A/N - Hi guys! Thank you so much to all my reviewers - I love you all :)
Now, halfway through this chapter is a completely miscellaneous scene wherein Firmin gets what he deserves :P It isn't really terribly relevant - but Maya was begging me to let her beat him up ... so I thought I'd write her in :) (Couldn't quite fit Sigi's steel-toed boots into it, honey, but you can imagine!! ;) )
And angelofnight - the reason Erik didn't realise the handwriting was Christine's was because Cosette had a sample of her handwriting and was working from that - it was only a short note, and he assumed she'd just been in a hurry writing it. And he was a little freaked - we all know how over-protective he is of her!
Nadir entered the room cautiously. Erik was fully dressed, sitting at the window, staring at the sky.
"You should be in bed," he said softly, moving to sit beside him.
Erik looked up slowly. "No ... convalescence is an unnecessary process for the feeble-minded."
Nadir looked at him, faintly surprised in spite of himself. "You've been shot, Erik - that isn't a petty wound you can take care of by yourself."
"Nonsense ..." Erik said distantly. "It's just a scratch." He stood up abruptly and picked up his cloak from its place on the chair. He swung the cloak over his shoulder - using, Nadir noticed, his right arm - and turned towards the door.
"What do you think you're doing?"
"I'm going out," he said shortly. "I'm damned if I'm going to let those vultures at the Opera tear apart everything I own."
Nadir was shaking his head, moving to block the door.
"You're not going anywhere," he said firmly. "You are in no condition to take care of yourself at present. Tell me what you need and I'll fetch it myself."
Erik laughed softly. "No, daroga ... I shan't know myself until I get there. I'll be fine ... the day any man lays a hand on me and I find myself unable to prevent it is a day I shall be very happy to meet my Maker." He smiled wryly. "Although I think my chances of a one-on-one interview are perhaps slender."
Nadir stared at his friend, and was struck with the sudden contrast between the young man he had first known thirty years ago, embittered by the tragedies life had inflicted on him, but still eager to live, to discover the world's secrets - and the man he saw before him now. Something inside him had withered - and now Nadir saw nothing in him but a man desperately awaiting the release of death. "You mustn't go," he said helplessly.
Erik looked at his friend, and seemed to soften.
"I won't be long," he said.
* * *
Erik lifted the cat into his arms, hs fingers exploring her fur. She seemed unharmed - if heartily indignant at his desertion.
Glancing around the house, he sighed. All the repair work he had done had been destroyed; the gendarmes had apparently left no stone unturned in their search for him.
He drew a deep breath and, setting Ayesha gently down onto the shredded carpet, walked over to Christine's room. He laid his hand on the doorknob and hesitated. Perhaps not such a good idea ...
He turned away and moved to sit in one of the armchairs, its leather slashed in numerous places but the frame still largely intact. He looked over at the hidden door with mixed emotions. It was only a room ... but it was hers. He swore and slammed his fist into the arm of the chair, raising a small cloud of dust which came to settle on his jacket sleeve. Ayesha leapt lightly up to sit beside him, pushing her head against his hand, demanding attention. He smiled faintly and brushed his fingers lightly down her spine.
"You'll be happy now," he murmured through a sudden lump in his throat. "No more Christine ..."
His voice was barely audible over the cat's ecstatic purring.
* * *
"So at seven francs per pair of ballet shoes, over a period of ..."
"Richard ..."
Andre gestured for Firmin to be quiet and rose nervously to greet the woman who stood simmering in the doorway.
"Madame Firmin ... how lovely to see you ..."
"Hello, Gilles, nice to see you," she said coldly. Ignoring Andre's fluttering attempts to keep her calm, she directed her glare at her husband.
"Hello, Maya," Firmin said with a weak smile, rising to kiss his wife. She waved him away, raising her hands to stop him in his tracks.
"Richard," she said, ominously calmly. "Do you know what date it is today?"
Firmin glanced at the calendar. "June the fifteenth," he said warily. "Why?" Glancing past his wife, he saw Andre waving his hands frantically, desperately mouthing something.
"That's right, Richard. June the fifteenth. Does that date mean anything to you?"
Firmin stared at his friend, mystified.
"Anniversary!" hissed Andre finally in desperation.
Firmin swore inwardly. "My dear ..." he tried weakly, "you didn't think I'd forget our wedding anniversary ...?"
"Thank you, Gilles!" she snapped, whirling round and shooting Andre a glare which could rival the Gorgon Medusa's, both in venom and effect.
"I ... I'll just be in the ... auditorium," muttered Andre, edging towards the door and darting out into the corridor, slamming the door behind him. As he hurried away down the corridor, he could hear Maya Firmin's voice raised in furious tirade at her husband.
"Twenty seven years, Richard! How hard can it be to remember one day out of three hundred and sixty five? I've barely seen you for weeks ... you're always here, and when you do finally deign to grace us with your presence, all you can talk about is your ghost, and the price of ballet shoes, and the entire bloody Opera House!"
Her voice faded as Andre hurried to the front entrance of the Opera. A few minutes later, Maya Firmin came storming out, her hair flying, her face like stone. Andre shrank into the shadows to avoid her notice, then, as the door slammed with tremendous force, dislodging dust from the rafters, he walked back to the office. He entered cautiously and saw Firmin bent double, breathing hard.
Firmin looked up and saw Andre. "Bloody woman!" he managed in a voice somewhat higher than usual.
Andre just managed to mumble an excuse and step out into the passage before he burst out laughing.
* * *
Erik was sitting alone by the window, gazing out at the sky, his eyes distant.
Nadir racked his brains for something to say. "Chess, Erik?" he said finally.
Erik glanced briefly at him, then looked away, shaking his head. "No ... thank you." His voice sounded distant too.
Nadir caught Darius' eye, looking concerned, before his servant hastily turned away, unwilling to be caught staring by their notoriously volatile houseguest.
"Why don't you play me something?" he suggested, feeling utterly inadequate. Erik looked round sharply, a flicker of quickly-suppressed pain in his eyes.
"No," he said shortly.
Nadir sighed, and the room lapsed into silence again. Erik had brought his violin back from the Opera with him, but since then it had lain untouched in a corner of his room - he seemed unable to bear the thought of anything that reminded him of Christine, however slightly.
"Are you warm enough?" he said finally.
Erik turned very slowly to look at him, his eyes finally focusing. "Nadir," he said slowly, "I appreciate all you're trying to do - but I'm not a child. You don't have to nursemaid me."
"I'm worried about you," Nadir said quietly. "How long can you sit there and stare out of the window? Dwelling on it like this can't be healthy for you."
"Dwelling on what, Nadir?" Suddenly Erik's sounded cold, a warning note in his voice telling Nadir to tread very carefully. "What exactly would you like me to turn around and forget?"
Nadir sighed. "Don't start that, Erik," he said wearily. "Your physical intimidation stopped having any effect on me years ago."
Erik rose stiffly, running his long fingers along the windowsill. "I'd be exceptionally impressed if that were the case, Nadir," he said coldly. "You of all people know what I really am capable of."
"You know, Erik, if you had a slightly higher opinion of yourself, the world might treat you a little better," Nadir said quietly.
"And if I were an armadillo, it might treat me a little worse," Erik said incomprehensibly.
"I'm serious," Nadir said, aware of how dangerous the ground he was getting onto was, and yet desperate to keep Erik in active conversation. "You think more badly of yourself than anyone else does."
Erik turned to look at him, his eyes suddenly sad again. "I think that highly unlikely, Nadir," he said quietly, sitting slowly back down. "Not everyone is so blinded by the past as you yourself are." He fell silent, staring down at his hands, and Nadir silently cursed himself.
He rose and poured a glass of brandy from a decanter on the side table, handing it to Erik in silence.
Erik downed it neat in one swallow without comment.
"Erik ..." Nadir said helplessly.
Erik shook his head, his eyes sad. "Don't," he said quietly. He lifted Ayesha into his arms, his fingers gently exploring her fur. "I'm sorry," he said, glancing at Nadir. "I know you don't like cats." He sighed as Ayesha rubbed her head against his face with ecstasy. "It won't be for long now."
Nadir shook his head. "It's fine," he said quietly, taking a step forward and cautiously brushing his hand down her back. "We're getting used to each other now, aren't we, Ayesha?"
Ayesha twisted round in displeasure at the unfamiliar touch, and spat at him.
Erik smiled mechanically and turned back to the window, his fingers automatically soothing the ruffled cat.
"Master ..." Nadir looked up to see Darius hovering in the doorway. "There is a lady to see you."
Nadir glanced at Erik, but he had turned back to the window and did not seem to have heard. He rose and made his way out into the hall.
"Darius, you haven't left the poor woman standing out on the step? Go and let her in, for God's sake!"
Darius was hovering uncertainly behind Nadir. "I think that perhaps you should see her before you decide to let her in, Master ..."
Nadir shot him a puzzled glance but nevertheless opened the door to see who his unexpected caller was. She turned to face him when she heard the door open, her hair covered with the hood of her cloak, her smile suddenly radiant.
"Monsieur!"
Her relief was evident in her voice.
"Is he here? Is he safe?"
Nadir stepped out of the flat and closed the door firmly behind him to prevent Erik from catching the treacherously familiar tones of her voice.
"I fear I cannot be pleased at your presence here, Mademoiselle. The sooner you leave, the better it will be for all of us."
Christine looked bewildered. "I don't understand."
Her well-performed innocence, with just the right degree of incomprehension, made Nadir lose his temper.
"Wasn't it enough for you to break his heart and destroy his soul the first time around? What on earth possessed you to go along with this? I thought you cared about him!" Forcing himself to lower his voice, he added with venom, "and worse, so did he."
Christine stared at him with utter incomprehension.
"I don't know what you're talking about. Is he all right? They said he'd been shot ..."
"How you can have the nerve to come here after what you've done ..." Nadir took a deep breath to try to calm his anger. "I think you should leave now."
Christine was shaking her head.
"I want to see him."
Nadir moved to block the door. "Definitely not. You've done enough damage, I won't have you going in there to finish off what you've begun."
"Maybe he'll explain to me what you won't! And you know he'd want to see me ..."
"Did it ever occur to you that even the most intense of loves can die? When it's abused and broken so consistently over such a long period ... I don't know what on earth makes you imagine that he would still want to see you after what you've done!"
"What have I done?!" Christine's voice was shrill and close to tears now. "I don't know what you're talking about!"
Nadir sighed. "Just go, Christine," he said, very quietly. "He doesn't want to see you. Go back to the Opera and marry the Vicomte - just try to treat him a little better than you've treated Erik all this time."
Christine stared at him for a long moment, tears brimming in her eyes.
"Will you tell him I came?" she whispered.
Nadir shook his head. "No." He paused. "God knows, he's done enough in his life to condemn him to an eternity in hell, but I never imagined his punishment would be this severe - I'm damned if I'll contribute to it."
Christine blinked rapidly. "I don't know why you're being like this," she said, very quietly, her voice shaking. "Please, tell him I came. Let him make up his own mind as to whether or not he wants to see me."
Nadir turned around and opened the door. "Goodbye, Mademoiselle," he said quietly. "I hope we shall never have cause to meet again." He closed the door quietly behind him, and Christine, left standing alone on the step, stared hopelessly around the street for a moment. Rows of closed doors and shuttered windows mocked her; stifling a sob, she turned and made her way back to the Opera.
Suddenly so much emptier ...