Authors Note: 6 reviews for the last chapter (at time of writing)! You guys are brilliant! As promised, here is an extra chapter for today as my way of saying thank you. I'm glad we got over ten, I didn't really want to leave you hanging on Chapter 7 for too long. It struck me as being a bit short. Anyway, thank you to Busanda, TalithaJ, Soignante, Amita, Mildetryth and a special thank you to CarolROI for your continuing support. Enjoy! Nedjmet.

Disclaimer: The characters and plotline of the Phantom of the Opera on which this story is based are – to the best of my knowledge – the property of Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lloyd Webber. No infringement of copyright is intended nor is this story written for profit as I have the greatest respect for their work.

Chapter 8

She dropped her bag by the door, shut it and leaned back, exhausted.

She had known the day would be trying, but she had not been prepared for how thoroughly draining the whole experience was. She dreaded tomorrow; facing a class of people who thought she was a mute – a soprano mute at that. It would have made her laugh, or smile at least were it not for the fact that only the sickest mind could find her situation amusing.

At least this time, her fears had a face she could recognise. She'd done this before, she could do it again.

She just wished with every fibre of her being that she didn't have to.

Madame Giry had not said a word to her since their embrace. She didn't have to. They had shared their grief since her mother had died. She was the one who came closest to understanding. When she had lost her mother, Madame had lost the person she counted as a sister, the one who had comforted her when her husband had died. She knew that loss well, which is why she had been able to comfort both father and daughter. Now her father had gone home – she couldn't say or think of it in any other way without breaking down – Madame was her only source of comfort. There was nothing and no one else that did not torment her, either through intent or ignorance.

She opened her eyes and looked around.

The house really was perfect for her. It spoke of another life that was probably lost, save for what was within these four walls. As she wondered about that, she was able to concentrate on something else. It was not a comfort exactly, more of a distraction. But at least it was something.

She was snapped out of her reverie by a rather enthusiastic somebody knocking on her door.

It wasn't exactly a surprise to find Meg on the other side; she was the only other person who knew she lived here, after all. That, and her being sent over was predictable. Madame was not opposed to using her daughter to check up on Christine – a fact which did not escape either of the two girls, as well she knew. This act was not begrudged her though; Christine didn't mind being mothered every now and again, at least that's what she told them. In reality, she would probably let herself waste away without someone to care.

"Hey, hon. Still intact?" Christine gave a half smile and rolled her eyes.

"That good, huh? Well, move over, I have ice cream and cookies seeing as you still haven't managed to make your world-famous brownies." Christine smiled, let Meg in and gave her a one-armed hug as she passed.

Meg had been like the sister she'd never had for as long as she could remember, even with all the travelling their respective parents had done for work over the years. There was no one else who could read her mood as intuitively as Meg, and there was no one else she could count on as much for a chocolate fix when the need arose.

Christine followed Meg through to the kitchen where she dug out dishes and spoons. Meg started to take out the food and handed Christine a pad and pen as she did.

"So, spill. Give me one good reason why, after two weeks you still haven't made a batch of your famous brownies, even though you told us you were pretty much settled after three days."

I've been getting the feel of the place.

"And that takes two weeks? I told you: you should have let me give you the tour. I do have a two year advantage on you."

They shared a smile; then Meg's eyes turned serious. They didn't often do that, but the Girys had found themselves doing a lot of things they would otherwise only rarely do since Christine had been put into their care.

"What's the real reason?" Christine kept her eyes down as Meg read:

It's a gas oven.

Gas ovens sometimes had to be lit manually instead of electrically, and either way, you had to wait until the flames were burning properly before trying to use them.

Christine couldn't look at the flames. Most of the time, she couldn't even cope with candles without hyperventilating – not exactly a pleasant experience for someone with a severely damaged throat.

"It still bothers you, huh?"

She nodded.

"How bad was class, really?"

I guess it could have been worse. I was only humiliated for a few minutes. Not looking forward to tomorrow.

"Maman told me about the arrangement you made. Is the professor OK?"

I think the shock value got me a bit more sympathy and leeway from him. I think he'll be alright. I'm just worried he might talk too much about it.

"What's so bad about that? Christine, if people know, the chances are they won't bother you as much."

I don't need their pity, their attempts to understand. If they're going to torment me, then I'd rather they do it properly.

"Who says they won't just leave you alone?"

If any do, they'll be a minority. I'm a mute singer at a prestigious institution that's nearly impossible to get into. Do the math.

Meg handed Christine a bowl of warm cookies and ice cream, heavy on the ice cream – it was easier on her throat. The two made their way into the living room.

"Wow!" Meg looked around appreciatively. When Christine had had her attack, Meg had only seen the kitchen and her room. She hadn't been in any of the other rooms since helping her move in. The transformation was pretty incredible.

Other than being cleaned, there were no major changes, but pictures, ornaments, cushions and the like had been placed around the room lending it a homely feel that distinctly bespoke of Christine. It was so little, yet it did so much that Meg found herself staring for quite a while.

At least until the back of a rather cold spoon landed on her bare leg, which earned her friend a very indignant yelp. She moved to pounce on Christine, but saw the pad of paper raised in defence and read:

I thought it was my job to be the silent one

She looked at Christine's cheeky grin of amusement. And pounced anyway.

They fought as only sisters can for a few minutes until they ended on the floor where they stopped in an unspoken truce. Meg was giggling hysterically until she looked over at Christine. She was holding her sides and shaking. Meg crawled over to her and anxiously tilted her head up so she could see. She stared at her adoptive sister. Her shaking was from silent laughter!

Christine soon recovered enough to realise her mirth was unanswered and looked back at Meg in question.

"I thought something was wrong. It's just that I haven't seen you laugh in ages."

Christine looked at her for a minute, then reached for her pen and paper which had managed to end up underneath the couch.

I needed it.

"Well, I'm not going to argue with that one. Besides, it's nice to know that I have the power of laughter to play with."

Yeah, I think they used to have a term for people like you.

"What?" Meg rolled her eyes, knowing she was setting herself up for something.

Court Jesters

"WHAT! Well, my lady I shall endeavour to provide laughter, mirth, merriment and mayhem whenever thou dost desire, nay, hast need of it from hereon. Have I the approval of my lady?"

Whether you did or not, you'd bring mayhem anyway.

"Why you . . ." Meg pounced again, although Christine managed to wrestle herself away this time.

"That's my girl."

Much as I hate to burst your bubble. It wasn't just you.

"What wasn't just me?"

I got in. They're letting me stay. It finally sunk in.

"So you're gonna stay here, then?"

I couldn't stay anywhere else.

"I think if you asked for a transfer or something, then they'd find somewhere."

I wouldn't stay anywhere else.

"But Maman could-" Christine held up her hand, the only way she could interrupt Meg - short of smacking her on the head with her pad.

Mother asked me where I wanted to live. I told her somewhere where I could be alone, undisturbed. Somewhere solitary and private. She arranged for me to live here. She didn't even suggest anywhere else. Why?

"You're happy here?"

I couldn't be happier anywhere else. No offence.

She had enjoyed her time at the Girys. It was almost like having a family again, seeing as she did count them as such. But there was too much that she had to deal with to be around them permanently, and she cared too much about them for them to have to put up with all that on top of everything else.

Meg sighed in resignation.

"I think we need to talk."