I'd apologize for how late this chapter is, but you probably don't want to hear it. I do not own The Phantom of the Opera.

Christine stared at her reflection in the mirror dumbly for almost a full minute before she decided to follow Erik. She thought it would be better to find out what upset him soon than to let him calm down before talking to him. It seemed like he'd only be more distraught if she waited, rather than composed or receptive. There was also a tiny worm of fear in the back of her mind that told her she hurt Erik, and she wanted to silence it as soon as she could.

When she got to the house on the lake, she could hear organ music clearly. She stopped to listen to it for a moment, hoping for a clue as to why Erik was so angry. The music was full of sharp, accented notes and written in a minor key like most of the things Erik wrote when he was furious about something. Christine couldn't discern anything more specific than anger, so she knocked on the door even though she knew he wouldn't hear.

It occurred to her that she no longer felt any panic when Erik flew to his organ in a fit of rage. She had calmed him down this way enough times before that she knew what to expect, and Erik's violent tempers had become more of an everyday occurrence rather than a frightful flare-up.

After waiting to see if Erik somehow had heard her knock, she pushed open the door and found a familiar sight. Erik was at his organ, banging on the keys angrily and oblivious to everything that wasn't music. She watched him for a moment; there was something inherently fascinating about watching Erik play, especially when he was emotional.

She walked over to him and tapped his shoulder to get his attention. The music ended abruptly, like a curtain falling down on a stage during a performance.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, twisting around on the piano bench to face her. He doubted that she realized she was the only person who he could calm himself enough to talk to at that moment.

"I want to know why you're upset. You left so quickly…" Christine replied, wondering why he even bothered to ask.

"I'm fine. Leave me alone." It was maddening to try to resolve what was going on inside his own head and try to soothe himself enough to be civil with Christine. He hated to think he was scaring her.

Christine answered, "If you were fine, you wouldn't have left in the middle of a conversation."

"I want to be alone."

"Just tell me what's wrong, Erik. Then I'll leave you alone," Christine said as gently as she could.

He sighed, realizing he wasn't going to get the solitude he wanted. "It's my fault we can't handle the problem with Henri."

Christine interjected, "It's-"

"Just listen," Erik interrupted, "If it wasn't for me, Madame Giry could get him away from Meg. He wouldn't be here."

"I don't understand why you're so angry. It's not your fault."

"I don't want Meg in danger because of me."

"Henri isn't going to hurt her," Christine said, but she didn't really believe it. If Erik had almost hurt her before, she was sure Henri was capable of doing the same thing to Meg.

"I don't trust him."

"Then trust Meg to keep herself safe."

"I do."

"Then why are you so upset?" Christine said, smiling with the victory of talking Erik out of a foul mood.

"I don't know," Erik admitted.

"Now I'll leave you alone. I should get to bed anyway."

"Good night."

Christine slept easily that night, knowing that she was at least able to resolve one problem.

The next day consisted of frantic dress rehearsals and last minute preparations for opening night, which was going to be that evening. The opening of The Magic Flute was made even more important because it represented the opera's rebirth after the fire. Christine was already tired of all the looks the ballerinas shot at her after every reference to the fire in the speeches the managers and Reyer made to the company. All day, people were rushing around, hurrying, and snapping at each other in impertinence.

"I don't understand how you can be so relaxed," Christine said to Erik while she was warming up in her dressing room.

"I know you and Meg are going to do well. What else about this performance matters?" he replied, "Henri can earn the ire of critics everywhere."

"Then maybe he'd leave the opera," Christine added.

"I wish we were that lucky. Break a leg," Erik smoothly. He left, and with him went Christine's confidence. When she looked at herself in the mirror, she didn't see the Queen of Night, just an opera singer who didn't know if she was ready for such a difficult part. There wasn't enough time for her to try to be more positive; the opera was about to start. She smoothed her hair down one last time and headed backstage.

Once she began singing, Christine didn't have room in her head to focus on her doubts; it took all her concentration to sing Mozart's complex music and focus on what was happening onstage. There were no major problems, and the performance went so fast that it all ran together in her memory afterward. It seemed like the opera had only started when she found herself taking her final bows, and the audience's delighted reaction made Christine feel much more self-assured than before. She was sure she heard Erik whisper, "Brava," while she was opening the door to her dressing room later.

It wasn't until the next day that the feeling of calm that came with singing will was shattered.