A/N: I said in some of the review replies that these next couple of chapters are sort of filler chapters. I'm going to cover the 6 months Erik is gone in 2 chapters. I was tempted to do more but was afraid the length of this would get completely out of hand.

Saying that, there are some important pieces of information in these chapters. I can only apologise if they seem a little rushed, I promise, the others aren't like this.

The story, after these chapters, will continue in much the same vain as the play though my tweaks will certainly be there. It is later where I start to impose my own plot on it more (though you will see the side plot coming through more and more over even the next two chapters).

Thank you to all those I could not reply to for one reason or another. To those who read and do not review- thank you for sticking with it.

Chapters are largely unedited, as I explained before, I have written an awful lot of this and not updated regularly enough. Forgive any mistakes and if you want to email and point the glaring ones out to me, that's fine, I will try to find time to go back and correct them.

Anyway…

Onward.

Chapter 39- So Far Away

The theatre had been closed for just over a month when Antoinette finally made the decision. Two people had died on the night the chandelier fell at the Opera Populair. A young woman who was visiting Paris for the first time and Joseph Buquet who, Antoinette recently learned, had had a difficult life. The police had put both down to murder and issued a warrant for the infamous Phantom of the Opera.

There were four people in the world who knew who that was.

Erik himself, Christine, Nadir and Antoinette.

None of them had come forward with any evidence and Antoinette was positive that that would be the way it remained. So far there had been no sign of him in or around the Opera House. Nadir had also disappeared, leading her to assume that wherever they were, the two friends were together.

They had more in common than either of them would even admit. Erik was a killer and so was Nadir. His work with the police had not always been as clean as he would like people to believe, although, deep down he was never a bad officer or leader. He had killed in the line of duty, even when it had been seen as unnecessary.

Justice.

Nadir, like Erik, had a way of putting things in their own little boxes. He could use his mind to separate things and rationalise. Nadir knew that murder and killing was wrong, as Erik did, but he also understood its occasional necessity.

The Persian also knew what it was like to be completely alone. When his town had been ripped apart in civil war he had been forced, as a police officer, to go on the run. He had left his family behind and vowed to keep himself safe. He has thought of his own person and no one else. A selfishness he and Erik shared to the hilt.

Antoinette was sure that this came from the years of torture both men had been subjected to. Both of them saw physical and mental pain. Neither of them wanted to feel it again.

The differences in the two men were simple.

Nadir had the ability to move on. For the most part he had managed to leave his past behind and started a fresh life, travelling and enjoying the freedom he had. Erik could not do this. Erik could not forgive. Erik allowed himself to murder because this was how he stayed in control. Erik allowed himself to speak coldly, to not feel.

Nadir could not do this.

Nadir was warm and kind.

Perhaps they would be good for each other for a while.

She knocked on the door and waited, quietly, for a response.

When Laurent pulled it open and looked out his face was covered with surprise.

'Hello,' he said, stepping aside and allowing her to move past him into the room. He closed the door behind them.

Antoinette noted that he kept the room tidy. She would not allow the maids to work in there.

'I'm a little late,' she sat down and looked up at him.

He did not look the way she remembered him. The last time she had seen him properly he had been a teenager, tall but a little on the slim side. Now, as a man, his shoulders were wide and bulky, his face looked older than it should, he had scars but his hair was still their father's fair blonde.

He was staring back at her, his eyes did not contain the softness, the kindness, she remembered. 'You're not late,'

'You could be gone by now,'

'Something convinced me to stay,'

She nodded and looked around her, feeling a little uncomfortable.

'I love you, Antoinette,' His voice was so soft she wondered whether or not she had heard him correctly. When she looked back at him she knew that she had.

'You've done many dreadful things,'

It was Laurent who nodded this time. 'I know,'

'Why?'

There was a pause before he spoke, 'I needed my own life,' he took a seat in the chair opposite the bed.

'Was it the life you wanted?' she asked.

'No,'

'Then why not leave?'

'It was all I knew,'

She shook her head, feeling bile in her throat. 'You knew kindness and love, Laurent,'

He stared at her.

'You knew that here,'

'I was no longer welcome here,'

'Do you think that was unreasonable?' she was trying to stay calm, but it was difficult, all of the anger, all of the resentment, it was still there.

'No,' he shook his head. 'No, not at all. What I did was unforgivable,'

She smiled, in spite of herself. 'But somehow Scott forgave you,'

'Yes,' he whispered, shame clouded his eyes. Perhaps she had been wrong, maybe he really was sorry.

'You can stay here,' she said, keeping her eyes on him. She knew that Scott had already told Laurent that he could stay but she knew that she needed to tell him herself. To make it clear that now she was fine with it. 'You're welcome to eat dinner with us but you must keep your room clean, the maids will not be coming in here,'

'Thank you,'

A silence formed in the room, closing in around them, the atmosphere dipped, the room was colder. Her eyes were fixed on him, intense and she watched as he flinched away, unable to meet her gaze.

'I can't forgive you,' she said to him, finally breaking the quiet.

His Adams apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.

'I'm sorry,'

'I don't expect you to,'

She nodded. 'It doesn't mean that I have to be angry with you anymore,'

His eyes were moist but no tears spilled from them. 'What can I do?'

'You need to make me understand what happened that night,' She felt a pang in her chest at the memory. 'Why did you let her die?'

'Fear,' The word was a pained choke.

'How do you think she felt?'

He looked down at the floor. 'I had to go...'

'Why?'

'I knew I could never come home,'

She felt a lump in her throat, felt her chest ache. 'If you had tried to save her...'

'And failed?' His head shot back up and he was staring at her. 'If I failed she would still be dead… I would still have killed her!'

'In time, Laurent, I could have forgiven you that,' she whispered. 'We all make mistakes,'

He shook his head. 'No, you would not have forgiven that either,'

'You don't know me,' She said.

'No, I don't suppose I do,'

'I would have forgiven you,' she reached out to him, let her hand rest on his. 'You should never have left her,'

'She wasn't supposed to be there,' Tears welled in his eyes.

She nodded.

'It was just...' he let his head drop again. 'She never should have been there,'

'Gabriele is a wicked man,'

He laughed. 'Yes,' his smile was weak. 'I've certainly met better men… saying that, I've known better men who could kill with more ease,'

She sighed. 'Me too,'

'We've seen things, Nette,' he said softly. 'In our lives we've seen things, lots of things we should never have seen but...'

Laurent's voice faded, and when he did continue, she said, 'Tell me,'

'The man... there's a man I know,' he looked at her, she nodded for him to continue. 'He is the coldest of them all, colder than any other I have ever met,'

She waited.

'I've seen him murder someone with his bare hands,' Laurent made a movements with his arms. 'Like they were twig, like they were nothing,'

'Who?' she asked the question but had a horrible sense of foreboding, something filling her veins.

'I don't...' he paused. 'He frightens me but... he isn't like Gabriele he isn't... evil...'

She tilted her head, waiting, listening.

'Jesus, I'm so afraid of him it's ridiculous, he has eyes that are so sharp, so piercing, so full of... of... ' Laurent shook his head. 'I mean he's tall, but not huge and the weird thing is that he wears this white mask but...' He laughed, almost bitterly. 'He scares me more than anything, more than the police more than Gabriele... and what is more frightening... I actually like him,'

'Erik...' she whispered.

He jumped to his feet and stared down at her. 'You know of him?'

'Yes,'

'You know him?'

She nodded slowly.

'Is he your friend?' he was frowning.

'We were friends a long time ago, yes,'

They stared at each other for a moment.

Antoinette's stomach turned. 'How do you know him?'

'He used to fund Gabriele,'

She felt her heart drop.

'Well,' Laurent walked to the window. 'He still does, in a way, but he told me he was going away,'

She waited for a moment, debating the way this might turn out, arguing with her own mind. When she looked up, she felt tears in her eyes. The hurt of years gone by, the rift in her marriage, the pain of her brother... of Erik.

'I have something to tell you,'

Christine was being officially courted. It was all really quite a strange phenomenon to her. Raoul would appear at her door at a pre arranged time with an older woman, who would act as their escort. Raoul had told her that they were going to do things properly. Christine had smiled and told him properly meant that she took her own chaperone, he had laughed and told her he secretly feared Madame Giry.

Christine had not seen nor heard from Erik in more than three chaotic months. Summer was now long gone and Autumn too was beginning to fade out. It appeared that winter was coming early. The Opera Populaire had opened back up just over a month ago and they had opened with 'Faust' instead of
continuing, the now commonly referred to as ill fated, 'Il Muto'.

Christine was playing bit parts which she was more than happy with and the general feel in the theatre had been tense. Still, there was no sign of the ghost. No sightings of Erik. It was a slow process, she knew this, but people were starting to relax all around her.

She found that she felt very happy around Raoul. Their relationship was sweet, covered in all that was good and true, they had an ease about them. It had been such a smooth transition for them, from friend to couple, and she felt so comfortable with it that it worried her.

She was happy.

So why was she thinking about Erik?

Natural, she thought, everyone was thinking about him... even if they did not know it.

'Welcome back,' Raoul said when she blinked out of her thoughts.

'Sorry,' she felt the blush in her cheeks.

'It's quite alright,' he said, taking her hand in his. The chaperone, Mrs Leroux, glared at him but he chose to ignore her. They all knew that the gesture was fairly harmless, she was simply making her presence known. 'What were you thinking?'

'Not much,' she smiled. 'Just how much the theatre is changing,'

He nodded. 'Not for the worse though, I must say,'

Did she agree?

She nodded back.

'How do you feel about your role in the new opera?' he asked, as they walked.

'I like it,'

'Are you sure?'

'Yes,' she said. 'And if I wasn't sure, it wouldn't matter,'

'I could see what I can do?' he lifted his eyebrows.

'I don't want any help,' she said defensively. 'I remember where that got everyone last time... no... I'm more than happy with my role,'

'You're good in anything,' he said, with a sly wink. She looked away and felt a heat in her chest.

Mrs Leroux gave them a hard look.

As they strolled down along the road they met with the park and stepped onto it's path, following it's curve around the fields and woodland. There was something inherently romantic about this area of Paris, it had remained fresh and clean and natural, no one had tried to build their homes here and it was often a quiet place for reflection. Off the park, on the other side, there were particularly old houses and little shops, ones she and Raoul would often just browse in.

'It's a beautiful day,' he commented as they entered another small section woodland. It was true, the sun was out but clouds occasionally drifted over, yet it was cold and the leaves were turning their colour.

'Yes,' she nodded.

'You're quiet today,' He was looking at her.

'Sorry,' She seemed to apologise a lot lately. She felt so responsible for everything and everyone.

On the first and last night of Il Muto she had defied Erik, undoubtedly causing Buquet's death, then she had declared her love for Raoul and watched helplessly from the back door as the chandelier killed a young woman. She knew, though Raoul told her otherwise, that it was all her fault.

As hard as she tried not to let it, the thoughts tormented her and tortured her, she had been responsible for the death of two people.

'Are you thinking about that night again?' he didn't sound irritated, just concerned.

She nodded.

'Christine,' His voice was soft, he was trying to comfort her. 'Stop. There was nothing you could do,'

'I should have seen it coming,'

'How were you to know that he would do that?'

She stood still and turned to face him. 'He warned us,'

'A disaster beyond your imagination?' Raoul scoffed. 'That isn't a warning,'

'I think it is, Raoul,' she felt a pull in her chest. 'Because it was a disaster, wasn't it?'

'Why blame yourself?'

'He was in love with me and I...'

He raised his eyebrows. 'You what?'

'Betrayed him,'

'Don't be foolish,' he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. She was made very aware of the presence of Mrs Leroux to her right.

'Don't call me foolish, Raoul,'

'I'm sorry,'

She shook her head.

'I didn't mean it to sound that way,' he rubbed her arm. 'You must understand that the man, whoever he is, is completely insane. Nothing you did or could have done would have changed what happened that night,'

'If only you know,' she murmured, as she looked away from him.

He reached out and turned her face with his fingertips. His touch was warm and comforting, she was drawn to it. 'What don't I know?'

'He loved me,'

'I love you,'

'I know,'

'And I wouldn't kill people if you rejected me,'

She sighed. Had she rejected him? 'But would you kill to defend me?'

He paused, the silence drifting around them. In the distance she heard a bird and she tried to get her mind to focus on that, on the sweet sound of the bird singing. It was no use. Her thoughts, as with her dreams, were fixed onto Erik and the opera and all the nights that had passed before and between.

'I would kill to defend you,'

'Then you are more like him than you know,' Christine said, a little too sharply, and continued to walk. Raoul did not catch up to her for a long moment, in which she felt a sudden relax in her mood. When he caught up his eyes were filled with sadness.

'I'm sorry if I hurt you,' he began. 'But I need you to know how much I love you, how much I care for you, how much I would do anything in my power to protect you,'

'I know, Raoul,'

'I hate to see you upset, Christine, it hurts me,'

She blinked. 'I'm sorry,'

'Stop saying that,' he reached out for her hands. 'You have nothing to be sorry for,'

'I have a lot of be sorry for,'