Author's Note: Before we go ahead, allow me to do some shameless self-promoting first. You might have come across a fic titled Darling, Dearest, Dead while scouring the archives for this film, and I'd like to let you all know it's actually my second story for this category. The plot revolves around Erik being still very much alive in the 21st century with a supernatural twist to it. I know that it sounds like the other modern-day AU fics around here, but trust me when I say that that's where the similarities end. Maybe go check it out, pretty please?

On another note, Kawaii-Shishiza asked in a review if I could share the playlist that I have for this story, so I'm going to go ahead and post two or three of those songs from the playlist in every other chapter. Please take note that the songs that I'll be disclosing do not necessarily have anything to do with the chapter they're listed in. The playlist for this story is composed of 1.) songs that I put on blast whenever I have to get into the right mood for writing another chapter; and 2.) songs that I believe paint a perfect picture of what Erik's and Jovan's respective situations are like. Enjoy!

Playlist:
01. I Found by Amber Run
02. Burn It Down by Daughter
03. Dangerous Night by Thirty Seconds to Mars (sort-of suggested by Kawaii-Shishiza, thank you!)

( twenty-six )

STAGES OF GRIEF

"Ow!"

Erik's fingers slipped on the ivory keys of his organ as he heard Jovan exclaim behind him. The piece he was playing ended with a discordant note as he looked over his shoulder to see the girl on one of the divans, a mass of red fabric on her lap and a needle between her fingers. It was obvious that Jovan had pricked herself with the small wicked thing, but she merely carried on with her work with only a grimace on her face to tell of her small mishap, while Erik's look of annoyance went missed. When it became apparent that she was not going to take notice of him, whether by intention or not, Erik returned to his instrument and began to play once more.

It was a quiet Sunday morning when Erik had found a set of red curtains among his belongings, one of his many souvenirs from Persia, that he noticed had come undone by its seams. Though he knew better than to throw the expensive fabric away, Erik just didn't have it in himself then to mend the damage himself when he had a melody in his head that was just begging to be penned down. Instead, he had come up with an idea ― one that he thought to be rather brilliant, thank you very much ― that would not only work to his advantage but also to someone else's. He had immediately went up to search for Jovan, whom he found poring over a newspaper, before he brought her down to his home with a proposition.

Erik had reasoned that she needed the practice while Jovan simply called him lazy. After a little more persuasion and a small scuffle where he had almost tripped over the curtains, Jovan finally agreed to mend the fabric for him along with a half-hearted admission that she did need the practice before she could officially become a part of the costume department.

Half an hour later, Jovan had yet to finish her work with the curtains while Erik's feet were littered with numerous pieces of parchment with his writing on them, nowhere near the end of his latest piece as well. The tune in his head was not turning out as well he had initially anticipated when it came to writing it down, and it was beginning to get on his nerves.

With a huff, Erik dropped his pen and sprung up from his bench, his jaw clenched as he walked away from his organ. Frustration marred his features as he walked toward the middle of his cavern, a nearby ottoman becoming the poor victim to his vexation as he kicked it away, failing to notice that Jovan's feet were propped against it.

"Erik, what the―"

But Jovan's startled protest landed on deaf ears as he began to unbutton the cuffs of his shirt before he proceeded to roll his sleeves up until his elbows. It was simply aggravating how the notes were not matching up to create a congruous tune! Eyebrows furrowed in irritation, he massaged his forehead with one hand as he began to pace around in circles. For heaven's sake, why couldn't he focus―

"Erik," Jovan called out. "You're going to wear out your shoes if you don't stop."

"Good, I need a new pair anyway," Erik retorted in a sharp tone.

"We all perfectly know that that's not true," a new voice joined in, and Erik's head whipped into the direction of the newcomer only to see Antoinette at the mouth of one of his tunnels. He watched as she pushed away the curtain framing the entrance before stepping into the light. He merely arched a dark brow at her before he resumed pacing.

"Good morning to you as well," Antoinette snapped, to which Erik gave a grumble in response, before he saw, out of the corner of his eye, the ballet headmistress approach Jovan on the divan. Jovan was awkwardly trying to put aside the red fabric on her lap while attempting to stand up to greet Antoinette.

"Good morning, Madame Giry," Jovan greeted with a polite nod of her head, rising to her feet. One of the red curtains fell from the divan as she stood up.

"At least someone here still has their manners. Good morning, Na ― Jovan," Antoinette replied. Erik came to a stop in his pacing, his eyes drifting to the two females in curiosity.

"What brings you here, madame?" Jovan answered with a small smile.

"You, actually. Madame Strauss requested for your presence upstairs, she would like to speak to you."

Erik recognized the name as belonging to the costume mistress, a rather stern woman who was as strict as Antoinette was, but far more easy to aggravate. He quietly wished Jovan some much-needed luck as she gave Antoinette a word of thanks and a bow before proceeding to walk away from her spot. As she approached one of the passageways, Jovan glanced behind shoulder and found Erik's eyes, and she mouthed him a silent goodbye which he responded to with a nod of his head. A moment later, she was gone and out of sight.

He then turned to Antoinette whom he saw was staring at him with a curious look. "What?" he snapped.

"Oh, nothing." Erik narrowed his eyes at the ballet headmistress.

"You almost called her Nathalie," he remarked.

Antoinette blinked, surprise flickering in her eyes. "So she's told you who she truly is?"

"Yes. Nathalie Jovan Sauveterre."

"Hm, quite."

"Quite?"

Erik watched as Antoinette picked up the fallen curtain and replaced it on the divan along with its the rest of its set. "What has she told you about herself?"

"Not much," he admitted, walking back to his organ as he began to pick up the discarded papers on the floor, the unfinished melody now firmly placed at the back of his mind now that a much more compelling topic was at hand ― Jovan. Now that the matter was being tread on, Erik refused to back away, still persistent as ever in his pursuit of answers. He knew that he had to play his cards carefully though, knowing that Antoinette herself was a good player when it came to keeping secrets, whether it was hers or other people's. He should know, after all. "Her father, who used to sing here; her mother, a writer; and her younger brother. Her uncle, of whom I learned of from... other sources."

"What other sources?" Antoinette prodded.

"Our patron, the Vicomte Collet," Erik answered as he placed the papers atop his organ, remembering the day that he had sent Jovan to deliver his letter to Monsieur Lefèvre that resulted in a rather intriguing encounter with the patron. When he turned, he saw that Antoinette was inspecting Jovan's work on the curtains.

"Tell me."

"It happened back when you were in Cherbourg. The Vicomte seemed to recognize Jovan, and 'mistook' her for the daughter of Raphael Sauveterre whose company he used to be in business with. He then mentioned that said company was now in the hands of Raphael's brother, Rémi."

"I see. Did Jovan stitch this? They're neat, even. Good." Antoinette ran a finger along the seam of the curtain in her hands. Erik vaguely recognized the attempt to steer the conversation into a different direction. He didn't budge.

"Antoinette, what kind of company does Rémi Sauveterre run?" Erik made a slight switch regarding the person in question, asking about Jovan's uncle instead of the girl herself. Hopefully, the answer he'd receive would help Erik determine from what class Jovan came from, even if he already had a good guess.

"Shipping," was Antoinette's clipped answer. "I know what you're onto, Erik. The only reason why I'm giving you answers is so you don't have to ask Jovan herself."

Erik raised a dark brow. "I gathered as much. Her uncle seems to be a sensitive topic for her."

Antoinette dropped a curtain on her lap and shot Erik an exasperated look. "And whose conversation did you eavesdrop on to gather that?"

"Not yours or the manager's, worry not."

"Jovan herself then. I presume with her friend, Elea Neveu?"

Erik nodded, twisting the obsidian ring on his right little finger. "An astute deduction, brava," he deadpanned.

Antoinette pushed aside the curtains altogether before getting up to her feet. "Then I no longer see the need for this conversation, seeing as you're doing perfectly fine, spying on other people and whatnot." The mild irritation lacing her tone was picked up by Erik's ears, and he refrained from rolling his eyes as the ballet headmistress began to walk back to the passageway that she had come from.

"Can you really blame me, Antoinette?"

"This isn't Persia, Erik," Antoinette stopped and made a sudden turn, and her scathing stare found him. Erik flinched, not because of the fire in her eyes, but because of the mention of the place where much of the blood from his past came from. He straightened and held Antoinette's stare as he took slow, fluid strides towards where she stood.

"You think I'm not aware of that?" His voice dropped into a dangerous whisper.

"All I'm saying is that you don't have to be suspicious of everyone all the time," Antoinette answered firmly.

"I'm not suspicious," Erik hissed. No, he'd long stopped being suspicious of Jovan, specifically after his interrogation with her in the chapel. Was Antoinette really that daft?

Antoinette raised her chin as Erik inched closer to her. "Then why do you care so much?"

At hearing his words, Erik stopped walking. There was something wrong. As he stiffened, his eyes spotted the dubious glint in Antoinette's eyes. An alarm went off in his head and his blood went cold. It took him a good second to realize that they weren't talking about Persia at all, but their conversation still very much revolved around Jovan. Jovan, the same girl around which majority of his thoughts ran around in circles nowadays. He wasn't quite sure when it started, but a voice whispered at the back of his head that it began over a month and a half ago, back when he had listened to Jovan's last conversation with Elea, those words that began haunting him ever since he heard them...

Don't stay here.

Erik cut his current stream of thought before his mind could further stray from the present, from what Antoinette just did. She tricked him. He didn't know whether to be angry or impressed as he stared at the ballet headmistress before him, the woman still carrying an ever-present air of poise and authority even when standing face to face with the Opera Ghost.

"I don't," Erik lied, though he knew it was in vain.

"Heavens, Erik. You've never been this curious about any of the opera staff before. I don't think I can even still call this curiosity at this point... You clearly care about her."

She started it, a part of Erik wanted to retort, but he ignored the childish remark, shaking his head. Instead, he turned and walked away from Antoinette, a frown pulling at his lips as he frantically attempted to sort out the thoughts running amok in his mind. Was this why he couldn't compose properly?

"Do not mistake my interest for something elsethat it is not, madame," he warned, the words almost escaping in a snarl. "You forget that curiosity is one of my gravest sins."

"Oh, please," he heard Antoinette scoff. "I just came from mass, Erik, and already you make me want me go against the priest's sermon."

"Save your breath, Antoinette. I'll be glad to let you know of the next time I believe I'm due for a tongue-lashing," he answered sarcastically.

He didn't hear another word from Antoinette after his response, just the click of her boots against the floor of his cavern before they faded away as she presumably left for good. The silence that followed was not a welcome respite as it only served to heighten the voices in his head, a vicious choir that sang of his sorrows, his nightmares, and his fears, and he could not silence them no matter how hard he tried.

As Erik closed his eyes, he reached to touch the cool porcelain of the mask that sat on his face, a sigh escaping his lips as his thoughts flew to his music. His music... he made music for a million reasons, but one of them was to quiet the demons he had, if he could not tame them. And among them were his fears, the ones that always made sleep elusive, the ones that haunted his dreams when Morpheus did visit him, the ones that made his chest ache whenever he thought of them...

Don't stay here.

Antoinette was right, Erik thought in defeat as he recalled Elea's words once more, an eerie melody that tirelessly repeated itself in his head at the moment. After all this time, it just seemed so right to begin seeing Jovan as a constant in his life, even if he had so little of those. It had been so long since he last considered the possibility of Jovan leaving the opera house. When Elea had left, reality delivered him with a heavy blow as he came to realize that Jovan staying forever was not an option.

One day, she was going to leave, much like her friend did.

And Erik feared when that day would arrive.

It was that day of the week again, the day when Christine went out to the chapel to say her prayers for an hour. It was nearing eight in the evening when Jovan's eyes left her book and darted to the clock on the far wall of the dormitory. Now that Elea was gone, it fell on Jovan to be the responsible one among her roommates, something that everyone had also been in favor of because she was now the oldest among them. As the long hand of the clock neared the twelfth hour, Jovan closed her book and climbed out of her bed to approach the door.

"She can take of herself, don't worry," Suzanne gently chastised Jovan from behind the drawn curtains of her bed.

"I don't doubt that," Jovan answered distractedly as she opened the door and peered into the dark hallway outside.

In the distance, she saw Christine approaching with a lamp in one hand. Jovan offered her a small smile once the younger girl was close enough to see her.

"I'm not late," Christine pointed out playfully.

"No, you aren't," Jovan agreed with a chuckle as she let Christine into the room, firmly locking the door in place before going to return to her own bed.

When Jovan turned, however, she was surprised to see Christine still standing before her. The girl's brown eyes were on Jovan's left hand where one of her fingers were bandaged, a splotch of red on the white cloth. "You cut yourself?" Christine asked.

Jovan gave a nod. "Yes, earlier. You know when." She then recalled the incident earlier that day when she had been cutting some fabric, and there had been a loud commotion outside of the costume workshop. The screams of the chorus girls outside had startled Jovan so bad that she ended up cutting herself with the scissors in her other hand. Fortunately, she was quick to catch the blood before it could stain the cloth she was working on, something that would've surely earned her a scolding from Madame Strauss.

Christine gave a thoughtful nod before she walked away to her own bed. Jovan did the same, killing the flame of the lamp on her nightstand before drawing the curtains of her own bed. The earlier mishap continued to replay in her mind as Jovan remembered wandering out of the costume workshop to find out what was going on that it was causing such a racket. A cleaning lady had stumbled across Jovan then, and proceeded to tell her that the Opera Ghost was the one behind the ruckus once more.

At this, Jovan's thoughts wandered to Erik as she pulled up the covers to her chest. It had been two weeks since her last visit to him, when she had mended his curtains, and since that morning, she had yet to drop by his home again. Not that she needed an invitation first before she could visit the cellars ― in fact, a good number of her visits had actually been of her own decision without any prompting from Erik ― but her encounter with him following that Sunday morning had simply been a rather discouraging one.

By now, Jovan had grown used to Erik's mood swings and how volatile the man could be at times, but a visit to Box Five two days after Sunday had been one that had put her off. She'd been right when she guessed that Erik was inside, presumably to oversee their current production, but she had not anticipated his bitter demeanor towards her. With Erik, Jovan had learned to recognize when he was actually angry at her or when he was angry at something else entirely and she was just in the line of fire (the most recent instance had to be the one when he'd kicked the ottoman she was using for her feet). When she'd peeked into Box Five to see how he was doing, she didn't miss the edge in his voice when he spoke nor the way his eyes darkened when he looked at her.

"I'm fine," he had bit out that morning. "I don't see why you should care."

Jovan's first reaction was to throw back an equally biting remark then. She'd only thought better of it as she remembered that her new boss was not as lenient as Amir Vacher had been when she was still a stagehand. Instead, she'd decided to let Erik be before she closed the door to his box. For the remainder of that day, she tried her best to not let her mind drift to Erik's new attitude towards her; fortunately, having to concentrate on the costumes was a sound and welcome distraction for Jovan.

Then the days continued to pass where Erik remained cold towards her. Jovan had let it slide at first, convinced that perhaps he was in another sulking mood. But then a week turned into two and then three, and she realized that Erik might actually be angry at her.

She couldn't even begin to fathom what she had done to earn his scorn. She hadn't said anything out of line the last time she spoke with him, nor were there any quarrels between them in the past few months. She didn't think he'd have any reason to be displeased with her work on his curtains (besides, she didn't think that Erik was that shallow to be so angry at a mere set of curtains). But not only was Jovan confused, she was also angry. Angry that Erik was acting in a way for reasons that she could not comprehend, angry that she was also keeping her distance from him now because of her damn pride, angry because she just could not understand...

Jovan was tired. She was utterly, terribly tired of this. First, Elea had left. Now, Erik was acting differently.

She didn't know what to do anymore, and she was already at the end of her rope.

She held onto her skirt as she marched purposefully down the dark passageway that led to Erik's home.

Jovan had had enough of it.

Her footsteps were loud on purpose as she made her way through the tunnel, hoping that her footfalls would be enough to alert Erik that she was coming. That, and to let him know that she was done. It was Sunday again, and Jovan just couldn't take any more of his cold behavior without knowing the justifiable reason behind it.

Red clouded her vision as she swatted away the curtains that framed the mouth of the passageway. She saw Erik sitting on his desk, his fingers dirtied with charcoal, with a startled look dawning on his face when his green and amber eyes met hers.

"What the Devil, Erik? Do you mind telling me what's going on?" Jovan spat at him as she came to stop outside of the tunnel, breathing heavily.

"What?" Erik replied lamely, standing from his desk as he began to approach her with a questioning look in his eyes. With his waistcoat unbuttoned and a small smudge of charcoal on the unmasked side of his face, Jovan began to see that there was something wrong with the picture. He rarely looked this disheveled, seeing that he took much care with how he looked and that he was a vain creature. So there was something wrong, indeed. Jovan pushed down her worry as she realized that he looked tired while he came closer and closer to her in a slow but even pace.

"This ― whatever the hell is going on!" Jovan couldn't help but raise her voice, her veins alight with fire as she stared hard at Erik. "Did I do something wrong? Did I say something? What did I do?"

"No. Nothing," Erik replied, his voice low and steady as he held his ground against her. He now stood a few feet away from her, his hands balled into fists at his side. If he was angry now, he was doing an excellent job at controlling his temper.

At hearing his answer, Jovan's ire only grew, her clenched fists shaking as her nails bit into the skin of her palm. "Nothing? For four weeks, you act so coldly towards me, and it's just nothing? What is wrong with you?"

"Do you want me to answer chronologically, or alphabetically?" he answered, sounding serious.

Jovan's mouth fell open. "I'm not joking, Erik!" She gritted her teeth. "You will tell me whatever it was that I did wrong or, God forbid ― Erik, I am so tired―"

"Like I said, nothing." His frustratingly placid tone made Jovan release a soft snarl, even if she heard the faintest tremble of emotion in Erik's voice. "It has nothing to do to you."

"You lie." Jovan was unable to stop herself as she closed the space between them and she weakly shoved him, but Erik didn't budge. She tried again, with a stronger push this time, but he only swayed as he stared down at her. He was frozen like a statue, and it made Jovan's temper flare once more as she tried to get a reaction from out of him.

"Damn it, Erik! I'm not stupid," she seethed as she backed away this time, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She had so much to say and so much to ask, but even with her flair with words, she could not articulate any of her thoughts into coherent sentences, nor did she think that she could say any of them without bursting into tears. She just wanted so badly to know. Had Madame Giry told him something when she'd left the two of them alone that Sunday? Was it because he was fed up with her refusal to fully disclose her past? Or, God forbid, had he grown bored with her?

Jovan drew in a deep breathe to steady herself before she parted her lips to speak, but not a word escaped her. Erik remained motionless before her, his face eerily indecipherable, and Jovan broke into a bitter, humorless laugh before she took another step back.

"Fine," she bit out, her voice trembling as she spoke. Her exhaustion was finally catching up to her, not just from lashing out from Erik, but the burnout she felt at the present was the result of everything else. From the soreness she still felt after Elea's departure, from having to adjust to the demands and intricacies of her new job, from whatever this was between her and Erik...

"Are you going to leave?" Erik's voice then broke the silence. Jovan watched as he approached her until they were only a foot apart. His voice was quiet, but his words felt heavy as they drifted to her ears in a somber tone.

She then realized that she now stood not far from the passageway she had just come from. Leave? Her ire rose once more as recalled the last time that she had left during an argument between the two of them ― when he had forced her to admit the reason why she was hiding. It didn't end well for either of them as they ended up not speaking to each other for a full month, all because Erik had demanded an explanation from her while she had stormed out on him like a child.

She wasn't that child anymore.

Her brows creased as she gave a furious shake of her head. "No. I won't," she answered. It escaped her notice that she had raised her clenched fists again, as if she were prepared to push Erik again if he came any closer.

Jovan's lips parted in surprise when she felt long, slender fingers gently wrap around her wrists, the contact causing her to uncurl her fists in surprise. They belonged to Erik, she realized, as she stared at the skin of his fingers that were streaked with charcoal. Rarely did he touch her without his gloves that the feeling of his skin against that of her wrists made her pulse escalate further, but something about his warm touch also oddly soothed her. Before she could stop herself, Jovan leaned forward and her forehead fell on his chest. She heard a small gasp left him as he let go of her wrists, and her hands found the fabric of his shirt which she gathered into her fists.

She was so tired, she wanted to tell Erik. But she let her own silence do the talking as she took in deep breaths to calm her racing heart. It roared so loudly that her chest began to ache, and the pain felt bone-deep as she felt a numbness wash over her. Then she felt Erik's arms slowly wrap around her, and Jovan only held onto him tighter, determined not to let go after the distance that had grown between them over the past few weeks. She didn't think she could handle that anymore, not when Elea's departure was a still fresh wound that she was trying so hard to heal, and she didn't think she could handle losing him too...

But she still couldn't understand why he had acted the way he did.

Was it her fault? What had she done?

"I'm sorry," she then heard Erik say, his voice so solemn that it made tears spring to her eyes. "It had nothing to do with you."

Jovan would get her answers one day. But for now, his reassurance would do. That, and the way he was holding her in his arms.

Author's Note: Someone please tell Erik that pushing away someone so that he'll grow to care less for them isn't gonna help his case. Boy, these two have a lot to work out. Don't forget to review!