A/N Sorry about the huge delay...I've been off seeing POTO live - Awesome. Anyway this will hopefully make up for the wait. Enjoy! - oh and a huge thanks to everyone who's continuing to review and some newcomers too!

Chapter 17

In the days that had followed Erik's revelations Meg struggled with the weight of his burden and that of Christine. He had spoken and she had listened, only speaking when she couldn't keep silent, loathe though she was to interrupt him. Aspects of the beginning of his story made painful sense; his need to reach out to someone and feel alive, feel real. All of this she could understand and indeed empathise with and she could even stretch to applauding his efforts to comfort her grieving friend; Christine must have called out to that orphaned, abandoned feeling inside of him. Meg could not imagine how it must have been for him alone all that time and now she was disturbed by the fact that it was not something she had considered in all the years she had caught glimpses of him. She had just never contemplated there was a life behind it, a living breathing person with dreams, desires, needs. Subconsciously she knew he was real but never thought beyond that; OG was just like a special effect, a flash of light, poof he was gone again, the scenes changed and the next act began. Perhaps if she had stopped to think her inquisitive nature would have sent her searching; she could have found him, helped him sooner and maybe prevented some of this. But the other aspects – the dangerous obsession that had pulled him from an adoring tutor and benevolent watchful eye to a desperate, obsessed man without thought or reason – left her bewildered and unsure as to how to help him. Perhaps living a solitary existence, his actions unchecked by elders or peers he did not know where or how to draw the line. Of one thing she was certain; Erik could never allow himself to go down that road again, for his sanity and hers.

Meg had let him be for the first few days after his confession wanting to leave the dust to settle before she discussed it any further and he had spent much of it alone in his room no doubt thinking dark thoughts while he played melancholy tunes that ripped at her soul. She thought it cruel to bombard him with questions while it was all so raw in his mind but eventually his sullen expression had softened, the eerie tunes replaced by calmer compositions that hinted at hopefulness. Now she had letters to answer and she would not hide in her room to do it; they both had lives to get on with. April sunshine bathed Venice, the best seat in the house was inside the balcony doors and it was her favourite place to sit and daydream. Perhaps it would inspire her for the task ahead for she surely knew not what she would write to her friend. How did she even begin? Fabrications were becoming second nature to her now though she loathed the idea of having to lie to Christine. Yet she must to protect their tenuous existence in Italy for to slip up at this point would spell disaster for Erik and then she may as well have left him to his fate.

Erik had heard the soft steps above him that meant his constant was moving about her room. Meg sounded like she was hovering with indecision over whether to come out or not and he could hardly blame her. For days and nights he had barely acknowledged her apart from that sacred part of the day when she laid her hands on him; no matter what happened he allowed nothing to change that. It...She was the anchor that prevented him being swamped by feelings of unworthiness long enough to face each day. Forming words and sentences out of the images that had haunted and taunted him for so long initially stung like a freshly salted wound all over again but then...he purged the poison the only way he knew how. With a level of restraint he never knew he possessed (and he secretly suspected Meg had more to do with that than he realised) he played his hurt away; his beautiful, faithful violin helping him commit the desperate and angry notes to the air. The sad and lonely followed. His nightmares had continued but never again like when Meg had found him and he was finally unafraid to close his eyes, knowing that when they came for him he would face them once and for all. Meg had been so utterly patient and calm in the face of his anguish and he knew he owed it to her to find that lost part of him that was still good, the part that Meg could see.

He was sitting almost contentedly on the couch in the little sitting room absent-mindedly drawing perfect circles on a sketch pad with a piece of charcoal, playing Schumann's Träumerei in his mind when his brain fogged completely. That scent of fat garden roses that signified Meg had wafted across the room from the general direction of the stairs alerting him well before he saw her that she was imminent. She had become so light on her feet that he was finding it increasingly difficult to detect her steps and he rather suspected she was doing it deliberately. Was she trying to out-stealth him? Not possible, although it rather fit with her decidedly feline characteristics. He wondered if she would have been as agile and surefooted high up on the catwalks of the Populaire. He allowed a measured smirk gradually pull his mouth into a satisfied smile at her concerted efforts to outwit his superior hearing. Ah but I can still smell you, ma petite!

With strengthened resolve Meg gathered her writing things from her desk and made her way deftly downstairs where she met with the sight of an unsettlingly comfortable-looking Erik positively lounging in a sea of cushions on the settee. She would never have believed it had she not seen it with her own eyes! He looked like a Rajah on his divan and was only missing a few scantily clad eunuchs fanning him with ostrich feathers and an adoring harem at his feet. Most astonishing of all was what she could only describe as an indulgent smile playing across his disturbingly gorgeous mouth. The man was totally clueless as to the effect his rare and exceptional smiles had and this was one she hadn't seen before; either that or he was determined to put her in an early grave. Oh hell and damn him anyway! How could she be expected to form coherent thoughts when Erik had just turned her inside out with one of his enigmatic looks and beckoned a rush of warm blood to her cheeks? It was happening far too much for comfort of late and was devastating her normally composed demeanour; she was no match for this. How would she write sensible, calming words for her friend when she felt far from both herself and her entire body (never mind her hands) was tremulous under that dangerous gaze? That smile had reformed into a smirk and she was convinced he was laughing at her expense. How very dare he!

"What. WHAT?" She couldn't help but stamp her foot as she unceremoniously dumped her paper, inkpot and pen on the small table. He always managed to flip her from a quivering mess to incensed within seconds and it was beginning to worry her.

Erik momentarily ignored her, astonished as he was into silence by the fact of the very obvious blush she had been wearing just before she had stamped her elegantly clad foot. There was no mistaking it; he had seen one just like it when that young Italian pretender had smiled at her. Had he done that to her? Not possible...and yet she had most definitely been scarlet to her roots. Now she was incensed at him and he was assaulted with a curious feeling of mischief, the need to draw out this deliciousness clawing at his brain. There were those fiery eyes again – oh how he had missed them! Did she have any idea how ridiculous and at the same time how utterly adorable her little stamping fits were? He was reminded of Bella; yes he thought, his vague memories telling him that Meg was quite like her as a small child. Always asking questions and thoroughly put out when not taken seriously. He couldn't help but keep the smile on his face and the spark of enthusiasm that danced wickedly in his eyes. She was practically begging for him to tease her!

"I heard you coming down the stairs." He watched the little indignant shoulders rising above her locked elbows and tightly clenched fists. Her eyes were at boiling point like a pot of coffee steaming on the hob now, the pupils widening as she stood in shadow sideways to the sunlight pouring in the balcony doors.

"Liar! You couldn't have; I was so caref..." Meg clamped her hand to her mouth to silence her betraying mouth but it was too late. His left eye sparkled with victory. Blast, she hadn't meant to hand that to him on a plate and she just knew he would revel in it for days. It was so utterly infuriating especially as she had even remembered to keep to the side of that one pesky step that creaked in the middle.

"Hah I knew it! Planning on being Phantomess of the Pasticceria are we Meg? I heard your little feet the moment you walked out your bedroom door." Alright he was bluffing but she didn't need to know that and anyway if he hadn't been so completely wrapped up in the music in his head he would have so it was a moot point. He would still smell her a mile away and that was a gem he was not giving up just yet. Enough; there was no point pushing her completely over the edge especially when that would just make her grumpy with him.

"Writing to your mother?" he offered with as much innocence as he could inject into his voice, still incredulous as to his ability to bring a flush to her cheeks.

"Yes," She hesitated for a moment over her next words (and due in no small part to the fact that she was still smarting from being discovered in her little endeavours to mimic his silent movements), decided that the time had passed for dancing around this particular subject, "and Christine." She chanced a sly peek under lowered eyelashes, feeling instantly repentant. He was no longer smiling.

"Oh." His earlier jubilant mood evaporated only to be replaced by the heaviness in his heart and tightness in his chest that he had just spent the better part of the past week exorcising. He had not anticipated her words, although he supposed he should have. She was after all Christine's best friend and while he had his own reasons for feeling as he did, Meg would want to help her just as she had helped him. He knew who was more deserving and it wasn't the man who had just raised her hackles needlessly and for his own perverse pleasure. If it were not for him then Meg would not have to write words of comfort to her friend.

"Does it bother you? I mean I cannot just ignore her but..." This was so hard. She felt completely ripped in two but really Erik was going to have to deal with it eventually or he would be forever stuck in his Christine filled limbo, drowning in hatred and feelings of worthlessness.

Erik did not hate Christine exactly. Closer to the truth would be that he was bitterly disappointed in her; she was not what he had thought her to be and he did hate what she had done to him and how she made him feel about himself. That night of his opera when he had felt closer to his dream than ever before stood out above all others as the most soul destroying of his entire life. Not even (and he hated thinking of those times before Antoinette found him) when he had been beaten and whipped within an inch of his life had he felt the same sense of gut wrenching betrayal and hurt. But if his weeks in Meg's company had taught him anything it was how to begin to feel shame for what he himself had done; shame and regret for things he could not change and the plain and simple fact that others had suffered for his actions.

"But nothing; you are her friend. If she needs to hear from you then you should write to her." Meg had fled Paris with him, helped him, listened to him and therefore he had deprived Christine of her only friend when she no doubt needed her most and he realised he had absolutely no right to interfere with that. Still, the fact of it stung in ways he could not comprehend.

"Alright then. I mean I was always going to reply to her but I feel better knowing you know. I hate secrets, although we are sort of living one and I'm not sure how to get around it with Christine. She's obsessed with knowing where I am and who I am with and no doubt has been similarly interrogating Maman. It is not an issue with Maman...I just changed your name in case my letter fell into the wrong hands but..." she was prevented from finishing her sentence when Erik interrupted.

"You changed my name?" Who in the devil was he now?

Oh blast! She would have to tell him everything now and he would not be amused. Also she figured it would be a good time to confess bringing Rosa into her confidence somewhat. She really hated lying and now it was going to bite her. The only way to do this was to start, keep talking so he couldn't get a word in the then dive for cover while he predictably summoned OG to deal with her.

"Well you're supposed to be an old friend of Maman's as you will no doubt remember we agreed before we left Paris. Since it would be wholly unacceptable to be sent away to stay with a male friend, you have to be female and" So much for not letting him get a word in.

"Do I now and do I perchance have a name, my ingenious little friend?" This was getting better by the minute and his collar was beginning to irritate his neck.

"Eleanore" Meg whispered barely moving her lips and cringed inwardly, unable to make eye contact.

"I beg your pardon, I thought you said Eleanore!"

"I did. Also before you get all indignant you should know that I had to tell Rosa when we were shopping that you were not my employer. She never believed it from the start so it was pointless to carry on the pretence and you told Bella yourself about your face. I tried to keep to the truth as much as possible so I told her a slightly altered version of the same story." Please don't let him ask any more questions. She crossed her fingers behind her back and stole a peek at him through squinted eyes and shrank down a little in her chair.

Erik's head was spinning as it did frequently whenever Meg opened her mouth. He was now a woman. He supposed it made sense to be extra careful and he had to give her credit for the foresight. But still, a woman!

"Wait a minute, how altered? I assume I'm not a woman anymore or perhaps I am!" Erik snorted at the utter nonsense of it.

"No silly. You're still you just without the Phantom and the fact that you're running from the French police. You knew Maman from when you were children and she wanted to take me on a tour of Europe but couldn't because of work so you took me instead since you had to get out of Paris anyway."

"Hmm. Tell me Meg, why did I have to get out of Paris?" This would be good. He would give her extra marks if this was plausible.

No. No. No. You weren't supposed to ask that. Dammit. "Broken engagement. She left you for a younger man." She saw his eye widen, his eyebrow shooting up and the muscles of his jaw working overtime pulling the mantle of the Phantom all around him like a comfort blanket. "Before you completely lose it just think for a minute. It's the closest I could get to the truth that was plausible without sending you to the gallows so don't even think about complaining. I did it for you, for us. Believe me if I could have thought of a more heroic role to put you in on the spur of the moment I would have but the more truthful the less chance we have of being caught out. I'm sorry you had to be a woman for the purposes of some of this charade but again it had to fit our cover story and as it happens it's about as far from the truth as it's possible to be; no one could ever accuse you of being feminine."

Broken engagement indeed. He wanted to hurt someone but since Meg was the only one with a pulse in the room he would have to grind his teeth instead and remember to breathe. "Where does Christine think you are?"

"Maman told her the same story we agreed before we left – I'm staying with an old friend of hers. The less detail she has the better. Look I am sorry if that was a bit close to the bone about the engagement but I had to think fast and the more farfetched a story gets the more chance there is of slipping up." That would have hurt him and she was sorry for it. But he was the one with the imagination so why did she have to come up with all the ridiculous stories; it was exhausting and he was bound to find fault with every little detail.

Erik's initial ire was tempered by the fascinating possibility that she had just given him a compliment (apart from the old friend part...far too much mention of the word old for his liking – he was only thirty four), admittedly it was probably not meant as such but Meg had definitely alluded to him being the exact opposite of feminine. That combined with the fact that he knew she enjoyed him playing to her served to warm him somewhere deep inside in the place where he held all his thoughts about himself. He had never felt the praise or compliments of another – Christine had taken his willingly but he realise bitterly that she had never returned them - so he held on to these like they were pure gold. He could be "Eleanore" if that was what was required and they would be partners in this game they were playing.

"Write your letters Meg while I go and practice swooning upstairs or whatever it is that you females do."

Meg watched as he disappeared up the stairs taking them two at a time and not for the first time noticed irritatingly how very long his legs were. She was really going to have to get a handle on her unsuitable private musings about Erik and the disturbing fact of him. The man was in pieces and grieving for goodness sake! Shaking the thoughts clean out of her mind she opened Christine's letter to her and reread it so as to best plan her reply.

Dearest Christine

You cannot imagine my joy at receiving your letter and I am so sorry I have not written sooner. I cannot imagine how difficult the past few weeks must have been for you. I read your account of what happened on the night of the fire with tears in my eyes. How I wish I could have prevented it, how I wish I could be there to put my arms around you. I am only comforted by the knowledge that you are in the safe and capable arms of your beloved – and there is no one better than he to care for you. I feel our separation keenly and please believe me when I say that were it possible for me to be in two places at once, I would be.

And now for the lies.

Maman may have told you a little about her childhood friend - Eleanore? Well, being somewhat of a recluse (having never married) she has been desperately lonely and in urgent need of a companion to travel with for some time. Maman's commitments to the Populaire meant she had been unable to visit with her but I think when the fire happened she thought it the perfect opportunity to finally help her friend and shield me from the aftermath. I confess that sometimes it feels as though I never really left you are all so constantly in my thoughts.

Maman's friend keeps me ever on my toes what with me needing eyes in the back of my head and providing constant reassurance however I feel that my presence is making a difference. Fear not that I am having a dull time of it as we have been out sightseeing several times and have made friends with our neighbour; in fact we are to be guests at their daughter's wedding in June. You would not believe it but the bride-to-be is the living image of you – so I quite feel like you are near even though the miles separate us!

How relieved you must be to finally announce your betrothal – I know it was a strain to keep it secret for so long when all you wished to do was shout it from the rooftops.

From what Erik said she actually did, Meg thought sadly.

I sincerely hope that recent events have not dampened your excitement and it is actually a godsend that you have such a happy event to look forward to. If our neighbours are anything to go by you will soon be drowning in a sea of sugared almonds and lace!

You mentioned in your letter that you were not sleeping, that you worried about your angel? Christine I know that deep down, despite all that happened you did care for him but you have to let him go just as he let you go. Wherever he is I am sure he would only want you to be happy even though it could not be with him. I know from your letter that his actions were reprehensible but you must not forget that you too acted so far outside yourself as to be unrecognisable as the girl I consider a sister. You must have known that by exposing him in front of so many in such a cruel way that it would inflict the greatest amount of pain and harm imaginable? Perhaps too much was expected of you that night; too much pressure to play a part you obviously were not comfortable with. Only you can ever know why and I pray you can make peace with it.

You must not allow all that happened to eat away at you to the point of sleeplessness and I must be honest, the thought of you taking such strong medication worries me Christine. Remember when you came to us first and you could not sleep for grief - Maman used to give you warm milk with sugar and I let you sleep with my white rabbit? It is still on my bed and I will ask Maman to get it for you, that way I will still be near you and perhaps it may help you again. You must be strong now for the weeks of preparations ahead and so you can be the wife Raoul deserves. Write me with every little detail as I long for news of home.

Your fondest friend...

Erik had come back downstairs with the box of chalks Meg had thought to purchase while she had been shopping with Rosa - he needed more colour in his life apparently. She was staring at the rumpled pink sheet in her hands; the one he knew contained the words Christine had written.

"What do you know of laudanum?" Meg really was afraid for her friend, enough to tell Erik because somehow she knew he would know what to do. He knew so much about everything.

"WHAT? Meg are you ill? Laudanum!" He looked back at the letter in her hand again and slowly lifted his gaze to meet hers. Christine; it had to be.

"No I'm not but...oh look they're giving it to Christine to help her sleep and I'm frightened for her so tell me what you know of it."

"Laudanum! But that's for pain, extreme pain and is highly addictive. I have read extensively on medicine and it causes all sorts of side effects most notably euphoria and dysphoria – a depressive state. It's morphine based and really not suitable for sleep deprivation although it can induce drowsiness. What fool has prescribed that?" In the midst of everything, amongst all the pain Christine had caused him she was still the sorrowing girl he taught to sing, who gave his music a voice. He hated thinking of her falling apart and now it seemed with chemical assistance. Was the Vicomte totally incapable of looking after his bride?

"The de Chagny family physician apparently. I had no idea it was so dangerous. I don't know why he felt it necessary to give her that of all things but I know just as you do that it's all wrong and I'm frightened what it will do to her. She doesn't have the ability to cope with something like that."

"Do you think she would listen to you if you said something?" Erik could see what this was doing to the woman sitting opposite. Her face was a mask of fear and concern.

"I did try but I did not want to scare her. Oh it's almost laughable! I tried to remind her of how Maman looked after her when she was small and afraid, when she would give her warm milk with sugar. I promised I'd let her borrow my white rabbit...I let her sleep with it when she was upset over her father. It was the closest thing I had to a comfort blanket but some nights she needed it more than I did. How silly! I'm sorry I had to tell you but I thought you should know. I did not think you would want me to hide something like that from you and I hate-" She was prevented from finishing when Erik put his hand up and nodded.

"Yes I know; you hate secrets. It's all right Meg, really. Perhaps what you have written may be more effective than being blatant; for now that is as much as you can do." He would not allow her to feel bad for telling him. This was happening as a consequence of his actions and at least now he knew he could help, even if it was only to take some of the worry from Meg.

Meg finished writing to her mother making her promise to find her childhood toy for Christine and filling her in on their news – most notably that she had spoken to Erik about the "whole big mess" not that she was going to share any details with her but at least it would show her he was making some sort of progress. She was careful to include any additional details of their cover story that she had passed on to Christine. It would not do for her mother to be caught out and even if her friend was not thinking with perfect clarity, her fiancé was more astute than most. Erik had been sombre and quiet all afternoon since their discussion, back on his throne with his chalks and sketchpad. No doubt it would be all browns and greys if his humour had been anything to go by. What a change from when she first came down the stairs. It was high time they got out into the sunshine rather than merely admiring it from inside.

"Erik, I've finished with these so I need to go out and frank them. Are you coming?" She waved the envelope containing both of her letters in his general direction, waiting as he pushed himself up and went to put his materials away in his room. Within minutes he was back down again and was just pulling on his coat when he stopped and smiled to himself as if recalling a long forgotten joke.

"Meg...your white rabbit...did it by any chance have a black vest and velvet paws?"

She frowned remembering the soft toy that had been on her pillow as she slept (except when she had allowed her friend to borrow it) for as long as she could remember. He had long ears (one of which was floppy), tiny little black shiny buttons for eyes and a beautiful black satin waistcoat. Monsieur Lapin! He never really got a proper name.

"Yes he did and I used to stroke the top of my nose and cheek with his little paws when I couldn't sleep or when I was cross. Maman said only babies sucked their thumbs. Why, how did you know that?"

"Meg you forget no one breathed in the Populaire that I did not know about. He was never out of your hand, dangling from his floppy ears as you followed your mother around as a child."

"Only his right ear was flo-" Meg trailed off as the significance of her beloved toy's little oddity dawned on her with heartbreaking clarity. Its right ear had been deliberately folded over and sewn in place. Her hand flew to her mouth and blinked back stupid childish tears for a young man (who could not have been more than twenty) that had been so lonely yet had made something so precious with his own hands for a child who would never know it. She was sure now that it had been him and suddenly, selfishly she did not want Christine to have it. She glanced up at him; the question in her gaze that she would not ask aloud.

Erik eyes gave no answer as he held the door and stood aside for her as she swept out, smiling enigmatically to himself. All her life it seemed she had cherished the little rabbit he had all but forgotten he had made for Antoinette's daughter when she could not have been much more than a toddler. How he would treasure that!