Wow! Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far. In light of the great response, I'm updating again.

A Confrontation and A Plan

Raoul felt the stares following him as he entered the opera house from the stable. The whispers were harder to ignore. …Where is Christine…The Phantom has her…the Phantom's taken her! Crossing the stage, he grabbed one of the chorus members milling about by the arm. "Madame Giry, where is she?" The frightened girl pointed in the direction of the rehearsal hall.

When Raoul entered, Madame Giry was putting the younger dancers through their paces, her cane thumping out the rhythm on the floor. Meg was the first to catch sight of him, stopping so suddenly mid step that the other dancers crashed into her. "Meg!" her mother snapped. "Pay attention!" Following her daughter's line of sight, she turned to face Raoul.

Taking in his disheveled appearance and the blood on his shirt, she told the dancers to continue without her. She crossed the room to Raoul, Meg on her heels. "Vicomte, what's happened?"

"Where's Christine?" Meg blurted out.

Raoul shook his head. "I don't know. The stableman told me when I asked him just now that someone knocked him out this morning and took his place. It had to be the Phantom. I followed them to the graveyard."

Madame Giry frowned, taking Raoul by the arm and dragging him into her office, Meg following. "Shut the door, Meg. I don't want the other girls to hear this." Crossing the room to a cabinet, she opened it and took out a medicine chest. "Sit down, Vicomte, and take off your shirt."

Swallowing uneasily, he looked back and forth between Meg and her mother then did as he was told. Tut-tutting under her breath, Madame Giry began to clean the cut on Raoul's arm. "Now what is this about the Phantom and Christine?"

Wincing, as Madame Giry's ministrations were anything but tender, Raoul related his flight to the cemetery, the Phantom's appearance, and Raoul's defeat of him. Meg gave a little cry, and Madame Giry looked up sharply at him at the mention of the Phantom being injured. "How badly was he hurt?"

"I don't know. I thought for certain he was dying, but when I returned to the cemetery with the gendarmes, he and Christine were gone."

Madame Giry took a step back, her hand going to her mouth, tears sparkling in her eyes. Meg took over tending Raoul's wound. "Oh, Monsieur, what have you done?" Madame Giry whispered.

"What have I done? What have I done? That madman has Christine. You must know where he's taken her. You have to tell me!" He leapt to his feet, grasping Madame Giry by the shoulders. "You know where he lives! Why won't you help me?"

"Let my mother go!" Meg yelled, yanking on his injured arm.

Crying out in pain, Raoul released Madame Giry and rounded on Meg, intent on shoving her away from him. The fear in her eyes made him realize he was losing control of the situation and himself. He took a step back, breathing heavily. "I'm sorry," he apologized, "but you have to realize Christine's in danger. The Phantom has killed more than once, Madame. How can you be sure his next victim will not be Christine?"

Madame Giry straightened, wiping at her eyes. "Because, Vicomte, he loves her more than his own life. She has been his reason for living these past ten years. Do you think he does not feel, that he cannot love as you and I do because of his deformity? He loves more deeply than we can ever comprehend, deep enough to kill for her, deep enough to die for her. And if he is somewhere dying of the wounds you caused him, then I thank the Lord that Christine is with him. For she loves him just as deeply, though your return to her life has kept her from seeing the truth inside her own heart."

"No! I don't believe you!" he wanted to shout, but instead he sat back down in the chair. Meg picked up a roll of bandage and wrapped his arm. "Christine loves me," he finally said, his voice sounding small and uncertain even to his ears. "We are engaged to be married." Meg tied off the bandage and handed his shirt to him.

Raoul pulled it over his head then got to his feet. "You will not help me?"

Madame Giry shook her head. "I've caused enough damage, Monsieur. If the Phantom is dead, then his secrets should die with him. Christine will return unharmed, you will see. But I will not help you cause either of them any more pain."

Exhaling slowly, Raoul realized that was all he was going to get from the woman. It was obvious to him that she felt a responsibility toward the Phantom that was almost maternal. "I'm going home," he said finally. "Can I trust to you send word when Christine returns?"

She hesitated for a moment then nodded.

"Thank you." With that, Raoul left the opera house, his heart troubled by Madame Giry's words. Christine loved him, would never choose that monster over him, he told himself. And yet…he recalled the fear in her voice as she had rushed to the Phantom's side at the cemetery. One didn't fear the death of a person one hates.

When the Phantom awoke again, the sky outside the window was dark, and the gas lamps in the small room were lit. Someone had brought in a rather large armchair and placed it next to the bed. Christine was curled up in it, asleep, a blanket over her.

Rolling carefully onto his uninjured side, he lay watching her, trying to make sense of everything that had happened that day, of how he had come from the edge of defeat to being so blessed. Every time he looked at her, here beside him, he felt overwhelmed, terrified and delirious with joy at the same time. For over twenty years, the Phantom's entire life had been first the opera house, then the opera house and Christine. Now everything was in a state of confusion, and he was coming to realize there was no going back to the way things were. Not with the Vicomte after him.

Christine shifted in the chair, her eyes opening. She smiled at him. "How long have you been watching me?"

"Years…You're beautiful, Christine, " he sighed. Her eyes widened, and the Phantom realized his slip of the tongue.

Christine's cheeks colored and she spent several moments straightening her dress and running her fingers through her tangled hair. "Nonsense," she finally replied. "I must look a mess." Rising, she moved to his side, helping him sit up, rearranging the pillows until he was comfortable. Picking up the pitcher from the bedside table, she poured a glass of water. Seating herself carefully on the edge of the bed, Christine held out the water to him. "Here, Dr. Jarred says you need to drink plenty of water while you're recuperating."

Wincing slightly as the movement tugged at his injured side, the Phantom reached out to take the glass and found he barely had the strength to hold it. Christine wrapped her fingers around his, supporting the cup as he drank. Neither of them commented on his weakness when he was through, but he could see in her eyes that it frightened her as deeply as it did him.

Keeping hold of his hand, she set the empty glass aside. Raising their clasped hands, she kissed the back of his fingers, her eyes holding his gaze, telling him without words that she was with him, whatever may come. "I'm going to get us something to eat. I'll be right back." Getting to her feet, she left the room.

When she returned, she carried a tray piled high with food. At his quizzical look, she said, "I know. The housekeeper must think I'm too thin. She keeps putting food in front of me every time she sees me."

Christine set the tray down on the table. "For me, much too much. For you, clear broth, doctor's orders." She picked up a mug from the tray. "I thought this would be easier than struggling with a spoon." She held it out to him.

The Phantom wanted to scream, to rage at the indignity of it, at how helpless, how powerless he felt, but he didn't have the strength. He simply took the steaming mug from her, clenching his fingers tightly round the handle, using his other hand to steady it.

She laid her small hands over his in support. "It is I who should be taking care of you, Christine," he said, his voice hoarse with emotion.

"I'm quite certain you will have plenty of opportunities to do so in the future. But for now, make use of my strength, Angel."

He took a sip of the broth, finding the temperature bearable. Chicken, he thought, with rosemary and tarragon; rather good, actually. Once his cup was empty, he leaned back against the pillows, watching Christine eat. When she finished, she set her plate aside then moved from the chair to the floor next to him.

"What now, Angel?" she asked. "Do we try to return to the Opera Populaire tonight?"

Nodding, the Phantom said, "Better we wait until the small hours of the morning, when most of the opera house is asleep." He shifted his position and grimaced, his side beginning to ache again as the morphine wore off.

Seeing his distress, Christine took his hand, squeezing his fingers reassuringly. He gave her a smile and was delighted when she returned it. "That's the first time I've ever seen you smile," she told him softly. "You have a beautiful smile."

Her comment took his breath away. "Beautiful" was not a word he had ever associated with himself. It touched him deeply and made him uncomfortable at the same time. He changed the subject. "Tell me of the Vicomte, Christine. You've spent the past three months getting to know him intimately." He couldn't keep the venom out of his voice, and was ashamed at the small frisson of pleasure he felt at her hurt expression. "What would be his reaction to our disappearance?"

"I assume he is trying to find us," she answered quietly, not meeting his gaze. Letting go of her hand, the Phantom touched her under the chin, turning her face toward him. "I'm sorry, Angel," she whispered, tears glistening in her eyes.

Tracing his fingers over Christine's cheek, he shook his head. "No, my words were harsh and my tone unwarranted."

"Perhaps…but I have still hurt you. I realize now that you finally revealed yourself to me because you feared losing me to Raoul. Until now, I never stopped to think how brave you must have been, not knowing if I would accept or reject you, probably feeling in your heart that I would fear you or ridicule you as so many others have done. I lived up to your worst expectations of me."

Her tears were hot against his fingertips. "Christine, no. You are here now; you gave me a reason to continue living; you commanded it. You could have left me here and returned to the boy, yet you stay. I need to forget the mistakes of the past on both our parts, and enjoy the fact that we are together now."

"I promise you I will not leave you," she said solemnly. "I swear it." Her oath made him regret his moment of cruelty even more. She was the only one who had ever cared for him and instead of welcoming her affection, he had tried to push her away with unkind words. The Phantom knew he did not deserve such fealty, but if he did not accept it, he would wound her again. So he simply looked at her, unable to trust his tongue, his fingers stroking her cheek gently.

Rising, Christine sat down on the edge of the bed. "May I ask you a question?"

"Of course, Christine."

"Last night, after…after you left the ball, and Raoul followed you, he talked with Madame Giry. He told me what she said, that as a child you were part of a traveling fair, kept in a cage and beaten. Is it true?"

The Phantom inhaled sharply; that was a secret he had hoped she would never learn. "It was a long time ago. It doesn't matter now." He was that weak and pitiful child no longer.

"Of course it matters," Christine replied gently, laying her hand on his chest. "You still bear the scars upon your heart."

He covered her hand with his own, gripping it tightly, wondering how it was that with those few words she managed to bare his very soul. Tears began to slide down his face, and he was helpless to stop them.

Christine stared at the Phantom, horrified. Despite her promises and best intentions, she had wronged him again. "Oh, Angel…what kind of life have you known…." She touched his face tenderly. His gaze met hers, his eyes dark and pleading. All the sadness of the world… She leaned in closer, brushing her cheek against his, sliding her hand behind his neck, trying awkwardly to comfort him.

Slowly, hesitantly, he put his arms around her, gently pulling her to him. She tightened her grip on him, feeling him shudder against her. His breathing was rapid and harsh in her ear, his tears a burning trickle on her neck. It dawned on her that this might be the first time he had ever been held, the first time he had been touched in kindness, in love. The thought upset her so much she found herself crying, for him, for them, for all the years he had hidden himself from her out of fear.

A surge of anger flamed in her at the world that had treated him so cruelly. She lifted her head from where it rested on his shoulder, her gaze intense. "As long as I live, Angel, I will not suffer anyone to hurt you ever again."

There was shock in his eyes for a moment, then the potent adoration she had come to know well. "Nor I you, Christine. We must put our heads together and create a plan to defeat those who would come between us."

She sat up, her fingers wiping away his tears as he brushed away hers. "You mean Raoul."

The Phantom nodded. "He would see me dead or in prison, would he not?"

"Yes. He is slow to believe in things he cannot see for himself, but now that he knows you are real, that you live, he will stop at nothing to protect me from you."

"Then he must be made to think I am dead." He had regained his composure, and was once again the dark, forceful presence Christine had grown to love. "Can you do that, Christine? Can you lie to the boy and make him believe you, make him believe that his injury has killed me?"

Christine looked away for a moment, considering the plan. "Yes," she finally answered, "I can make him believe me. I am an actress after all." She gave him a wry smile. "But we cannot remain at the Opera Populaire. We would have to leave Paris, go somewhere no one knows us to keep you safe." She hated to ask, as she knew going abroad would touch on all her Angel's deepest fears. "It would mean leaving the safety, the anonymity of the life you've lived there."

"For you, Christine, I would do anything," he vowed.

"But first you must heal. Are you certain you wish to return to the opera house tonight?"

"Yes. If the boy is as determined as you say, he will search until you return, and eventually he will find us here. If I am to face him again, I would rather it be on familiar ground." The Phantom's gaze traveled the room until it landed on the wall clock. "It's nearly midnight. Go see to the carriage, and find out what they've done with my clothes. We shall leave here within the hour."

Christine rose and then bent to kiss his forehead before she left the room. He caught her hand as she turned and pressed his lips to her wrist. She went forth, her heart racing at the memory of that soft, sweet caress.

If we break 30 reviews with this chapter, I might be convinced to add a fourth chapter this week.