A/N: Hey everyone. Okay, thanks to all the people who have reviewed this story thus far, the response I've gotten from you all is heart-warming :D. Well, I finally got around to writing the next installment, school was hectic this week... assessments and everything and exams are soon :( I'll try and keep up with the updates, the more reviews the more inspired I feel to get my butt into action, lol. Anyway, enjoy the new chapter, cheers!

Disclaimer: I do not own the Phantom of the Opera or any of its characters, they are the brainchilds and brilliance of Gaston Leroux, Susan Kay and Andrew Lloyd Webber. Any song lyrics used are strictly the property of Andrew Lloyd Webber, Richard Stilgoe and Charles Hart.

Chapter eleven.

"Oh, Monsieur Raynaud-"

"Patrick, please mademoiselle-" he cut in distractedly.

"-I see you have returned."

"Indeed mademoiselle, that appears to be the case."

Well, thought Meg, so much for that brilliant plan of my getting him out of the house serving as a form of distraction…

Patrick's thoughts however, were still well occupied by the concealed note… and his ruined stew.

"I see, Mademoiselle, what has become of my stew."

Meg's faced reddened in immense embarrassment. "I'm terribly sorry about that Patrick; I only left for a moment!"

Patrick sighed, "a moment too long, I gather?"

He could barely make out the faint mumble of "I guess so" from Meg, as she scuffed her toe along the ground. Patrick didn't have long to scrutinize Meg, however, before Christine entered the room. An eerie silence soon descended. Patrick sought out Christine's eyes and Meg stood in suspended motion, gazing between Patrick and Christine, and the unspoken connection between the two. Finally Christine shyly averted her gaze and left the room quietly.

Patrick stood still for a moment, seemingly completely oblivious to Meg's presence, before pursuing Christine out into the hallway.

Meg shook her head, slightly offended that she should be paid so little attention, but expecting it none the less.

Patrick stopped Christine before she entered her room; that was territory that he didn't want to be found trespassing on again.

"Christine!"

Christine's back went a little rigid, before she turned to face him.

"Hello Patrick, was there something you wanted?"

Patrick nearly growled with frustration, what was with this indifferent civility!

"I was hoping to talk with you," and noticing the almost grim expression upon her fine features, added, "I also bought something for you."

He reached into his pocket, and felt with surprise the sharp edge of the letter. Shaking his head he dug a little deeper and procured the bracelet he had bought at the market place.
He noted Christine's curious expression, and held his hand out to her. Ever so hesitantly she slipped her delicate fingers into his large ones, and he slowly slid the bracelet onto her wrist.

The beautiful blue and green glass beads contrasted perfectly against her pale skin, and matched with pale blue of her day dress. Christine smile warmly at him, "Thank-you Patrick; it's beautiful."

"It pales in comparison to you, Christine."

Christine felt the heat slowly rising to her checks, and pulled her hand from grasp, clearing her throat. "I know why it is you wish to speak with me, Patrick, and I am afraid I owe you an apology."

He stood silent, waiting for Christine to continue.

"I know my behavior of late may have appeared … odd, and at the worst times rude. And I know that I have kept you at arm's distance ever since that night… but the truth is, Patrick, that you don't know me. You don't know my past, and my past made me who I am… there are things that you don't know, and that you probably never will, it's just too painful to relive."

"I understand Christine, I suppose I just wanted to make sure that you're all right," No! Patrick's head yelled at him, don't let her get away!

She gave him a small smile, "I will be okay, Patrick, please don't trouble yourself with worry."

"How can I not? Already I have seen, and learnt of some of the traumas you have been through in your life… and so young."

Christine laughed at this, "Oh, Patrick, I am not so very young, soon I will be nineteen."

"Not so young! My dear Christine, at nineteen your life has barely begun."

"Is that so? And how old are you Monsieur Raynaud?"

"A year from thirty."

"And of course that makes you all the more older and wiser does it?"

"Of course Christine." Christine was on the verge of retorting when he quickly cut in, "though, I must admit, one would be exceptionally unfortunate to have endured as much as you. I certainly have not in my lifetime."

"No, Patrick, and you probably never will."

"My father died too, when I was just a boy."

"You think that is all? That was only the beginning, and yet it was the end. You know nothing!" Tears were beginning to form in the corners of Christine's eyes, and she blinked them back furiously.

Patrick held his hands up in defense, taking a step back from her. "I apologize Christine, I did not mean to upset you… I just, I just wanted to let you know that I'm here, if ever you need me."

Some of Christine's anger dissipated as she looked upon his helpless features. "No, I am sorry Patrick, I didn't mean to be so blunt with you. You have been nothing but kind to me," she reached up and touched his shoulder, "and you don't deserve the way I have been treating you."

He closed his eyes and sighed wearily, "you could treat me however poorly and still I would remain." He took her hand from his shoulder, grasping it in his own, "just give me a reason to stay, Christine."

She looked up at him, frightened of what she saw in his eyes, "I can't Patrick." And she left him there, a hopeless man in the hallway.

She closed the door resolutely in his face, and rested her back against it, what was going on?

XxXxXxX

When Meg ventured out into the hallway she found Patrick and Christine had disappeared. She heard a small thump come from the guest room, and figured that to be Patrick. Assuming Christine was once more in her room, she approached it.

"Christine?"

Christine turned from her dresser to find Meg knocking gently on the door, "come in Meg."

Meg approached cautiously, unsure of how fragile her dear friend might be at the present time. Christine smiled at her and she relaxed a little. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better," she assured her, "I haven't had any nightmares for two nights now."

"That's great Christine, I've been so worried about you… we all have."

"I was a little worried about myself," Christine confessed, her eyes clouding over with the same worried-look Meg had become accustomed to seeing every time she looked at her face.

"I know, I wish there was more I could do to help you, Christine."

Christine took hold of Meg's hand, "you being here for me in all the help I need Meg; I don't know what I'd do without you."

Meg smiled a little wider, the question she had been meaning to ask burning upon her tongue.
"Chrissy, Maman and I must return to the company tomorrow; we, well, I was wondering whether you would perhaps join us?"

Christine froze, her face falling. Memories, so many memories began flooding her head, scenes of the Opera Populaire filled her mind, swimming before her vision, and Christine violently shook her head in an effort to rid herself of the visions; of his face, his voice, his destruction… and most of all, his love.

Meg saw the devastating impact this small request had upon her friend and hastily retracted the invitation; apologizing profusely to Christine for ever making such an ill-advised and thoughtless request. She couldn't go back she wasn't ready to go back..

Christine smiled bravely, shoving the thoughts away; "Don't be silly Meg, of course I will accompany you tomorrow."

Meg was completely taken aback, "are you sure Christine?"

"Absolutely."

XxXxXxX

"Monsieur Montague, may I introduce to you Christine de Changy?"

"A pleasure Madame," Mr. Montague bowed graciously to Christine, bestowing a slight kiss upon her hand. Christine didn't trust herself to speak. Although she understood some English, her speaking abilities had a lot to be desired. Something I must remedy, Christine mused, if I am to live in this country.

Though Meg wasn't very bilingual either, she had more confidence that Christine to use the little English that she had acquired, and Christine had no doubt that it wouldn't be very long until she was almost fluent. In the mean-time, her mother spoke both French and English fluently, and as she was the head ballet mistress, she found herself constantly translating things for Meg whenever she could not understand the meaning herself.

When Mr. Montague saw that he would get no further conversation from Christine, he turned his attentions back to Madame Giry.

"Ah, Madame Giry, I have been meaning to speak with you," he retrieved a folded piece of parchment from his coat pocket, handing it to her briskly, "perhaps this might interest yourself and Miss Giry?"

Madame Giry unfolded the parchment and perceived it to be at once some form of advertisement; a more in-depth reading revealed it to be notice for a new opera.

"I have heard, through my numerous contacts that the London Opera House is at present looking for ballet corps, and perhaps principal dancers, Madame, to fill the roles in their new production."

"I see."

"Yes, apparently their new maestro and composer is highly intolerable and a terribly hard to please man; he has demanded nearly half the cast and orchestra be replaced."

"Is that so?"

"Indeed it is Madame, I heard it fresh this morning over breakfast. Now, if you'll excuse me, there is an appointment I need attend to. Good-day to you Madame. Miss." And with another small bow and a whirl of his tailcoats he had disappeared down the hallway and out of sight.

"Christine," Madame Giry asked cautiously, "would you care to accompany myself and Meg to the Opera House?"

The word "opera house" stirred so many emotions within Christine. When she ventured to speak she found her voice caught uncomfortably within her throat. She cleared it, "Oh, I don't know if I can-"

Madame Giry didn't allow her to finish; she was confidant in knowing exactly what it was the Christine was thinking, and even worse, feeling. "Do not worry ma cherie, I can call a carriage to take you home, or perhaps you would like to occupy your afternoon with a stroll through the market-place? I fear it shall only be here for a few more days."

Christine smiled a little, "thank-you Madame Giry, I would very much like a walk. I will see you at home tonight."

The Giry's saw Christine off to the market place before calling a carriage of their own and heading to the Opera House.

XxXxXxX

Erik dragged a hand through his sleek black hair, growling in frustration. He threw his composition down. "Damn you infernal man! Can you not read? That is a C sharp! A SHARP! Why do you insist on playing a D? I will not have tone deaf violin players in my orchestra! Collect you paycheck and don't return until you learn to play your instrument properly!" He snatched up a violin. "For the rest of you; this is how the piece is supposed to be played…"

He then proceeded to correct and demonstrate the playing of his piece to the rest of the orchestra for the next hour and a half, before he dismissed them all with a bark of "rehearse or I shall know!"

Erik was far from being pleased by the standard of musicianship shown by the players, and was in the foulest of tempers when he came across one of the Opera's managers in a hallway.

"Monsieur Martineau, I was just on my way to see you."

Martineau was used to Erik's turn of temper by now. He was also used to giving him whatever it was that he wanted. "What is it Erik?"

"You are continually supplying me with inferior players! I have not seen a larger bunch of tone deaf imbeciles in my life! I am surprised half of them can tell their bow from their rest."

"Mr. Deveraux, please calm down!" the manager cried in alarm; his maestro looked almost murderous!

"It's an insult to my work and my name!"

Martineau sighed, "What is it that you want Mr. Deveraux?"

"You will assign all casting rights to me!"

"Mr. Deveraux! You are not the only composer we have working at this opera house!"

Erik waved a hand in impatience and annoyance, "Bah! Don't assume I care about the works of other men; I only demand to be in charge of my orchestra."

Martineau narrowed his eyes then sighed in exasperation, "You're not going to stop haggling me until I give you what you want, are you?"

Erik smiled cunningly, "absolutely not."

"Fine! Have whatever ever you want! Lord knows Mr. Deveraux, if you weren't so brilliant I should have thrown you out long ago."

Erik smiled in triumph, giving Mr. Martineau a curt nod, before turning on his heel and disappearing down a passageway.

Martineau rubbed his eyes wearily; that man will be the death of me…

XxXxXxX

The lamps had not been lit in this section of the opera house, as Erik once again found himself lurking down the hallways. No, thought Erik, I am not lurking, I am merely striding purposefully… I work here now! He smiled grimly to himself, as he passed through a doorway that would lead him onto the backstage. People greeted him as he went with common civility. To them he was the mysterious musical genius with the terrible temper, and they treated him as such; a dangerous animal. In short, they were terrified of him. Erik smirked; if they were afraid of him they would treat him with a certain degree of respect; he liked to keep the staff on their toes.

There were still some orchestra members in the auditorium, rehearsing their instruments, and Erik winced as he heard the discordant squeak of a badly rosined bow. He scowled, and stepped up onto the stage, fully intending to reprimand whoever it was that was subjecting his ears to such vigorous torture, and who treated their bow with such impertinence. He froze when his well-tuned ears caught the sound of a French accent echoing in the auditorium.

"… I tell you Meg Giry, this is an opportunity not to be wasted…"

Meg Giry? Erik quickly whipped behind a curtain to conceal himself from the approaching party.

"Ah, Monsieur Martineau I presume?"

"May I help you?"

Erik heard the muffled sound of papers being exchanged, but did not chance a glance.

"Madame Giry I take it?"

Erik began to panic, Madame Giry!

"…and this is my daughter Meg."

"Ah, the new head ballerina at Montague's production house."

"Yes, Monsieur."

"I take it then that you have heard of our recent troubles concerning the casting of our new production," Madame Giry nodded in affirmation. "Our composer is a most… difficult man to please I'm afraid. He is a stern man who craves perfection."

"Forgive me, Monsieur, I am unsure of whom you are speaking."

Erik's heart raced, this can't be happening! I've worked too hard! He clenched his fists in anger; why must my past persist on following me everywhere I go! She'll ruin everything I've worked to achieve here! His breathe hitched in his lungs as he listened in anticipation for Martineau's answer.

"I am not surprised, Madame, there are few who do. He is a rather mysterious character, who turned up at the opera house one day an unknown, but his musical genius was unmistakable."

"I see Monsieur. And by what name does this mysterious composer go by?"

Erik dared not breathe; please not my first name…

"A Mr. Deveraux."

He heard nothing but silence, and was sure Martineau had given him away when he finally heard Madame Giry say, "I'm afraid the name is unknown to me also."

Erik allowed himself to breathe, he was as yet undiscovered, though he was adamant about finding out why Madame Giry was here, in his opera house! He remained behind the curtain, allowing a glance to see Meg's audition. Well, little Meg Giry seems to have grown up since last I saw her, Erik mused, allowing himself a smirk at the thought of Christine's mischievous ballet rat friend… No! Christine is no longer a part of your life! He reprimanded himself; she is as good as dead to you… and you literally dead to her…He paused for a moment, my, how ironic.

Erik smirked, once more letting the curtain fall in front of him, and turning his back on the remnant of what he'd left, retreating to his quarters where he knew he would not be disturbed.

XxXxXxX

Erik sat at his desk, ink from his quill dripping steadily into his unmarked parchment, his thoughts suspended. He cursed himself furiously, screwing up the parchment and throwing it into the fireplace. He had been desperately trying to work on his latest composition for the past two hours, but it proved to no avail; he simply could not concentrate. He sighed wearily, rubbing his eyes and pulling out his pocket watch – it was nearly one in the morning.

Erik stole a glance out the window; it was a cloudless night and the stars were shining brilliantly. He got up and walked to the window, opening them with a resonant click. A cool night breeze was enticed inside and Erik closed his eyes and breathed deeply. The air smelled so fresh after a day's rain, and he looked around himself, despite the fact that he knew no-one could possibly get in, or be in his quarters. Tentatively he reached his long fingers up and removed the mask. How glorious it was to feel the cool air against his hot skin. He was unused to wearing his mask for such long periods; living underneath the opera house had not required it of him – only when he ventured to the surface. The mask chafed his skin making the welts look all the more red and angry. He sighed and pulled his chair forwards, sitting down and gazing at the stars. He had not realized what demoralizing impact his near encounter with the Giry's would have on him, and sighed dispassionately; what he lacked was inspiration.

"Nighttime sharpens… heightens each sensation… darkness stirs and wakes imagination. Silently the senses abandon their defenses…" Tears began to fill Erik's eyes as he sang softly under his breath, his face exposed to the glorifying darkness of an entirely new kind. He blinked them shut, trying to force the memory of that night firmly from his mind; this was his life now, and damnit! Christine would not ruin this for him!
Erik's eyes hardened as he replaced the cold mask on his face once more, kicking his chair back and pulling his cloak over his shoulders. The door slammed shut, making the walls quiver with anger as he left the room.

XxXxXxX

Christine's gaze was fixed wholly on the night sky before her. She had been woken by another nightmare, but of an entirely different. It was one of his… It was always the same; she would constantly wake with that dreaded feeling weighing heavily in her heart. She knew what the pounding sensation was, it was her utter adoration and love for the man she'd left behind, her Erik…. But the other, the gut-wrenching feeling that made the bile rise in her throat? She knew this also… she'd felt it after her father's death. Christine knew that she was wholly consumed not only by love, but an overwhelming sense of guilt. She had never before felt so wretched, so wretched and yet so helpless. There was nothing to be done now, no way to redeem herself in the eye's of her angel… death had flown him off on wings that he had always claimed to have. She would never again look upon his face, nor hear his ethereal voice, except in her dreams, where he returned most every night, intent upon torturing her with the memory of that which she can now never possess.

Christine sighed disconsolately, tucking her feet underneath her nightgown, the cold wind was brushing her toes uncomfortably. The tears had long ago dried on her face, leaving her cheeks feeling stiff and worn. The beautiful star-filled sky offered her no comfort tonight; at best she usually felt closer to her angel under the sky, but tonight she felt nothing but cold.

"Oh, Erik," she sighed, turning her back on the window and returning to her bed, her thoughts still wholly occupied with him.

XxXxXxX

Patrick lay awake, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on the ceiling. His emotions were a raging storm at the moment, both frustration and anger, disappointment and whatever his feelings were for Christine furiously bombarding his thoughts.

Punching his pillow, he let loose a growl of frustration; not only for Christine, but for himself.
"She gives me no reason to stay, and yet I cannot bear to leave!"

Okay, there's no E/C yet, but I wrote plenty of Erik for you to feast your eyes on, lol. so REVIEW! (please?)