A/N: And in record time, you have yet another chapter! Woo Hoo! Thanks to my loverly reviewer who mentioned a slight lack of editing. I wrote the chapters a while ago and the last two I posted without really re-reading them to check for grammatical errors. I'm sorry about that. Anyway, this one has been read through about three or four times now, so I hope it's pretty cleaned up. Things will be getting a little shook up here pretty quick, so stay tuned!

Marie was slowly deteriorating before my eyes and though we were not supposed to use any medicine for personal uses, I still stole some away for her. She was doing better for a while, but the blisters on her dried lips became more and more evident and her body wasted away until there was nothing but a skeleton where a beautiful girl once stood. I knew she tried to hide her fits of coughing, but no one was fooled, least of all me.

Because most of the other men were taken care of and just waiting to be well enough to leave, I spent most of my time nursing Marie. While sitting with my back against the cold metal frame of the building, I cradled her in my arms and fell into a light sleep while Patrice and Isabella were working. I hadn't even realized I was asleep until I was awakened by the sound of Marie's coughing fit. She was convulsing with the sheer force of each cough.

I tightened my arms around her and pressed my lips to her forehead, her fever raged out of control. I knew she had been hiding it, but I hadn't realized that it was so bad. What I had wrongly assumed was one sickness following another was just one illness getting gradually worse.

She grasped for my hand and I gave it to her willingly. She squeezed it with such force that I hoped for a brief moment that she just might possess the strength to get though whatever was besieging her.

My hopes were instantly dashed when the cloth she was coughing into became speckled with blood.

I didn't need to call Patrice or Isabella over, they could hear the change in the cough and came running. I looked desperately toward Patrice for help as she handed me a fresh, wet cloth to press to Marie's forehead, but she just shook her head sadly and looked away. In a matter of seconds the cold water had turned warm against her skin and then became too heated to be of any help.

Marie collapsed against me when her coughing finally ceased. Her breathing was shallow and rapid. Her prematurely aged face was taught with the concentration it took just for her to draw air into her ragged lungs.

She saw me and the corners of her blistered lips turned up ever so slightly. It was the closest thing to a smile she could manage.

Patrice and Isabella each put a hand on her in comfort.

Sensing the inevitable, Marie reached up to stroke my face. "I always wanted a sister," she said, struggling with each word. "Never thought - I would find - one here..." She could only manage a few words at a time before her body shook with the effort.

"I love you more than if you were my sister, Marie," I promised her, tear streaming freely down my face. "Please don't go. Please don't leave me here," I begged her desperately, clawing at whatever I could say to make her hold on just a little while longer.

She tried to smile again. When she spoke again, each word was a gasp and I knew must be painful, but her face betrayed no hint of it. In fact, she looked more at peace than I had ever seen her and I wondered if she didn't feel anything at all anymore. "I'll ... tell ... Erik ... hello ... for you ... sister..."

She took one last gasp and with the most beautiful smile on her ravaged lips, she closed her eyes and left me.

I doubled over with the force of my sobs, my tears spilling onto Marie's peaceful face. I didn't even remember Patrice or Isabella was there until they each kissed my forehead and then Marie's hand in turn.

I hadn't realized anyone else was there either until James bent as best he could in his brace and gave me a quick hug, he touched the fabric of Marie's skirt, dirty and torn, for a brief second, muttering something I understood to be Latin, but no more, and then leaving. I looked up after him and saw that several of the soldiers had gathered around to say their silent goodbyes.

My eyes locked with Richard's, his face filled with such helpless agony that I had to look away. My cries seemed to rebound off the walls and mix with every fresh sob.

Tears still streamed down my face even while Marie's body, her hand still in mine, began to grow cold.

I don't know how long I had been with Marie's body or who had dug the shallow grave in the frozen ground a dozen feet from the entrance of the hospital, but it was James who finally pried me from my agony and told me that I needed to bury my sister. He seemed to have little trouble picking up Marie's body from my arms. I rose sorely from the cold floor and followed him outside, not stopping to think about the fact that I could be - should be - shot dead for trying to escape.

There wasn't anyone there who hadn't been witness to my anguish and I was sure they knew what it was I was doing. No one made a move to stop me.

James laid her in the cold earth. He went to move the dirt from the pile beside the grave onto her, but I stopped him. He seemed to understand what I was saying without words and backed away, though he didn't go inside. It was cold, but there was no snow falling yet.

I let it comfort me, refresh me. As I reached for some dirt and began to bury the girl that I had come to cherish, I softly sang her requiem. The contrast between then and the last time I had sung was stark. Whereas now I was surrounded by cold earth, a harsh reality and soldiers who did not wish to be there, the last time I had been surrounded by flame, the facade of the stage and an audience of people who flocked to see me, to see us.

I felt eyes of every occupant of our pathetic lodgings on me, I knew I was being watched, not to make sure I didn't run away, but with shock. I had vehemently denied my ability to sing, and now, fractured though it was by my grief, the final words that would carry Marie's soul to heaven were carried on the wind by the song of a defeated girl, whose voice rang with precision and clarity for no reason other than it was the only gift I could give her.

It was the only way I knew how to say goodbye.

Requiem æternam dona eis, Domine;

I sang it for Marie.

In memoria æterna erit justus,

I sang it for Erik.

ab auditione mala non timebit.

I sang it for the innocence of a naive child who thought that she could save them.

Richard called me to meet him a week or so after Marie's funeral in one of the only rooms with it's own walls and door. It had been turned into his make-shift office. He was formal in his words and I knew that he was still hurting after my last words to him. He had come to me the day before to try and comfort me in my grieving. He had wrapped his arms gently around me when no one was watching and confessed that he felt strongly for me, though he was very careful not to mention love. I had told him that my heart belonged to a dead man, a man that I would never be with because of what he had believed was a just cause. I had watched the pain creep into his face and though he put on a stoic face, I could still see it in his eyes.

I hadn't meant to be so harsh and cold, but I couldn't force any other emotions. I didn't want to be comforted.

"I thought I would inform you that we will be breaking down this hospital. The war is over. Most of the wounded have already left. We will be vacating as soon as the sun is up. I waited as long as I could."

I couldn't believe his words at first. He continued speaking, but I heard nothing. I was distantly happy, but it meant nothing to me personally. He grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me lightly to remove me from my faraway thoughts. I didn't register the movement at first but finally looked at him with confusion.

"Elyssa, I want to make you happy. Even James cannot make you smile. It's like you've forgotten how. Even before Marie died" - I winced at the reminder -"I have never seen you smile. I know I cannot make you happy again, but isn't there anything I can do to make you at least smile? What would make you smile?"

I thought about that for a long moment and he grunted in frustration, thinking that I was just ignoring him. "Elyssa?" I held up a finger for him to see that I was honestly trying to think about it. He seemed to calm down and waited patiently. I couldn't be happy with so much grief blocking the way. He was right, not only could I barely remember how to smile anymore, I could hardly remember even my own name or my past life.

"It will sound ridiculous if I tell you," I said softly, already feeling ashamed.

He lifted my face with a gentle touch. "Tell me. If it is in my power I will grant it. Do you want to go home? Do you want me to go away so you never have to see me again? Tell me, Elyssa."
I took a deep breath and looked around. It was the middle of the night and no one was around. The door was open slightly, but no one would be anywhere near enough to even accidentally over hear.

"I wish you would stop calling me that," I whispered, not even realizing myself that this was the beginning of the end of my well constructed facade.

He was puzzled and didn't bother trying to show it. "What do you mean? What else do you want me to call you?"

I sighed, I was tired of pretending. "I want you to call me my name. My real name."

It took him a minute to understand. I was sure that once he thought about it he wouldn't be too terribly surprised that I would use a name other than my real one, just surprised I hadn't said anything about it before.

When he didn't say anything, I decided to go on, I had no more reason to hide. There was nothing any human could do to make my pain worse. "My name is -" I took a breath, knowing this would be the first time I had heard that name much less spoken it in months. "...Christine."

I dared to look at his face, his jade eyes were tight as he processed what I said.

"Christine." He tried out the name and a soft smile touched his lips. "You do seem more like a Christine than an Elyssa."

It was such a small thing, but I had begun to cry. In just that little name I felt like I had found a piece of myself again. It didn't matter who spoke it, it was my name and it sounded beautiful.

He wrapped his arms around me and I did not resist.

"Christine ... Christine ... Christine ..." He whispered my name like a mantra. He did not ask my reason for giving a false name. He did not inquire as to the reason I chose that name above all others. He merely accepted it as my name and a part of me. It only made me sob harder, but he seemed to know that I needed to cry so more and he did not try to stop me. It was not tears for grieving. I had cried plenty of those to last several lifetimes. It was not even in resignation or for any other reason that I had previously cried for. It was tears of complete relief. Now that I had nothing left, I had nothing left to hide. I realized that I wanted Richard to know me, not just my name.

After that I couldn't stop myself from confessing everything. I told him that I had come to Paris when I was seven and lived at the Opera. His arms stiffened around me and it suddenly felt like I was being comforted by a statue. I assumed it was because he had known what had become of my once home. I knew it would be nothing like before and that the commune would have ransacked it. I didn't dare to hope that it was even still standing, but I did not stop, I kept confessing.

I told him of my angel, my Erik. I told him everything. How he taught me to sing. How he ruled the opera. How Erik had kidnapped me and forced me to chose between Raoul de Changy and him. It was a flood of words that I couldn't stop. It didn't exactly make me feel better, but I least my story would be told. I would be free of a now unnecessary burden. I managed to get all the up to the night that the commune attacked, but I couldn't go on after that. I stopped at "Then they came..."

When I had sufficiently cried myself out and Richard had still not moved, I put a hand to his chest and tried to look up, but his arms were locked. For a horrifying second I thought he had had a stroke, but I pushed harder until he finally let me go. His eyes were far away, the look in them terrified me.

"Richard?"

No response.

"Richard?" I asked a little more desperately.

"Richard say something."

He finally did look at me, but now it was he that had the agony etched deeply into his face. "How can I...?" He asked, but I knew there was more to his question and I let him form it in his own time.

"How can I say what I should, when I know it will kill you to hear? I might as well put the gun to your head and pull the trigger myself."

His words frightened me more than his eyes. Richard never spoke like that. He had seen far too much death to use those kinds of words lightly.

"Tell me, Richard. There's nothing you could say or do that would hurt me more than life has already."

A tear rolled down his cheek. Soon another followed, and another.

"Oh Christine." My name sounded like the cry of his heart ripping open. "Yes there is."

A/N: Dun dun duuuuunnnn! What could Richard's secret be? It's a doozy.

Anyway, for those of you who are really attentive or are like me and just love this kind of stuff, I know that technically, the requiem Christine sings at Marie's burial isn't the "right" one, but I'll give you the translation and I think you'll see why I chose this requiem instead. If it really bugs you, just think of it as she sung the "right" one and added this on at the end. :)

Requiem æternam dona eis, Domine;

Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord.

In memoria æterna erit justus,

He shall be justified in everlasting memory,

ab auditione mala non timebit.

and shall not fear evil reports.