Erik did not know how to court a lady.
"Is what Erik doing even considered courting?" He enjoyed being with Cricket, she made him feel warm inside, with her honest gaze and careful questions. Their time together filled him with peace but also a riot of feelings he did not have names for.
He wandered the passages leading to the lake with no real purpose, mentally berating himself for still being in Paris. The time to return to New York had long passed. Even if his students had moved on to other teachers, Erik would rebuild. It never took long for word of his skill to circulate.
"Perhaps I should move on from there." Erik told the darkness. "Erik could move out west, to San Francisco?" Compared to New York, it was a small place. It was easier for him to exist in a populous city, where the inhabitants may think him eccentric but not the most horrifying thing they had seen. Erik was fairly certain the entire population of California was less than that of New York City.
"No." he shook his head. "Erik must return to New York."
At the water's edge, Erik sat down, cross legged, and listened to the distant dripping of water. Was he ready to say farewell to the Populaire again? To leave Paris and France behind for what may be forever? Erik did not have familial ties anymore, but he did have a fondness for his motherland.
"Why else would I have come back?"
Christine. Did he even need to ask? The opera house would not be the only thing he would be leaving behind; was he ready to leave Christine behind for good? The Erik who had fled Paris a decade ago wouldn't have been able to leave. That Erik would have guarded her tomb like a gargoyle, until in time he really did petrify.
That Erik would have died with her.
"But Erik still lives while Christine does not." He gazed into the darkness. What did this Erik want? Memories of recent nights with Meg filled his mind; brushing her hair while telling her his secrets. And she had not made him leave. Erik shook his head in disbelief. He wanted more of that older, more mature Cricket, who was so brave that she let Death brush her golden hair and tuck her into bed.
Struck with an idea, Erik hopped to his feet and in three long strides leapt into the boat and was pushing across the water towards his house. He still had no idea how to court a lady but there were things to prepare and a surprise for his Cricket in store.
Midnight was their time.
When the performance was over and the crowds were gone home, Meg shed her dancer's skin and became ordinary again. But Erik was always there, at the dressing room door, to offer his arm to escort her home.
Often they would walk in comfortable silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Other times, he would describe the passing arrondissement as it had been before she was born. Erik had an excellent memory and a gift with words, and he painted the past vividly for her. She would get so wrapped up in the story that he had left her on her doorstep before Meg even realized they had arrived. He had stopped coming into the flat, through door or window, which made her sad. Her hair could use a good brushing.
He had been at the performance again tonight. Erik did not always attend her performances; seeing the same ballet over and over would bore anyone to death. But he was definitely in the house that night. The eyes of the audience took on an intensity that was lacking when Erik was not there. She hoped that he had enjoyed the performance.
Meg dropped onto the divan with a sigh and rubbed her foot. The thought of walking home was painful, her feet ached, and her body ached.
"I need a break." She pulled the silver combs from her hair, running her fingers over the roses. A light tap at the door startled her. "Come in."
Erik slipped into the room and quietly locked the door behind him. "You should lock this door, Cricket. You never know what may lurk nearby."
"If we are talking about lurking, usually you are the only thing lurking nearby."
His shoulders shook in what she assumed was his silent laughter and sat at a discreet distance from her on the divan.
"Cricket is still in costume?"
"Cricket is not relishing the thought of further movement tonight." She sank down in her seat. "I may just sleep here."
"You would be much more comfortable in your own bed."
"Yes, but it is so far." She whined.
If she could have seen Erik's eyebrows, they would probably be raised.
"Does Cricket require her Maestro to carry her home?" his tone was dry.
Meg responded by tossing a small cushion at Erik's head.
"It would be unfortunate if she were to spend tonight in the theatre. Erik may have had a surprise for her."
She gave him a skeptical, sidelong glance but did not move from the crater she had made in the divan. "Erik must know that she does not like surprises."
"If it involved a carriage ride, would she like it more?"
"I'll get changed." She sighed, hobbling behind the dressing screen. "Don't go anywhere. I will need help."
Erik did not make a sound as she scrambled out of her costume, but his stillness felt profound. Was he holding his breath? Meg pulled on her morning gown, reaching behind her to fasten the top buttons she could manage. She emerged from the screen with a sheepish smile and turned around as he quickly did up the rest of the buttons.
"Shall we?" he smiled thinly, opening the door.
Meg threw on her cape and followed Erik out of the opera house and into the waiting carriage.