A/N- Would like to point out that even if Meg hadn't gone nutso, E/C phans wouldn't have gotten their happy, fluffy ending. If Meg hadn't had a breakdown, I guarantee she'd still have left Erik in the end. She'd have gone after her husband. That's the only acceptable and in-character behavior for Christine. She said it herself: they had their chance, they blew it, she might care for him still, but that chance has passed.

Chapter 3: Once Upon Another Time

It was almost silent in the room. The only sounds that passed between the three in their silent vigil were Christine and Madame's tears, and even those faded after a few minutes. Christine continued to hold the shaking older woman, and regret filled her. Madame had been a close personal friend of her father, and had acted as her surrogate mother after her own had died in childbirth. Meg had been her elder sister in all ways but blood.

Now Madame was distraught, Meg appeared to be hovering between life and death, and Christine had no idea how to help. She felt a strong urge to repay all the love and kindness they had shown her over the years, and the guilt of her own unwitting part in Meg's tragedy was eating at her. True, she'd had no way of knowing what had passed between the Giry women and her Angel, but it pained her nevertheless to know that her best friend, her dearest sister, had been slighted in favor of herself. She wished again that she had shown more sense so many years ago. Perhaps if she had made a different choice that night, the night before her wedding...

Christine loved her son with all her heart, and she would never regret his birth, not in a million years. Still, from what she had gathered of Madame's tirade, that night of passion had caused more harm than she knew. Perhaps if she had been able to curb her fear and her confused feelings about her upcoming nuptials, Erik (it still felt so strange to call him that; she had never thought of him having something so ordinary as a name!) might have been able to let her go. Maybe he would have been able to forget her had they not shared that one night together. Maybe if she had behaved differently, he would not have been blind to Meg's affections, and her poor friend would not have been jilted so thoroughly!

Oh Meg! A twinge of jealousy rose in her heart at the thought of what her friend and her Angel might have shared had things been different, but she repressed it quickly. Christine wanted nothing more than she wanted all those she loved to be happy. As she had told Erik just yesterday, though she loved him, she knew far better than he that all was useless between them. They had made their choices. Once upon another time... perhaps. But they had played their cards and the time when a romance between them could ever have ended happily was long past. Now, all Christine wanted was for everyone she loved to be happy. She wanted to find a way to ease Madame's distress. She wanted Meg to open her eyes and smile like she used to, before years and abuse turned her into the stroppy, painted-up showgirl Christine had encountered yesterday. She wanted to find Raoul and mend the rift between them.

At the thought of her husband, Christine realized with a start that she hadn't seen him since he'd begged her to forgo the performance. Worry plucked at her, but she could not abandon her dearest friends in this hour of need! After she was sure Meg would be well again, there would be plenty of time to seek out her husband and beg his forgiveness. For now, she would sit here with her arm around Madame's quaking shoulders, watching Meg with one eye and Erik with the other.

Erik... she mentally shook her head at the wonder of him. He was not the same man she had known all those years ago. Then again, she'd hardly known him even then. Now, though, there was an air of confidence about him that hadn't been there before. Living aboveground suited him, she supposed. At the moment though, he was nearly as pale as Meg and she noted that he still had tears running over his cheeks. She doubted he had stopped crying ceased since Madame had finished dressing him down for his ignorance of Meg's pitiable degradations.

Christine wondered if Erik was really so indifferent as Madame thought him to be. She had never seen him so desperate before. There had been a look of such despair in his eyes when he had heard Meg sing that tragic song of death and love... No, Christine was not blind. Despite how he clung to the memory of her much as she had to him, Erik obviously cared a great deal for Meg. She doubted wild horses could get him to confess it, but he would not have behaved as he did if he didn't love her, at least a little bit. She might not know him as well as they both wished, but she knew him enough to interpret his behavior. Erik did not become attached to people easily, but when he did, his affection was deep and abiding and permanent. And Christine knew Meg, too. The years might have hardened her, but over the past few days she had been able to see that beneath that painted face lay the same sweet friend she had known so many years ago at the opera. No one could fail to love Meg, and she doubted Erik was the exception.

Christine just prayed that her Angel would have a chance to see that as clearly as she did.

Erik found he could not stop weeping, though he went about it silently. He had spent most of his life cursing God's name, but now he tried to remember the prayers Meg had attempted to teach him all those years ago. He gave up quickly trying to remember the words and simply sent a great rush from within his soul to anyone who might listen, for her sake. No higher power could possibly see fit to punish Meg for his sins.

At the same time, though, he found himself questioning everything he'd ever known about the little ballerina... beginning with that. She wasn't a ballerina anymore, was she? No, but then, that was his fault. She had never hated him for it, Madeleine said, but he wasn't sure he could believe that. It seemed impossible that anyone could do anything but hate the monster who had destroyed their life, not even someone as compassionate as Meg.

That she could deliberately try to take her own life was a source of consternation to him. He could not decide if that made her strong or weak. He knew better than most that life was hard. Living was the most difficult task. Death would be easy, he imagined. Suicide was said to be the coward's way out. More than once he had pondered the final act himself over these long years, and he was certainly a coward. But he had always stopped short of the mark, where Meg had forged past it and done the deed. Did that make her braver than he or less? He couldn't even begin to unknot it. Perhaps she could explain it better. She'd always had a way of untangling apparently impossible situations with ease.

Situations, he thought bitterly, like the one he had managed to get himself into six years ago. She had rescued him from Anderson's stranglehold, and he'd never known. Madeleine's words simultaneously touched him and chilled him to the core, and the image of Meg weeping for his sake was forever burned in his imagination. That she had sacrificed herself for him was utterly confounding; in all his life, no one had ever put him first. Even Christine had always held other interests higher than his. Meg had tossed aside her very dignity with little thought because she felt compelled to protect him. Such loyalty was impossible for him to comprehend, and brought a fresh flood of tears to his eyes.

When the doctor entered softly, Erik nearly jumped out of his skin. Over the past ten years he had gotten... well, he wouldn't say he was good at living his life among other people, but he was better at it. He still found himself getting twitchy when confronted with strangers, however. He wiped away the moisture on his cheeks so surreptitiously he doubted the chubby little man had even noticed him move, then rose to his feet to hover over the man's shoulder as he checked Meg's pulse and began a thorough investigation of her person that Erik resented. If what Madeleine said was true- and he didn't doubt her words because no matter their rocky relations over the years, she had always been honest with him- Meg had been handled by enough strange men for a hundred lifetimes. She didn't need some half-baked surgeon prodding at her! If he hadn't been so deeply concerned for the little blonde's welfare, he would have marched the man straight back out again. As it was, he stood to the side and allowed the doctor to complete his work.

The portly physician looked up at last. "Well," he said, polishing his spectacles on his threadbare vest, "I can't say anything definitively, but it seems at this juncture that the transfusion has been successful. Her heartbeat is regular and Miss Giry is a healthy girl. I imagine she'll recover."

"Then why isn't she awake?" Erik snapped. The sight of her, wan and still against the dark cushions, made him more irritable than he could remember being in rather a long time.

"Shock, I imagine," the doctor said. "Losing that much blood will have taken a heavy toll on her. I recommend that you keep her as warm as possible and see if you can get her to drink something. The fact that she's survived this long is promising, and I imagine she'll wake on her own in a few hours. And if you don't mind, Mister, uh... Mister Y..." He stumbled for a moment over Erik's chosen moniker, but recovered himself quickly. "-I think I'll take my leave of you. There's nothing else I can do for her for the time being. Keep her bandages fresh and the cuts clean to prevent infection, and if I were you, I would very strongly consider getting some help for the young lady. In my experience, women who take such- ah, drastic measures tend more often to be crying out for help, rather than seriously attempting to-"

"Get out," Erik growled.

"I just wish to caution you that-" the man protested, but Erik was having none of it.

"Get out!" he half-shouted, grabbing the man painfully by the shoulder and propelling him rather forcefully to the door. "We'll make our own decisions regarding Miss Giry's well-being!" He pushed the doctor out the door and shut it tightly behind him. "What, does he expect us to have her committed?" he ranted. "The nerve... as if he had any idea..."

"The same might be said of you," Madeleine muttered bitterly.

Erik pretended he hadn't heard, and stalked back to Meg's bedside. For a long moment, he looked down at her, watching the blessed rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. She would live. That fact blotted out all other thoughts for several long moments as a heavy weight fell from his chest. His need to possess Christine had not destroyed yet another life.

A loud bang of the door rebounding off the wall interrupted his contemplation and announced the entrance of the Vicomte de Chagny. "Christine!" he exclaimed. "They said someone had been hurt!" Erik looked up sharply, wondering why the Vicomte dared show his face now.

Christine rose without hesitation and flew to her husband's arms. "Meg's had an accident," she said as she clung to him. Erik noted, from his place by Meg's side, that the Vicomte's eyes darted to the bandages at the young woman's wrists. He must have guessed that Christine was only being delicate when she said 'accident.' He was grateful the younger man had the grace not to comment on it. Meg did not deserve judgment. At the same time he mentally applauded Raoul's courtesy, he couldn't help but feel a surge of anger and jealousy as he watched Christine embrace the other man fiercely. The feeling was tempered somewhat when he noted the tender look on Raoul's face as he hesitantly put his arms around his wife in return. For all the Vicomte's failings, it was obvious that he adored Christine even as much as Erik himself did.

Christine at last released her husband. "Where on earth have you been?" she asked.

Raoul suddenly looked uncomfortable, and looked at Erik as if fearing retribution. "I mean to honor the terms of our agreement," he said. "But as I was making my way off the isle, I heard someone say..." He paused to compose himself briefly, and Erik realized how worried the younger man had been. "I overheard a conversation. Someone said that a chanteuse had been injured after her performance and I thought..."

He had thought Christine was hurt. Erik could understand why Raoul had returned in direct violation of their bargain. If he himself had thought any harm had come to Christine, there was nothing in heaven or hell that could take him from her side.

Meanwhile, though, Christine herself looked pensive. "Leaving Coney Island? Without me?" she asked. Then her eyes narrowed and she stared suspiciously between the two men. "What agreement? What have you done?"

A sudden flaw in his ever-so-brilliant plan presented itself very suddenly. "We... we made a bet," Erik said, feeling unexpectedly flustered and looking to Raoul for help in explaining their mutual madness.

"A bet?" Christine stated more than asked.

"On the concert," Raoul said, looking fiercely ashamed of himself. Erik was grateful that the nobleman seemed to have taken it upon himself to do the explaining, because he wasn't entirely sure he'd be able to manage such an explanation without elaborating on the truth a bit to make himself look better. Raoul, at least, would give the honest version... he hoped.

"You were the stakes," Raoul continued. "If you would walk out, he would pay off our- no, my- debts and we would be free to go. But if you insisted... if you sang..." He shrugged helplessly.

Christine's face drained of blood and for a few moments it looked as though she might faint. Then she straightened her slight shoulders and looked between them coldly. "You... you would make a bet on my life? Have I no say in this at all?" Both men felt deep stirs of regret within them as they saw she was suddenly on the verge of tears. "Things were different last time; I was sixteen and I was scared. You can't just... Dear God, you can't just tell me what I want!" Her voice quavered. "I... I can't look at either of you right now!" she exclaimed. She turned and rushed from the room.

Raoul and Erik glanced at each other, nearly identical sheepish expressions on their faces. Raoul made as though to go after her, but Erik held up a hand. "Let her go. She'll come back when she's ready."

The Vicomte's formerly commiserating look turned to a glare. "I think I know how to handle my own wife!" he exclaimed, and followed Christine out the door.

Erik rolled his eyes. Let them argue. He'd be there waiting in the wings in the aftermath. Then his glance fell on Madeleine, who was staring at her with a thoroughly disgusted look on her face.

"You have no shame, have you?" she growled.

He chose again not to respond to her goading. She was angry. She had a right to be. He hoped in time she might be able to forgive him. For now, though, he joined her by Meg's side and took his blonde star's slim hand in his own. He marveled briefly at how tiny her hands were compared to his own large hands; her small hand almost disappeared inside his. He looked at her face and suddenly he hardly recognized her. The Meg he had first met, that night beneath the opera... she had been so innocent. He couldn't picture that girl he had first known wearing the vivid mauve shade that now decorated her lips, or singing the formulaic songs he had churned out by rote for the last few years. Those songs... well, they weren't his style or hers. He supposed he should have given her some better material. Just as Madeleine had said, she deserved better than that. There had been a melody for her going around and around in his head for months, but he'd been hesitant to commit it to paper. He had betrayed his own art as much as he'd betrayed her.

Well, no more. He vowed again that he would do right by Meg.