Author's notes: I am so sorry this has taken so long, but I've been visiting a friend in Germany, which was nice, except for the weather. Anyway, the chapter's up, and I hope you like it, I do. No, I love it, it's one of the best in this story I think. And I want to send a thanks to many other POTO-writers, from whom I think I've stolen a few things here and there. So, thank you, so much!

And, for my PDT: Min raring, vad gjorde jag utan dig, gumman? Alexander Kyckling, haha

Enjoy!

Part IV

"Raoul, what is wrong?"

He didn't even notice that she called him by his first name, and he didn't answer her question. He just pointed at the room that had been covered by the curtain, and then heared Meg draw a deep breath and clutch her hand over her mouth.

The room in front of them was covered in paintings of Christine, clearly painted by The Phantom. Most of them were innocent, merely showing Christine in everyday life at the Opera. But some of them were absolutely hideous. He must have painted these out of his imagination, Raoul thought as he dared glance up at the pictures, not wanting to think that Christine had been posing for such horrid motives.

The paintings showed Christine in various positions, lying on the bed, on the floor by the fire, standing in front of the lake, in everything from fully dressed to totally naked. The pictures, even Raoul had to admit, would have been beautiful, if it hadn't been for the look of raw passion and need in Christine's eyes. Raoul had only seen that look upon her face once before. During the performance of Don Juan Triumphant.

And still, the paintings weren't the worst. In the middle of the room was a statue of Christine in natural size. To Raoul, seeing that statue had been like coming face to face with his fiancé once again.

Meg rose and forced Raoul to his feet. "I think you have had enough of this place, Monsieur."

She pulled at his hands, trying to make him walk back to the boat, but Raoul didn't move. He just stared at the statue in the room. It looked so like Christine. He moved his gaze to the paintings, the bad ones. This woman could have been my wife, he thought. She could have been looking at me with that look in her eyes, she could have lain like that in my arms.

He slowly began to shiver, and the shivers turned into shakings. Someone was sobbing, and then he realized it was himself. Then Meg was standing in front of him, and she raised her hand and slapped him hard across the cheek.

"Calm yourself, Monsieur!"

She then took his hand again and pulled him towards the boat. Raoul followed her, unable to act on his own. She gently pushed him into the boat, blew out the candles they'd lit, and then she poled the boat out of the cave.

When they reached the docks on the other side of the lake, where the police officers were standing, Raoul drew a deep breath. When they hit the dock, he got out before Meg, tied the boat to a pole and helped her out. He placed her arm under his, and, pretending he was leading her, he lent against her, and they walked up the stairs.

Meg didn't say anything, didn't ask anything. She simply led him to her room. Raoul managed to stay calm untill she'd closed and locked the door behind them. But when she looked up at him, her baby blue eyes wide with worry, he cracked. He reached for her hand, needing to feel the presence of someone else, and she walked towards him. He fell to his knees, without strength to stand upright, and buried his face in her skirts and sobbed loudly. Meg caressed his hair and mumbled softly, not words, just soothing whispers.

Raoul had no idea how long they remained like that, but Meg didn't say anything. She just held him close to her, as if he'd been a small child. When his sobs finally died away, and he didn't have any more tears to cry, he reluctantly let go off her waist and rose to his feet. He didn't dare look Meg in the eye, he was suddenly overwhelmed by shame. Instead he looked around her room, searching for something to talk about.

"Raoul, look at me." Meg's voice was soft and gentle, and he looked at her. "You do not have to be embarrassed in front of me." She smiled and touched his cheek.

Raoul didn't know what made him do it, what made him trust Meg, but he reached up and took her hand, and then he brought it to his lips and kissed the palm.

"Thank you," he whispered.

For some reason, Raoul stayed on Meg's room for the rest of the evening. She brought him and herself dinner from the diningroom, and they ate it on the floor in front of the fireplace. Raoul found that being in Meg's company was exactly what he needed, and, to his surprise, his found it very easy to talk to her. He never spent time with "the lower classes", as his sister called them (which usually ment everybody without a title). The only one he'd really ever talked to was Christine, but, somehow, she'd been different.

When Meg returned the dirty dishes to the kitchen, and Raoul was left alone in her room, he felt himself become drowsy. Him and Meg hadn't made any plans for the night, but somehow Raoul had taken for granted that she'd let him spend the night. Now he wondered, in that case, where on Earth he was going to sleep. There was only one bed in the room, but perhaps she had a spare one?

As he waited for Meg to return, he felt himself grow more and more tired, and the bed looked irresistably tempting. He rose from the floor. He would just lay down for a few moments and rest his eyes before Meg came back.

Meg was softly humming the tune of Pachelbel's Canon, which the orchestra had been playing that day, as she made her way back to her room. She felt very at ease with everything, and she couldn't understand why. She should be feeling worried after what had happened that afternoon in The Phantom's lair, but Raoul had seemed to calm down once they where in her room, and the evening had been a very pleasant one.

She reached her room and went inside, and, as a simple habit, she locked the door behind her. She turned around, excpecting to find Raoul in front of the fire, but he wasn't there. The fire was fading, leaving the room in darkness, and for a brief moment, Meg thought that Raoul had left. But his cloak was still hanging on its hook by the door.

She proceeded further into the room, and suddenly she saw a dark form move on her bed. She slowly moved over to it, and she saw it was Raoul, lying fully dressed and fast asleep on top of her covers. When Meg saw him lying there, she felt how tired she was. She didn't have the heart to wake Raoul up, and there was only one bed in the room. She sighed. That left her with only one option.

Hesitantly she sat down on the edge of her bed and watched Raoul sleep. He was lying in the middle of the bed, and Meg wondered how on Earth she was going to be able to lay down without wakening him up. Slowly she lent down and placed herself at his side, her head next to his on the pillow.

This was a new experience to Meg. The only one she'd ever shared a bed with before was her mother, and sometimes she'd laid beside Christine, comforting her when she longed for her father. But she'd never laid beside a man before. She was trying not to breath to much, she thought it might wake him up, and she tried to make herself as small as possible. After a few moments, her eyelids beganto feel heavy, but just when she thought she'd fall asleep, Raoul moved in his sleep, and his arm landed across her waist.

Meg's eyes opened with a start, and her first thought was to climb out of the bed as fast as she could. But she'd worked so hard with lying down without wakening Raoul up, and moving now, when they were pressed so tightly together, would most certainly wake him. And, on second thought, his arm around her, and his breathing against her neck, was quite comfortable. She felt warm and safe, and it didn't take her long to fall asleep.

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