A/N: Wow, I'm insanely busy. Just a heads up to you guys that I may not be able to continue this story in the near future because I'm struggling with a lot of school work right now. What you guys are seeing is a bunch of pre-written chapters, but when those run out, I'm not sure if I will have any creative juices or time left to write new ones. I won't abandon this story completely, but just a warning to you guys in case I stop updating for a short period of time!

Masked Man 2: I deal well with writing angst, I think. I definitely have an overload of that in my own life, what with all the crazy impending deadlines!

Guest: I'm sorry, but I stick to my schedule of one chapter whenever I post... besides if I post too many up, it just means that I'll have to go on a hiatus even earlier. ):

Savannah White: Erik has his eyes wide open, don't worry!

Aria: Ooh, good luck to you for school too!

WickedPhantomFan13: Gosh, there are too many Christine-haters here... I thought I portrayed her as a decent enough girl... she's just confused, the poor thing!

Nikki1991: Thank you! Ahh poor, poor Christine. I don't envy her position either.

AjaxVibe: Gosh, I'm sorry I don't have time to reply to all your reviews because I have way too much work, but thank you for your support! I'm glad you like the story so far. And yes I did make a mistake with the date, thank you for pointing that out. I'll have to change that sometime in the future when I'm less busy!

kitkat: Raoul won't be a definite villain, but he's no angel for sure!

Wild Concerto: No worries, no offence taken! I'm glad you're still supporting my story despite your disagreement with the way my plot is running. It's nice to have opposing opinions once in a while! To be honest, I've never really felt Christine's love for Raoul, not even in the musical. Maybe the musical's development of their love story was too short, (so I've tried to insert extra bits and pieces of their interactions in my story) but their confession on the rooftop came all too abruptly for me to believe that it was love, though I do love the song. No worries though, in my story, Christine does love Raoul, she's just confused at the moment, and while her "yes" may have been out of stress, ultimately, she does love him. And Raoul will not be a villain, he will just be... probably the guy that people wanna smack in the head? I don't know haha but it won't be a drastic 180 degree turn, because Raoul is too much of a good guy to suddenly go evil.

marial0789: Thank you (: Glad you enjoyed it!

Thank you to all my new favs/followers, I'm sorry I don't have time to list all of you out today! I really appreciate all your support.

Chapter 44: Much Ado About Nothing

Paris, 1897

Meg sat at the foot of Christine's bed, watching as the slim brunette buried herself deeper within her covers, clearly wanting to be alone. Meg clucked her tongue and attempted to wrench the covers off her. When Christine gave another sob, Meg sighed exasperatedly.

"Christine Daae! You will get up from this bed right now and tell me what is going on." She stood, walking to the head of the bed and standing imperiously with her arms akimbo. "I went to your dressing room, with all intentions of bringing you out for the rousing party to celebrate the success of Il Muto, and all I find is a sobbing girl. The whole opera house is filled with rumours and gossip now—of how Christine Daae cannot take success! The first time, she disappeared, and the second, she was reduced to a crying wreck. What is wrong with you? Should you not be happy?"

"It's all over, Meg, it's all over," Christine mumbled, her voice muffled by her covers.

"I cannot hear you from where you are buried beneath all the blankets, but I cannot help you if you continue to be like this, Christine." Meg snapped impatiently, tugging at the sheets again. "Please, just get up and talk to me!"

"It's over! I said it's over!" Christine screamed, sitting up suddenly and throwing the covers off her. Meg took a step back in shock, her brow creased in concern.

"Christine, oh Christine. What is wrong? What is going on?" She sat down on the bed, taking the shaking girl into her arms and patting her on the back. Christine dissolved into sobs again, clutching onto Meg.

"I made a mistake… I keep making mistakes… I don't even know how to go on from now, Meg… what do I do? He has left me—I am alone now…" Her words were interrupted by frequent bouts of hiccupping from crying, and sniffling. "Meg… I am so confused, I don't know who to trust, what to say… And I said it all wrong again, did it all wrong…"

"Start from the top, Christine. I cannot make sense of what you are saying." Meg patted her back soothingly, and Christine took a few deep breaths, calming her shaking body.

"My teacher… he is the, well, the Opera Ghost," Christine whispered, looking at Meg with watery eyes.

At Meg's befuddled expression, Christine explained, "I should have suspected something along those lines. The mysterious teacher who could somehow have lessons with you in the dead of night in this very opera house? Talented, gifted, and yet never seen, with no seemingly possible identity? There could only have been one reason. And yet, I ignored my suspicion."

Meg nodded thoughtfully, and Christine looked at her strangely. "You are not going to… to ask me how it is possible for me to have a ghost as my teacher? You are not going to exclaim that it is merely impossible? Why, Meg, you have always been a fond supporter of the idea of an Opera Ghost."

"I have met the Opera Ghost before—I know that he is but a man."

"W-what? How?" Christine stared at her with wide eyes. "How did you find out, Meg?"

Meg was silent for a few moments. "I will tell you that someday, Christine. For now, please tell me what happened." After all, I cannot reveal that Maman knows the Opera Ghost.

"Oh Meg," Christine whispered, "Buquet was killed last night."

Meg frowned. "What of that matter? The gendarmes visited, and found nothing to imply that Buquet had been murdered. They deduced that he had died from the fall from such a great height. He had bruises and broken bones to prove that."

"But what if… what if… I mean, Meg, the Opera Ghost was present mere moments before Buquet was killed." Christine mumbled softly, looking at her hands, unable to meet Meg's face. "Meg, the two incidents could be correlated."

Meg looked at her incredulously. "You cannot mean to say that you believe that your teacher killed Buquet? What, he suddenly decided that he wanted to do away with the man's life, and halfway through the debut, he made the grand decision of ruining the performance by murdering Buquet?"

"I… I do not know what to believe, Meg!" Christine cried, clutching Meg's hands tightly. "Meg, he has been nothing but good to me, and yet, how much do I know of him? Why else would Buquet have died? There was to be nobody else up in the flies! And Raoul, Raoul suspects him; I could not convince him otherwise."

"If Buquet died, it would only have been because he deserved it, the stinking drunk brute that he was," Meg said acidly and grimly. "I was not sorry to see him go. I do not believe that the Opera Ghost killed him."

"Why? Why do you not believe that? Tell me, Meg, for I am quite out of my mind right now!" Tears began to well up in Christine's eyes again. "I do not know who to believe—no, I cannot even believe myself now."

"Once… on my way back from practice, I was cornered by Buquet. Simply put, the Opera Ghost saved me." Meg said calmly. "Had he not been there at that very moment… I shudder to think of the consequences. And because of that, Christine, I do not believe that he would kill in cold blood."

"Perhaps he killed Buquet to get revenge?"

Meg laughed. "Christine, he would hardly do that for me—I am but a ballet rat beneath his notice. Why would the fearsome Opera Ghost stain his hands with blood just for that one incident? No, I believe that there is more to this matter than what it seems."

"It may be as you say, Meg…"

"Well," Meg shrugged, "that is all cleared up, then. You can continue lessons now that I have reassured your nerves, can you not?"

Christine looked down guiltily, twisting her fingers. Meg looked at her, alarmed.

"What is it, Christine? Is there more to this story?"

Christine bit her lip and told Meg about Raoul, about his accusations, the rooftop, and the proposal, and about how, by accepting the proposal, she had indirectly agreed with Raoul's theories of her teacher being a murderer. She winced as Meg let out a loud shriek directly into her ear.

"Christine! You… How… What…" Meg gaped at her, speechless for once. "Christine, what have you done?"

"I was confused, Meg, so confused." Christine burst into sobs again. "I did not know what to do, and I did not know what to believe… And when Raoul continued to condemn him, and asked me to leave the place, I was so frightened for my teacher, and frightened for myself. What would I do out of this opera house? Where would I go? What would happen to him? When Raoul proposed… I just… I unthinkingly said yes. You know I do care for him, don't you? He has always been my pillar of support… but oh… It's all over, is it not? I have ruined it all. What… what do I do now?"

Meg's voice was grim and serious. "Beg for his forgiveness."

XXXXX

Amélie tiptoed through the final tunnel leading toward Erik's house as quietly as she could, a large paper bag clutched in her hands. Just before she twisted the door knob that would bring her into his house, she paused, leaning her head against the door.

The rooftop. The kiss.

Erik had not mentioned either of those after they had left the rooftop that night, upon seeing the vicomte make his way back down for the performance. Amélie had watched as Erik had silently waited behind the large mirror in Christine's dressing room, delivering his last message to her, then followed him back to his house. Thereupon which, he had insisted that he was perfectly fine, and that she should go back to her room to rest. He had not said anything about kissing her on the rooftop.

What does that mean, even? That it was a mistake? That he did not want to, but was caught up in the spur of the moment?

Amélie sighed. If Erik did not wish to talk about something, it would be near impossible to glean anything from him. She opened the door and walked in quietly. She heard strains of music echoing from the music room, and smiled. Erik was probably hard at work. She placed the paper bag onto the coffee table and picked out a book from his extensive library, before settling herself comfortably onto the divan.

It was not long before the music died down, and Amélie heard the creaking sounds of drawers being closed and papers being shuffled.

"When did you get here?" His voice registered only surprise as he left the room and spotted her. She turned and smiled.

"Not too long ago. What have you been doing?"

"What else could I have been doing?" He smiled wryly. "I was working on my—what's that?"

Amélie followed his distracted gaze to the table, and laughed when she realized that he was eyeing the paper bag with interest. She reached over for it and handed it to him.

"It's chocolate croissants."

His face lit up like a child's, and she laughed. "Do you like them that much?"

"You brought them for me the first time you came to visit," he reminded her, plucking a croissant out of the bag and biting into it. He seemed to be eating more recently, she noticed. When she had first met him as the fearsome Opera Ghost, he had looked like not much more than skin and bones and wiry muscles but now he looked healthier, and less like a skeleton.

"You remembered?" She took one for herself, biting into the flaky pastry and savouring the sweetness of the chocolate.

He shrugged. "Why would I not?"

"Erik… last night… on the rooftop…" She spoke hesitantly, and he lifted his head to look at her. His sharp green gaze made her gulp nervously, and she shook her head. "Ah, never mind."

She coughed awkwardly and stared at the book on her lap, unsure of how to proceed.

"It meant a lot to me, Amélie." He said quietly. When she looked at him, he clarified, "last night on the rooftop."

"My trust? Me believing in you? Ah, but what you did afterward was a mistake, wasn't it? You were too caught up in your gratitude, and so you… ah, Erik, let us just pretend it never happened and—"

"It meant a lot to me, Amélie," he repeated again. "But I was not talking about your trust, though that in itself is something that means a lot to me as well."

"You… you weren't?" Amélie's shoulders slumped in embarrassment after her bout of incoherent babbling. "Erik, I…"

"No, listen to me. Amélie... I… this is difficult for me to say, but I think I have to. I want you to know that last night was not a mistake. I do not regret it—I will never regret it."

He had now moved to sit beside her on the divan, and she gulped.

"Amélie… you… you mean more to me than you think. I care for you a lot, and… well…" He broke off uncertainly. "Well. That is what I wanted to say."

Amélie blinked at him, and then a small giggle escaped her throat. Erik looked taken aback, and he stood quickly, his face red.

"No, Erik, wait." Amélie tugged on his sleeve. "I was not laughing at you. The situation just seemed strange—I've never really seen you at a loss for words before. Did you mean what you said?"

He sat again. "I never lie to you."

She looked at him for a long moment, and lifted a hand up to his face, placing it over his cheek. He closed his eyes, reveling in the moment.

"Erik," Amélie began softly, not removing her hand. "Erik. I have cared for you for so long already. How could you not have known?"

His eyes opened, and his gaze caught hers, holding hers steadily. He reached up and took the hand that was placed on his cheek, and brought it to his lips, placing a tender kiss on the back of her hand.

She looked at their joined hands, and she smiled at him.

He smiled back.

It was as though there was now some sort of unspoken promise between the two of them that had only just begun.

XXXXX

Erik had only just returned to his underground home after seeing Amélie to the surface, and had entered his house to see Nadir seated on the divan quite comfortably, apparently waiting for his return.

Erik dusted off his cloak and hung it on to the coat rack. He went into the kitchen and set the water to boil, brewing a pot of Russian tea. When the kettle whistled, he poured the boiling water over the tea leaves in the teapot, letting the dark green tendrils swirl around in their watery depths. Then he placed the teapot alongside two teacups onto a tray, and brought it out. He poured out the tea for the two of them silently.

"You are not going to accuse me of murder, then, daroga? Are we two to sit here silently, drinking tea as though this were a courtesy visit?"

"Should I have reason to accuse you of anything, Erik?" The daroga looked at him squarely in the eye. "I fear if I attempt to malign you again, a certain ballerina might burst in to give me a scolding."

His joke brought a tiny smile to Erik's tense face. "She is not here right now. But you have reason enough to accuse me; you were in the audience, you saw the dead body, and you heard the laughter."

"The Erik I know does not like to display his kills; no, indeed, the gruesome sights hung outside the glorious palace of Persia as a deterrent to those who dared cross the royal family were the doings of the Sultana." The daroga said conversationally, sipping his tea. "And then again, the Erik I know made not just one, but two promises, to myself and that person he keeps so secretly within his heart, to never kill again in cold blood."

"Is that so? It does not guarantee anything, though," said Erik amusedly.

The daroga finished his tea and stood. He walked over to Erik and patted him on the shoulder affectionately. "Most importantly, the Erik I know keeps his promises. And that is my guarantee. I'll see myself out."

Erik stared at the daroga as the older man made his way slowly to one of the entrances to his house, letting himself out as though he owned the place. He burst into a short spate of laughter. The man was annoying and nosey, but Erik felt a strange sense of peace after his short visit, as though the daroga's trust in him had helped resolve some of his own guilt.

Buquet's death was simply another nightmare to add to his vast collection of monsters. In the past, he had been so wrecked with nightmares that he forced himself to stay awake just so the gruesome black shadows would not pull at him with their long, slimy fingers, desperate to drag him down into the depths of hell with them. Nadir's visits, and seeing Reza, had helped with chasing away some of the monsters, but not all.

Erik rested his head against the chair wearily.

And yet, I am thought of as a monster. I, who never chose to be plagued by other monsters, am to be deemed as one. Christine… We had a straight route to success ahead of us, but you chose to deny yourself that path, and by doing so, you closed the easy road for both of us.

But this is not the end, merely the start of another treacherous road.

A/N: Well, I'll see you guys next week, if I manage to have enough time to upload a new chapter! As usual, please read/review/fav/follow/let me know what you think! xx hazel