Cameron ran down to Christine's lair, sobbing. He didn't want to go through with Emilie's horrid plan... it was horrible! If there was one thing he didn't want to do, it was to hurt Christine again!

When he finally reached the passageway, where the lake was, he saw that the gondola wasn't there. Not knowing when Christine would come around, or if she would come around at all, he jumped into the lake and began to wade through it to the lair.

Chopin's Concerto In F Minor being played on the piano told him that he was getting ever closer to his Angel of Music. He continued wading, sobbing hysterically, as though he'd never cried before in his life.

He saw that the gate to the lair was closed and let out a cry of desperation. Then he turned and saw a piece of land, and there was a door there, a door that he realized Francois used to get in and out of the lair without using the gondola.

He climbed up onto the piece of land and opened the door. Then he stepped inside the lair, closing it, and gazing around for a moment, still trying to quit crying.

Christine sat at the piano, finishing the song and taking no notice of him. Then she rose and walked into the kitchen and out of sight.

Bursting into tears of relief, he through the lake again until he reached the shore. Then he ran into the kitchen, where Christine stood, making herself some Russian tea with lemon.

He ran up to her and then didn't stop, therefore running right into her, and threw his arms around her, sobbing wildly.

Christine let out a cry of surprise - she hadn't seen him or heard him - and then realized who it was. Cameron! Cameron was here, and he was the closest to her that he'd ever been of his own accord, and he was crying.

"Cameron!" she finally managed to exclaim when she'd gotten over her shock, hesitantly pattting him on the head. "Oh, my dear friend, don't cry like that!"

After another moment, he pulled away from her, placing his hands on her shoulders, tears streaming down his cheeks, as he started talking, trying to calm himself down. "Christine, I - I'm sorry for what I did to you... I was angry at you, and I don't know why... but I don't hate you... I don't hate you... I'm sorry... I'm so sorry, Christine!"

"Okay, okay," she said in a soothing tone, patting his arm reassuringly. "It's all right, Cameron... hush, now."

He took several deep breaths and finally calmed down, letting out a sigh and taking his hands off of her shoulders. "I'm okay now," he murmured, wiping his eyes and sniffling. "I'm sorry... about all of it. I'm so stupid... and now I've been acting like a baby." He shivered and wrapped his arms around himself, his teeth starting to chatter. "It's a little chilly in here, don't you think?"

"You're freezing," she said, rubbing her hands on his arms in an attempt to get him warmer. "I'll get you some dry clothes and get you some tea... oh, wait, I don't have any clothes that I bought for you any more."

"Where are they?" he asked, shivering.

"I... got rid of them." She took his arm and led him over to the main part of the lair, sitting him on the sofa. "There. Now hang on, and I'll bring you out some tea... but let me get a blanket for you first." Then she vanished into his bedroom and shortly returned with a blanket.

When he had the blanket wrapped around him, she walked into the kitchen, poured some tea into a teacup, and added a slice of lemon to it. Then she placed it on a saucer and brought it back to him. She gave it to him. "There. Now... I don't imagine that you brought any extra clothes with you, by chance, in your unexplained desperate flight down here?"

"N - no," he replied, his teeth chattering still because of his soaking clothes. "D - Do you have any clean clothes, Christine? It's quite all right if you don't; I can quite easily just take my wet clothes off and wrap the blanket around myself while they dry."

"I would rather you not," she said, trying to push the thought of Cameron walking around in nothing but a blanket in her lair out of her head. "Just hang on a moment - I think I might have something..."

She went into her bedroom and opened the bottom drawer of her dresser, shuffling through the clothes to try and find something for him to wear. Then she pulled out some clothes and closed the drawer, walking back out into the main part of the lair and handing him the clothes.

"There," she said. "Those will do for now, until you can bring your clothes down here... they may be a bit big on you, but at least they're warm and dry."

He nodded. "Thank you." Then he proceeded to finish drinking his tea, staring at the clothes all the while. It struck him as odd that Christine had extra mens' garments in her lair with her.

She noticed his staring. "I see you're surprised that I have mens' garments that don't belong to you down here with me," she said rather wearily, sitting down on the piano bench. "You may safely take my word that they didn't belong to a lover! No... the man who used to wear those clothes had been dead for nearly two years."

Judging by her saddened facial expression, he could guess who that man had been.

"What was your father's name?" he asked quietly.

She glanced up at him and sighed, running a hand through her jet - black hair. "Erik."

"Erik," he murmured, glancing down at the clothes in his lap curiously. "That's a nice name. Tell me about him, Christine."

"I would rather not."

"Please!" he begged. "I must know something... do you have a likeness of him?"

She sighed resignedly and unclasped the gold locket that Erik had given her that contained her parents' pictures inside. Then she placed it down on the table. "See for yourself."

He picked up the locket and opened it, glancing at the pictures. "Wow... you look practically everything like him!" He glanced at her mother's picture again. His eyes widened. "Is that..."

"Christine Daae? Otherwise known as the late Vicomtess deChagny?" she finished. "Yes... she's my mother."

"But how -"

"You ask how?" she said with a short laugh. "Don't you know the stories? Haven't you heard anything in your near six years with this Opera? My God, it's urban legend!"

He shook his head. "Tell me."

She sighed and rose, walking over to the desk and opening a drawer. She pulled out a stack of newspapers and closed the drawer again. Then she walked back over to him and handed him the newspapers. "Read and learn, Cameron... read and learn."

He started scanning the front pages of every newspaper, all of which bore the story of The Phantom of the Opera, his protege, Christine Daae, her lover, the Vicomte Raoul deChagny, and the Opera Populaire tragedy. Then he glanced up at her, looking astounded. "But... if your mother went with the Vicomte, then..." - he pointed at her - "how are you here?"

"My father and my mother didn't know that, either," she replied, shrugging. "Just one day, forty - nine years after the events, my mother became pregnant. Nine months later, there I was, deformity and all. So my mother came back here" - she motioned around her - "and gave me to my father. Fast - forward almost sixteen years, and here we are."

"Wow," he breathed. "That's amazing. Please tell me more about your father?"

"He was really quite old," she began hesitantly, starting to look upset, "although he didn't look it. He looked the way that he does in that picture the entire time he raised me... he was somewhere in his thirties when that was taken... and he was, in actuality, somewhere in his eighties and nineties the entire time that we lived down here together - maybe he was even in his hundreds; I don't know for sure... he taught me how to sing and play piano, among other things... I'm sorry! Do you mind? I can't talk about this!"

She turned away from him, sighing sadly, tears in her eyes. She took a deep breath in order to calm herself, then wiped her eyes. "Cameron, I'd like you to go change clothes, now, please," she said rather coldly.

Without another word, he rose and walked into his room to dress, closing the door behind him.

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A/N: -sighs- Finally... a longer chapter! Yes! -tosses confetti -