A/N: Excuse Sp's, I wanted to get this up today.

Amber: Thank you for your comments, as always. I'm doing my best with Christine. I will be trying to make this longer than Coincidences so with any luck there will be time for me to characterise her the way I think.

AHomelesspirate: She is in rather a big dilemma isn't she? But that's sort of the point ;) Thank you very, very much for your review!

Modesty: LOL, Corny tart… but he is. Isn't he?

Starfire: It will all come to a head I expect, possibly a situation in which she is left no choice.

'I've never been the kind, to ever let my feelings show,

I thought that being strong, meant never losing my self control,

I'm just drunk enough, To let go of my pain,

To hell with my pride, Let it fall like rain,

From my eyes' –Keith Urban, Tonight I wanna cry. (Serious inspiration for this chapter)

Chapter 21- Tonight I Want To Cry.

Christine had told Meg everything. Every word, every sound and every movement. She had told her every thought she had had about the whole thing and she had told her that the Phantom was not dead.

Meg had stared, at first, unsure what sort of response to give. Almost considering whether or not to believe her.

But she did.

Then she had wrapped her arms warmly around Christine's bruised body and held her tight, feeling her sobs against her own chest and all the time trying to think of a solution to her friends problems. She couldn't solve them though, how could she? She tried, at first, to talk Christine into telling Raoul about the attack but Christine had refused. Meg couldn't blame her in the slightest, no.

She doubted if Raoul would even believe her over his brother anyway.

Christine's ankle was swollen under the bandage but wrapped tightly and Christine had told Meg that she felt very little pain, it wasn't broken, it was simply twisted. 'Erik', the Phantom, had fixed it for her and a part of Meg's heart thanked him dearly for that.

She had left after Philippe, she hadn't been tired anyway and she had thought about it all the way home. Sometimes you just have to cut your losses. But Meg had absolutely no doubt that Christine loved Raoul dearly but she certainly noted the way that she spoke about the Phantom. She spoke with such fondness, even now, and such a feeling of rejection at the fact that he had simply left with barely a word spoken between them.

Christine sat in the window seat in her bedroom, gazing out over the now moonlit garden, its beauty was even more notable at night. The light the sun gave was nothing compared to the ambiance of the moon. Raoul was still downstairs finishing some papers and she had put the candles out in the room and sat at the window watching the night animals making the most of the freedom of her garden.

She had been sitting there for a long time before she noticed that her night gown was wet. She patted it and rubbed it in an attempt to dry it but it still remained wet. It was a while before she realised that it was wet with her own tears. She hadn't even realised she was crying.

Erik's face spun whirlwinds in her mind and she felt the butterflies attack her stomach as she thought of his anguish as he looked at her.

Another tear feel in slow motion from her cheek and joined the rest in her lap. She sighed and lifted her hand, with the little energy now remaining in her heart, to wipe the tears from under her eyes.

She heard her husband walking up the staircase, his footsteps were unmistakable and she crawled into the bed and turned on her side to face the window. After one last look at the glorious moon she closed her eyes and feigned sleep. But even through her closed eyes, a tear escaped and dampened the pillow.

He slammed his fist down so hard on the oak table that his cup jumped into the air and off the edge of the table, breaking into pieces as it landed at his feet. He moaned low, in the back of his throat, and lay his head on the table feeling it's warmth evaporate his tears as they bounced down. He ran his hand over the back of his head, his fingers scraping through his hair, pushing it back so that it tugged his forehead. He grabbed it at the back and pulled it hard, feeling the pain ripple through him he lifted his head and pushed his chair from the table. It felt with a thud to the floor behind him and he stalked around to the cabinet.

'Erik,' Antoinette whispered softly, still watching him pace. Her eyes filled with concern, pupils widening. He shot her a hard look and threw himself back to the seat in the centre of the room.

She wandered over be began to lift the pieces of the broken cup from the floor, placing each segment carefully onto the table. He had picked her up on the horse on his way back from somewhere, without an explanation he had carried her back to his home. After he had told her the situation she had been dumbfounded at both Philippe and at Erik.

More that Erik had not killed Philippe.

'What?' he finally snarled, looking at her from under his eyes lids. It had been a while since she had seen him cry this way. Not since she left. And it wasn't as if Erik cried a great deal or revealed much emotion. He was such a strong man.

'Please Erik,' she said softly, calmly. 'You did the right thing, she's okay. Please don't be so upset, Erik.' Almost pleading.

'Give me space, Antoinette,' he growled, digging his fingers into his thighs.

'You brought me here,' she said. He said nothing. 'I'll leave.'

'At this time of night? Alone?' he said, glancing up at her, his eyes still glistening water blue from tears. 'No,'

'Then what will you have me do?' she asked, trying not to sound exasperated.

'You can stay but please…' he said, almost gently. 'For tonight, let me grieve for what I've lost. Let me cry… don't speak to me, don't try to hold me or make me feel better. Don't try to stop me.' He looked at her and she met his eyes with hers. 'Let me cry, tonight. My anger only lasts so long with her, I did well enough today but tonight… Just be here… so that I know you're here … be here and let me cry.'