I renamed this fanfiction from Love Never Lies to Culpabilité, as is obvious from the title above. It's a much more fitting name. I would also check back and reread the first chapter, which I have recently rewritten.

Finally, a follow up to where we left off last time! Now to see what happens next...

Gustave did not notice Erik's presence at first. Instead, he was at the grand piano, plunking out a few notes. Erik could not have been gone longer than an hour, yet already he felt terrible over leaving the young boy alone- again. Christine would never have abandoned Gustave at the drop of a dime, like he had done.

It was just another reason why Erik was incredibly unfit to care for his, no, the child. Gustave belonged with his mother, not being roommates with some reclusive, mentally-unstable madman who struggled to even write a simple song.

But that didn't mean he couldn't relish the final moments alone with him. If things went the way Erik planned… Gustave would most likely never see him again. That reason was the entire reason he now stood, leaned against the wall, watching Gustave play the instrument. The boy, just like his father, truly was talented. Gustave poured his heart and soul into his music, occasionally pausing to write something on the paper.

After a moment the boy noticed Erik spectating behind him, turning around and grinning up at the masked man. "Erik!" he gasped. "You're back! I wanted to show you what I made."

"Of course," Erik managed a small smile, kneeling beside his son. The title still made his heart skip a beat. Or two. Or three.

He was a father, technically. Yet, that thought brought him to another fact. All those years ago, when he had left Christine in the early dawn… she had been pregnant. Erik struggled to keep looking calm as he listened to Gustave present his newly-written score. If he had known that she had conceived back then, he never would have left. However cold Erik's heart was, he still cared deeply about Christine. He may be a terrible person, but by God, he had never wanted her to have to go through that, all alone.

He had abandoned her thinking she would be better with Raoul, who was wealthy and would be able to better care for her, as opposed to him, who had been in shambles at the time. Now, Erik could only imagine Christine's terror at waking to find him missing. She had told him before that she had been prepared to stay alongside him forever and that she had loved him... another thing he tried to forget. Then a few weeks later after being abandoned, finding out she was with child. His child.

No, she probably believed the child to be the Vicomte's, he thought bitterly, feeling more than a little ill at the idea of Christine and Raoul performing in intimate acts together. The boy's tiny, grubby hands all over Christine's smooth, creamy skin… he gulped.

Yet, knowing Christine, she most likely figured out the true parentage of her son as soon as he was walking and talking. Hell, Gustave even looked like him. Sharing his raven black hair as well as natural skinniness, the child was incredibly fortunate not to have inherited Erik's amber eyes. Raoul would have turned them both out immediately, in Erik's mind.

Shoving away his thoughts, he focused on listening to the end of Gustave's song. He felt a blossom of pride in his chest. Gustave, he thought to himself, with a little sorrow, was a true prodigy.

"What did you think?" the young boy turned his blue eyes up to Erik, wide and anxious for praise. Praise, that Erik was more than willing to give. "I think," he began, placing his hands upon Gustave's shoulders. "That you are beyond amazing. You will achieve great things, Gustave."

The child grinned in response. "Thanks."

A pause, and then Erik spoke again, hesitant.

"Gustave… may I hug you?" his voice was small, almost afraid. But to his relief (and admittedly, surprise,) Gustave nodded. It took Erik all his strength not to cry, pulling Gustave against his chest, yet still being careful enough not to squish him.

If Erik was never going to see his son again, he would be damned if he wouldn't be permitted to know the feeling of holding his child in his arms.

Slightly muffled by Erik's still-damp cloak, Gustave spoke. "I wrote that song for you, you know. It's a gift."

That was all it took to undo Erik. Clenching his eyes shut in a fruitless attempt to stop the flood of tears threatening to break through. Silently, he began to weep.

XXxxXX

Although only a few days had passed in Erik's care, to Gustave it felt like a lifetime since he had last been with his mother. The young boy was ecstatic when he learned he was going to be reunited with her again, a fact that only strengthened Erik's guilt.

"She's ready to let me watch her?" his eyes had widened. Erik nodded, tentatively.

"She told me she missed you terribly, and that she wanted to show you her song. She's been practicing very hard, I heard."

While the part about her missing him had been completely correct, the masked man knew for a fact that Christine hadn't practiced at all since he had abducted Gustave. Erik couldn't blame her.

Gustave had then shocked Erik by flinging his arms around his waist, pulling the older man in for another hug—his second from Gustave.

Now, however, the two of them were standing on the balcony in the hotel room that the de Chagny's were staying in. Erik was picking at the lock on the doors, his eyes narrowed in concentration. The small and temporary home, he noticed immediately, was not entirely empty. He could recognize the footsteps of Christine from inside her bedroom.

With a click, the doors were unlocked and Erik ushered Gustave inside. The parlor was dimly lit, only a fire set in the fireplace for illumination. The boy, Erik knew, was absolutely bubbling with excitement, staring at the shut door as a wide grin spread upon his face. He glanced up at the masked man. "She's in there!" he whispered. Erik's only response was putting a finger up to his lips, before striding forward on silent feet to open the door as quietly as possible.

Christine was standing before her vanity, running a comb (rather aggressively) through her hair. To Erik, she looked like the lost little girl he had sung to over a decade ago, simply trying to find her way through the world. With her hair down and unruly, she looked young and innocent. Her brows were knit together as she stared at herself.

That was, at least until she caught sight of him in the mirror. Gasping audibly, she swung around to glare at him. "You!" she growled. Her pretty features were twisted in a scowl as she stumbled to her feet. Raoul was nowhere to be seen, fortunately.

Erik narrowed his eyes. Gustave was still hidden behind him, but he could feel the small boy quivering as he clutched to his cloak. The child watched his mother's outburst with wide eyes.

"Indeed," he murmured, dryly.

"Have you come here to take something else from me? Because I can assure you, monsieur, I have nothing else to lose." She took another step forward, but Erik didn't back down.

Instead, he shook his head, moving aside to give her a full view of Gustave. Letting out a gasp, Gustave ran forwards, into her arms. Both were crying within moments. "My dear," she cupped his cheeks with her hands. "Are you alright?"

Gustave nodded shakily, reaching to hug his mother again.

Shutting his eyes momentarily to muster strength, Erik took a step forward. He felt out of place, as if he were watching something he wasn't supposed to be seeing. Christine looked up, standing again soon after, her head barely coming up to his chin. Her dark gaze bore into his with heartbreaking intensity.

"Why," her voice quivered, and her face was red with tear streaks. "Why have you returned? What do you expect? Money? Because that's the only reason we came in the first place. We're broke."

"I expect nothing, Christine. I came to my senses, that is all." he murmured, moving nearer until he was close enough to feel her breath as she exhaled. "I just hope that someday, in time you will come to forgive me. Words only seem to do injustice, do they not?" Glancing down at Gustave, the corner of his lip twitched, ever-so-slightly. "Goodbye, Gustave."

And with a flash of his hand and a swirl of his cloak he was gone, leaving a very confused Christine as well as a forlorn Gustave.

"I'm not going to see him again, am I?" he whimpered, clutching to Christine's skirts. She didn't respond, embracing him tightly and turning back to her dresser, where she had placed the slip of paper with Erik's address on it.

The note was gone.

XXxxXX

The flat was cold and unwelcoming without Gustave's warm presence. No matter where he glanced, every item reminded him of all he had lost. The couch in the parlor, a crack on the ceiling, the lone window on the far side of the room, even the pianoforte, covered with all the boy's papers. Gustave's gift, the small piece he had created only a few hours earlier lay on the top of the stack, an insulting reminder of what he had lost. He took a few shaky steps in its direction, hand outstretched to grab the paper. The moment his fingers touched it, however, he jerked back as if he had been burned.

If what he had done was right, why did he feel so terrible? Erik turned his back on the piano, instead of making his way to the kitchen, opening a cabinet and taking out the strongest thing he could find. With trembling hands, he grabbed a cup, filling it to the rim with the liquor. In a few moments he had the harsh liquid downed, then promptly refilled his mug and following suit. Even the expensive alcohol slid down his throat tastelessly as Erik attempted to numb his mind and ignore the large emptiness that filled his chest. For a short period, he had been content, almost happy with Gustave. When he had forgotten his sins, he had let himself imagine that everything was alright, that he was alright.

Yet, all that goes up must come down, and the same went for his time with Gustave. Abandoning the glass, he tore off his wig and mask, reaching for the bottle. Erik took another swig, clenching his eyes shut. Then, with a painful slowness, he rubbed his face with his hands.

"To a wasted life," he slurred, raising the bottle as if he were leading a toast and throwing it across the room using all his remaining might. Erik simply watched as the empty vessel shattered into pieces against the mantle above the fireplace. A small shower of glass rained down onto the floor.

Once again, he was alone.

Please tell me your thoughts, reviews definitely encourage me.

Do you think Erik was right in returning Gustave?

What will Christine do now?