Author's Note: Fluff, fluff, fluff and sappy romance. Apologies. But everybody's gotta write at least one of these, so there.
Disclaimer: Phantom of the Opera isn't mine, neither are the songs. Only Selene.
CHAPTER ONE
She struggled through the bitter cold, stumbling tiredly over the uneven cobblestones. She knew she was feverish, delirious, but she had to get away. She tripped over a broken box and sprawled on the ground, exhausted and beyond caring. "Please, God, let it end," she prayed, and slipped into blessed unconsciousness.
Erik was in dire need of ink and paper. Swathed in cloak and wide-brimmed hat, he opened the door that led to the Rue Scribe – and nearly tripped over a pile of cloth. He barely gave it a glance, and hurried onwards in the fading sunlight.
When he returned, the pile of sodden rags was still there. His eyes widened as he caught the pale glimpse of skin. It was a woman! He debated leaving her there, but as he grasped her hand to check her pulse he noticed that her hands were soft and white. Not a common street urchin, then. He placed a hand to her forehead dubiously and drew back in alarm. She was burning up! And was that blood? She had horrible bruises… was she beaten?
He made up his mind. He would bring her to the opera house and give her to Mme. Giry. She would help the woman. He picked up the girl and carried her into the tunnels.
The girl lay as if dead, and he had to check several times to make sure she was still breathing. Her paleness was alarming, even to him. He wrapped her in blankets, built a roaring fire in the room, and went to fetch Mme. Giry.
"She has a terrible fever," Mme. Giry said, examining her. "We can only try and cool her down and wait until the fever breaks, or…"
"Or she dies," he said bluntly.
"Yes." She gave him a look. "I cannot bring her with me to the surface. Everyone will talk."
"Let them talk."
"Erik," she reprimanded gently.
He sighed. "Fine. But as soon as she is well, I want her gone. This is not a hospital."
"Then why did you bring her here?"
He growled in reply, since he had no words to give her. Honestly it was a stupid idea. He picked up the needle and thread. There was a wound in her back that would need stitching. Thankfully she was unconscious, and stayed that way.
Two days, the girl stayed unconscious, moaning and muttering in her fevered sleep. Erik found that the only way to get her to calm down was to sing. Not that he minded singing for her. She was beautiful, and when she was sleeping peacefully she was angelic. It was a crime to let such a creature be in pain. Which is why, Erik suspected, he brought her to safety in the first place.
She woke to the sound of a soft violin playing. She stayed very still, wondering if she'd died, and then realized that she was very warm, and she was lying on a very soft bed. She sat up slowly, and nearly fell back down onto the pillows as her head spun. There was a single candle lit on a dresser nearby, and she grabbed it cautiously, holding it aloft. There was a door. She stood up and headed towards the door, wincing at her injuries.
It opened silently and easily, and when it swung open, she gasped at the sight of the lake, the candles, and the rich tapestries. "What…?"
Erik heard the soft gasp and cursed silently. She wasn't supposed to wake up yet. How would he explain? He took a deep breath and turned. "Bonjour, mademoiselle," he said, bowing to her.
"Where am I?" she asked, staring in awe at the tall, imposing figure with the gleaming white mask.
"In a safe place, mademoiselle," he said, after a moment. He could not tell her directly where she was.
"Safe," she echoed dubiously.
"Whom are you running from?" he asked curiously. He knew the look on her face; it was hunted, scared. The expression did not go well with her face.
She gave a terrible shudder. "A monster," she whispered.
Erik flinched involuntarily. "Who?" he asked again.
The girl seemed to shrink in on herself. "The Vicomte Delacroix," she said, uttering the name as if it were a curse.
"Why?"
"He tried to-" she paused and her eyes welled up with tears as she began to tremble, "he-" She started to cry. "I hit him with a vase to get away. And when I returned to my family they threw me out for refusing to marry him. He found me, tried to kill me." She touched the bruises on her face absently. "I ran..." her gaze grew unfocused as her trembling increased. "I ran so far... I thought I was going to die..." Still weak from the fever, she collapsed to the floor, still crying.
Erik had no idea what to do. He'd never dealt with this sort of thing before. So he knelt in front of her and said, in his best soothing tone, "You are safe, mademoiselle. I promise, nothing will harm you here."
She did not seem to hear him.
So he started to sing.
She quieted within seconds, lifting herself up, still trembling with exhaustion, to stare at him. "Who are you?" she asked, when he finished the song.
What name to give her? "Erik," he said finally, since any other title would have been revealing.
"Erik," she whispered. "You have a beautiful voice."
He ignored the compliment. "What is your name?" he asked.
"Selene," she said. "Selene Gardinier."
He extended a hand to help her up, and was astonished when she pulled herself up and wrapped her arms around him. He stiffened in disbelief.
"Thank you," she whispered, hugging him tightly. "Thank you so much, monsieur." She released him a moment later and stepped back, blushing.
Erik could only stare at her in shock. No one, ever, had hugged him. Not ever. "I... Uh..."
Thankfully, at that moment Mme. Giry arrived. "You're awake," she said, pleased. She took the girl's arm and made her sit down on the sofa. "How do you feel?"
"Better," Selene said, smiling slightly.
"Good. My name is Antoinette Giry, I'm the ballet mistress of the Opera Populaire. And you are?"
"Selene Gardinier," the girl replied.
"Can you tell us what happened?" Mme. Giry asked.
The girl's eyes filled with tears and she looked over at Erik helplessly.
"Allow me," he said, answering the plea in her eyes. He told the ballet mistress the story.
"You are safe here," Mme. Giry assured Selene, holding her hands tightly. "We will not let him find you." She looked at Erik. "What do we do next?" she asked.
"I will make enquiries," Erik said. "And you may give her a job at the opera, where I, we, can keep watch."
"How old are you?" Mme. Giry asked, turning back to Selene, who was watching them carefully.
"21, Madame."
"Not a child, then. And what skills do you have?"
"I am an artist," Selene replied simply.
"What kind of art?" Erik asked.
"Painting, drawing. I can play the piano, though not very well. My teacher returned to Italy."
Erik went to the desk, returned with a sketchpad and a stick of graphite. "Draw," he ordered.
She took the items and raised a delicate eyebrow at him. "What should I draw?"
"Anything."
She gazed around the world of flickering candles, smiled, and began to sketch. Within minutes, a misty lake and a haunting cavern appeared, the figure of a man in the shadows. She presented the sketch to Erik, biting her lip nervously.
He stared at it, amazed. "You are truly an artist, mademoiselle."
She smiled at the praise. "Thank you, monsieur. But not much use in an opera house, is it?"
"Can you sew?" Mme. Giry asked.
"Only a little."
"Dance?"
"No."
"Sing?"
"I wish," was the wistful reply.
Mme. Giry glanced at Erik. "I don't see how they could hire her," she said matter-of-factly.
"Play," Erik said, nodding to the piano nearby.
Selene rose and crossed to the piano. She touched the keys hesitantly, and looked at the scores scattered on the top. She picked up a page, and began to play it.
Erik listened critically. She had difficulty with the complex passages, but her posture was correct, and she managed to put emotion into it, which was more than could be said for the piano player in the orchestra. "I can work with this," he said, more to himself than to them.
"Work with what?"
"You will stay here," Erik announced, having formulated a plan. "I will train you to become a great piano player, and you will audition for the opera. They will give you a position."
"And in return?" Selene asked cautiously.
"And in return you shall give me your art," Erik said, after a moment. He did not need anything, but things of beauty were always a pleasure.
She wrapped her arms around herself insecurely.
"Come," Mme. Giry said, "you must be hungry." She led the girl to the kitchen and started to take out some bread and cheese.
Erik left them in the kitchen and went back to the violin.
"Who is he, truly, Madame?" Selene asked in a hushed tone, as they ate.
Mme. Giry sighed. "He is a genius, child. A misunderstood, bitter genius."
Selene stayed silent. "But he is not dangerous?" she finally asked.
"I do not think he would hurt you," Mme. Giry said. "But tread lightly. And do not touch his mask, or ask about it."
Selene nodded. "I understand." She touched the bruise on her face absently. "Is it scarring?"
"Yes." Mme. Giry looked at her sternly. "No pity."
"No," Selene said. "I want none, and I don't suppose he wants any either."
"Good girl."
After she ate, Selene felt very tired, and went back to her room to sleep.
"I will come back tomorrow," Mme. Giry told Erik. "I expect her to be unharmed."
He scowled at her. "I will not touch her."
"Good."
Mindful of the girl sleeping in the other room, Erik stuck to playing quiet tunes on the violin, thinking up a plan. She would need to heal, before they could begin lessons. And she needed clothes. She could not continue in one of Mme. Giry's old nightgowns. She also needed her own art supplies. Always a man of action, he left the lair to go shopping.
When he returned to the lair, his arms full of boxes, Selene was still sleeping heavily. He placed the boxes on the edge of the bed, and went back to his violin.
Selene woke up disoriented, and then remembered where she was, and lay back down, relieved. She saw the boxes at the end of the bed, and her curiosity was piqued. She got out of bed and began to open boxes. Dresses, nightgowns, chemises, shoes, shawls, a cloak, stockings… She held one up against herself. It was her size…
She ventured out of the room, and found Erik sitting at the piano, looking at simple melodies. "Excuse me, monsieur," she said hesitantly.
"Yes?" he asked, glancing up.
"The clothes…"
"They are yours," he said, standing. "Come." He showed her the bathroom and the soap he'd bought, and left her to her toiletries.
Selene took a long, hot bath, and inspected the extent of her injuries. She had bruises on her face and arms, her neck, and a painful wound on her shoulder, covered with a bandage. She was careful not to get it wet as she washed her hair and body. When she got out, she put on a light green dress and went out.
"You look much better," Erik said, startling her with his sudden appearance.
She smiled. "I feel better, thank you."
He looked at her awkwardly and she looked at him. "Is there anything I can help you with?" she asked after a moment.
"No." He didn't even look up. "Your art supplies are over there."
Selene went over to where he gestured, and found graphite sticks, paper, ink, conte crayons, and oil paints and canvas. "Oh, monsieur," she gasped. "This is far too much."
"Not for a good artist." He kept his tone brusque but he couldn't help the smile on his face as he watched her enthusiastically organizing her supplies on the table.
After that, however, there was an awkward silence again. Erik ignored her and went to the organ. He vented his frustrations on the poor instrument, and then began to play one of his compositions.
Selene was spellbound as she listened to the music. If she hadn't known he was a human, she would have thought he was an angel, to produce such music. But there he was, a true genius. She crept closer; wanting to watch his hands fly over the keys.
He was so engrossed in his music he didn't realize that she'd come to stand almost directly behind his shoulder. He finished with a quiet flourish.
"That was so beautiful," Selene commented, wiping a few tears from her face.
Erik nearly fell off the bench in surprise. He'd completely forgotten that she was there. "Please, mademoiselle, do not sneak up on me."
She grinned. "I'm sorry, monsieur." But her eyes twinkled and she didn't look sorry at all.
Erik continued playing, now hyper-aware of the presence behind his shoulder, but as he drifted into the music he lost all awareness. He played for another couple hours, refining his composition, and when he stopped, he realized that Selene was no longer behind him. And there was the smell of roast chicken wafting through the cave. He went to the kitchen and found Selene tossing a salad. "What are you doing?" he asked, dumbfounded.
"I'm making dinner," she replied simply.
"Why?"
"I'm hungry, and you look like you could use a good meal."
He frowned at her.
"Bachelors," she said serenely, taking the salad and the roasted chicken to the table. "My brother was the same way before he married, always skipping meals."
His scowl increased. He did not need to be taken care of.
"Aren't you going to eat?" she asked innocently, putting down two plates.
"No," he said. It was too difficult to eat with the mask on.
She seemed to understand his troubles. "I can eat in my room," she said, fixing up her plate.
"No," he said, "you eat here."
"Are you sure?" she asked doubtfully.
"Yes."
"You could always take it off," she suggested quietly.
He froze. "No," he growled, and swept out of the room.
She ate her dinner in solitude, and cleaned up. Once everything was spotless, she returned to her room for the night, still tired from her ordeal. Hopefully, the mysterious man would be able to relax in her presence.