A/N: I'm sorry this update took so long. As some of you may have noticed, my muse decided she wanted to write Wicked fic, and clung to it with a vengeance. I started about three different drafts of this chapter in particular, and eventually trashed all but this one (obviously). Hopefully it's worth the wait, though it's kind of on the short-ish side. I love throwing together unlikely characters with random and evil plot twists, as this chapter demonstrates. :D
Nadir bolted upright at the knocking that issued from the front parlor door, and his eyebrows shot upward in nothing short of incredulity. Fortunately, he managed not to squirt black ink all over his morning's work this time.
"Who the devil?" he murmured under his breath as he rose to answer the door with the best composure he'd possessed in doing so for the past year and a half. He'd come to expect the unexpected: visitors-- be it Erik, Christine, or some other random houseguest-- bursting through the front door with a wall-shaking roar of "DAROGA!" Honestly, he couldn't remember the last time someone had actually requested entry to his humble abode. He had come to suspect that there was a blinking sign above his townhouse, invisible to his eyes alone, that read "Come inside, make yourself welcome, scream yourself hoarse, blame me for your every worldly trouble! I'll put the tea on!" But no-- here someone was actually knocking, and it was significantly more memorable to him than any time one of his friends had burst in with a clatter and a howl.
Considerably flustered, he fussed with his disheveled hair and pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose before opening the door like a child ripping open a birthday present.
A woman stood on his porch. Middle aged... forty-ish, he guessed... blonde hair streaked with silver, knotted in a prim bun at the nape of her swanlike neck. Her charcoal frock was old and threadbare at the hem, and her leather shoes were worn and musty, but she gave off an unmistakably regal air. Her skin was pale and dappled with pink from the cold, her ice blue eyes severe, but disturbed by an undercurrent of distress.
He had met her only in passing, but heard of her more times than he could count.
"Madame Giry," he guessed, and was rewarded by a terse nod.
"Good morning, Monsieur Khan."
Stepping back into the parlor, Nadir swept his arm in a welcoming gesture, and she stepped briskly inside. It took him a moment to notice that her hands were wringing themselves fretfully, whether to keep warm or out of nervousness he couldn't quite tell. He was not daft enough to be completely ignorant of the situation: she was a widowed Frenchwoman entering the house of a colored foreigner, also a widower. Alone. Her reputation and virtue were at stake, and he understood her unease. Keeping a respectful distance, he gestured to the living room, and offered to start a pot of tea. She declined politely.
"If you please, Monsieur, I can't stay long, and I have never been one for small talk."
He bowed his head in assent and joined her in the living room, taking his usual position in his favorite armchair. It took him longer than he would have liked to admit for realization to strike him like a blow to the chest. Dread knotted his guts painfully, and he groaned.
"What has Erik done now?"
Palpable relief washed over Madame Giry's features. "You're not one to beat around the bush, either, I see." It sounded like a compliment, so he took it as such. They sighed in unison, and smiled faintly at one another, before Madame Giry dove headfirst into her tale. "From what I gather, he and Christine had a falling out last time they were here." Nadir nodded, grimacing, and she continued, "For once, they were unable to resolve it. By some twist of fate, or divine intervention, or whatever you choose to call it, she encountered Raoul de Chagny, who is not, as we all believed, dead."
Again, the Persian nodded. "I knew that much. He and his escort requested a room at my hotel." He didn't deign to mention the part about taking them under his own roof; it was all water under the bridge anyway.
"He is a good man," said Madame Giry with utter conviction. "Unfortunately, he just so happens to be Erik's fiercest competition."
"We are in agreement, then."
"Yes." There was a pause, a hesitance, before she proceeded with her story. "I have known Christine since she was a fragile wisp of a child. In many ways, she still is." She swallowed painfully, shaking her head. "I am the closest thing to a mother she has ever had... But she was my pupil, you see. There were lines that needed to be drawn, boundaries that could not be crossed, for the accusation of favoritism is a scathing one in this business. I had to distance myself from Christine, from my own daughter, Meg-- when rehearsing, I was as cold and authoritative with them as any of the other girls. And we rehearsed the grand majority of the time. Meg grew accustomed to it; she had dealt with it from birth. To Christine, it was a rude shock; she had grown up with a doting, affectionate father who pampered her up until the moment of his death. She craved that special attention when he was gone, more than anything."
"Which was where Erik stepped in," Nadir finished, catching on to her line of thought.
"Precisely." She sighed again, and seemed to deflate a bit, as if in voicing these thoughts she were relieving herself of a terrible burden. "It didn't take me long to figure out what was going on, but I kept my nose out of it, for the most part. It seemed to be doing Christine good; she was more focused, more determined, more confident. And tutoring her gave Erik a more suitable pastime than terrorizing my girls backstage. Everything appeared to be under control until the Vicomte— Comte now, I suppose— entered the picture. Then things grew nasty... violent." She lapsed into a heavy silence, turning inward. Distress darkened her eyes as she sat there, lost in her own thoughts. Nadir didn't dare break her from them. When she was ready to speak again, she would.
And, soon enough, she did: "History has a way of coming back to strike us where it hurts... ripping open old wounds, pouring salt in them for good measure." She looked up at Nadir, more weary now than anything else. Her eyes were wet as she dug in her pocket and pulled out a creased, bloodstained letter. She handed it to him, and looked away as he read.
"Allah have mercy," Nadir whispered as he read the last line. Shaking his head in bewilderment, he handed the letter back to Madame Giry. "So she chose Raoul." There was a bitter edge to his tone, and he didn't bother to hide it. "And Erik?"
Madame Giry pressed her lips into a thin white line, perhaps to keep them from trembling. She took a moment to compose herself, and then answered softly, "It broke him." Despite herself, her voice quavered. "I found him curled up on their bed, his wrists open and bleeding."
The Persian's heart stopped cold for a beat or two, and when it resumed, his lungs refused to take in air. This couldn't be happening... not now... not when Erik was so close to happiness...
At last, he drew in a shuddering gasp, and then another. His lungs burned, and his heart was a white hot ball that ached with every beat. "Is he...?"
"He's alive," Madame Giry asserted quickly, and Nadir almost broke down in tears, so mighty was his relief.
"Allah be praised!" he panted.
"And the doctor, too," Giry added quietly, blasphemously. "But yes, he's stable now. This all happened weeks ago-- months, now, I suppose. I've lost track of time, I'm afraid. It happens down in that miserable lair of his."
"So he hasn't attempted to kill himself again?"
At this, the woman's eyes glittered mischievously. "I wouldn't know. I feared he might try something to that effect again, so while he was still in a comatose state I bound him tightly to the mattress. He barely has room to wriggle, let alone kill himself." She laughed humorlessly. "He hates me for it, but I'd rather that than find him dead in the lake."
"Good planning," Nadir murmured, impressed. "So you've been tending to him over the past... however long it's been?"
"Yes. I bathe him and feed him-- force food down his throat, sometimes; you know him-- and change his bedding and make him take his medicine." She smiled softly. "And as he's tied down to the bed, he actually sleeps every once in a while. Ironic, really; he looks healthier now than he ever has in the decades I've known him."
The Daroga shook his head in awe. "Your kindness is unparalleled, Madame. It is unfortunate that your patient is not wholly thankful for your charity."
"When is he ever?" Madame Giry sighed, and they both laughed softly at that. The smile gradually fell from her rather beautiful face, replaced by a somber pensiveness. "I don't know what to do with him. He has made a remarkable recovery-- no lasting problems to speak of, save the scars on his wrists. His strength has returned, and so has his wit. I can't keep him tied to that bed forever, but I'm afraid... so very afraid... of what he'll do once I let him up."
Had he been closer to her, Nadir would have reached out and taken her hand comfortingly. The relationship that had sprouted between them was like that of two baffled parents trying to deal with their emotionally scarred, rebellious teenage son. They were bound to one another, though they had only just met, through their strong emotional ties to Erik. A quiet understanding settled between them and in them, granting comfort and strength to both parties.
"I think," Nadir answered finally, his fingers steepled in their typical fashion, "One or both of us needs to have a talk with Madame la Comtesse." Giry nodded her agreement, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.
"I think you're right." She looked at him silently, expectantly. Sighing, Nadir conceded.
"Very well, I'll go first," he murmured, feeling like a young boy dared to jump into questionable waters. Relief washed over Giry's face, and she looked ready to kiss him. For some strange reason, the thought made him blush for the first time in years, but he dismissed it as anxiety and thought nothing more of it throughout the entire carriage ride to the de Chagny estate.
A/N: It's not reaaally a cliffhanger... just a motive to read the next chapter and find out what happens! -cackles diabolically-
Okay, so I kinda lied, but not wittingly. I know I said Erik would be in this chapter (and he was, just not physically), but this seemed like a good place to end it, so it'll have to wait. But suspense is a GOOD thing, right?
And no, it's not just you; that really was a whiff of a Nadir/Giry crush... haha, Nadiry... I like it. :) Don't know if it's going to go anywhere, really... just thought I'd tease you a bit, because I can. Mwaha.
I can see it now: Nadir Khan and his lovely assistant Antoinette Giry, clad in superhero costumes, coming to save the E/C day! Whee!
Be good little readers and review now, y'hear? Love ya!
