A/N: If there's anyone still waiting for updates on this story, let me just apologize. I cannot excuse this tardiness. I was gone for the end of June and most of July, but the rest of my summer was comprised largely of laziness. My school year has been nutso so far, as I'm taking AP US History, but I really did mean to do this sooner. If you're still with me, major kudos to you. I love you. :3

Erik watched as Juliet embraced the young boy and exchanged a few pleasantries with Nadir. Ordinarily, he wouldn't have minded. Such an interaction wouldn't have even made a blip on his radar. It wasn't so much the boy or the Persian, either. He was glad Corbett had a better family life now; his personality had begun to flourish and with it, his playing skills. No, the problem was Juliet. Or rather, her actions. Every day, a good deal of their conversations seemed to revolve around Nadir and his newly adopted son. The stories had gone from helping to decorate his room, to his reaction to the room, to when she had seen them at the market, and so on. She talked about them so much, it felt like she spent more time with them than with anyone else.

Certainly more time than with him.

He knew he might be putting things slightly out of proportion, but Juliet did seem to take a greater interest in passing the time with Nadir and the boy than she did passing time with him. It was true, his injuries had had her constantly at his side at first, but once the wounds weren't blindingly painful and became more of a nuisance impeding his activity, she began to fade away from him. Erik felt his old insecurities and jealousy rear their ugly heads forcefully. Was he not good enough for her anymore? Was that it?

The thoughts which ran circles in his head had created a sour mood by the time she finally came back to him. It was no help whatsoever, and even seemed to fan the flames of his discontent when she immediately turned her attentions to talking about that infernal pair again. Erik lapsed into stony silence, not even bothering to nod in the affirmative to show he was listening.

"... Erik, what's wrong?" Her voice called him out of the ire he was slowly sinking into. Instead of comforting him like it usually did, the sight of her beautiful, kind face made it worse.

Even though he hadn't done so in months now, he snapped. "Do you have to ask?" His tone was past the usual peevishness of the normal limitations of his anger these days.

He saw her flinch with surprise. She had seen the change in his mood and it had scared her. "Well, as I'm fairly confused, yes," she said, speaking deliberately and slowly, considering her words. "Yes. I do have to ask. What's wrong?"

"Of course you do," he said with a scornful laugh. "You never have noticed a problem until it was right under your nose in the form of a sharp blade, why should this time be any different?"

She took a step back; the comment referencing her blunder in bringing Gaston, Philippe, and their men down to his lair appeared to have stung. "Erik, would you please tell me what I've done to deserve this?" she asked. Her gaze was nervous.

"For God's sake, the problem is right in front of you!" he said, a small, humorless laugh seeping into the words. "How can you not—"

"—I'm apparently blind as a bat, because I see nothing wrong!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. "I've said nothing to upset you, as far as I can see! If you could just—"

"—No, of course you wouldn't think you've done anything upsetting, you've been stuck on the same topic for the past three months!" he shouted, and suddenly the world was silent. The birds stopped singing, bees stopped buzzing; it sounded as though even the rustling leaves of the trees and the gentle lapping of the pond had fallen quiet.

They stared at each other. Erik's chest heaved like he had run a great distance. Juliet's inquisitive gaze slowly morphed into one of understanding and annoyance. He believed she understood, and she was not pleased.

"Is all of this because I've mentioned Corbett and Nadir a few more times than you've deemed necessary?" she asked incredulously.

"A few more times—Juliet, those two are practically all you've focused your attention on ever since Nadir adopted the boy!" he said sharply.

Her brows went up. "Erik, are you... jealous?" she inquired. "And jealous of a young boy and your friend, no less? Why on Earth would you have any cause to be jealous of them?"

He turned away from her, clenching his fists so tightly his nails bit into the delicate skin of his palms. "I'm not jealous." The words came forced from between clenched teeth. Control of his temper was quickly slipping between his fingers.

Juliet either was not aware of the dangerous change in his mood or did not care. A hand, unafraid and brash, as she seemed incapable of being anything else, clasped his shoulder in an attempt to turn him around.

"If this isn't jealousy, I would hate to know what is," she said, a hard flinty note sharpening her tone as well. "Erik, you know I'm not going to leave you, please, you must understand—"

"What must I understand?" he snapped, whirling to face her with a thunderous expression with notes of hurt infused into it. "What? I've heard the promise of being faithful before, and—"

"If this is about Christine, Erik—" How dare she? How dare she mention that name? Why now? After all this time?

The words were flung from his mouth, seemingly before he could stop their release for all to hear. "At least I could be certain she wouldn't go running off in the blink of an eye because something new or flashy caught her attention!"

Erik instantly knew he had said something horribly wrong. Juliet froze. Her body was rigid, more tightly wound than an over-coiled spring. Her process of turning to face him was slow, deliberate, and for his part, agonizing.

"After all this time," she said slowly, voice tinged with a quiet burn, "after all this time, you haven't changed. I congratulate you. You fooled me just as well as you're disillusioning yourself." There was no aggression in her words, none at all. Somehow, that made it worse. Clasping her hands tightly in front of her, she turned to walk away.

No, no this was all wrong... This was exactly the fate Erik had been desperately praying to avoid. The inevitable leaving. It always happened, without fail, when someone began to get close to him. They would wait just long enough to capture his attention, to pull him in, and then they would leave so fast all Erik was left with was a stinging, gaping wound in his chest where they had taken up residence. He ran a hand over his hair, the aforementioned extremity trembling. He had to—he could fix this. Juliet had told him once there was no situation she deemed unfixable until she'd given it a good and proper try.

Following after her, Erik called, "Juliet, please, no, that's not what I meant. I—"

The stare she fixed on him could have frozen water midday in the desert. "Wasn't it?" she asked coldly. "I thought it seemed crystal clear what you meant. I understood you perfectly. Excuse me."

With one slip of his temper and lip, Juliet Leroux was gone from his life. Gone. Likely not coming back. Ever. His battle-scarred heart had been ripped in two yet again. Watching her retreating form, it was all he could do not to break down.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Juliet went the only place she could think of. Perhaps it was unfortunate for her that that place was her father's house. She had been spending so little time there, as little as possible, that her father opened the door with a confused expression. She brushed past him with a muttered hello. Her hands trembled like leaves in a storm.

He noticed her distress. "Juliet, is there something wrong?" he asked, following her back into the house. The door swung shut gently behind him. The muffled thump brought a round of inexplicable tears to her eyes. It may have been the sound of finality.

Juliet took a long, deep breath and turned to face him, a faint smile pasted to her face. It was just enough, she hoped, to diffuse any unwelcome questions. "I'm all right, papa," she said, darting forward a fraction too quickly to press a kiss to his cheek. "Rehearsals have been running a bit long and I'm tired. I'll be upstairs for a bit. Could you call me when dinner is ready?"

The words, "Of course," had barely made it past his lips before she ascended the stairs. Her hand gripped the banister as though the narrow strip of wood was all that kept Juliet anchored and away from going over the edge of a breakdown. The wood was worn, smooth, and familiar beneath her touch. Briefly, she recalled sliding down the same banister as a giggling child, much to the chagrin of her father.

Once she was in the safety of her room and behind a closed door, she sank down on the bed with a muffled sob. She flopped back, tucking her legs up on the bed along with the rest of her. Her hands clasped over her chest like it could stop the sensation of her heart breaking. Eyelids heavier than they should have ben, Juliet laid on the bed with her eyes closed. The thin barrier was no match for the hot tears sliding down her cheeks and toward her ears.

How much time had lapsed since Juliet had shut herself away, she didn't know. It was long enough that her legs began to protest the position they were in. Shifting into a more comfortable place required opening her eyes. When she did, her gaze fell on a sketch she had framed and placed beside her bed a week or so before. It was the last thing she wanted to see.

The memory of how she had gotten it would have been a comfort or a fond memory at any other time. It was a sketch—a hasty one, unworthy of such attention, Erik had protested—of Juliet when she had been in Erik's flat on one of many occasions. She was tidying up, putting things in what she deemed was a more orderly place. This had drawn endless protests from Erik, who claimed there was a specific order to the chaos with which he chose to surround himself. While arranging a small table beside the piano, she encountered one of Erik's masks, a spare one. She realized why it was haphazardly discarded beneath a pile of sheet music refuse; it was broken. The damage wasn't severe—just a crack that radiated down the cheek—but it was enough to render it unwearable. She had found it as she stroked a gentle hand across the damage, balancing the delicate porcelain in her other hand.

Rather than becoming angry or at the very lease annoyed as she suspected he might be, Erik stared at her with a strange look in his eye for a moment and then turned to leave, requesting she didn't move a muscle until he returned. She didn't even look up from the mask, rubbing an absentminded thumb over the minimal damage.

Erik didn't alert her to his return. She only became aware he was back at the faint sound of a pencil scratching across paper. "Are you drawing me?" she had inquired in amusement.

He merely shushed her and told her he was concentrating. The crack in the mask commanded her attention once again and she looked down, wondering what had happened to it. Any variety of things might have occurred, and in reality it was likely it was just a mundane mishap. And yet, the thought crawled over every corner of her mind.

As such, when he told her he was finished, the suddenness of his voice after pensive quiet made her jump. A small, proud smile made his eyes sparkle quietly. It only took a raised eyebrow to invite him to elaborate. Leading her over to the couch and taking a seat beside her, he held a small sketch in front of her to examine.

Immediately, Juliet smiled so broadly she feared it might stick like her father had so often warned her. A wide range of emotions welled up in her and she found herself blinking back tears. Perhaps it was an unmerited response, but that little drawing embodied the depth of Erik's feelings for her and it astounded her how deep they ran. By all normal accounts, one person shouldn't have been able to house so much love. It shouldn't have been possible. She thought it was to Erik's credit that he was not an ordinary man.

The memory brought yet more tears to her eyes. In a burst of emotion and not being able to bear looking upon the sketch any longer, she seized the frame in her hand and flung it against the door. It shattered violently on impact, glass raining down over the floor. The frame split asunder, trapping the paper beneath the broken pieces. With a choked sob, she turned onto her side and burrowed into her pillow. Soon, she fell into an uneasy slumber.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

What could possibly be bothering Juliet? André wondered, looking at the empty stairs where, only moments before, Juliet had fled like something ominous was at her heels. Perhaps another long, stressful rehearsal had pushed her too far; he knew she had been feeling stressed. He vaguely remembered her being significantly more relaxed that morning because she was going with Erik to the park.

While André was still by no means a fan of the masked gentleman who had taken his daughter's heart captive, he had grown to tolerate him. Most of the time. Generally, Erik stayed out of André's way and vice versa and both parties were as happy as was possible. He still believed he was a bad influence on Juliet. She had started becoming more angry more easily when annoyed by something.

With a shrug and the idea in mind that he would ask her about it later over dinner, he went into the sitting room. The book he had been reading that morning sat on the end table, a bookmark pointing out the page he had last read. He sighed a little as he settled into the plush armchair which had been deemed his chair. The rapidly changing temperatures of spring were not always the kindest to his aging bones. There, he lost himself between the pages of the novel. He was beginning to see what Juliet found so satisfying about fiction.

Some time later, a loud shattering noise startled André back into the present. The sound had come from Juliet's room. With a start, he flung the book down and sprinted up the stairs at a pace he hadn't managed for years. Later, he would regret not marking his place in his haste to see what had happened.

"Juliet, are you all right?" he asked upon encountering a closed door. "What happened? I heard something break." Nothing. "Juliet?" He tried again to the same lack of an answer.

Gently, he placed a hand on the handle of the door and pushed. To his surprise, it was open. She never left her door open, this was odd indeed. Most days, he avoided intruding on her to protect her privacy as much as possible, knocking before entering, announcing his presence, and more. It helped keep their tenuous relationship from accumulating any more cracks than it had already sustained. Today, he was concerned she might be hurt and decided he could temporarily breach their unspoken protocol.

Upon opening the door, his boot encountered something which gave way with a quiet crunch. Alarmed, he lifted his foot and looked down to examine the cause. Scattered across the floor was a great amount of glass pieces, bits of a frame, and a sketch which had been the recent pride and joy of Juliet's room until today. It was something Erik had drawn.

André bristled. The man had done something to hurt his daughter after all the promises he had made. It was inexcusable.

A/N: ...Oops. Drama! I have enough of it in my life right now and I thought I'd share it with you all, as this is sort of my outlet.

On another note, I have gotten myself thoroughly invested in the Marvel fandom (geek of many colors, that's me...) and my obsession with Captain America: The Winter Soldier is terribly unhealthy but I can't help myself. It's such a great film. Anyway, I'm working on a Bucky/OC fic that I'm very proud of, and in fact, I'm so proud of it that I want it to be done before I start posting it, so you won't be seeing it for a long time.