Chapter Six: Together at Last

Erik stood for a long moment. Nadir walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, seeing the dejected and horrified look on his friend's face. When the former Opera Ghost looked over at him with a desperate expression, he simply gestured to the door to the inside. Erik seemed to comprehend well enough, flying to the door and wrenching it open. He tore down the stairs and into the main room of the headquarters. He had watched her often enough to know that she had a room in the back of the place, where he immediately went. A hand on his arm stopped him with surprising strength. Erik wheeled around to see the man she had been spending most of her time with since she had hired him as her second all those months ago standing before him with a grim expression.

"You are the one she has been missing for so long?" he asked, to which Erik could only nod.

Marcien pulled back his fist and punched him. Hard, in the nose. He heard it break and Marcien almost smiled, watching it bleed. Were it not for the fact that Camillé had come back into headquarters crying, the second never would have dared to lay a hand on the larger, much more intimidating character. She wouldn't have wanted him to anyway, angry with this guy or not. The woman that Marcien regarded as his adopted sister was the one person he never dared to cross. He knew she was dangerous, but more importantly, she meant the world to him. Her happiness and safety were paramount. When she was angry with him, he never lasted long before apologizing and groveling for her forgiveness. Though she often told him he needed to grow up – which always made them both laugh – he knew that she appreciated the gesture.

Once he had located his misplaced mask, Erik got up off the floor slowly, keeping his senses on the boy – no, no, this was a man – the man behind him. He had not been expecting the second's presence, and he had taken him by surprise. Coquin was certainly full of them, it seemed. Camillé came rushing out of her room, having heard the commotion, and stared at Erik for a moment. Then her eyes travelled to Marcien behind him, who she gave a warning look to before dragging Erik in the direction of her office, making sure he could hide his face. There she sat him on her desk and told him to sit still. She retrieved her medical supplies from the drawer of her desk and came in front of him, glaring at him.

"Camillé –"

She held a hand up, silently signaling for him to be quiet. He instantly shut his mouth and looked at her warily while she worked. Though she looked much the same as his beloved fiancée, there had been quite a few obvious changes. She had slimmed again, fitting into the old bodice that he remembered. In fact, she seemed even smaller then when he had met her. From his vantage point in the wall, he had seen that she had become thinner, but not the extent of it. This was not healthy for her. Her hair was longer, down the small of her back, but it had lost its shine. His lover was paler than he remembered, almost to the point of being as pale as he was. Her eyes were sunken in and ringed with dark circles, betraying her lack of sleep. Camillé looked at him and he gazed into her eyes, finding no sign of the golden flecks he loved. They were dead and brown, almost black in color. He frowned at her, causing her to turn away from him.

Erik looked at the floor, thinking about the other changes that had happened. His place as her protector and her confidante had been taken by the character of Coquin, he had known that since he watched them become closer. His Camillé had been kind and soft, caring and loving, offset by La Chatte Noire; cold, calculating, and judgmental. The Camillé before him was a mixture of the two, apparently having embraced her other side. She was kind to those who deserved it, but cold and judgmental before her trust was earned. Her calculation and ability to make decisions based on the strengths of her comrades was astounding and came in very handy in her position. Often, she was very logical and less compassionate. That side of her still existed, which was why her workers stayed with Le Poignard for so long. She was known for being kind once they had worked their way into her good graces – which took doing.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he was taken by surprise when suddenly, pain shot through his nose and into the front of his head. Erik reeled, earning him a hit on the arm from Camillé, who was trying to staunch the blood enough to brace his nose. It took her some time for that to happen, at which point she cleaned up his face. Then she cleared her medical supplies and walked out of the room. Erik reached out to grab her arm, but she pulled it out of his grasp harshly. Her second noticed this and his eyes narrowed.

"You will do well to remember that broken nose you've got," Marcien threatened, "because if you ever go near her again, I will see to it more than your nose is broken, monsieur."

Erik swallowed. "I mean her no harm. I only wish to –"

"I do not care whether you mean her harm or not – the harm has already been done. For months, I have been tirelessly working to allow her a few moments peace from your memory, from the thought that you were dead, and now you decide to show up? After more than a year, you decide to jump back into her life, and you think I will allow that? No, monsieur, you are not allowed near her. I fear you have already undone all the progress she has made. I must ask you to leave," he concluded, glaring at Erik sternly.

He steeled his bravado against this surprisingly intimidating brotherly character and stood up straight. "I am not going to leave until I speak to Camillé."

"I believe you are."

"Then we are of differing opinions on this subject."

"It appears so."

"You will allow me to see her."

"Over my dead body."

"You really do not want to say that, monsieur."

"Oh, I believe I do, monsieur."

"I will kill you if you keep me from the woman I love."

"Funny way to show love, killing her adopted brother."

"You infuriate me."

"The feeling is entirely mutual."

"You seem awfully calm."

"I am calm, yes. You appear awfully restless."

"The woman I love and have not seen in a year is standing in the other room. Now why do you think I am restless?"

"Another odd way to show love, making your lover think you're dead."

"You are testing my patience, boy."

"I am not a boy, and I assure you, I have enough patience for both of us."

"If you are not a boy, then why are you acting like one?"

"Now that was immature."

"I will admit to that."

"Good. Then we have reached an understanding."

"We have. You will let me see Camillé now, agreed?"

"Disagreed. What makes you think she wants to see you, anyway?"

"She does… even though her mind is screaming at her to send him away."

Both of the men started and saw Camillé in her pirate shirt and leggings, bare aside from those and with her hair down. She was leaning against the doorframe in front of her bedroom, her arms crossed and her head down. Marcien looked her over and went straight over to her, while Erik respectfully – and forcibly – kept his distance.

Marcien scoffed and whispered, "This man ruined your life, Camillé! How could you possibly want to see him?"

"I know that. But the fact remains that I still love him, and nothing can change that, efforts be damned. I at least need to talk to him."

"I thought you already talked."

"We did… sort of. I mostly let him do the talking and formed my own conclusions, which I failed to share. He and I need to really talk about this," she sighed, placing her hand on his arm, "I know what I'm doing, 'Cien. Please trust me."

"I always trust you, Cam. It's him I cannot trust. He hurt you and I cannot sit by and idly watch if he hurts you again. Even his mere presence here makes me angry," he admitted.

Camillé chuckled. "Spoken like a true brother," she teased, poking his chest, "Now step aside and let him in. Don't worry – if we get into an argument, I shall see to it he is put in his place."

"Fine. But if he tries to hurt you, that man will not leave this building alive," he promised, his eyes showing his sincerity.

She kissed his cheek and waved him off. Marcien walked past Erik, bumping his shoulder purposefully as he did so. When Erik turned to look at him, he told him that he was watching the dark man. Something about the look in his eyes made Erik unnerved, but Camillé's touch on his arm took everything from his mind. He turned back to her and let her lead him into her room.

It was dark in her bedchamber, and eerily familiar. There was a full-length mirror against the wall next to a black armoire, and the bed was covered in soft, dark red velvet sheets. The black chest he had placed her belongings in sat at the end of the bed. It was open, and he saw that the song he had written for her and his old mask were at the top of the pile. The cloak he had gotten for her was hanging on the wall. He smiled at the sight of it, before his eyes turned to her.

Camillé was sitting on the bed, cross-legged and waiting. Slowly, almost as if he expected her to bolt or attack him, he untied his cloak and hung it beside hers. Next came his cravat and his suit-jacket. He wanted to take off his vest too, but felt as if that was a little bit too much. Erik removed his shoes, remembering her rule about not having shoes on the bed. He sat down across from her, warily watching her reactions. She was perfectly immobile until he was settled. Then her eyes met his and she shook her head at him.

"Why, Erik?"

He sighed. "I told you, I took to Christine beca–"

"I didn't mean Christine. I don't want to hear any more about Christine Daaé," she informed him in a clipped tone, softening after he winced, "Why did you stay away so long? We could have had this conversation months ago."

"I thought you were better off without me."

Camillé laughed, a sharp sound. "Better off without you? How could I ever be better off without you?"

"I watched you. You were happy, Bien-Aimée, and I thought that if I came back, I would ruin that happiness."

"First off, you were watching me this whole time?" He nodded. "That's slightly unnerving, Erik." The former Opera Ghost shrugged and looked at the ground. "And secondly, you obviously weren't watching closely enough. I put on a happy face for La Poignard, but I was not happy. I am miserable without you, mon amour."

Erik looked up at her and saw the truth in her eyes. "That is what Nadir tried to tell me, but –"

"Nadir?"

"He is my… friend, Nadir Khan. He is the one that you have to thank for my presence. I would never have come if he had not convinced me," he admitted sheepishly.

She scoffed and grinned mischievously. "I shall have to meet this Monsieur Khan, then. I must thank him for bringing forth my cowardly lov–"

Erik pounced upon her and hovered over her. "I am not a coward," he murmured, his eyes travelling to her lips of their own accord.

"If that is what you think," she teased. There was a long moment of silence. "Mon Dieu, Erik, either stop staring at my lips or kiss me."

He was only too happy to oblige.


Camillé lay on her bed, her head resting on her lover's chest. Their breathing was beginning to stabilize after their – was it the third or fourth? – copious rounds of lovemaking. It felt both calmingly normal and ecstatically wonderful to be back in Erik's arms again, to be with him again. In over a year, this was the most peaceful she had ever felt. He was stroking her hair gently, nearly putting her to sleep with his soft touch.

"I have waited so long for this, Bien-Aimée, and missed it so very much," Erik whispered, not wanting to disturb the post-coital bliss they were in.

Camillé let out a breath in replacement of a laugh. "Which? The laying together, or the –"

"Both," he interrupted her, kissing the top of her head as his fingers trailed down her side to rest on her bare waist, "But more so the laying together as we are."

"I've missed it too," she admitted, taking a deep breath as she relaxed, "I am still angry with you, you know."

He chuckled lightly, giving her another kiss on the top of the head. "I would expect nothing less from you, ma chatte."

"You are in major trouble, Destler," she scolded, leaning up to look at him.

"I know," he grinned, giving her a kiss on the lips. "Je t'aime, Camillé de Sauveterre."

Her expression softened and she smiled gently. "Je t'aime aussi."


I am so sorry for the length of time that I have been gone. I have had no time to write between filming and home chores, and now I am in school. I will try to write whenever I can, but I am afraid it will not happen often. I am blessed to have had this much time to write this chapter for you guys, and I'm sorry it's so short.

Any questions, comments, concerns? Glad they are back together(mostly)? REVIEW or drop me a line!

- Emmy

EDIT: Wow... I feel dumb. Thank you to nibblesfan for reminding me that broken noses BLEED. Why did I not include the cleaning scene? Seriously, me?