Christine...

A\N: Do forgive me for the delay, and for this chapter as well...I was so distraught when I recived a flame on one of my other stories the other day that I suddenly lost inspiration for this story. I quite literally sat myself down and managed to write this if only for those who reviewed, put it on alert added it to favorites...my sincere apologies dear readers and do forgive me if this chapter is not my best. I was horrified and read this story more than three times just to make sure it wasnt a complete failure...so let me know if it is worth continuing...

The lair was oddly silent, a pin could have dropped and it would have sounded like the crescendo of a symphony. The Phantom sat frozen, a million emotions raging through him, hate, anger, horror, panic. The child before him holding the last defense he had against the world in her small hands, her eyes never leaving his stricken expression.

He would have been raging; he was amazed that he had remained still when she unmasked him. Yet, he knew the reason he wasn't storming around the lair, why he wasn't yelling at the child in front of him.

Monica.

She was the reason he was holding back on lashing out, on yelling his frustrations at the world. She was sleeping in his room, and the faintest commotion would wake her and cause her to come out. That would spill disaster for him, she would see his face as well, and that was the last thing he wanted.

Kiri sat in front of him, mask in hand, her eyes wide as they stared at what he had been hiding the whole time. She couldn't help but be somewhat relived at what she found, for it caused her to remember her mother.

"So look with your heart,

And not with your eyes,

The heart understands…

The heart never lies.

Believe what it feels,

And trust what it shows,

Look with your heart,

The heart always knows.

Love is not always beautiful…

Not at the start…"

Her mother's voice sang in her head, and slowly a smile spread through her features. She now understood her mother when she had sang that melody to her. She had asked why her fraulein loved Joker's scar so much, why she thought it was the one thing that set him apart from the rest of the world, the thing that made him unique.

The Phantom stared back dumbfounded when the child before him smiled at him, his mind seemed to screech to a halt. There was something about the little girl in front of him that reminded him of himself when he had been her age, perhaps it was her large hopeful eyes eager to see the world, or her calm expression. He couldn't quite place it.

"Monsieur, you remind me of Joker," she laughed quietly as his jaw nearly dropped in pure shock. Truth be told he was surprised that he wasn't dead due to the child staring up at him. Her laugh danced around him, it wasn't the mocking type of laughter that he was used to. No, this one was authentic, and for the first time in centuries, not directed at his deformed face.

"The fraulein loves his scar! I think she would love you too!" her voice added catching his attention. He resisted the urge to laugh. Monica…she would never love a monster like him, never. He couldn't fathom Kiri's way of thinking, but the child sounded so sure of herself that he found himself wanting to believe what she was telling him.

Upon seeing his blank expression Kiri immediately stopped laughing and panicked jumping up to her feet on top of the bed, mask still in hand.

"I think you're beautiful," she giggled stretching out her hand offering him the white prop. She meant every word she had told him, she couldn't see why she loathed his face when it made him different form everyone else.

One of a kind.

He could only stare at the girl in front of him in disbelief, and admiration. Never had anyone said something like that to him, never had anyone complimented his deformity. He could tell she was related to Monica, for she held compassion that was scarce now a days.

He took the mask carefully, afraid of her crying out in horror upon seeing his face, he wasn't used to this kind of reaction, for he had never experienced it before. She continued to smile at him and all he could do was put the mask back on hurriedly.

He rose stiffly, avoiding the Kiri's gaze and started to leave before her voice caused him to halt in the doorway.

"My mami would still love you monsieur, even more without your mask," she called after him, his gaze dropping to the floor as he stepped out of the swan room. Leaving Kiri to continue her sleep, he knew she would not wake again.

He stumbled over to the organ and collapsed on the bench, a single silver tear rolling down the side of his face. He sat there and let out all of his bottled up emotions loose, all of the pain, regret, anger, and frustration came out as he sobbed quietly fearing to wake either of the women in the lair. Memories of Christine haunted his thoughts, of the Viscount, and even of Madame Giry. It was all happening again, and it would surely end like it had last time, with his muse deserting him leaving his heart broken.

Why had she told him that…why couldn't she just scream in horror like the rest? That would have certainly made his life easier; he would have known how to cope with a situation like that. He didn't know what to do now, where to go, who to turn to. Kiri's voice tormented him, 'Mami would still love you…even more without your mask,' he sneered knowing that was nothing but a lie.

Perhaps Kiri had seen something else when she glimpsed his deformed face, a child could always comprehend, always forgive and look past other peoples flaws. A full grown person or woman in this case, however could not. He would never allow her to see his face, he didn't want another Christine. He couldn't possibly bare the loss of another muse; he wanted her to love him. But deep down he knew she never would.

His thoughts were brought to a disturbing halt when he felt a hesitant hand on his shoulder. His head snapping to the side to see who it had been, after all, he had made sure Kiri was asleep before sitting down on the bench.

"Phantom?" Monica's voice asked sleepily, as she woke shortly after seeing his grief stricken face. She sat next to him on the bench and looked at his face, trying to get him to make eye contact. On the other hand he was avoiding her eyes; he didn't want to see her, to feel her touch, or to hear her comforting words. He didn't want to have anything to do with her, for he knew she would leave sooner or later. He had gotten in way too deep with Christine, and that had led to his downfall.

"I had a bad dream…I got up to get a glass of water," she explained but quickly noticed that he was ignoring her completely. That angered her beyond comprehension, she wanted to know what was wrong, she wanted him to know that she was there for him to talk to. Her hand rose to caress the side of his exposed cheek, and immediately the Phantom froze.

"Did I do something wrong?" she whispered to him, pained that he was still avoiding her. He seemed fine hours ago when they had arrived at the lair. He seemed different now, like his darker side had finally come out.

His eyes shot over to look at her; he resisted the urge to laugh. If she only knew what was eating away at him…

"Why are you still here?" he asked before thinking as she recoiled instantly. She took great insult to that simple question and he could see he had made a mistake in asking it.

"Do you want me to leave? Does my presence bother the great Opera Ghost?" she shot back hurt, backing away from him slowly. Did he not want her there? Was she truly that useless…did she merely get in his way?

He instantly winced as soon as the words left her lips, "I never meant it like that," he snapped back as she narrowed her gaze at him calculatedly. By this time they were sitting on the opposite ends of the bench in front of the organ.

"Then what did you mean by asking such an absurd question?" she asked carefully examining his every move and expression their voices escalating slowly as they both rose from the bench into a standoff.

Of course he towered over her, and he was intimidating to say the least, but she held her ground stubbornly. Metallic blue clashed with chocolate brown as both refused to look away. He wanted to know why she was still here, why she still found his presence comforting. On the other hand she merely wanted to know what had caused his sudden change in emotions, one moment he was compassionate and the next demanding answers to things she couldn't explain herself.

For a brief moment she caught sight of doubt flashing through his eyes, and immediately she knew what he had been pondering while she slept. Her mouth dropped open and her brows furrowed in anger at him comparing her to Christine once more. No matter what she did, he would always compare her to his angelic soprano, always.

"I'm here because I care! I'm not here to become a prima donna or the ballerina of the century, and I would never ask such a thing from you! I'm not here to steal your music or your operas…and I'm certainly not here to give you false hopes! I could have left if I wanted to! We're not all the same! And for the last time…IM NOT CHRISTINE! " she cried feeling her heart sink upon realizing that he had thought of her in that manner the whole time.

He flinched as she stormed over to him, accusing him of comparing her to the soprano he had loved long ago. He found himself admitting that he had thought of her like that, and it surprised him that she had caught on. He opened his mouth to at least try to deny what she was accusing him of doing, but she continued to point out little details that were hard to deny.

"Look if that's all I am to you, I might as well leave," she mumbled after she had calmed down, he merely stood motionless unable to say or do anything after receiving blow after blow of accusations. He had to admit they were all true, he didn't know if he would ever get over Christine. The wound she had caused him would never truly heal, deep down he knew she was always in the back of his mind.

Before any of them could shoot back another hurtful comment a bottle smashing against the floor startled them both causing them to turn towards the various tunnels that ran under the Opera Populair. A curse followed the shattering glass, and Monica knew who it was by the sound of his voice.

With her attention away from the Phantom he too stopped his argument with her and paused to listen as well.

"Oh god…Jack?" Monica called knowing he was wandering the tunnels. She felt the air around her dance and before she knew it the Phantom was gone in a ruffle of clothes and heavy footsteps. She knew he had gone after Jack and couldn't begin to fathom why he had come looking for her at the Opera House of all places. She panicked knowing if the Phantom found Jack it would surely mean death for the ex-biker. That being said she looked in the direction the Opera Ghost had run off too, not only would he kill Jack for what he had done to her…he would surely take out his frustrations on him as well.

"Phantom! Phantom!" she called after him desperately but all she received for a reply were his quick footsteps and the snap of his cloak. The Punjab lasso scraping against the stone floors. She ran after him hoping she wasn't too late, hoping Jack was still alive.

She darted after his shadow leaving the lair behind as they both descended deeper and deeper into the catacombs where more traps and dead ends were waiting to greet them…

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