A/N: As promised, here's more! Once again, I own nothing but Phantomess!

The next morning, she emerged to find him sound asleep, Carmilla curled up under his chin. She giggled a bit before going into the kitchen to start breakfast. There was still plenty of bread and fruit, and just enough ham for them both. Coffee…yes, there was plenty of that.

As the scents of breakfast preparations filled the kitchen, the Phantom appeared in the doorway, preceded quickly by a hungry Carmilla. Smiling, she threw a bit of ham to the cat, who ate it eagerly before going after a rat she'd seen in the corner of the room. The Phantom stayed in the doorway, watching her. "With smells like this, it's a wonder how I never smelled you cooking food all the way in my lair…"

"Are you hungry, Monsieur?" She handed him a cup of coffee, and as he took it, something changed in his face.

"It…was you, wasn't it? You left food in my lair…"

"Yes, Monsieur."

"How did you get in?"

"I found the latch. It was then I realized that it was a mirror and not a window." She then busied herself with filling two plates with the food and putting them on the table. Slowly, he lowered himself to one of the stools as she poured herself some coffee and sat down.

"So…you had access to my lair…you have so little here. Why did you not take any furniture or provisions?"

"It was not mine. I do not take what is owned by others."

"Oh? Well then, what of this food and everything else you have?"

"The food…was to survive, for the both of us. As for the rest, they were discarded."

"You could have stayed…why did you go back into hiding?" At this, she lowered the rest of her bread to her plate, swallowing what was in her mouth.

"I did not know how you would react…knowing that you were not the only one down here…"

"So you were afraid of me, as everyone else is."

"No…not as everyone else…I was afraid…that you would reject my help…my friendship…"

"I would not have rejected it, Mademoiselle. I would have welcomed it."

"I…I didn't know…I'm sorry…"

"You watched me for three years, and you did not know my loneliness? Perhaps with your large loving family, you would not recognize it." The bitterness in his voice matched the coffee he now angrily sipped at, his food still untouched.

"I did recognize it…I…I heard it in your music…and…whenever I heard you screaming and sobbing in the night…I…I wanted to help…I wanted to comfort you…but I couldn't…I just couldn't!"

"WHY?" He slammed his coffee cup down on the table, several drops landing in his plate and on the table around it. "Why couldn't you?"

"I couldn't intrude on your space…It…it's just not me to just go up to someone and hug them…besides…if I had, can you honestly be certain that you would not have flung me to the floor?" As he thought this over, his glare softened slightly.

"Fair enough. But I still would have liked someone to have been there."

"I know, Monsieur….that's why I left the food. It was as close as I could get…" They stared at each other for several moments, the tension slowly dissipating.

"Thank you," He mumbled finally.

"You're welcome." Slowly he lifted the bread to his lips, and the remainder of breakfast was eaten in silence.

For the remainder of the day, the Phantom stayed on the sofa. He refused lunch, lost in the thoughts and memories that tortured him. He had stopped crying, but only because he had run out of tears. Towards the evening, Phantomess approached him with a broken violin. He stared at it, confused, but he had no voice to question it. "I found this upstairs a while ago…I…don't play, but I thought I could use it for something else. I never did…I…want you to have it." As she placed it in his lap, he picked it up and turned it over in his hands.

"Was there a bow?" She handed it to him, and he studied the instrument some more. "I'll need fresh strings…some tools…"

"I'll have a look upstairs, if you want…"

"Please do."

A couple hours later, she came back down, carrying a burlap sack full of tools and scraps of wood. She set it down beside the sofa, and he looked through it carefully. "Was she there?"

"I…didn't see her. I hardly saw anyone…"

"How bad is it?"

"Very…what happened, Monsieur?"

"I burned it."

"You—"

"Burned it, Mademoiselle. I burned it to teach the managers a lesson. They refused to obey me, time and time again, despite my warnings. I had no choice."

"You did, Monsieur. You always had a choice."

"What do you think of me now, Mademoiselle? Am I still the man you thought I was?" There was a proud smirk on his face, but she tried to ignore it.

"Yes. As I said, Monsieur, we all make mistakes, and we are all deserving of the same forgiveness."

"I don't want forgiveness…not from anyone…not even myself. I only want forgiveness from her, and now she's gone." He sniffled then, but no tears fell. "Leave me." He set to work on the violin, and she returned to her bedroom.

He did not recall falling asleep that night. But then, he never allowed himself to sleep on purpose, knowing what awaited him in his nightmares. Even so, the sobbing he heard drew him out of whatever slumber he was in. His eyes now opened, he knew it was not another nightmare. The crying was real, and not his own. Ah. The little Phantomess. He had cried so many nights that he could distinguish what kind of sobbing she was crying now…it was not one of freight, so it could not be a nightmare. Nor was it pain, so she was not injured. No, those were wails of loneliness and loss. Much deeper. Much more familiar to him. I don't care. She never comforted me. Why should I go to her? He crossed his arms over his chest and forced his eyes shut. The weeping, however, only became louder, more persistent. Curses. He sighed and rose to his feet, making his way to her bedchamber. "What is it?" Somewhat startled, she looked up from her pillow, her knees curled up to her stomach.

"I…did not mean to disturb you…"

"It is a little late for that. You might as well tell me."

"I…miss my family…" Figures. He rolled his eyes, not caring if she noticed.

"You don't have to. You can go back whenever you wish."

"No…I cannot…it's not that easy…"

"Nothing is keeping you here! You are not my prisoner!"

"I'm not done here yet. If I go back now…I won't ever be able to return here…"

"Is that such a bad thing?"

"Yes." She was looking into his eyes now, and he felt himself sliding down to the floor.

"So…you choose the darkness. You choose what I was forced into, and you run from everything I've only been able to dream about. And now you shed tears to earn my sympathy." He scoffed. "That, you will never have."

"I don't want anything from you, Monsieur. I shed these tears without expectation, as you did."

"Don't you dare compare yourself to me! That mask you wear does not fool me. Not once have you said that your face brought fear and loathing to your mother. No. You said you were loved, and that would be impossible if you had a face like mine. I suggest you stop mocking me and remove that mask." Her hand went to her mask then, but she did not lift it off.

"I would never want to mock you, Monsieur. True, I do not have a face like yours, but I do have my reasons for this mask." Tension filled the room then. Part of him wanted to rip it off right then and there. But he was not Christine—he would not betray her.

"Very well. I am not so cruel and heartless that I would force you to remove it, then. But you will find that that is as kind as I am going to be."

"I very much doubt that, Monsieur. I saw how kind you can be…the way you cared about…that girl…the soprano…"

"Her name is Christine. And you will never speak of her again."

"Yes, Monsieur…" Her head went down, and her hand moved from her mask to a cameo pendant on her neck.

"What's that?"

"This was my grandmother's…she…gave it to me before she died…it…helps me remember my family and where I'm from…" He again rolled his eyes, and this time, she noticed. "Why do you hate my family?"

"It is not them that I hate. It is more the fact that you felt that their love was not enough. They gave you everything, and you rejected them."

"I didn't! Of course I love them, Monsieur…and I will go back…"

"When? You've been away from them for five years. How much longer will it take for you to realize that you cannot get a life better than what you left behind?"

"Perhaps…I just need someone to teach me that…to tell me what it's like…without that…"

"Meaning me, I suppose."

"Only if you want to."

"I might as well. You know everything else." He took a deep breath, willing his tears to stay back. He had to make this brief…and as matter-of-fact as possible. She had seen enough of his weakness. "I was born with this face. My mother hated me because of it. I was sold to the gypsies, and for ten years I was put on display in their fair. They called me the Devil's Child. I was beaten and mocked in every way possible, until I could take it no more. I strangled my so-called master. One of the ballerinas from the opera house saw, and she hid me here. She's now the ballet mistress….Antoinette Giry. She's the only one who cared whether I lived or died, and even she is fearful of me…of my darkness." He sighed as he finished—a few tears had managed to fall as he revisited his past once again. "I thought Christine would be like her, when I first saw her in the chapel ten years ago. She was crying…she was lonely…as I was…I..I thought…we could share it…"

"When you looked into her eyes when you took her into your cave, what did you see? I know that behind the mask is a very intelligent mind—think…did you see a docile, passive sheep? Or a captured, frightened eagle? Now what do you see in my eyes? I see in your eyes a caged lion—because it was imprisoned and put up for show when it was young, it's now angry at the world…and it cannot see past its cage because no one has ever cared to unlock the door. I wish you would see in my eyes a young wolf; looking out for whom she pleases, willing to go wherever they wish to go, and never straying." She slowly reached her hand out toward his shoulder. "No one deserves what you went through, Monsieur. But look at the man you have become. You are talented, passionate, deep, thoughtful, hurting…and you're not alone. Not anymore."

"For those three years you watched me, your view was limited. You could not see what I did on the surface…in the opera house…"

"It doesn't matter. What you did up there, it was for a show…to draw attention to your presence. But here…where you thought no one could see…that's when you were you…the real you."

"The things I did are still part of me."

"Yes…they are a part of you…a small part. But they do not make you a monster. "

"Tell me something, little Phantomess. Am I your…mission? Your project? What do you hope to accomplish here?"

"All I want is for you to be happy, Monsieur. But you are not just a project to me. I do care about you, as a fellow human being…a friend…"

"If that is what you want, you'll be here for a lifetime. I was only happy with her, and now she's gone."

"You can't base your happiness on a person, Monsieur. It's not fair to them to put that pressure on them, and sooner or later, they'll let you down."

"No. Not her."

"Yes, even her. Look at what she did to you…"

"I did it to myself. I lied to her…she…she had every right to betray me…to leave me…" More tears, though he made no move to erase them.

"You make it sound like she was perfect…"

"She was! She still is!"

"Monsieur, she is not! No human being is perfect…she's not one of your drawings or…or that doll of her that you built. She's a living human being, free to choose as she wishes. And no matter how you train her, no matter how much you try to mold her, there's always going to be a few cracks as she tries to break free!" Immediately after she said this, her left cheek stung with the slap he delivered.

"How dare you! You don't know her! You don't know me! You're just a little eavesdropping runaway who's going to do her bit of charity work before leaving me as alone as I've always been! You of all people will not tell me how she felt about me, nor what our love is like!"

"Forgive me, Monsieur…it…it wasn't my place…I…apologize…for stepping out of line…" She held her cheek as if her very touch could take away the pain, but the stinging ran much deeper than her face.

"Go home, little Phantomess." He stood once more. "Go home and get it over with. I don't need your help. I don't need anyone but her." He turned away from her flood of tears, making his way back to the sofa.

The next few weeks were filled with more silence than she had ever known. She left her room only to prepare meals. She did not dare speak to him, so she left his portions on the table or in the food pit in the kitchen floor when it was meat or cheese. Sometimes he ate. Other times, he left the food on the table for so long that Carmilla, tired of merely smelling the taunting fragrances, would jump up and eat it herself.

Phantomess realized as the days passed that this was far worse than being on the wrong side of the mirror from him. Here he was, in her home, yet he was far more unreachable than ever before. Some nights she was kept up by his sobbing, sometimes by the sound of his new violin. Either way, she hardly got any sleep. But if she went to listen to his playing, he would stop as soon as he saw her. If she went to hug him as he sobbed, he would shove her away. So this is rejection. This is what he has known all his life. This is his loneliness. Finally, she understood. How can I help?

She recalled the first time she'd ever asked that. Back home, it was expected of her to help. She'd never had to ask. But this first time, all on her own, she had stopped by a house belonging to a large family, all five of the children very young. The parents had kindly fed her and let her stay the night. The next morning, she came to the breakfast table and had immediately become engulfed in the chaos and confusion the mother endured every day. And so, without touching a bite of food, the question was out of her mouth. "How can I help?" The mother had stared at her, blinking and tired. She had given her guest the easiest task, but when she saw how genuinely willing she was, she gave her more. They had offered to let her stay longer, but she'd refused, feeling led further away.

I want to help you. She thought toward him. But he would not accept it. That much was made clear a month later, when he moved back into his own lair.

A/N: More soon! Thanks in advance for reviewing!