Author's Note: Thanks to KyrieofAccender, treblmakr7, Soignante, Mystery Guest (seriously, those mega reviews of yours are great reading), jeevesandwooster (double thanks), mikabronxgirl, jtbwriter and montaquecat (double thanks) for their latest reviews. And hopefully this chapter will answer some of your questions/requests. 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 63

"I'll be up in a bit, Meg." Christine called as her adoptive sister climbed up the stairs.

The two of them had been sent to bed fairly early after a hectic day of introductions to the new production and syllabus – not to mention the entire Institute was still on a high after the tremendously successful run of Hannibal. But they needed rest because Poligny had been right when he'd implied that the second half of the year would be far more challenging than the first.

Ordinarily, Christine would have obeyed her second mother's instructions, but her patience had worn thin. Antoinette wasn't surprised that she had stayed down, more than able to guess what was on her adoptive daughter's mind. Once again, they sat opposite each other in silence.

"Mother, what is the matter?" Antoinette didn't answer. Christine was beginning to get sick of silence counting as a reply. "You've been bad-tempered with me since I got back this morning. What is the matter? Are you offended that I didn't stay here last night?"

"Perhaps. Then at least, nothing would have happened."

"Happened? What are you talking about?"

"Where do you think he got your things from, Christine? I saw the two of you last night. Now I understand he has a strong hold over you my dear, but-" Horror washed over Christine's face as she interrupted.

"You actually think . . . I thought you trusted him."

Stunned at realising exactly what her guardian was talking about, she could barely manage to say even that.

"I do, but I never would have allowed things to go this far if I had realised."

"How far is that?"

"Christine, I saw you in bed with him!" Madame Giry said in a harsh whisper, all too aware that her own daughter was upstairs.

"Just as you've seen me in bed with Papa."

"What?"

"He was holding me the way Papa used to. He let me fall asleep the way Papa did whenever I had a nightmare. He did it for me the night before as well when he took me away from the house. I had to ask him both times, and he didn't do anything you'd object to."

"And why were you down there. I thought you would sleep in your dressing room."

"So did I. But he found me and offered to take me down there. He said I'd get a stiff neck on the couch."

"He offered?" Antoinette eyed the girl before her, wondering if she realised how the whole situation sounded.

"Mother, he's my Angel. He wouldn't do anything to harm me; he promised. You said you've known him for a long time, why don't you trust him all of a sudden?"

Antoinette rose and sat next to her daughter.

"Christine, I have known him for many years, and he does keep his word. But be careful: you've seen how he lives, you must realise he knows little of life. He is not your father."

"I know my Angel, but I only met the man four days ago. I still trust him."

There was a lot went unspoken between the two, made superfluous by the many years they had spent together, the many silent conversations they had shared.

"Very well. Only assure me that it was solely for your nightmares."

"It was. I wouldn't have asked otherwise. I know it sounds wrong, but I couldn't help thinking he'd keep them away."

"And it worked?"

"Completely." Looking into her daughter's eyes, she realised that that was the degree to which she trusted her masked tutor.

When she had taken all that Christine would need in the morning, she had been worried when her presence had gone unnoticed, even as she stood in the heart of the lair, but that was nothing to the horror she felt when she found her second daughter asleep in the Phantom's arms as he stroked her hair, their faces barely an inch apart. On finally seeing her, Christine's makeshift pillow had carefully disentangled himself and silently moved over to his latest visitor.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't take her back with me right now!" Antoinette had whispered harshly.

"She is sleeping. Peacefully." His emphasis on the last word stopped the tirade on her lips.

"I warned you, if you hurt her-"

"I have done nothing but protect her, even from herself it would seem." The anger in his voice was not of steel, it burned the way it only did when an offence was of the deepest kind.

"If I find out that anything has happened, do not think I will hesitate to take her from you." His eyes flashed at her, the visible side of his face flushed red from the outrage that flared within him, just itching to be unleashed. Before he could say anything, she went on. "You know whose ring she wears." That cooled him. "If it means keeping her safe, for her mother's sake, I will take her from you."

"For her mother's sake, you will never need to do that."

They were distracted by Christine's soft moans. As they neared, she was frowning, reaching out for something. Antoinette tried ineffectually calling to her, but stopped as her other charge took the restless girl back into his arms, softly calling her name into her ear. Almost instantly, she stilled, placing her head back over his heart where it belonged, holding onto him with a surprisingly strong grip for one who slept.

He did not lie back down with her until Antoinette had left, satisfied that all was well – given the circumstances.

The promise he had made was so solemn, so binding to the three of them – had the third heard it – that Antoinette was still in a state of disbelief. What had Christine done to affect such a change in him? He had not hesitated to hold her, yet she knew that he had been reluctant to accept even Katie's embraces.

"Christine, have you told him? About the ring?" She turned to her second mother, confused.

"No. I thought-"

"He doesn't know all that it means. Do not tell him unless you are certain you can."

"Of course. Mama told you?"

"She wanted to be sure you knew, even in her absence."

Christine sank into her second mother's embrace, wishing it was that of her first mother, as much as she welcomed it. She could almost hear her mother telling the tales of the O'Neill women who had worn the ring before, who had used the ring to give their men the hint they so often needed. She was the fifth generation. The Celtic knotwork spoke of eternity, and the ring of fidelity and love. It was a solemn emblem even in its own right; to the O'Neill women, it was a secret bond as sacred as a wedding ring. The rules were simple: only give the ring to the man you hope to marry if his love is clear; only reveal it's true meaning if he replaces the ring with one of his own; and only allow those dearest to your heart to place it on your finger.

And she had let him put the ring on her finger.

As she made her way up the stairs to get ready for bed, her thoughts were filled with the man who kept himself hidden from the world: but not her. The man who worked to inspire fear in all: but not her. The man who kept his true gift, his real genius away from the world's prying and unappreciative eyes: but not her. The man who had given her so much: including a ring.

It was overwhelming.

She was spared the inevitable conflict of emotions, the doubts and anxieties of all that he expected by something creeping in through the window: he was singing to her, that same wordless lullaby as he had given her during the Hannibal dress rehearsal. Looking out of the back window, she saw nothing. Wait. There! A flash of white in the trees. Had she blinked, she would certainly have missed it. Or was he making sure she knew?

Smiling, she touched her right hand to the pendant around her neck, the moonlight briefly catching the silver. All the while, the soft music went on. Christine slipped into bed, all doubts, fears and nightmares pushed aside as her thoughts filled with her Angel of Music.

And she slept with a smile on her face.

Content that all had gone well – else she would not have smiled so freely – he finished the lullaby when he was satisfied she would be asleep. Having known Madame Giry for so long, he knew her daughter was a heavy sleeper and had seen her light go out some time since, for which he was grateful. If he could keep Christine's nightmares away until the episode had passed, then her voice would not suffer, she would be happy, as would he.

Happy.

Him.

Who would have thought?

He thought of the ring that had shone briefly in the moonlight. He would have known Katie's ring anywhere. On Christine's finger, it was a wondrous sight, especially as she had accepted it from his hand. It was incredible: the two women who had given him hope were bound together by that one circle of silver; the two women who had ever shown him real devotion were bound by that promise. Katie's promise.

Katie was still caring for him after all.

And Christine belonged to him.