3A/N: This is set after my story Apparition but should make sense/fit into the timeline of the musical without needing to read that, first. Meg has a ton of stage time, but I wish we got to see more of Christine and Meg's friendship.
Christine shored up her courage as rehearsals ended for the day and her feet naturally carried her to her dressing-room. Would he be there again? Did she want him to be? She was so lost in thought that Meg must have called her name three or four times before she realized it. Whirling around, she saw her friend racing to catch up with her, golden curls bouncing and a shawl thrown around her shoulders over her practice costume.
"You may have fooled M. Reyer but you can't fool me, Christine Daaé," the younger girl declared, hands on her hips and face screwed up in a look of determination.
"I don't know what you mean," Christine blustered with a forced smile before turning back towards her dressing-room and climbing the stairs.
"I was in the managers' office with maman the day after you disappeared," Meg went on, her voice hushed but urgent as she followed. "Something happened that night."
Christine grabbed for the door, suddenly more eager to face whatever awaited her inside than to explain what had occurred - what a fool she had been, to believe in angels…
"Please." Meg's quiet plea pierced through the darkness of her thoughts. "You can tell me."
Christine's hand paused on the doorknob at the feel of a gentle pressure on her arm. She had confided in her friend before about her tutor, she reminded herself. Why did she hesitate to do it again? Her mind turned over the consequences - real or imagined - of revealing the truth to another living soul. All the while the slight yet reassuring weight of Meg's hand remained.
"Not here," Christine sighed at last, releasing the knob and reaching up to squeeze her friend's fingers instead. After another long pause she looked back at Meg, encouraged to see that her expression was one of concern and not judgment or mere curiosity. "Somewhere private." Meg's eyebrow quirked up at the implication that Christine's dressing-room wasn't secluded enough for whatever she was about to reveal. But she didn't object, and after a moment, she smiled and tugged on Christine's hand. "I have an idea."
It was a familiar sight - the pair of them arm-in-arm, wandering through the corridors behind the stage of the Opéra. But a closer glance would reveal the shadow hanging over their heads, the anxious silence between them instead of the usual light-hearted conversation. Meg led them to a little-used storage room, filled with old set pieces and props covered in dust cloths. A few half-burned candles and a box of matches in the corner indicated that it was not the first time this place had been used to avoid prying eyes and ears. "I've come here to get away from mother a few times," Meg confessed, the tips of her ears turning red as she knelt to light the candles.
"Is that the only reason?" Christine teased, taking a seat on the floor. Her lips curled into a genuine smile for the first time in two days. She had seen her friend chatting with a particular stage hand more than once, and wondered if he was what Meg was truly hiding from her strict mother. The ballerina's cheeks went a shade pinker but she quickly changed the subject as she perched across from Christine. "We're here to talk about you, not me, remember?" Meg deflected. "I saw the notes."
"Notes?" the older girl questioned, not understanding.
"From the Opera Ghost!" Meg answered matter-of-factly, as if it were the most obvious statement in the world. Christine had never paid too much attention to rumors of the Phantom. She had been too focused on her lessons, on earning her Angel's praise…though she did recall the black-edged note Mme Giry had delivered to the new managers the day of M. Lèfevre's retirement. "Practically everyone received one after you vanished - and most of them were about you."
"Everyone?" Christine managed to choke out past the lump quickly forming in her throat. "Who else was there, besides the four of you?"
"La Carlotta, in quite a state, as I'm sure you can imagine! Señor Piangi was with her, and..." Meg paused, nibbling at her lower lip before adding, "the Vicomte de Chagny."
Christine's eyes grew wide but she didn't interrupt again, letting her companion continue with her story. "Maman knows something about it, she must. She's always delivering the Ghost's messages. But this time, she…" Meg glanced around to each shadowy corner, confirming that they were still alone. "She talked about the Angel of Music." The color drained from Christine's face as her hand slipped bonelessly from Meg's grip. "You said the Angel of Music was giving you lessons, and now the Opera Ghost is insisting that you be cast as the lead in the next production. What is going on?"
"This was a mistake. I'm sorry, I - I can't..." Christine stammered, overcome by the thought of a room full of people discussing what she had struggled to confess to her dearest friend. She pulled away and tried to scramble to her feet, but Meg clasped her shoulders, keeping her in place. "Christine, please," she pleaded, her fair eyebrows knitted together in worry. "If you're in some kind of trouble, let me help you." Christine fought back the urge to break free and head straight home, to pretend like none of this ever happened...but she knew that they had come too far already. The truth was poised on her lips, ready to spill forth.
"That night, after the gala, I…" She swallowed hard, delaying the inevitable another moment. "I was with him."
"Him? You mean the Vicomte? But he said..."
"No, not Raoul. My tutor. The Angel of Music - or perhaps I should say the Ghost. I'm not sure what to call him now, because they're the same thing. The same man." Christine wrapped her arms around her waist, her voice growing thick with emotion. "Oh, Meg, he...he was just a man the whole time. There's no such thing as the Angel of Music." The words were spoken, and there was no taking them back. Christine trembled as she waited to hear his voice, booming in anger, but the little room was silent.
"Are you all right?" Meg asked anxiously, searching the other girl's face and tightening her grip on her shoulders. "Did he harm you?" Christine shook her head, quick to ease her companion's mind. "I'm fine, only...upset," she explained. "If that's even the proper way to describe it." How else could she possibly put it - the feeling of her world being turned upside-down? There was so much more to be said - how he had taken her deep below the Opéra, the horror of his face - but there were some secrets that she would keep, for now. A tear slid down her cheek but she stubbornly wiped it away with her fist, trying to maintain what little control she still could. "What a silly child I must seem! I mean, really - an angel, sent by my father from heaven…"
"You aren't silly," Meg assured her softly, using the corner of her shawl to dab at her friend's damp cheeks. "Not to me." It was too much, this quiet kindness. Meg's eyes were gentle, imploring her to continue. Christine couldn't bring herself to meet them, instead seizing the other girl's hand and kissing it fervently. "I've said too much already," she murmured, mostly to herself, "but thank you for listening, Meg."
Drawing their joined hands to her own lips, Meg pressed a kiss to Christine's shaking fingers. It was a kind of vow, an unspoken promise to hold sacred the secrets shared between sisters. Christine forced back a new swell of tears at the gesture and offered her a tremulous smile, trying to reassure the both of them that all would be fine. They blew out the candles and helped each other stand, brushing away the cobwebs clinging to their skirts before leaving the storage room. Shoulder-to-shoulder and fingers still tightly laced, neither of them noticed the living shadow that emerged a few moments later.