A/N: Happy New Year, my lovelies! I thought I'd start it off right with a new chapter! I hope you enjoy it!
When Erik returned to his home that evening, he noted the welcome absence of the loneliness he had come to expect. The house was as grave and silent as ever, but it now seemed alight with a wealth of new possibilities. When he looked at his nearly empty cupboards, he instead saw the shelves filled with everything Helene would need ... and all the chocolate she could ever ask for. Perhaps that was indulgent of him, but she had to be happy in this house. She had to be happy with him. And if it took a steady diet of chocolate to accomplish that miracle, then so be it.
He moved to his library, where he looked upon rows and rows of medical tomes and technical architectural books, but he envisioned sharing the space with Helene. Half the shelves would be occupied by her favorite gothic and classical novels as well as poetry that perhaps they could read aloud to each other. He'd never cared much for the stuff before, thinking it ludicrous that words would ever even attempt to mimic music, but he would adore poetry more than any other literary pursuit in the world if he and Helene could share it. He had discovered that the presence of another person with whom he had some amount of mutual admiration almost always enhanced his enjoyment of an activity. Any activity. Everything was better when it was shared. Hmm...if he got rid of that chair, then he and she would have no choice but to share the sofa. That could be pleasant...but no. She was already skittish about staying with him. He'd do better not to push any kind of physical closeness too soon.
He meandered through the other rooms of his house, noting that the parlour was acceptable as it was, but that it could do with a dusting. He would also need to procure quite a lot of firewood. When had he run out? How long had it been since he'd used the fireplace instead of a couple of candles? He honestly couldn't remember. Huh. Well, the dining room would need the same treatment as the parlour, but otherwise would be just fine. He obviously didn't need to touch his bedroom or bathing area, as she would never see them. There wasn't so very much work to be done, after all. Oh, but the torture chamber! That little window would have to be hidden much better than it currently was, especially since it was in the storage room that would become hers! He would have to accomplish that tonight!
With that thought, he moved into the quarters that would need the most work. He glanced around the storage area, drawing and redrawing plans in his mind for the most beautiful room he could design (which, by extension, of course, would be the most beautiful room anyone could design, Erik being as aesthetically talented as he was). It would be entirely customized to Helene's preferences and character! She would be absolutely delighted with it!
The room that would be her bathing room would need a little more technical work, which he resolved to do that very evening. He doubted Helene had ever seen an indoor plumbing system before. They only existed in the relatively new houses of the obscenely rich. And in Erik's house, of course. He'd even come up with a way to heat the water before it came out of the bath faucet by running the pipe around a thermal vent about two stories below the level of the house. He'd discovered the vent's existence while swimming in his lake and just knew he could use it. As far as he was aware, no other building was equipped with such a luxury, and it was one of the very few inventions Erik was actually proud of. He grinned as he thought of showing it off to Helene, and then he promptly grimaced as he thought of her practical use of it.
He coughed and quickly set about his work, and he did not stop until the bath and sink were both fully functional and the walls of both rooms were smoothed over and all evidences of a torture chamber (and all thoughts of Helene in a bath) were completely wiped from reality… or at least hidden so well that no one but Erik would ever be able to find them.
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Early the next morning, Erik donned his most life-like mask, his high-collared cloak, and his wide-brimmed hat in preparation for a few hours of necessary interaction with humanity. He began by making expedited orders for all the furniture for Helene's bedroom. She would need a bed, obviously, and a desk, as well as a wardrobe. Erik was filling out all the paper forms for the models he deemed most suitable when he saw a vanity across the shop. Erik had forgotten about that. She would need a vanity, and she would want a full-length mirror. Erik's house had never had a mirror before. How on Earth would he continue to avoid seeing himself? He deliberated silently for quite some time (much too much time for the comfort of the shopkeeper, who was clearly anxious to have such a strange man out of his business), but in the end Erik knew he would have to give her a mirror. She deserved one. She would undoubtedly want to see herself every day, and Erik couldn't possibly blame her for that. After all, he wanted to see her every day. With that final order, and the shopkeeper's assurance that everything would be ready by Monday morning, Erik made his way to the dressmaker's.
He had pilfered Helene's file from the costume department and was therefore equipped with all of her measurements, though he didn't fully understand the disorganized system the opera seamstresses had in place. Luckily for him, the dressmaker did understand, and luckily for her, she stopped asking annoying and probing questions when Erik flaunted his wad of francs. He commissioned as many dresses as he thought Helene would need to begin with, day dresses, night dresses, a few evening gowns, all in her favourite greens, browns, blues, and purples. And he couldn't resist buying one red dress.
Helene had once said that she hated reds because her hair looked a shocking sort of orange in comparison, but Erik imagined Helene in this particular shade and was struck with how gorgeous she would be. It would set off her eyes and her pale skin perfectly, and her hair would most certainly not look orange. If anything, it would be a highlighted sunset of colours. Erik was momentarily shocked at this line of thinking. When had he started to think of Helene in such a manner? He steeled himself, and took an emotional step back to take another mental look at her. No, she was still a short, red-haired, green-eyed, pretty-but-not-really-beautiful woman. Perhaps the red would make her hair a little orange, or wash out her skin, or bring too much attention to those green eyes. He blinked as he proudly found some sort of objectivity again...and promptly bought the red dress anyway, supposedly as a reminder not to lose himself like that ever again.
After arranging to pick up the speedily altered clothing on Monday, and after commanding the dressmaker to add in whatever undergarments she thought necessary to complete a proper lady's closet (how would Erik know what to get, after all, and he wasn't sure his fragile state of mind could handle contemplating that particular subject at any rate), Erik moved on to decorative and miscellaneous items. He chose some paint, a few carpets, necessary grooming tools, towels, bedding, everything that Helene could possibly want or need, all hand-picked to be pleasing to her. He found perfumes and shampoos in scents of rose and lavender, and even one soap that smelled of water lilies. He smiled as he thought of her reaction. He also found that he had a weakness for buying whatever absurd little knickknack struck him as appropriate. A painting of horses in a field, a journal with a cover depicting an ocean scene, several books he thought she would enjoy, the list went on and on.
He had to physically stop himself from entering the jeweler's. That would certainly be a sign of too much effort. She would become suspicious of him. Erik glanced at the small mountain of packages he had acquired over the course of the day and felt like a perfectly twitterpated fool. All this just to keep one woman's company? And when the word company wasn't even a euphemism? It was ludicrous. But when you have far too much money and far too few people to share with, and when you've never been allowed to openly give anyone anything, maybe you have a certain right to give everything to that singular wonderful exception. And with that reassurance in his heart, Erik dragged his small mountain down five cellars and set about decorating Helene's chambers.
By Monday afternoon, Erik's house was prepared to receive its very first invited guest. Helene's quarters had been painted in swirling cool colours to remind her of the sea she loved, her bedspread was done in shades of her favourite emerald green, and she would be utterly surrounded by beauty and comfort. The rest of the house had been polished until it sparkled, the pantry was fully stocked, and there were even a few bouquets of roses in the parlour and library. Erik almost smiled at his handiwork. Helene would, at the very least, not hate his little cave. Erik plucked one rose from the end table and began ascending to the main floor, where he would impatiently wait for rehearsal to end for the evening.
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Erik watched with gritted teeth as Helene spoke with Pierre, the last person in the building, and her current favourite "darling." He was an insufferable boy, really, Pierre. Tall, handsome, gentle in his speech, and with all the grace that was expected from the leading male dancer. And honestly, just how long could one person make inane small talk? It must have been at least a half an hour. Erik could strangle the little whelp, or at least have him promptly fired. But, then again, why would Erik do that? He'd never cared particularly about the ballet before, and Pierre was an incredibly competent dancer who never made trouble. His recent disdain for the boy felt misplaced. Erik thought for a brief moment that he might just hate the attention the boy was stealing from Helene, but that would make Erik even more ridiculous and pathetic than he'd thought, and that was entirely unacceptable. He was pulled from this uncomfortable self-examination when the conversation lulled and drew to a close.
"You're certain you don't want me to walk you home, Helene?" Erik's hands tensed on the wall. The boy was trying to steal his job!
"Oh, thank you darling, but no. As sweet of you as it is, I plan to stay to practice for at least another hour, and I couldn't possibly keep you so late. I wouldn't dare risk compromising your performance tomorrow!" Helene said with a hand laid gently upon Pierre's forearm. Erik fairly growled.
"I wouldn't mind. How could I sleep, knowing you might be in danger?" Pierre replied earnestly. Well, at least the boy wasn't a complete moron, Erik admitted. Helene sighed.
"Well if it means that much to you, I'll stay the night here. With Mme. Giry." Helene said with a roll of her eyes but a softening smile. It was disturbing how easily lying came to her, really.
"Promise?"
"I promise I'll stay safe this evening." Helene raised her right hand in a mock oath. What she said was technically the truth, Erik mused. That was interesting. Did she find promises so important?
With a final searching stare into her eyes, and a maddening kiss to her knuckles, Pierre bid Helene a good evening and at long last left the building.
"Are you finally ready to go, Helene?" Erik asked with annoyance as he emerged from beyond the wall and presented Helene with her rose. Helene merely giggled. Somehow, Erik found the sound a bit less enchanting than he usually did.
"Can I help it if a man wants to see me safely home, Erik? At least he asked my permission first," she said pointedly. Ooh, Erik didn't have a good response to that, so he instead jerked his head and wordlessly indicated that she should follow him. With a satisfied smirk, she hoisted an overnight bag onto her shoulder, which Erik took from her with a begrudging huff. After all, he was still a gentleman.
"Oh, come now, Erik. You surely don't plan to be sullen all evening. And over what? A conversation that ran too long? It is nothing!" She said playfully.
"Flirting with the head bailarino is not nothing, Helene."
"Then what is it to you, Erik?" Her voice had become incredibly serious, soft but demanding acknowledgement all the same. Her eyebrows quirked with her question. She didn't seem confused; rather, she seemed to want him to say something very specific. Was this manipulation? Erik drew in a long breath to answer her question as they stepped deeper and deeper into the cellars.
"It is a most unnecessary distraction, a waste of time. He isn't at all worthy of your attention." Helene smirked.
"His position in the opera and in society is higher than mine. He's a gentleman, he's kind, and I find him charming. If he's not worthy of my attention, who is?" Erik didn't have an acceptable answer. He couldn't claim to be worthy himself, not in the slightest, and he couldn't possibly name anyone else. He simply gave an exasperated sigh and walked faster. It brought him a certain perverse joy to know that, given their height difference, Helene's little legs would practically have to jog to keep up with his new pace.
Helene rolled her eyes and, in an apparent effort to regulate his speed, laced her arms through the crook of his left elbow, as if they were a normal couple walking along a normal street on a normal day, and Erik nearly had a decidedly abnormal heart attack. She had never touched him before. No one had touched him in years, and even then no one had ever touched him gently. Even through his suit jacket, his skin understood the faint pressure of her fingertips, and he fancied that, if he concentrated hard enough, he could feel life-giving warmth radiating from the spot. He didn't notice that he was staring at her hands until she cleared her throat. As he returned his gaze to her face, she gave him a small, knowing smile, and softly tugged his arm forward. When had he stopped walking? He continued to automatically lead her down the well-known path to his home as his thoughts wreaked havoc on his aching brain.
That smile. She knew what was happening. Understood much more of it than he did, that was utterly certain. The little minx knew exactly what she was doing, and she likely always had. During their last conversation, when she had seemed genuinely confused about his feelings, had that all been an act? It almost had to be, but to what end? What could she possibly be planning? How vigilant would he have to be in order to keep from falling into whatever web she was weaving? And how awful would it truly be to fall in? He glanced back down at the delicate hand resting on his arm. Would it be so terrible? If this was a manipulation, was it worth succumbing in order to keep her company, her smiles, and now, perhaps, her touches? What was her endgame? What did she ultimately want from him, and where was the line that he wouldn't allow her to cross? What wouldn't he be willing to give her? Erik didn't have satisfactory answers to any of those questions, but he was temporarily saved from his torment as the lake finally came into view.
"It's beautiful!" Helene smiled a real smile this time. Erik gave a small, unseen smile in return as he climbed into the boat and tentatively offered Helene his gloved hand to aid her in doing the same. She took it with no hesitation whatsoever, sending Erik's mind reeling again as he began to row them across the water.
Just what kind of game had he gotten himself into?
A/N: A small note: I know that, in certain canon, Christine's room is furnished with Erik's mother's furniture. However, given the timeline of this story, I thought it made more sense for Erik to buy Helene's furniture. This story takes place 20-30 years before Leroux's book, so Erik's mother is probably still alive, and therefore she has probably kept her furniture. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Please, let me know what you liked and what you didn't! -Love, Vitaani