A/N: It's official. I am the WORST at updating my fics. I'm sorry. Any annoyances at my lateness should be sent directly to my teachers, who have been giving ungodly amounts of homework. Bleh.

But seriously, you guys. Your reviews for the last chapter made me SO happy. And to those of you who caught the Sherlock reference, major kudos. :) Now if only there were an air date for S3 in sight...

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera or anything else you may recognize.

By the time the small party arrived back to the Leroux home, Juliet was in a state of numb disbelief. She had long since given up on screaming; now the tears coursed silently down her face in a heavy deluge, stinging her cheeks when they cooled in the brisk air. Tristan's arms held her steady for none of them, herself included, trusted the stability of her legs.

In the house, Nadir carried Meg up to Juliet's bedroom and laid her on the bed, tucking the coverlet over her body in some semblance of warmth. Juliet followed close behind. "I've got to run for the doctor, Juliet," he told her. "Could you sit with her please?" He turned to leave and at the last moment before he exited the room, he turned back, crossed the room again, and took both of her clammy hands in his. "This is not over. We'll get him back, I promise you." Kissing her cheek he left again, the sound of his hurried footsteps pattering down the steps.

"... Juliet?" a small voice croaked, broken and frail.

Juliet's head snapped around to see Meg stirring feebly. Gently, yet firmly, she pressed her shoulders back down to the bed. "The doctor will be here soon, Meg, don't worry. Oh, thank God you're all right," she whispered, clasping her friend's thin hand in hers. "I was so frightened for you."

Meg's eyes welled with sudden tears. "I'm sorry I told him where you were," she murmured, shutting her eyes tightly.

Juliet's heart twisted at the sight of her looking so weak and pale. "It wasn't your fault," she said fiercely. "It wasn't. Gaston is determined, he would've gotten to us one way or another. Please don't blame yourself."

The fight drained out of Meg as her eyelids began to flutter shut. But she wasn't done speaking yet. "I know what you're thinking," she said, one eye opening slightly to give her a small look, "and I hope you know just how foolish it would be to go back to that camp tonight, or at all. It's not just the gypsies. Gaston is bound to be on high alert."

She wondered how on Earth the fragile girl next to her had managed to guess exactly the plan formulating in her mind. "Don't worry," she lied. I'm not that foolish. I won't do anything rash." At least, not with your knowledge, she thought. "Now, Nadir asked me to unwrap the bandage from your arm before the doctor got here because whatever wound is under there should have a chance to air out a bit.

Meg's eyes flew wide open. "Oh no," she stammered, clutching her arm to her chest. "I don't think—"

Before she could finish, Nadir reappeared and with him as a tall, middle-aged man with twinkling brown eyes and a kindly smile. He carried a bag with him and Juliet guessed this was the doctor. "Good afternoon, Mademoiselle Giry," he said, setting his bag at the foot of the bed. "Monsieur Khan was just informing me of what's happened to you. He hasn't gotten too specific, but I think you're going to be just fine."

"I'm glad to hear it." She smiled weakly.

The doctor sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled his bag closer to his side, opening it. "Let's start with your arm, shall we? I see you've got a makeshift bandage on it."

Juliet watched Meg worry her bottom lip with her teeth. She could refuse her friend access to her injury, but it looked as though she knew the same would not be applicable with a man of medicine. Slowly, she began to unwind the fabric from her arm, shutting her eyes tightly, but not enough so to prevent the escape of a lone tear which slid down the length of her face. When the last of the bandage was removed, Juliet felt her jaw drop.

Engraved into the porcelain skin of her friend's arm, swollen with the beginnings of an infection, was one word, one terrible, shame-causing word. Traître. Meg's chin tucked in against her chest, refusing to look at the other occupants of the room. A hot surge of anger pooled in the pit of Juliet's stomach. That sadistic, murderous... No, wait, she thought. Gaston is evil, but he refuses to dirty his hands. Was this what Brishan was trying to warn me of? He seemed turly remorseful, what caused him to do it in the first place?

She looked over to Nadir and the doctor to see both of them give the wound a strange glance. The doctor appeared horrified and at a loss as to why a young woman would have been subjected to such horrors. Nadir's face was flat with a deep, suppressed anger. Through talking to Erik and getting to know Nadir, she had discovered he was fiercely protective of the people in his life. And as he had been forced by circumstances pertaining to the threat of Gaston's actions to get to know Mme. Giry and Meg, she thought he probably felt responsible for the pair of them to a certain degree.

With a slight nod of his head in the direction of the door, Nadir indicated they should give Meg the privacy of being along with the doctor. She nodded, rising from her seat and joining him at the door. "Nadir," she said, heading off the conversation he had intended to start, "I've just been through a trying period of time which has all come to a climax in the last few hours. If you don't mind, the last thing I want is company at the moment. Excuse me."

A protesting expression crossed Nadir's face, but he inclined his head in understanding and stepped aside politely. I think Erik underestimates the quality of the friend he has in him, she thought, freezing up at the thought of Erik's name. She was going to get him back if it was the last thing she did.

But first and foremost, Juliet needed to clear her mind. With feet silent as whispers of wind, she made her way down the hall to the left of her bedroom and slipped inside the room at the end, locking the door behind her. A hardly-touched room of papers, books, empty ink bottles, and little notes lay cluttered on the desk, spilling over onto a nearby bookshelf. It held a musty smell only places filled with aging parchment could acquire and looked to have been untouched for quite a long time. Before her death, this had been her mother's study, the place where she went when she needed to empty her thoughts from time to time. Even though she never had anything published, as it was a difficult task for a woman to achieve such honors, Juliet was told by her father that her mother was a writer and often spent hours in the study she had made her own. She had sat at the desk and created new worlds to explore in her thoughts or written about what was happening in her life at the time she chose to sit down.

Draped over the back of the chair was a quilt, careworn and threadbare after years of use. It had been her mother's first sewing project as a child and Juliet wrapped herself up in it before sinking into the chair, gazing around at the yellowed manuscripts she knew almost by heart. Her favorite one was a short story about a stowaway on a pirate ship. Something must have interrupted her mother before she had a chance to finish it though, because it ended mid-sentence. Many times, Juliet had contemplated finishing it but she had never been able to bring herself to do it. The room was completely untouched aside from her going in to read the stories or wrap up in the quilt. That was how her father wanted it and she respected his wishes.

Today, Juliet didn't want to pore through the last bits of the mother she never got a chance to know. All she wanted to do was be in that room. It produced a sense of peace for her and that was exactly what she needed. Time melded into a blur that seemed to pass without her knowledge, the sun on its faithful tack across the sky and the changing shadows on the walls the only indicators that time hadn't come to a standstill.

At some point she must have fallen asleep, because a gentle knock at the door made her jump up fro the chair. The warm quilt fell from her shoulders and crumpled on the ground as she crossed the tiny room, missing the warmth already. Dusk had turned the room a purple-red color and the sun was just visible over the horizon it would shorty sink behind. "Yes?" she answered the door, hoping her hair wasn't too much of a rat's nest.

Tristan stood hesitantly in the frame. "Your father said I might find you here," he said. "He's told me to tell you dinner is prepared if you'd like some." seeing her questioning glance, he hastened to add, "in light of recent events, your father thought it might be best if Monsieur Khan and I stayed the night."

Juliet swallowed the sour taste in her mouth and managed a single nod of understanding in his direction, brushing past him without speaking and descending the stairs. Had it been Nadir and only him, she would have agreed. Tristan was a person she could tolerate only when she was fully rested and not stressed. As she was neither of the two, the thought of him in the same house was not the most pleasing one.

At the bottom of the stairs, her father was waiting for her. "Oh, Juliet," he said, embracing her. "I was starting to worry about you. How are you feeling?" His voice was down in the hush generally assumed at the bedside of a sick relative. She allowed herself to be hugged. How could he have just stood by and allowed Erik to remain behind in a prison likened to a living hell? How could any of them? A hot flash of anger kindled within her, the first real feeling aside from numbing grief she'd felt all day.

She composed her face and said in a voice devoid of emotion, "I'm fine, thank you."

Dinner was a silent affair. Only the sound of silverware clinking against the dishes broke through the otherwise quiet, terse atmosphere. Madame Giry, who was also present as the doctor had deemed it unwise to move Meg for the time being, had excused herself early to bring a tray of food to her daughter. All eyes were trained downward at the plates, avoiding eye contact whenever possible. When it appeared everyone was done eating at the earliest time without seeming rude, Juliet cleared the plates away.

"Ordinarily with guests, I would suggest we all sit down for a chat in the parlor," her father said, "but tonight I believe it would be sufficient to show you to your sleeping quarters for the night."

"Yes, I think that would be best," Nadir agreed, a high level of worry still permeating his eyes.

"Right then, Monsieur Khan, your room is up the stairs and the third door to your left." Her father directed him in the correct direction and turned back to Tristan and Juliet. "Madame Giry and her daughter are sharing Juliet's bedroom, so Juliet, you may have the guest bedroom on the first floor past the sitting room. And Tristan... I'm afraid I haven't got any more real bedrooms for you..."

Tristan interrupted. "If you've got a pillow and a quilt to spare, I would be perfectly content on the sofa in the sitting room." When her father made an attempt to protest, he waved him down saying, "no, no, really. I don't mind at all."

"I'll get you a quilt, then," Juliet said, glad for an excuse to leave the room. She was thankful her father had put her on the ground floor, it would simplify her plan that was formulating in her mind by a long way.

When Tristan was settled in and her father had retired to his room for the night, Juliet also went to the guest room she had been assigned and sat cross-legged on the bed. If her idea didn't work, she had no other way of getting Erik back. This was her final chance and she intended to succeed this time. She had to. If she didn't... She didn't like to think about what would happen to Erik.

She waited an hour to make sure everyone was asleep before tiptoeing out of her room, making as little noise as possible. Thankfully, her boots were made of a flexible leather and didn't creak as she crossed the floor. The knife still rested on her belt, hidden by the cloak she pulled over her shoulders and her head so it covered her face. Everything was going exactly to plan until she began to pass the makeshift bed where Tristan slept.

"Where are you going?"

She stood stock-still, her heart skipping several beats as her head swiveled to the left. Tristan was sitting up on the sofa. He peered up at her in the dark with a confused countenance. "I'm just going... nowhere, I'm going nowhere," she stammered. "Go back to sleep."

"After an answer like that? No way," he whispered, getting up to face her. "What are you doing?" He took her upper arms in his hands, holding her in a firm grip.

"It's none of your business, Tristan," she hissed, struggling to keep her voice down. His hold was too strong; she couldn't wiggle free. "Let me go."

"Please tell me you're not going to do something stupid like going back to that gypsy camp."

"Of course not!" She avoided his gaze.

"Look me in the eye and repeat it, so I know you mean it." He looked into her eyes deeply, his expression wild. "Do it!"

"... I can't," she admitted, "but it's not your place to tell me where I can and cannot go. Get off me Tristan."

"But it's dangerous! You might be hurt!"

"It's a chance I'm willing take."

"Well, I'm not!" His cheeks flamed a sudden deep shade of red.

"I think that response merits an explanation," she said, brows drawn together in confusion.

"It's just—I just—" He struggled to form an actual, coherent thought. "Oh damn it all, Juliet! I've loved you since we were thirteen years old and I can't stand to see you hurt or killed."

Juliet was struck dumb. Certainly she had expected he fancied her a little, but not to the extent of the confession that had just come tumbling out of his mouth. "Tristan, I..."

"Please, don't do it. Please." He held her far too close for comfort.

"Tristan, you've got three options," said Juliet, thinking fast. "One, if you keep holding me like this I'll scream and wake this whole house. I'm thinking this won't look very good for you if I do that. Two, you can let me go and stay here. I will be back, I promise. Or three, you can come along as long as you don't hinder me in any way." She paused, taking in his still-lovesick expression. "You're a wonderful friend, but I'm afraid I just can't see you as more than that."

"But—" He looked like his thoughts were tearing him in two.

"Please, Tristan," she begged, desperation seeping into her tone. "If you value our friendship you'll let me do this. And if you think you can help me, I really could use another person."

Tears beaded in his eyes and he forced out a long breath to keep them at bay. "... All right. I'm coming with you." She knew she was breaking his heart, but also that it was something he needed to hear. They couldn't go on in the confusion that had reigned over their relationship ever since Juliet came back to Normandy.

"Caesar, Erik's horse, is still tied up in the backyard," she whispered, pointing him toward the back. "I think he'll carry both of us."

Out behind the house, Caesar stamped his feet against the cold, his breath misting in the still night air. She approached him with caution, murmuring reassuring words to him as she got closer. "Are you sure he'll let me near him?" Tristan asked, edging forward and warily eyeing the midnight-hued horse.

"As long as you don't make any sudden moves, you'll be fine," she replied. "All right, Caesar. Easy now, you know me. Tristan's a friend. It didn't work the first time we tried to get Erik back, so we're going to try again. He's going to help." They managed to get up and into the saddle with Juliet holding the reins and getting no bigger of a reaction than the tossing of the horse's mane.

The lighting was little more than dots of sputtering orange light lining the streets intermittently. Thoughts blurred into one long line of disarray in Juliet's mind as Caesar's hooves clopped against the street. Neither of them talked; they were too frightened to think of what might happen if they were discovered.

About three hundred feet from the edge of camp, Juliet slid off the horse, holding the reins as Tristan did the same. Whispering soothing words to the horse to wait, stroking his mane like she'd often seen Erik do, she motioned Tristan to follow her. He grabbed her shoulder, a question brewing on his lips.

"You're just going to leave him here? What if he runs off? And why did we stop so far away from the camp?" The questions rolled out of his mouth at great speed, tripping over each other in their haste to be audible.

"Caesar's a different horse," she whispered back. "He listens and is surprisingly intelligent. As far as leaving him so far back goes, it's a disadvantage to be sure but horses can be loud even when they don't mean to be." he nodded, pressing close to her. Any other day, she would've shoved him off. But they needed to stay together to make sure their plan would go off without a hitch.

On the edge of the camp, Juliet bit down on her lip until it bled to stop herself from crying out in anger. They'd just left Erik tied to the whipping post, his head hanging limply between his shoulders and his knees buckled against the side of the post. "Mon dieu," she breathed, stomach churning in sickening waves. Next to her she heard Tristan inhale sharply. They'd just left him there like an object. There would be hell to pay from Gaston's end if she ever saw him close up again.

Moving on light feet, she crept up to the whipping post and got as close to Erik as she could without pressing on the slowly coagulating wounds on his torso. The rope around his wrists was tied in expert knots and she resorted to cutting it off as close to his wrist as was sensible, to be taken off later in a more safe location. He slumped down when he was free—still unconscious—and she threw his arm around her shoulders, the memory of walking him to his bedroom at the height of his withdrawal from the morphine springing to mind for a moment. Because he was unresponsive and unable to move himself at all, he was much heavier and Tristan took his other side. Together, they hobbled to the edge of the camp as fast as their legs could carry them. Juliet was in the process of breathing a sigh of relief when a rough voice called out from the front of one of the tents.

"Hey! Gaston, you've got an escapee and accomplices on your hands!"

"Damn it," she cursed, heartbeat tripling in speed. "Run, Tristan!" Keeping a tight grip on Erik, they bean to run, feet pounding across the ground. Clattering hooves sounded in front of them. Caesar was coming to them. I probably owe him about one hundred sugar cubes for this, she thought, letting Tristan swing up first, hoisting Erik up behind him and Juliet last, bracing herself against his limp form. The horse began to gallop, but not before a strong pair of arms locked around Juliet's waist and pulled roughly.

A scream tore form her lips as she felt herself fly off Caesar's back, the arms crushing her. She heard Tristan urge the horse to a stop, leaping down with a shout. Something cold and heavy was held to the side of her head, resting against her temple. A gun. Her breath came in shallow pants.

"Come one step closer, Monsieur, and I don't think you'll like the result overly much," Gaston crooned from behind her. "I wouldn't like to put a bullet between her pretty little ears, but tempt me and I may be able to move past my initial hesitancy." His voice invaded her ears like an unwelcome pest that scurries into a house midwinter.

Electing to remain silent, Tristan held his trembling hands in the air in a gesture of surrender. Juliet decided, as long as she was careful with her word choices, she could try and wiggle a little information about his plans out of him. "Why is it at my head you're pointing the gun?" she asked. "I thought your objective, excluding revenge of course, was to win my love. This appears to be somewhat wide of your original plan." The reason she kept her stream of talking constant was that out of the corner of her eye she could see someone moving in the shadows. He was out of Gaston's line of sight and motioned with a finger to his lips. It was Brishan, the gypsy man who had tried to warn her about the goings-on in the middle of the camp.

"That idea was abandoned long ago, mademoiselle," he said, his voice a low, poisonous murmur.

"Well, what are you going to do with me, then?" she asked. "Because my friend here could get right back on his horse and ride away with Erik to safety and all you'll have to show for your efforts is me."

"If he moves an inch from where he stands right now," Gaston hissed, pressing the gun with greater force into her temple, "all I'll have to show for 'my efforts' will be a tragically pretty corpse with a hole in her head." Juliet felt a bolt of adrenaline shoot through her veins. She didn't doubt he was dead serious.

The standoff continued for several more minutes none of them moving, hardly daring even to blink. On Caesar's back, Erik began to stir weakly, moaning in a pained way that made her heart shatter. There was no way she could slip out of his grasp without dying instantly. If Brishan is planning something, he'd better—

"Get down!" a voice roared out of the shadows. She recognized it at once as the gypsy man's voice and dropped to the ground, rolling forward and out of the way as a shadowy figure crashed into Gaston with the speed and strength of a runaway train. In the confusion, the gun went off aimed at the sky harmlessly. They scuffled for a short period of time, Brishan soon had a tight hold on the mad singer, the bright knife Juliet hated so much held across his throat, right above a crucial vein.

"Who the hell—" Tristan's voice resonated with a sense of having no idea what on Earth had just transpired so quickly.

"An interested party," Brishan responded, grunting as he struggled to keep Gaston still. "Monsieur, if you would please run for the police and the doctor, that would be much appreciated." Tristan took off running without a second glance back, sprinting faster than he ever had in his life. "And as for you," he snarled in Gaston's ear. "How does it feel when someone else holds the balance of your life in their hands? Does it frighten you? If not, you're far more unintelligent than I first thought."

Juliet ran to Erik's side, grasping his hand in hers to tie him to reality in some way, no matter how small. And so the waiting game began again.

A/N: I promise it won't be so long next time, my dear readers. Cross my heart. :)

Reviews are, as always, very welcome!