Meg awoke alone; her surroundings were dark save for the weak light of the guttering candle on the bedside table. Stretching slowly, she tried to place where she was. Memories of the panicked flight through the opera house crept in with growing anxiety. Desjardins thundering steps, his sour breath and clammy hands when he touched-
A brief glance beneath the covers confirmed it had not been a dream. It was all too real and she fought the rising bile in her throat. Meg squeezed her eyes shut and willed herself into oblivion, anything to escape the present reality.
But what was her present reality? The last thing she clearly remembered was hearing a click before the wall shifted. Events after that were hazy but who else could it have been other than her Maestro. "That must mean.."
The door creaked softly and she opened her eyes to find Erik looming reaper-like at the foot of the bed. "Ah, you're awake."
"I am." Meg sat up, yawning. "And I am in your home?"
Erik's posture was rigid, his manner stiff and hesitant. "Does that displease you?"
"No. I did set out to find you after all." Meg lifted her gaze to his, uneasiness settling in; was he angry that she was here? Resentful that perhaps he felt obligated to come to her rescue? "Then he should've left me where I was."
"I am found." He said softly, moving to sit down beside her.
"I had the strangest dream, Maestro."
Erik twisted awkwardly to look at her, wariness filled his eyes.
"Maybe it wasn't strange exactly but that it felt so real and aren't dreams supposed to be strange-"
"What was it?" turning his back to her, taut with annoyance.
"That I slept here in your arms." Meg shrank back and Erik's shoulders slumped with regret.
"That was no dream, Cricket. I didn't mean to fall asleep." Apology was heavy in his voice but he didn't turn back, choosing instead to address the wall. "You woke and begged me not to take you home."
Meg pulled her lower lip between her teeth, biting hard to tamp down the storm of emotions threatening her. Erik seemed unable to look at her and she frowned, perhaps he thought her damaged now and wanted nothing to do with her. Tears stung her eyes and her throat ached with a suppressed sob. That was a thought she could not bear.
"You know?"
"Yes, Marguerite." He turned around, somewhat exasperated. "Do you not remember this?"
"I thought it must've been a dream. I do dream of you fairly often." She answered defensively.
"Then I am sorry for you." He turned away again.
"I'm not." Meg ventured, scooting closer. She slid her arms around him from behind, resting her cheek against his back. "I dream of that night in the Bois, in your arms-"
Erik tensed and jumped to his feet. "Erik is sorry for that night, more than you know." he dropped to his knees beside the bed. "You were intoxicated. Erik took liberties."
"We were intoxicated and I took them too. Erik, please, I am sorry. I overreacted. I should've let you explain." Meg patted the bed for him to sit, hoping she could talk him down from his third-person speeches.
"No, there is no time." He said, shaking his head. "Erik must take you home."
"Erik, you cannot take me home every time things between us get difficult for you."
"Can't I?" he said flatly.
"Do you enjoy being alone? Torturing yourself over the things you said or did not say? Things you wished you had done? Is that fun for you? I can't imagine that it is."
Erik glared at her with hard, yellow eyes, his jaw clenched.
"You've been absent for weeks and all I've wanted was to apologize."
He drew back slightly in confusion. "You wish to apologize to Erik when it was he who wronged you?"
Meg reached for his hands and pulled his unyielding form to sit again next to her; after a moment's hesitation, Erik returned to her side. "You did not wrong me. I believed you when you said you didn't want me to be Christine."
Erik squeezed her hand. "Erik truly meant it." He shook his head, fighting to correct himself. "I truly meant it. I..care for you, because you are.. you."
"Very eloquent, Maestro." She teased gently, laying her head upon his shoulder.
"I cannot help it; you rob me of all sense." He gently kissed the top of her head. "Which is why you are still here in this dungeon rather than at home in your comfortable room."
"But I went through so much to get here." She pouted.
Erik pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly. He placed his lips upon her forehead, lightly and tentatively, testing the waters. "Tomorrow night then." He relented, feeling the tension go out of her. "I am being a poor host, Cricket. You must eat and I shall cook for you."
"You can cook?" Her eyes wide with disbelief. Erik gave her a thin but lopsided smile; his dark mood swung into something much lighter. Meg wouldn't call it joviality but something like it, maybe mania.
"It's hard to find good staff these days." He quipped. Erik leapt to his feet, pulling her along with him. "Come, Cricket. Let me try to make up for past mistakes."
