Sorry it took me so long to update! I've had about five different projects, writer's block, illness, and not to mention TAKS tests, which are really lame and STUPID! and so I haven't had much writing time. Please give me my much needed constructive critisism on my writing thus far, because it's nearing some important parts and I need to know what needs to be fixed and what's just fine. Come on, I know there's some harsh critics out there! Let me have it! Lol.

Okay, sorry but no Erik or Christine in this chapter. This is all Raoul and the Girys, and this is basically just a little plot development. There is still a ways to go on this story; after all, just because they get married, doesn't mean they have happily ever afters, right:grins evilly:

By the way, some of these dates are totally off, I know, but hey, im a fiction writer, so that makes the timeline my own little plaything.

THANK YOU FOR ALL THE REVIEWS! And please forgive me for not responding to them, but u see, i am a selfish, heartless authoress who cares about noone but herself and her plushies.

Just kidding, i love you all, but poetry projects and math homework make it difficult to accomplish anything.

Disclaimer: You all know this, but Phantom of the Opera isn't mine. Gerard Butler is, however.

Raoul's Resolve

Raoul slammed his fist down in frustration onto his mahogany desk, sending several pieces of parchment and inkwells flying to the floor. The abandoned stationary continued to swirl about for several moments, before finally resting motionless against the dusty floorboards of the Manager's office, where he had decided to take up residence until he rescued Christine, if he did, of course. As the papers fell to the floor, so fell Raoul's last shreds of sanity. The empty opera house hadnot been kind to his nerves. He had briefly wondered, on several occasions, if he were even allowed to take up residence in an abandoned opera house, or if it was safe, seeing as the Prussian War was inevitably approaching, but didn't allow himself to linger on the thought. After all, he was the patron of the opera house. And technically, he had that right, so he dismissed the thought.

The room smelled strongly of smoke, so much so that it had given him a headache, which of course was a welcome companion to the five thousand thoughts already pounding around in his brain. The dying candle sitting on the desk cast lazy shadows across the musty room, which was forlorn and bare of any signs of life other than the empty coathanger in one corner, and the gnats swirling around the wick of his candle. Outside, the last traces of light had completely faded away, leaving the world cloaked in night's cold, murky depths.

In the center of the room, Raoul sat motionless, his straining breath racking his ribs, and making him shudder with each intake as he struggled to calm his fury. His blonde locks were tangled and dirty, hanging untamed in front of his forehead. He was frozen to the core, despite it being late Summer, yet he sat in simply a white cotton shirt and trousers. His eyes, wild and blood-shot, with heavy, dark bags underneath them, glanced briefly out the cloudy window to the street below, where not a soul stirred, and not one stray animal or vagrant disrupted the peculiar stillness of the depth of the night. How he wished he could look down at that street, and see Christine emerge from a carriage, completely happy and free from Erik, and see her rush into the Opera House and tell him of how it was all a figment of his imagination, and that she had been released long ago, and had simply been staying at the house by the sea, waiting for him to come to her as he had used to. But he knew she was still being held captive, and it was his duty to save her.

But. . .damn it all! He couldn't take this torture anymore! What was he to do? Should he save her, or leave her to suffer, if she were suffering at all? For too long he had put himself through the agonizing task of telling himself Christine still loved him, that he hadn't been living in a lie all those times, and that there was no way Christine meant it when she said she loved Erik. He knew he had crossed the line by calling her a whore, and thathe had crossed the line on more occasions than that, but would he be able to fix it, to make her feel the way she used to? Or would she continue to love the Phantom and leave him to wallow in his own self-pity?

Maybe he should've never gone down there in the first place. Everyone would probably be in a better mood.

He growled in the back of his throat as an image forced itself into his senses of Christine, sitting all cozy and snug in the bowels of the opera house, in the arms of the monster. The monster he had lost his one true love to. He knew he had lost. Horridly. But he couldn't accept it, for that would be letting someone else get the better of him! And he had never lost, not once! His mother had taught him, his father had taught him,... Oh, for God's sake, why couldn't he let her go? He had to find some way. Or he would end up crazier than Erik.

He gripped the edge of his desk until his knuckles turned white, as more salty tears trekked down his cheeks and dripped onto his lap. He buried his head in his hands, muttering a few curses along the way, and tried to calm his nerves. Why he had been fated to fall in love with someone as naive as Christine was beyond him. He should have known that becoming infatuated with someone like her would only lead to trouble. But he had been stubborn, and believed that her 'infatuation' was as strong as his. He had been such a fool!

He sat there for hours on end, never moving once since Madame Giry and Meg had left, contemplating what he should do. He had come to the conclusion that there were two possible options that did not involve the police (which, on his last glance at the paper on his way to Rome, had given up the case as "a young opera singer and her abductor, the mysterious 'Opera Ghost', have disappeared below the Paris Opera House, almost as if they had never been there at all. After days of investigating her disappearance, police have decided there is no way anyone could survive under those conditions, and Mlle. Daae has either perished in the fire or died of an illness. Police are anxiously waiting permission to investigate further."), and only one of them seemed remotely feasible without making Christine hate him all the more.

He could very easily walk down into the Phantom's hellhole of a home, drag Christine up by the hair and force her to marry him. Or, he could choose the sensible course of action, though far more difficult to accomplish: abandon his title, and in the process disinherit his fortune, and pack up and move. Just leave; just get away somewhere where no one would know him, and he could start over. Maybe he could go to Rome and live with the Girys; it had been rather peaceful there. . .He briefly drifted into thoughts of himself, living alongside Meg Giry. . .young, cheerful little Meg.

He smiled softly to himself, remembering the girl's anxiousness at getting to see Christine again. That was when he finally came to his decision. He brought his head from his hands, sniffed, then stood with new determination after thoroughly wiping his cheeks dry. He mechanically stooped over to retrieve the fallen stationary and inkwells, and after rearranging them on the desk, felt slightly better. He would find Christine, and bring Meg with him, but only for Meg's sake. She wanted to see her friend, and she would grant Meg that pleasure. She needed to know she was happy. He needed to know she was happy. She would see how happy Christine was, regardless of how horrible it made him feel, and Meg would finally be content, if she could ever get over the fact that her best friend was living with a Phantom. And, of course, there was always the possibility that, after talking with Meg and having her talk some sense into her, she might be persuaded to come back. Maybe. And if she wasn't, then Raoul would have to move on. Somehow.

A quiet tap at the door roused him from his musings, and he once again wiped at his cheeks to make sure it was clear of moisture. Even the knock of the door made his heart race, for his mind had procured the possibility that it could always be Christine on the other side. He took a deep breath before calling the person on the other side.

"Come in," he was surprised his voice didn't waver, and he gave a confident, if slightly tilted smile as Meg Giry walked into the room, followed by her mother. Meg smiled back, but Raoul noticed Madame Giry seemed irritated about something. Her mouth was set in a single line, and her eyes were no more than two slits. He briefly wondered if he had done something, but the look on Meg's face told him otherwise. She had a determined glint in her eyes, as if she was trying to prove that she was brave enough for something. Raoul guessed what it was, and waited patiently as Meg started speaking.

"Good evening, Monsieur. I know you have to be just as worried about Christine as I am, my mother too,-.." At this she cast a sidelong glance at Madame Giry, who rolled her eyes, before continuing. "And I was wondering, if tomorrow morning we might be able to go look for her. My mother knows the way perfectly." At this Madame Giry gave an indignant cry, obviously not exactly willing to reveal such a secret to her gossiping teenager. Raoul had to stifle a laugh at the humor of the moment, even though he knew there was nothing humourous about the reason she was there. "Today, at the café, mother said she-.." Madame Giry gave her daughter a sharp nudge with her elbow, and Raoul raised his eyebrow as Meg blushed crimson. "Today mother told me something important, and I need to go find Christine to. . .as her about it. So will you accompany us, Monsieur? For I am sure she is as anxious to see you as she is to get out of there!" Raoul scoffed quietly to himself, and Meg gave him an inquisitive tilt of her blonde head. Even though he knew what she said wasn't true, he decided to stick to his earlier resolution, and take her to see Christine. Even though he was well aware that Madame Giry knew the way and could take Meg herself, he needed to see her. Just one last time.

"Absolutely, Mademoiselle. I would be happy to accompany you." How ironic that it sounded more like he was being invited to tea rather than being asked to be an accompanist down to a murderer's home.

Meg smiled broadly, and Raoul marveled at the way one smile seemed to light up her entire visage, as if she had not a care in the world. Meg thanked him profusely as she jumped up and down on her toes, her dancer's feet barely making a noise as they repeatedly came down onto the ancient floorboards. Madame Giry gave him a dry good-night after telling him they would come at around two the next afternoon, and that he needed to be ready. He agreed, and Meg shut the door soundly behind her as they left the room.

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Madame Giry furrowed her brow in plain trepidation, wringing her hands in her plain grey, floor-length dress. What was she supposed to do now? She shouldn't have told Meg what she saw. She should've known she would've reacted how she did.

As soon as she had gotten over the shock of seeing Christine, with Erik, in a restaurant of all places wearing an engagement ring on her left hand, she had taken a little time to think things over.

Christine had no idea what she was getting herself into. Did she expect to live underneath the ground for the rest of her life? She would fade into nothing faster than the flowers died in the first frost of winter! Oh, Christine was such a naive child! And Erik, the stubborn fool, how could he have asked her to- or made her, either one- marry him? Didn't he know the repercussions of such a thing?

She was a wanted person, and no one in the whole city didn't know about Christine and the mysterious Phantom. Madame Giry was amazed that they had even been able to dine undetected. She had eaten the rest of her lunch with Meg in silence, nodding along at Meg's comments without really hearing her, feeling as if she were underwater, or miles away from anyone. Should she tell Meg? She deserved to know, but how would she react? Knowing Meg, she'd probably start screaming about the stupidity of it all, saying it was impossible, there was no way in Heaven that it could possibly be so, and after about twenty minutes of coaxing her and telling her it was, in fact, the truth, she would sink into her chair, and beg for it to be a dream.

And just as Madame Giry had predicted, the moment the words were out of her mouth, Meg went flying out of her chair in the middle of the café, but thankfully Madame Giry was able to pay the cashier and get out of the café before she really lost it. Meg wasn't able to comprehend it. The Phantom she had seen on stage wasn't the same one Christine had seen, apparently. Meg has seen a lying, deceiving mastermind intent on using Christine's talents for himself. She reasoned that Christine was probably just confused, but Madame Giry knew she was trying more to convince herself than Madame Giry.

Madame Giry had let her daughter carry on all the while as they walked back to the Opera House, having decided it would be better to walk and let her get it all out before they reached the opera than to take a carriage, and eventually Meg stopped them both and turned to look at Madame Giry, sincere worry etched into her features.

"Mother, do you think Christine was forced to marry him?" Madame Giry panicked. She didn't know how to respond to that, for she honestly didn't know. And either way, she doubted Meg would be happy with her answer. For, if she told her that she had married him of her own free will, then Meg would think her friend was truly lost to her forever, and feel as if she never knew Christine at all, for the Christine she knew would never do such a thing. But if she told her she was forced, then that would worry her for the obvious reasons, but it might make her feel a little better to know Christine didn't want him. Madame Giry shook her head.

"I wouldn't know Meg. I honestly don't know. When she looked at me, there was a pleading in her eyes, but I think it was more of a want of secrecy than the need for help. And Erik, Erik looked somewhat. . .different." That was an understatement. Never had he looked more. . .normal, despite his expression of panic that was obviously caused by his fear of being discovered.

Meg nodded slowly, not exactly pleased at her mother's reply. After they walked on in silence, the afternoon grew into evening, and Meg stopped them once more, right as they reached the Opera House. "What is it, Meg?" She tried not to sound irritable, but really she wanted nothing more than to go up to her room and collapse on top of her warm, familiar bunk. Meg blushed lightly, shuffling her feet as she looked up at the second floor, where a candle illuminated a room through a dusty window, obviously Raoul's room.

"Mother, I'm going to see Christine tomorrow. I need to hear it from herself. If she's happy, then fine. I'll leave her alone with her. . .husband. But, if she's miserable and that monster is forcing her there against her will, then I'm- .. .I'm going to get Raoul to come with us to save her." Meg looked down at her feet then, afraid Madame Giry was going to scold her, and her blonde curls fell over her forehead, blocking her face from view. Madame Giry sighed, knowing this would come. "We'll ask Monsieur le Vicomte, and if he wants- which he very well may not-, then we will go." That had pleased Meg, but it had worried Madame Giry. And now that she knew they would go, she feared Erik's reaction. He would either throw a rage at their intruding, and she wasn't sure Raoul going was the safest idea, but he obviously wanted to go, or he would accept them calmly and pleasantly, almost as if they were regular acquaintances that met for tea, and that would somehow be even more frightening.

As she lay on her shabby cot staring at the spider webs laced throughout the ancient ceilings, she prayed for the best. What exactly that was, she wasn't sure, but she only hoped that Erik and Christine could both turn out happy, or there was no way she would ever be happy herself. She no longer feared for Raoul's sake, for she had noticed that he seemed to have finally realized there was little hope Christine would ever be returning. Despite the obvious fact that he had been crying, she figured he would go on fine. Besides, she could tell her daughter was infatuated with the Vicomte, as much as she wasn't exactly approving of it, and hopefully she would be able to help Raoul get over Christine. If not, well, she was too exhausted to think of that, and she drifted off into unconsciousness.

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Yes I know, fairly boring. But hey, every story's got their own boring chapter every once in a while! Anyway, I'm suffering from a fairly bad case of writer's block, so please don't hate me if my next update doesn't come for a while! Please review, and remember, I NEED CONSTRUCTIVE CRITISM! This is my first story, and I need to know what's bad so I don't do it in the future.

By the way, please forgive any grammar errors!