Author's Note: Hello again! I don't have much to say beyond my gratitude, so I'll go to the chapter title explanation. This one's from the My Chemical Romance song of the same name, and I once again suggest y'all check out a lyric video to this song, it's got an eerie kind of vibe that I really dig. Welp, that said, I'll leave y'all to it, such fluffy angst I've got here for this one. :) R&R and enjoy!

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Chapter 13 – Heaven Help Us

Christine

The front window could have been a portrait in a gallery; beyond the glass, the street shone in a picturesque scene of tranquility – not a soul was about that time of night, not a light illuminated the windows of the little neighborhood. The snow glowed as brightly in the city as it had on the lonely paths and sprawling meadows of the country from which I fled. The scene before me was indeed beautiful, but once again I found that it didn't match my inner-turmoil – the serenity was out of place. I hadn't wanted to leave Erik, but I could not deny his reasoning as I had wanted to on so many other matters. As I made my escape through the moonlight, I couldn't help but look back constantly in the hopes that I could catch the first glimpses of him advancing upon me. When I made it to Madame Giry's front door entirely alone, I broke into tears without caring about causing Madame and Meg an unnecessary shock at my display; there would be plenty of time to explain once I was inside, I knew, and allowing myself to get lost in my grief was a luxury I felt that I had earned by that point. I gave them every last detail of what had happened to us out there, but even that much was not enough to alleviate the confusion for any of us. Even in our caution, no one had expected the events which unfolded.

"I shouldn't have left him."

I lost track of how many times I said that since arriving at Madame Giry's apartment that night, wringing my hands and sighing miserably in a hopeless attempt to calm myself even slightly, but each time the thought passed my lips I only felt more terror and dread. Beyond that, the utter shock of what happened made me feel restless and confused, my thoughts rushed and disjointed. It didn't seem to me that our attack had happened at all, that Erik had been left injured and out unaided in the dark, let alone that such a thing was part of the same evening that we had so happily awaited and prepared for our new lives together. Even with the apprehension that accompanied the prospect of the unknown, we were ready to go on. That anything could have happened to hinder that progress was jarring. Not knowing where Erik was or how severely he was injured only served to increase my fright.

"Come away from the window, girls," Madame Giry gently prompted Meg and I from our dutiful posts, "You're only scaring yourselves more."

"How can I not be scared, Madame? Not watching out for him won't help," I fretted, not caring if I appeared petulant in that moment, "Erik is out there hurt, and I've no idea what will happen next. What if – "

"Be calm, child," Madame Giry prompted insistently, her tone necessitated by my increasing panic, "We have to wait. That is all there is to it. We must wait and see what's in store and go on from there," she took a deep breath and continued, as if to herself, "I'm sure he'll come back."

I sighed but said no more – I knew she was right, and while her words did nothing to calm my nerves and racing thoughts, I obliged and took a seat on the divan. Meg soon followed and grasped my hand as her eyes flickered often to the window. While neither of us could truly see outside from that vantage point, we continued our vigil in a deafening silence. Had I been completely conscious of anything else but Erik's whereabouts, I would have hugged Meg for her empathy and concern – despite everything Erik had put her and her mother through during the worst moments of his life, she was still able to see past the darkness and hope for his return that night as urgently as I had. We sat in that tense, worried silence for quite some time. The clock on the mantelpiece ticked away the moments of dread, its hands moving slowly onward and allowing each passing second to remind me that their progress only meant that Erik still hadn't returned. Few times in my life had I ever felt such fear, and it was becoming more and more difficult to grasp onto hope.

It seemed as though several lifetimes had passed before we finally were startled from our respective thoughts by a knock at the door – a familiar pattern that I knew was the shared message between Madame Giry and Erik, a pattern that meant it was only one or the other of them calling. I practically jumped from the divan, but my progress was halted by Madame's raised hand; even though the knocking was coded, she would still not take any risks and meant to grant entry herself to protect Meg and I. But when the door opened and a tall silhouette emerged from the starkly bright moonlit street, I ran forward immediately, recognizing at once the man I longed to see standing before us.

Erik walked in slowly, and I knew his pace wasn't intentional; his footsteps were heavy and he seemed to struggle to keep from swaying on the spot, his breaths coming in sharp, struggling intervals as he held tightly to his injury. It was a terrible shock to see him in that state, despite having witnessed the attack myself, but my relief overshadowed my fear for the moment. When our eyes met, it was apparent that he shared my relief – against all odds, he made it back to me once again, this time for vastly different reasons, and we had more than enough reason to be grateful. I moved toward him, wanting to leap into his embrace and never let go, but I hesitated for fear of causing him pain at the motion. He didn't give me a chance to question to what capacity he could move; before I knew it he had his uninjured arm wrapped tightly around me, moving carefully in order to keep his blood-soaked hand away from me, and I held him with as much fervor.

"Thank God you're here," I said through my tears.

He only nodded in response, but held fast to me with continued intensity. We could not relish in our reunion for long; Madame Giry was ushering him toward her study before any more could be said. Erik's injury required immediate attention; we knew without having to speak the truth that we would discuss the details of what happened after Erik and I parted later. Whatever happened to him out there would need to be known eventually, but in the meantime it was obvious that he was struggling even more to remain standing, that his blood loss had reached an alarming amount. Without help, it was clear that even making it as far as he had – after evading our attackers and making the long and risky journey back to safety – would have been for nothing.

Madame lit lamps in her work area quickly and methodically, working with a slow but steady determination. Her calmness commanded the same from Meg and I; any panic in the moment could very well lead to a disastrous outcome, and we all needed to keep our presence of mind for as long as we were required. Madame gestured for Erik to sit in the chair by her desk, informing him that she would need to remove the bullet and treat his wound from there. He grimaced at the prospect but made no comment of fear or protest. Softly yet sternly, she barked orders to us all – Meg was to retrieve whiskey from the cupboard in the small kitchen beyond, Erik was to remove his coat and shirt, I was to help Erik maintain consciousness, even if force was required. Erik, however, was having great difficulty with the buttons of his garments, his hands trembling too much to keep a hold on the small objects and his injured arm proving to be too painful to move with any dexterity; I swooped in to help without thinking twice.

"I don't know that I approve," Madame Giry fussed at my action, deeming my assistance to Erik's partial nudity inappropriate despite the circumstances.

"I haven't a choice at the moment," Erik rolled his eyes and then gave me a brief, wicked grin; I was sure he was remembering the last time I was in that position, and I couldn't help but let a smirk escape in return.

I didn't have much time to enjoy our light-hearted exchange. When Erik shouldered his way out of his winter coat, wincing sharply at the additional pain the movement caused, I was startled to see the evidence of his injury, his white shirt absolutely drenched in blood. I was suddenly reminded of a thought that passed through my mind in the days before I broke off my engagement to Raoul and returned to Erik, determined to see him again, if only briefly. Flashes of broken rose petals in the snow danced before my mind's eye, the troubling resemblance to blood upon the ground. I had thought to myself how those delicate petals might very well have been drops of blood from Erik's own heart, a result of his agony at my having torn it from his chest in my hasty abandonment. Those thoughts had only been the result of my guilt; the rose petals were just that, and no blood had truly been shed upon that rooftop then. But looking upon Erik in that dimly-lit study, pale and shuddering and bleeding before us, I could not help but shiver at the contrast. The blood was real, his injury true and severe; I couldn't stand the thought of him in pain and suffering.

He looked up at me when he became aware of my shaking, and although it was clear that he continued to fight unconsciousness, seeing his gaze intently and comfortingly meeting my own was enough to help me remain in control of myself. I've never been a truly squeamish woman, despite my otherwise timid personality, and I had to remind myself of that – I had to maintain my composure and put my fear out of mind, for it would do nothing to help the situation and I knew I was stronger than that. As I continued to assist Madame and Erik, Meg returned with the requested items; pouring the amber liquid into a glass, she handed it to Erik with the stern instructions to down the drink quickly.

"I'm not a whiskey man, you know," he said in an attempted jesting tone.

"It's for the pain," Meg insisted.

"Is this a good idea?" he asked in a low voice.

"You'll need it," Madame Giry responded, "I promise you that this won't be an enjoyable experience."

He quirked his eyebrows in acquiescence, held the glass high in a mock-toast, and took in the alcohol. He made no secret of the drink burning his throat, but accepted when Meg poured more into the glass, muttering that he supposed he was better off drunk than in absolute pain. His continued attempt at humor to detract from the situation would only last so long. At length, Madame began to focus all of her efforts at tending to the gunshot wound, working swiftly with an expertise that was nothing short of impressive, all the while Erik concentrated on staying calm yet alert. It wasn't long before she reached the bullet, but in that moment she hesitated slightly.

"This is the worst part," she warned.

"Just do it," he said through gritted teeth; the procedure up until then had been painful, but that next step was sure to be agony.

He didn't cry out when the bullet was taken from his flesh, but his grip on my hand tightened enough to indicate to me that he had suffered greatly in the action. Madame Giry continued to work in silence as I murmured to Erik and squeezed his hand at intervals to keep his attention. The action initially worked in keeping him upright and responsive. It wasn't until Erik began to lose focus on me and allow his head to loll alarmingly to one side that there was a need to speak up sharply.

"Are you still with us, Erik?" Madame demanded.

He only nodded, but made a more conscious effort to keep his head up and his eyes open and focused. I spoke softly to him, commanding attention with the knowledge that keeping him awake was imperative while bearing in mind that a gentle tone would prevent him from panicking. At last, Madame Giry announced that she was finished – patting Erik's good shoulder gently and assuring that he had made it through the worst of the ordeal – and requested Meg's help at preparing proper bandaging and fashioning a sling. Erik and I were left alone for a time; he leaned his head heavily against the back of the chair and looked at me with weary eyes as I pulled another chair beside his to be able to sit as closely as possible to him. I held his hand, only then becoming entirely aware of how cold he was, of how he still trembled despite his obvious efforts to control the sporadic movement of his body.

Then, suddenly he spoke, his words but a soft murmur, "I know the man who shot me."

I gasped, "Are you serious? From where, the opera house?"

"No, he was present in my life long before my time there. Vito was my keeper's son in the gypsy camp. His father was the one that kept me on display and tortured me on the side. I'll spare you the details, but you should know that I killed him to escape."

"Oh, God."

"Please understand," he said in a rushed, concerned tone as I felt myself grow pale at his confession, "it wasn't something I took lightly. It was kill or be killed, that's what it came down to if I had any hope of winning my freedom. I had to get out of there. But Vito sought to end me because of it. He was just as evil as his father, if not worse. He still is. When he lost track of me back then, when Madame Giry helped me find the chapel, he swore revenge, waited more than a decade for it. He caught up to me again tonight. It seems he's been tracking me since the fire."

"He wanted to kill you," I said in a low, shaking voice.

"I shouldn't have been so careless," he shook his head woefully, "I practically led him right to us. He saw me going back to Paris the other night."

"I knew I shouldn't have left you alone. I had your weapon the whole time, and you almost died out there. You shouldn't have been alone."

"It was favorable that you went on ahead, trust me. He has an interest in you now, too. He means to take from me that which is most important. He wants me to suffer as he had, and he knows any harm that befalls you will destroy me. I fear what he may do if he ever finds you. I'm not letting that happen, I won't let him exact his revenge on either of us. Had you stayed I'm not sure what the outcome would have been. Don't feel guilty."

I took in his words and felt utter dread at the impact of the new and dangerous development, "What do we do now?"

"I don't know yet, this changes our situation. We will have to be far more careful, rethink how we will leave here."

"Then we'll approach that topic later, once we've settled a bit," I said determinedly, then sighed, "I can't believe this happened."

"I'm sorry," he murmured sadly, "I'm so sorry about all of this, for frightening you all so badly, for Vito's involvement. I wasn't expecting it, I didn't know he would – "

"– No apologies, you've nothing to be sorry for," I said softly, smoothing his disheveled hair from his forehead in a gesture of comfort, "It's over now, and as I said, we'll talk about the rest in time."

"I just wish this hadn't come about," he sighed, composing himself once more, "Truly, I didn't want to put you through any of it," he laughed humorlessly, "Just more consequences of my aggression and foolishness," he looked up at me and winced when a sharp tremor moved his shoulder too quickly.

"My poor darling," I said softly in an attempt to temporarily distract him from his dark thoughts and the misfortune of the night, trying very hard to not let tears spring to my eyes once again, "How do you feel now?"

He waved his hand carelessly, "Just this side of drunk, at the moment."

"You were very brave."

"Certainly I was not. I simply didn't want to further wound my pride by whimpering and begging for mercy," he gestured toward his now-stitched wound, "Facing this whole mess was bad enough."

"I was so afraid for you tonight."

"I know," he said in a weak voice, just barely above a whisper, "But you heard Madame. Everything is alright now."

I sighed, "You were so close to bleeding to death."

"Imagine that, The Phantom himself felled by a bloody shot to the arm," he scoffed, "How painfully anti-climactic."

"Erik, be serious. You cannot possibly take this lightly even for a moment. I was terrified, we all were. I thought you were captured, that you might have been killed. I thought you might still die here, after fighting to come back."

"I'm sorry. Know that I do realize the gravity of this," he paused and considered, "It all could have very well ended out there tonight. Had I not turned when I did, that bullet would have been in my chest and that would have been my last moment. I understand that, and it scared me as much as it did you. But I'm here now, put all the rest out of mind," he stroked my cheek, "I'm right here."

"I'm so thankful that you are," I smiled wanly at him and squeezed his hand gently before I made to stand once more, suddenly feeling restless and overwhelmed, and whispered in an unsteady voice, "I should help Madame tidy up," indicating the shambled desk beside us.

He didn't give me the chance to move far from him before he reached out to me with an urgent, beckoning gesture.

"Don't go. Not yet," he asked, fear creeping into his voice.

He pulled me close and kissed me, holding my hands tightly as he did. I embraced him gently, mindful of his injury but remaining as near to him as I possibly could from my position. It was long before we parted, each of us desperately needing the contact, the reminder of Erik's survival. Only in those moments of connection did we completely realize how much we needed that reminder. I made a mighty effort not to let those very recent memories of Erik being shot pass through my thoughts, but with little success; the sight terrified me the moment it happened, and its image echoing through my mind left me feeling the same horror. It began as a disabling injury, but certainly not initially mortal – yet I knew how long it had taken him to evade his attacker, that time slipped from him and wouldn't remain on his side long. To see him stagger into the apartment, pale and cold and struggling to breathe, told me all that I needed to know about how fortunate we were. I had almost lost him that night; to have him back in my arms, weak and in pain but otherwise whole and safe, meant the world to me. I knew he was just as shaken, and I wanted us to remain in that moment as long as possible, reminding one another without words that we were together again at last.

Madame Giry reappeared, ready to continue her task, and cleared her throat to draw us from our shared reverie. I left them alone for a time, feeling again that I needed a moment to collect myself; so much had happened in one night, so many new questions unanswered and fears ignited, and I hardly knew how to begin contemplating what to do next. I bumped into Meg in the dim hallway, and immediately burst into the tears that I had been trying to keep at bay before realizing what was happening. She held me tightly, paying no mind to any other duties she might have been undertaking and comforting me with seriousness and sincerity that only made me cry harder; I was a wreck of emotions and knew I simply needed to give them an avenue from my heart.

"Everything is alright, dear, like Mama said," she whispered, stroking my back and holding fast to me as I gave myself to hopeless sobs, "Everything is alright, Erik is safe. He's here, he's safe. Everyone is right here."

I knew she was right, and in knowing that, I felt another moment of gratitude that utterly overcame me. I let that feeling further comfort me, holding onto it like an answered prayer and deciding then that fears and decisions and the vast unknown could wait for my attention. I knew I would regain my calmness reasonably quickly; for the time, I simply had to cry.

~~oOo~~

Erik muttered one protest after another in regards to the necessity of wearing a sling, adamantly insisting that he didn't need the fabric to support his arm regardless of what Madame Giry tried to say to the contrary. His efforts ultimately resulted in his yielding to her prodding, however, and shockingly quickly at that. Madame would not be beaten by any argument that impeded healing, and Erik eventually had to admit that he was simply too weary to fight her reasoning any longer – the effort in redressing alone proved to nearly be too much for him. The conversation would have been entirely amusing under any other circumstances, and while Meg and I witnessed the exchange with the occasional giggle at the battle of stubbornness, the reason for the fight occurring at all was certainly nothing to laugh about. Once Erik conceded, he allowed Madame Giry to assist him in shouldering his way into the material; he noted that it was a painful process, but granted that a degree of his overall pain was lifted at not having to hold his injured arm stiffly to his side. Once that part of the ordeal was through, Madame ushered him back into the main room of the apartment and onto the divan.

The journey from the study, despite the small size of the apartment, was enough to leave Erik weak from the effort. With a heavy sigh, he leaned back and closed his eyes tightly; the shock of blood loss in combination with his weariness and slightly inebriated state left him defeated and exhausted, and I was surprised that he didn't succumb to sleep the moment he sat down. Madame Giry sent Meg to bed, insisting that I follow shortly after, but I was hesitant to leave Erik – not after only earlier that evening longing for his return and seeing him through the frightening and excruciating tending to his wounds.

"I'll let you stay up a little longer. But the both of you must rest soon. I daresay all of us have been through enough this evening to warrant sleeping on till spring," she fussed gently.

"Thank you," Erik said softly, only then opening his eyes to meet Madame's.

She reached out and took his hand in a gesture of comfort and motherly affection. What I witnessed then was an unexpected exchange between mother and son of the most untraditional sort – his unspoken yet tremendous gratitude, her fierce protectiveness for a man she had seen through his weakest moments since his youth. It was then that I realized that she was likely all Erik had ever known of family – of a doting mother – and even then her position in that capacity was limited. It was understandable that it would be difficult for him to let her be more involved in his life. While the outcome might have been different if he had, he was not raised to know or understand familial bonds. Even though I was orphaned young, I was still able to grasp at fond memories of my parents, could hold on to the love they gave me to carry me through the lonely years, and even in forgetting my happiness in my grief, I had still known what it meant to bask in the love of a parent, to trust that those bonds would transcend all barriers. Erik had never had that, not until Madame Giry happened upon him and felt sympathy for his plight. The only family he had ever known was in that apartment, the lot of us brought together by fortune and maintaining our bonds out of necessity and dedication. Madame held his hand only a moment, but spoke a thousand words silently in the contact.

"I'm happy to see you safe," she responded, "Now, try to rest."

When she left us alone once again, I helped Erik ease himself into lying down.

"I feel so weak. It bothers me," he muttered, seeming slightly agitated that he had been incapacitated and would require recovery before we could hope to move forward.

"I know. And that is why you need to calm yourself now, to sleep and get your strength back."

I sat beside him and smoothed his hair in a soothing, repetitive motion, knowing his worry and discomfort had to be put to rest if he had any chance of falling asleep. At length, his breathing became slow and steady, his eyes fluttering every so often with fatigue. He held my hand close to his chest, his heartbeat as rhythmic as the ticking of the clock whose noise filled the room with a lulling steadiness.

"I'll protect you," he suddenly whispered wearily, just between wakefulness and dozing, "Whatever happens from here, however we decide to continue on, just know that."

"I do, darling, I do know that. Hush now, I'll stay with you awhile."

He shivered despite the strong blaze from the fireplace and the blankets around him; I knew he had gotten through the worst of the night, and the tranquility of the room had done much to soothe the worst of my uneasiness, but I worried over him regardless. His hands were cold in mine, his face as pale as earlier, and I knew he would be in that state for some time. Despite what he said about keeping me from harm, it was I that felt incredibly protective over him. I knew that he felt that it was his duty to keep me safe at all costs, and it made my heart leap to be reminded that he held me that closely to his own, but I knew that night that I would do the same for him – I would protect him just as fiercely. What he gave to me, I would return. Knowing that we had a long and difficult journey ahead of us, vowing silently that night that we would always remain whole through our devotion and warm sheltering of one another made the path of the unknown less daunting.

However we decided to move on, we would be together – stronger for our challenges – and I knew that was truly all that mattered.