Author's Note: OK, I know I owe you all a double update, but I thought you'd rather have one chapter today than none. I will do the double tomorrow. I tried, but I just couldn't manage it for today. Many, many apologies.

Thanks again to Soignante, CarolROI, osdnfnsdaf (double thanks), WindPhoenix (double thanks), mildetryth, TalithaJ, Mystery Guest, Lady Winifred, Spectralprincess and Passed Over for their latest reviews. This chapter is dedicated to montaquecat for a whopping 14 reviews! Thank you soomuch, that was amazing! Thanks again everyone, and 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. Nor do I own any of the songs or music used or referred to within this story. No infringement of copyright is intended nor is this story written for profit as I have the greatest respect for their work.

Chapter 44

Christine was bowled over – almost literally – by Meg when Gustave brought her back. When she actually let her sister breathe, she stepped aside to let her mother offer greetings as well. Antoinette embraced her second daughter before offering the same to Gustave. He only hugged family, so family tended to make the most of it.

Once she had been settled in and had her talks with Uncle Gustave and Mother Giry, there had been very little time to see anyone. The doctor had come in to go through the final explanations and then prepare her for the operation. Once she had come out of it and woken up fully from the anaesthetic, there had only been time for a brief chat and goodbye before the Girys had had to leave. Meg had protested, but Antoinette had work and meetings – and Christine's errand to run – and Gustave was still there. He had been the only one to see the results of the operation once the bandages had come off. But they had spent as much time as was allowed on the phone each day. Christmas had effectively been one long conference call – including, of course, the traditional viewing of The Nutcracker for which a few of the staff found excuses to check on her for. They didn't often get patients who could discuss and critique ballet as effectively and amusing as Miss Daae and the Girys had managed.

The following day, Christine had received the belated Christmas present they had all been hoping for. The bandages had come off. There was still a little redness where the skin was still tender from the operation, but there wasn't a scar in sight. For the first time in a very, very long time, Christine had cried – but these had been tears of joy. They had inevitably turned sorrowful as thoughts of her father had come back, but she had not been alone. That was what she had dreaded the most about Christmas: spending her first without her father alone. Uncle Gus-Gus was a pretty good stand-in. Whilst she missed her father, there was another who she had wanted to comfort her that day.

Which is why she had spent just about every day asking when she could be released. The holidays were still only in the second week by the time the car had pulled up outside the Giry residence, bringing Christine back to where she wanted to be.

The pair were ushered in with the few pieces of luggage they had brought back with them. Meg helped settle Christine in upstairs and the two girls soon came back down. Christine had changed. Gone were the dark baggy clothes, glasses and severe hairstyle. Her hair was loose around her face. She wore a light pink turtleneck with jeans, both figure-hugging, and there wasn't a scrap of make-up on her. All eyes were on her as she moved the hair that had fallen over half of her face.

She brushed it out of the way. You could have heard a pin drop.

Antoinette rose from her chair with all the grace a ballet career can teach and moved to stand in front of Christine. She deliberately looked her daughter over, head to toe and with tears shining in her eyes, simply said:

"Welcome back, Christine."

Christine promptly broke out into the biggest grin she had worn for months and began dancing around the room with Meg who had recovered from the initial shock and promptly begun twirling her sister giddily. Gustave simply moved to Antoinette's side and, watching the two girls whispered,

"We need to talk."

The girls had been settled in their rooms – well, they'd been sent up to sleep, but they probably wouldn't settle for a few hours yet. Their giggles could still be heard every now and again through the ceiling. Gustave and Antoinette had retreated to the back room; Antoinette had a pretty good idea what he wanted to talk about, and she didn't want to risk either of the girls overhearing any of the conversation. In the back room, they could hear most of the movement upstairs, and they'd know if someone was coming down in time to stop talking – or at least change the subject. They had not had chance to talk much at the hospital – without Christine, Meg had not been easily distracted – and Gustave had not wanted to have this conversation with her present. Saying anything against her 'angel' would have hurt her, and she had gone through too much of that as it was; that, and worrying her needlessly before the operation would have been a really bad idea. Nevertheless, he still had concerns that could not go unaddressed any longer.

"Who is this Ghost you arranged for her to live with?" Gustave began urgently. They'd known each other too long and cared about Christine too much to skirt the issue any.

"She doesn't live with him. He has not lived in the house since she moved in. He is an old . . . friend of mine."

"A friend?"

"An old acquaintance. He keeps himself too distant for me to call him a friend, but otherwise I would."

"From what Christine told me, I don't think he's been keeping his distance from her." He scoffed.

"He has been teaching her."

"So this 'Ghost' is the one who's been calling himself the Angel of Music?"

"Yes. I was not aware of it at first, but I have been keeping an eye on both of them since I found out."

"And what exactly is going on?"

"He approached her as the Angel of Music because he wished to teach her. The more time he spends with her though, the more attached, devoted he becomes to her. He says he will not do anything to harm her and I believe him."

"But?"

"It is hard to explain. She is the first person he has reached out to or allowed to become close to him for a very long time. There are few who have ever earned anything of his trust. He lives for music, and I suppose it was only natural that he become attached to her."

"Why these lies though? What sort of man is it who can only approach a young girl through a deceit of this sort? How do you know he hasn't been watching her?"

"He has."

"What!" Gustave jumped up from his seat in outrage. He paced the room a few times to vent a little, knowing that he had to hear the rest. Antoinette waited patiently for him. He was a reasonable man, and she knew her reaction would be in a similar vein had she been hearing this for the first time. Eventually, he resumed his seat, although his face was considerably redder than before.

"He watches over her. He promised to protect her. No matter what you are thinking, he is a gentleman. I know he has not invaded her privacy, and even though he has seen her cry, I don't believe he saw her face."

"No. She said he hadn't."

"As for the charade – hear me out with this – he believed it was the only way to teach her without frightening her. The reputation of the Opera Ghost is well-earned. Aside from his role as the Ghost, he is a recluse. He lives hidden from the world and goes to great lengths to stay that way."

"And you won't tell me why." She shook her head. "But he keeps himself hidden from the world and approached her the way he did because of it." She nodded.

"Something still bothers you." She stated at length, having considered him.

"He loves her, and I think she may return it somewhat."

"What?" Madame Giry was not one easily shocked, but that did it.

"Based on what she said, it is the only conclusion I could reach without being thoroughly disturbed by the whole thing."

"I would not be surprised by that, but what makes you think she feels the same way?"

"I don't know that she loves him, but I'd certainly expect to see signs of it in future. Everything she said about him she said with a devotion I have never known her to show outside of family. She lives for music, and you say he does as well."

"I see." A thought struck her. "He gave her music again. That would have made her as devoted to him as she was to Charles."

"But he is not her father. I know you are keeping secrets for him – I know you Antoinette, I can see it in your eyes – and I know better than to ask you to break them, but tell me what you can. Do you trust him?"

"Yes." Gustave let out a small sigh of relief. "That's the problem." He stiffened again. "He does not do things by halves and he is very possessive. He will not deliberately do anything to hurt Christine, but he could easily do so without realising the damage he's causing. I have been watching him closely, and I will not let him harm her."

"Very well." He breathed, accepting that there was obviously little he could do besides worry, hope and pray. "Between us, she will probably keep us informed of everything."

"And if she doesn't, I will know who to ask." She said with meaning.

They raised their eyes to the ceiling as a burst of giggles filtered down again and exchanged a paternal smile of their own. It was good to hear them laughing together again. Neither of them had had all their fears allayed. Neither of them had stopped worrying, but neither of them was sorry to have the girls still making noise at this time of night. Antoinette would not berate them for it now. Maybe tomorrow, she would have them settled down sooner. Tonight, they had the chance to enjoy each other's company fully.

Tonight, Christine had finally come back to life.

As soon as the rose had shown signs of wilting, he had dried it – no easy task given the moist climate that existed in his home. The rose no longer bore its freshness, but it retained its beauty nevertheless. He had spent half his time looking at it, thinking about her; and then the music that had threatened to drown him as he wallowed would instead consume him in all its majesty. Every piece of music he had ever written before had been leading up to this. He poured into it every emotion, every passion that he had ever known and marvelled as it took shape. All because of her. All for her.

He looked to the mannequin that finally bore her likeness. Once more their duet haunted his thoughts, pausing the frantic onslaught of notes that had been pouring onto the pages before him. It had been a song of parting, but it was one that two lovers might share. She had sung it so tentatively at first. She had known the meaning of the words, the sentiment which the music had expressed! They had yet to look at any piece of music without first understanding it that it might be performed fully – he wouldn't have it any other way. And still she had chosen this song to leave him with. She couldn't know what he truly felt for her; there had been little to give her any such ideas. Was it possible that she didn't need to? Was it possible that similar emotions had taken root in her as well? Or was she simply torturing him?

No. She didn't know.

He was torturing himself by dwelling on such things. Hannibal. Chalumeau 's little offering was hardly worthy of her, but she would triumph nevertheless, and once she had proven herself worthy of music, it would be time to bring her home; to the seat of sweet music's throne.

He began scribbling again, the music filling his mind once more. Yes, it would be perfect. It had to be.

She said she needed him.

And he needed her.