Chapter Two: Settling In

Erik opened the door to the apartment and ushered Christine inside. It was a lovely little flat with a small kitchen off to the left that gradually faded into a sitting room with a floral pattern sofa and chairs as well as a grand piano. Down the hall were four bedrooms, two on either side, and a shared bathroom at the end. Judging by the quality of the furniture and the cleanliness of the rooms, Christine guessed that it was probably one of the nicest apartments New York had to offer. But it was strange seeing the former Phantom outside of his underground realm, and she suddenly found herself longing for candlelight shimmering on a glassy lake, cool mist on her skin, and the echoes of organ music five floors beneath the Paris Opera House.

Her disappointment did not go unnoticed, though Erik assumed it was for other reasons. The girl was dying, for goodness' sake! She should be at home in Paris in the arms of a man with a perfect face and perfect past, not locked away in some New York apartment with a deranged, deformed psychopath who wanted her more than was probably safe. He didn't know how long he could take living in the same house with her without behaving immorally. But she had come to him of her own free will, and Erik was too selfish to turn her away. He sighed.

Just the fact that she's here should be enough. Be happy that she wanted to see you at all.

He led her down the hall to the second bedroom on the left, which was currently unoccupied, Madame Giry and Meg having taken up residence in the two bedrooms to the right. It briefly crossed his mind that there would be only a single wall between his room and hers, but he quickly shook off the thought before it could go any further.

"This will be your room," he informed her. "Meg will help you with your things. I need to speak with Antoinette for a moment."

She nodded her thanks before stepping over the threshold, letting out a little gasp of surprise at the beauty of the room. A canopy bed sat in the center of the room, piled high with pillows that matched the pale blue coverlet and sheets. To the right there was a chest of drawers and a small desk that looked like it should have been a vanity…but, of course, there was no mirror. She smiled to herself at the thought.

My Angel's face is not so horrible to look at.

In fact, if she was being completely honest, she rather thought that—aside from the flawed half of his face—he was rather handsome. She blushed.

Don't think like that! She scolded herself. It wouldn't be fair to get his hopes up. Not when your time is so short….

Going back to her survey of the room, she noticed a wardrobe in the far left corner and a little window just to the side of the bed, its wispy gauze-like curtains barely brushing the antique mahogany bedpost. A small bedside table completed the room.

She ran a hand over the silky bedspread, relishing the smooth coolness of the fabric beneath her fingertips.

"Like it?"

Christine looked up to see her best friend leaning against the door frame.

"It's magnificent," she breathed.

Meg smiled sadly. "He designed it with you in mind, you know." She sat down on the bed and patted the spot beside her for Christine to sit down. "He's really missed you…. We all have."

Christine returned the smile, leaning her head against her friend's shoulder. "It's good to be home."

xxxxx

Erik was pacing the kitchen when Madame Giry walked in, having checked on the girls and bid them goodnight, the quiet tapping of her cane against the hardwood floor and the soft rustle of her skirts the only warning of her approach. Erik paused mid-step and pulled a chair out from the table, collapsing into its wooden frame and resting his elbows on the table, cradling his head in his hands. He sighed deeply.

"I can't do this again, Antoinette."

The former ballet mistress took a seat beside him, laying a hand on his arm. "She never meant to hurt you, Erik."

He sighed again but did not lift his head. "I know." He kept his voice low, knowing that the walls in the apartment were much thinner than one might think. "I love her so much…but she will never feel the same." He gave a sort of half-laugh. "I suppose it doesn't really matter now, though, does it?"

"She came back for you, didn't she? She wants to spend her last days on earth with you. That must mean something, non?"

"The only thing she will ever feel for me is pity."

"How do you know?" Giry challenged. "Have you asked her?"

"Pity is the only kindness anyone has ever shown me. I was foolish to ever think she could be different."

The older woman crossed her arms. "You think pity is the reason I was willing to risk everything to help you—not once but twice?! You think pity is what motivated Christine to cross an entire ocean by herself?!"

Erik slammed his fists against the table. "She's dying, Antoinette! I can't afford to be any more attached to her than I already am…." When he looked up, she could see the unshed tears sparkling in his eyes. "What am I to do?"

The ballet mistress took his hands in hers.

Just love. Just live.

Just give all you can give.

And take the love that you deserve….

"Just enjoy the time you have with her. That is all that any of us can do."

"What about the opera? I still have to host the auditions. They'll need to rehearse, and the production is due to make a grand opening run next month…." He shuddered. She might not even be alive next month!

"I will see to it that all is taken care of," Madame Giry assured him. She lowered her voice to barely a whisper. "There are more important things in life than music."

Erik nodded solemnly.

xxxx

Long after the women had all gone to bed, he remained at the kitchen table, penning a new song for the first time in ages. When at last he was satisfied with the composition, he folded it neatly and tucked it away in his pocket, heading for the room just across the hall from Madame Giry's. Christine had left the door to her room slightly ajar, and he couldn't help but linger a moment, peering in through the crack at her sleeping form. Dressed in a white gown with a cascade of dark curls framing her face, she truly looked more like an angel than anything he'd ever seen. He watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest with great relief, terrified that any moment she might stop breathing. Sighing, he tore himself away from the angelic vision, locking himself away in his own room where he finally fell apart.

When at last he fell asleep, it was with an extra dose of morphine in his veins and tear stains on his cheeks.