Disclaimer: I do not own any version of the Phantom of the Opera (except my DVD and soundtrack) and make no money from this story.

Author's Note:

This fanfic is based on the movie version of Phantom (with Gerard Butler in it). I'm sorry I've taken so long to update, but this is the longest chapter so far, so I hope you'll forgive me. Thank you to my reviewers, you're great! Here's the chapter, hope you enjoy.

"The best way out of a difficulty is through it" – Author Unidentified

Estelle Tiniwiel -x-

As they hurried away from the sounds of the men behind them Meg racked her brain for the most suitable escape route. Turning into a street Meg was brought up sharp by the sight of a group of gendarmes. She decided that this was not the most suitable route. Luckily none of the gendarmes notice the small figure of the ballerina at the edge of the street, and the Phantom had made sure he had remained in the shadows. Meg stepped slowly backwards, careful not to make any noise. As soon as they were safely out of sight and hearing range of the gendarmes the Phantom grabbed Meg by the arm and dragged her into a side street, his insane fury turning back into a more normal anger.

"Who are you? Are you an absolute fool? You claim to want to help me and then you drag me into their path?"

"Excuse me, Monsieur, but how am I supposed to know which streets they are on and which they are not? I am doing my best to get you to a place of safety, but cannot help meeting difficulties, so learn to appreciate it!"

Meg's eyebrows twitched slightly in amazement at herself. Had she just scolded the Opera Ghost?

The Phantom paused for a moment, pointing his finger at Meg. He knew that voice, or at least felt he ought to know it, so she must be someone from the Opera House, but she was not Madame Giry, of that he was certain. A chorus girl perhaps? But her voice, although gentle, did not seem to be one that had been regularly trained, even as a chorus girl. He looked at the girl closely as he repeated his question, although this time it was less of a question.

"Tell me who you are."

"No, Monsieur. I would, but I don't want to endanger myself anymore."

"You are endangering yourself by not answering me!"

"But as far as I am concerned, if I don't tell you who I am you are more likely to be curious, and as I think you should not be too happy were you to discover my identity, I think I shall remain anonymous for the time being."

The Phantom glared at the girl before him.

"Then it seems I shall have to find out for myself who you are and remove you hood."

As he lunged she twisted and slipped under his arm. The Phantom felt his anger rising as he found himself faced with a blank wall.

"Monsieur, I would beg that you do not do to me what others have done to you. I do not want you to see my face, so leave me be! Now, if you wish to last the night without being killed or arrested, please do as I say and come with me."

He felt his fingers twitch nervously when she referred to people unmasking his face. He wanted nothing more than to make sure he could trust this person, and that meant revealing her identity; but she was right, he had no more right to remove her protection than Christine had to remove his. Also, he didn't actually care if the gendarmes caught him, he didn't want to have to live through any more pain, but his hatred kept him going, his longing for revenge forcing him to stay within the confines of life. And she was the only one willing to help him; if, of course she was helping him.

"I warn you, girl, that if you should be leading me a false trail in the hopes to betray me, I will not let you escape unscathed."

Meg shivered slightly beneath her cloak, suddenly far more apprehensive of her motives for saving him than she had been before. She was going to give some witty reply along the lines of "you said you would not follow anyone, so how can I be leading," but did not dare, answering instead in a small, slightly intimidated voice.

"I know, Monsieur."

And that set her thinking: my mother betrayed his trust, no matter how unwilling she was in doing it. So what will he do to hurt her?

Christine Daaé sat in the grand drawing room of the de Chagny manor, nervously twisting her hands in her lap. The gendarmes kept coming back to ask questions, and the effort of continuously lying and asking her fiancé to lie was taking its toll on the young bride to be, the strain evident in the slightly creasing of her brow and the troubled look in her eyes. Not only had the gendarmes been coming back, the tone and manner of their questioning had becomes more intense and forceful, as there had already been reports of several more murders already.

That was what Christine feared the most.

She remembered back to what Raoul had said to her before she went onto the stage that fateful night, about how the Phantom would haunt them for the rest of their lives if he was allowed to live. She didn't think that the Phantom would haunt them, she didn't think he'd want to come anywhere near her after watching her leave, but she did not doubt that the Phantom would have no trouble whatsoever in taking his anger and his hatred out on other human beings, those of the race that had abused him and hated him for so long. She was afraid for those others whose lives he would haunt.

The door opened and Raoul walked in, shutting it behind him. He came over and gave his fiancée a kiss before sitting heavily in an armchair opposite her.

"How are things going out there with the gendarmes?"

"How do you expect, when that Phantom has anything to do with it? Absolute hell."

Madame Giry paced anxiously round the small apartment she had rented for her and Meg with the money she had earned at the Opera House. She prayed desperately that Meg wouldn't come to any harm whilst out on the streets, wishing that she could have gone instead. That had been her plan, before Meg insisted that she was too worked up and would be easily distracted, then pointing out that the Phantom would be much less likely to recognise one of many ballet girls than the ballet mistress herself, and that she might not be particularly in his favour after revealing his whereabouts to Christine's lover (who just also happened to be a powerful man who could well afford any kind of help he needed in killing the Phantom).

That led her on to her second problem: neither Meg nor Madame Giry had been able to think of any place to safely hide the Phantom, as the cellars he had previously occupied were now being closely guarded, meaning the Phantom would be staying with them. Madame Giry decided she would keep her hand at the level of her eyes the whole time. And keep a safe distance in case he had a sword or anything else he could throw at her.

"We are almost there, Monsieur. I must ask you to keep a hold on your temper, for we are doing what we can to help you, but…", she trailed off, unsure of how to address the situation.

The Phantom had been watching her for some time, noticing her height and light build, the way she walked with natural grace and the almost perfect balance of a ballerina. And then, just as they approached the front of a house, it clicked.

"You're the Giry girl!" cried the Phantom.

Meg turned round to look at him and felt her insides freeze with fear at the rage she could see building behind his eyes.

"Monsieur, I –"

"You insolent wretch! I suppose your mother put you up to this? Pretend to want to help the Phantom so that you can lure him into a trap? You really I think I would trust you or your mother to be of service to me when you betrayed me to that damned Vicomte? Do you!"

Meg tried desperately to get her mind to block out the fear she was feeling and function normally, but was let down severely. She tried to remember her argument for why he should trust them and to deliver it in an even tone of voice. It didn't work: all that came out was a broken explanation in a voice so frightened it was virtually pleading.

"Monsieur, I know that… after my mother felt she had to tell the Vicomte… she feels guilty about it, really she does, but she had no other choice if she was to protect herself from suspicion… we are trying to help you… whether you will admit it to yourself or not, half of Paris is baying for your blood and your description has been circulated everywhere – "

"No doubt with all the little details filled in by your dear mother!"

Meg backed up slowly as the Phantom stalked towards her, until her back was against the hard wood of the door, her eyes dilated with fear and her breath coming short and swift.

"No! No, Monsieur, I promise you she did not tell them anything more! Please, monsieur, can't you just accept that we going to do the best we can to try and help you? My mother has helped the carrying out of a vast number of your orders since she brought you to the Opera Populaire and she does not wish you to lose one of the few friends you may have!"

The Phantom was glaring at her, hurt and anger and hatred and sorrow all mixed up in his intense gaze. Meg nearly whimpered in fear when she saw his fingers twitch, as though ready to go for her throat, and wildly thought up anything she could to try and persuade the Phantom that she and her mother did not intend to turn him over to the gendarmes or otherwise try to betray him.

"Christine betrayed you! She betrayed you in front of hundreds of people by removing your greatest shield of protection – but you let her go and she will not betray you again! She promised you that she would not tell anyone the things she knew about you and I would be willing to bet that she made the Vicomte promise not to say anything either, or you would be dead by now, so why will you not give us another chance?"

Meg instantly knew that her comments had struck a cord as the Phantom growled and leapt at her, his hands reaching for her neck as tears flowed down his cheeks. Frantically trying to keep him at bay she threw herself against the door; feeling it open she ran inside, trying to get as far away from him as she could. She turned round and screamed as he bore her to the floor, his face frighteningly close to her and twisted with an insane anger. She felt his hands clamp round her throat and squeeze hard; choking for air she struggled to get out from under him, praying that something would intervene and stop him from murdering her.

And it did. Meg watched in amazement and horror as there was a loud thud and the Phantom pitched headfirst towards her, the death-grip round her throat finally loosening and allowing her to fill her lungs with air. She heaved his body off her and stood up shakily, looking down at his unconscious form. She stared at him in confusion, until she noticed her mother standing behind her, holding a heavy brass candlestick.

Madame Giry had heard the approach of the two people outside her door and the fierce exchange of words between them. As she listened she felt fear and protectiveness well up inside her at her daughter's petrified tone: she had already got the candlestick in her hand in case of self defence, but she had wrenched open the door as she heard her daughter throw herself upon it and had watched the pair fall to the ground. She had meant to strike immediately but the sight of her daughter being strangled had momentarily frozen her with shock; as soon as this wore off, however, she had saved that of the two which she deemed most worth saving, and knocked the Phantom out cold.

As Meg got up off the floor Madame Giry put a hand to her heart and tried to calm her breathing. Meg turned and saw her, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear, admiration and surprise. After taking several minutes to catch her breath she spoke.

"Maman, I'm – I'm so sorry… I tried to make him understand but he wouldn't have it. He – he is convinced that he must hate the world and – and that the world hates him… oh, Maman, I was so scared; I'm sorry to have made such a mess of this…"

Madame Giry moved over and put her arms round her sobbing child, gently kissing the top of her head as she comforted her.

"Shush. Quiet, child. You have not done anything wrong, you did exactly as I asked, which was to bring him here, and goodness knows, anyone who manages to persuade the Phantom to comes even so far as you had cannot have made a mess of things: he is very much his own master and if he had not wanted to come with you then he would not have done. I am the one who should be sorry: for putting you in that position because I was too afraid to do it myself, and I'm sorry for not coming to your aid sooner, but I was not sure how best to intervene."

Meg smiled through her tears at this last comment.

"I think it is very much a good thing you did not intervene, Maman, or he would assuredly have tried his very best to kill you and I would not have been able to think of a way to stop him. He is much stronger than me."

Madame Giry could not help but laugh to herself. Yes, he may be underfed and have led a most unusual life, but years of traversing the Opera House by secret ways and climbing ropes up to catwalks had left him with a wiry strength that was not to be easily dismissed. He was truly remarkable.

She turned her daughter round to face her, drying the tears off Meg's face with a corner of her sleeve.

"Come now: you must get some rest and some more suitable clothing, you've had a hard day," she said softly, "and I must find some way of restraining him before he wakes up; I would not have us risk our necks any more than necessary."

As the fog began to clear from his brain he registered a deep throbbing at the base of his skull and felt the bile rise in his throat. As he wretched he saw someone place a bucket beside him and felt them hold his hair back from his face. As the feeling of nausea cleared he also realised that his hands had been bound behind him and his ankles had been tied, plus the wound from whatever had hit him had been carefully bandaged.

"Here, Monsieur, I suggest you drink some water; it has herbs in it to take away the pain."

He felt the rage rise within him again as he saw Madame Giry kneeling next to him, but he had not eaten for at least a couple of days now and after the blow was too weak to do much more that accept the water being pressed against his lips, let alone take his anger out on the woman beside him.

After swallowing a few times and clearing his throat he addressed Madame Giry, his voice coming out in a hiss of unconcealed fury.

"What do you think you are doing? Why do you think I would want your help after you betrayed me to the fop of a Vicomte? Is this why you have tied me up, because you fear that I would be within my rights to kill you? For that is what I want to do. That is what you deserve!"

"Monsieur, you must understand I did not willingly betray you. I had a choice to make. Either I could aid the Vicomte and do what was right in so many other people's eyes, meaning I would not be so likely to lose my job, the sole means for supporting myself and my innocent daughter, and meaning I would not be arrested for withholding important information, or harbouring an obsessed fugitive who hurt one I loved like a daughter. You were a suspected murderer: I know you are a murderer. I know you would have killed the Vicomte if Christine had denied you. Weighing it up, it was easy to see which choice I would have to make. But that does not mean I wanted you to be hurt further. I have helped you and provided you for many years now, and I had rather hoped that that would garner friendship from you, no matter what the odds, but it seems I was wrong. So now I must ask you to forgive my seeming betrayal, if not for the friendship we shared then for your own sake, because I do not want to see you dead."

So saying, she stood up and left the room.

The Phantom glared after her, furiously telling himself that what she said was a lie, but in his heart he started to feel the first tingling of admission that she had not had a choice and that he could not blame her for her choice: he would have chose Meg and Madame Giry's lives over that of an obsessed madman if he had been in her position. He started to forgive her.

The next morning Meg came out into the living area of the small apartment to the sight of the Phantom curled up in the corner by the stove, fast asleep. She could not help but wonder at this sight, seeing him so calm and peaceful, so unlike the wrath and anger she had always seen before, and so vulnerable. Curled up in a foetal position, his face unmasked and innocent in sleep, he looked almost childlike. She tiptoed towards the sideboard where her mother kept her purse so that she could go and buy fresh bread from the boulangerie for breakfast, hoping that she would not wake him from his slumber.

Unfortunately, even when fast asleep the Phantom had a highly trained sense of hearing, and upon sensing the presence of another person in the vicinity he sat bolt upright, his eyes snapping open and training themselves on Meg.

Meg hesitated nervously, unsure as to what she should do next. Should she address him, or should she merely carry on with her task without a word to him? Her anxiety was heightened when she saw that he no longer appeared childlike or innocent and was very obviously himself again. Turning first one way and then another in her confusion she was stopped when she heard a soft, melodious voice address her, so different to the harsh syllables she had heard the night before that she would of thought it a different person had she not heard him sing during Don Juan.

"Good morning, Mademoiselle," he said, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on hers, "what are you doing?"

Meg smiled weakly, swallowing the lump of fear in her throat.

"I was just going out to buy some bread. I apologise for waking you, I had not meant to."

"I see," at this point his gaze became trouble and his eyes flitted away momentarily before coming back to meet hers, this time looking decidedly shifty. "I owe you an apology. I understand that you mother was acting in your best interest when she betrayed -", he shook his head, correcting himself, "gave me away, and I am obliged to you for your aid. I thank you."

Meg could only stand and gape at him in astonishment, all thoughts of bread forgotten at what she had just heard. The Phantom of the Opera had thanked her. She reckoned that was one for the record book. But then he said something that surprised her even more, and she took an involuntary step backwards, her eyes widening and her mouth opening even further.

"My name is Erik."

A/N: Any good? Long chapter for me, so I hope you got through it alright. Please leave a review. Thanks, Estelle Tinwiel.