Chapter Twenty-Five: Returner.

Flowers. Everywhere. But not the live kind that grew in pots or plastic bowls that hung from balconies like she saw in the future, no, these were the cut kind in bouquets given by lovers, twisted into baskets here or in vases there or arranged in little bowls. They seemed beautiful but almost idiotic in some way, something that should be living captive and held there by little bits of green tape and wire.

"Erik? What's going on?" Mel asked hesitantly. This was so weird

"Do you like them?" he asked suddenly, appearing from behind an overflowing basket of daisies and lilies and sprigs of baby's breath.

Surprised and astonished by his hiding place she exclaimed, "Erik, you did this?" he was just waiting for her to say she hated them, "Of course I like them! Why shouldn't I? I love them!" she nearly shouted, running her fingertips over a strange, pink bloom, "Especially the roses" Suddenly not becoming a screaming, squealing, Mary-Sue, all at once she became wistful, tracing the curve of the blossom with her fingertips.

Oh, yes, the roses, soft and beautiful twirls like cool, silky dresses worn to the Opera, some even designed by the apprentice costumer herself. They were a dangerous red that contrasted sharply with her milky-pale hand and tied in a bunch with a black silk ribbon and placed in a voluptuous clear glass vase filled just a bit with water.

Roses? Dear god, the Author was giving him the perfect fictional woman. "Roses are my favorite too" he replied softly, "Would you like to take them into your room?"

"My room? Is that okay?" Something seemed a little off here, it wasn't very much like Erik

"But of course! They are yours, Mel, I bought them for you…"

"For me? What?"

"Yes, for you my dear! Why else?"

She stopped fondling the rose, her hand stilling sharply, "What are you trying to prove, Erik?"

His heart dropped, "Come again?"

"After last night… what are you trying to say by this?" she demanded

"N-nothing! I just wanted to get you something nice, is all!" he stumbled

Mel was far from buying it, "Erik, you had an Angst Attack last night, so bad that the Author could feel it all the way in Boston. What's really going on?"

The Phantom fumbled with words some more, trying to formulate something to say. All he could come up with- "Mel, I love you. I want to show you some hope again."

::-~-::

The Story didn't often go into the jobs of the OC's, giving small details or short scenes with small insight to how awful Opera people could really be and all of that nonsense. As much as she hated it, this Author's story was of course, no different.

"Peterson!" a voice shrilled over the steady hum of an army of sewing machines.

It was Giselle, Mel's craftswoman-mistress. Luckily, Mel was within the door fast enough that the woman didn't blow her temper.

"I haven't seen you for days!" Giselle shouted, "Where have you been?"

"Erm… my mother was sick, and although she lives in a town nearby, I had to help care for her" Mel came with her excuse

"I'm hoping you will work extra hard today then, Peterson, these costumes are not about to sew themselves! You'd better make your mere proud!" Giselle cried. The woman took a deep breath, calming herself slightly, "I need material for three ballet girl costumes and threads to match"

"I'm on it" Mel replied confidently, darting to the storage rooms, picking out bundles of velvet and cotton material and spools of red and gold thread.

"Hey, Mel!" a voice hissed as she placed her bundles on one of the cutting tables.

"Oh, hey, Marion, what's up?" Mel asked, lining up the fabric with the measuring lines.

"Invites got sent out last night for the Christmas party!" Marion exclaimed, bouncing a little with glee, "It's not about to be a big party or anything, not with Masquerade three weeks after, but still!"

"Sounds awesome! I'll check my mail, I haven't been home in months" Mel nodded, taking scissors to the material in her hands.

"Yeah, what is up with that? Rumors are flying that the Phantom had you or that you were in a mental hospital or something…?"

"Not quite. My mother got sick and I needed to take care of her and then I came back to the Buquet incident and all. Fortunately, the Vicomte is close friends with my mother and he offered me a place to stay but umm… he erm- objected to the fact that I was still a bit traumatized by the incident and thought me a bit unstable." Mel tried to explain, feeling guilty for lying to Marion.

"Uh-huh. And it's not because you got action on de Chagny?" Marion teased.

"Oh God, no! It wasn't like that! Not at all!" Mel protested.

"Really? Cause I heard-"

"Peterson!" Giselle cut in, "Have you the fabrics I need?"

"Yes ma'am!"

A/N: WANTED: Reviews. Reward! Stack of steamy pancakes as per Chef Erik's recipe!
As always, they are very much appreciated! I miss my readers! T)_T