank you, Meg. I think that's what I'll do."

As Christine walked back to her dressing room, the rest of the company politely ignored her blunder and continued work on their scales and routines. Meg gazed sadly at her friend until she was out of sight, and was then startled from her thoughts by her mother's voice.

"She has changed."

Before Meg could even reply, the shouts of Messieurs André and Firmin could be heard. Both Meg and Madame Giry turned around to see their managers in quite a fluster.

"What do you mean, Miss Daae shall not sing?"

"Where has she gone?"

"I'm afraid that none of you understand! Miss Daae must sing - our necks depend on it!"

Madame Giry sighed in irritation and rolled her eyes. She approached the frightened men with no restraint.

"Miss Daae will sing." she said strictly. "She is overwhelmed by her return. She needed a few moments' rest. Do not lose faith in your first lady of the stage so quickly, Messieurs."

"Madame," said André nervously, dabbing his gleaming forehead with a handkerchief. "I'm afraid that you do not understand -"

"Understand what?" snapped Madame Giry. An equally terrified Firmin said no words, but handed the ballet mistress an already open envelope.

"What is the meaning of this?" asked Madame Giry breathlessly, immediately recognizing the handwriting on the front of the message. "Who gave you this?"

"It was on my desk this morning." replied André shakily. "Read it."

Madame Giry was still suspicious, but looked down upon the heavy parchment anyways. What she saw stunned her into silence for several long moments.

Dear Messieurs,

I am pleased to see your intelligence finally emerging in selecting Miss Daae as prima donna.

Don't ruin it, or it shall be you who pay the price.

I hope sincerely that you soon wake up from your preposterous fantasies that you can kill a ghost!

I also bear a question for you, gentlemen:

Did the first papers to release the news of the death of the Opera Ghost ever see their informant's face?

I remain your obedient servant,

O.G.


And that's that! I promise the rest of the story won't be so angsty, but I love fluff, and Christine missing Erik can definitely lead to a heartwarming reunion! Anything that you do not understand I have left out on purpose - I must have read over this twenty times, so I am sure nothing is missing. I look forward to your responses, and I hope that you enjoyed! And if small details are wrong (like Meg and Christine having their own room, for instance) I have changed it to fit the needs of this story. Thank you for reading!