Disclaimer/Blame: As always. Just covering my butt.
Other notes: My strange blend of Leroux and ALW comes through again. I don't picture Meg as wishy-washy like the rest of the corps: I think she could have a very strong personality. I also don't see her as a complete innocent like Christine. Just my thoughts, feel free to disagree.
Thalia (Greek Muse of Comedy) has been speaking quietly throughout this story, more so in recent chapters. Melpomene (Muse of Tragedy) seems to be resting at the moment. "Thank you" to them, and also to their sister Calliope (Muse of Epics), for your help as well since I think that's what this is turning out to be (at least, it feels like one).
I believe the references I make to Greek mythology are self-explanatory. The Muses themselves are the 9 daughters of Mnemosyne (goddess of memory), Orpheus is the son of Calliope. Euterpe is the Muse of Music. Apollo, god of light and music, Pan the god of nature, ugly but plays beautiful music when he's in a good mood.
I'm getting rid of the well. ::grins and waves her blank paper (artistic license) around:: All the incidents that happened between Erik and Christine at the well. I'm moving them elsewhere. Where, I'll decide when I get there, if I decide to include them at all. I hope you're enjoying my mindless ramblings 'cause you're getting a buttload here (12 pages' worth)!
Thanks to all of you who have been so patient with me and reviewed my work! Ok, I'm shutting up. On with the story!
{{ Meg's thoughts }} [[ Erik's thoughts ]]
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Lachesis' Weavings, Chapter 9 by AngelCeleste85
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Ch. 9 - A Bridge of Trust
Day by day, Erik grew stronger. He also grew more and more restless with each day of enforced idleness as Meg refused to let him out of bed in her presence, though she knew he walked around when she was aboveground. Erik was not yet strong enough to handle the flywalk, let alone the boat across the often treacherous and deadly-cold lake, and they both knew it.
A week and a half after he first regained consciousness in Meg's care, Erik decided that he would end this irritating convalescence. He'd been walking around in her absence frequently, rebuilding his strength and stamina though it was clear he could not neglect himself like that again.
Breaking out of the confines of the room meant, of course, deliberately provoking Meg. That in itself was a challenge, but how to do so in a way that would not anger her without cause? He had no fear of her temper, but did not wish to break the easy peace that had settled between them in the time that they had begun to get to know one another.
That night, he greeted her standing in the doorway to the bedroom that was once Christine's. He had left his mask on the night-table: she had already seen him without it and Erik was pleased in a quiet way that the little dancer flinched neither from the sight of his face or body, or from the feel of his cold touch. "Mademoiselle,", he said gravely, knowing humor danced in his eyes and let it give his voice the lie.
As expected, Meg flew into a bustle, hustling her charge backwards. He let a small smile crack through the façade now. "Good gracious, Erik," she exclaimed. "I don't know how long you've been standing there in the doorway but you're going right back to bed this instant, I will not have you falling over on me just because you decided to do something foolish and stand around - Shirtless, of all things! - in the cold and damp! My God, you'll catch your death of cold that way!"
Apparently Meg had decided formality was a little ridiculous and the former Opera Ghost had to agree. [[ After all, she did save my life. What that's worth, I don't know, but she does seem to care. ]] But he had no idea whether to call her "little Meg" like the managers did when she so rarely came to their attention, or Meg, like her friends in the corps de ballet. "Giry" seemed a bit too impersonal for a friend - she did consider him one, no? Better not to assume, Erik decided. The backs of his legs hit the mattress and he nearly fell back. Meg tried to take advantage of that momentary imbalance and almost succeeded. Erik held his feet, if just barely, and gave her a very amused look before settling down of his own will.
"You take more after your mother every day, did you know that?" he chuckled. "You are the only person who has ever managed to regularly push Erik around to her liking." Meg relaxed a bit and smiled. She had yet another load with her, he saw, a neatly tied package that she set down on the vanity and started to untie. "In all seriousness, Mademoiselle-"
"You can call me Meg if you want. Or little Meg," she interrupted.
'Mademoiselle Meg-" he tried again. Meg laughed.
"Just Meg. Unless you want me calling you Monsieur at every turn. And curtsying. I will, too!"
"A dancer should know how to curtsy properly," he returned archly.
Meg grinned. "Trust me, I can't. I can dance decently enough that Maman doesn't talk my ear off about it at home unless I've really been horrible, but I'll never be prima, the whole corps knows that. A curtsy? Out of the question, I'm all knees and elbows. If I don't fall over or break something valuable I'm guaranteed to hit someone!"
Erik let his rare but rich laughter roll out into the room. "It sounds more like you will try to curtsy, then! I think I should like to see this, if it's truly as bad as you say. But as you wish, Meg. Since you seem to be my keeper at the moment, I suppose I will need to ask permission to get out of bed when you're in the room?"
Meg sighed, but by her body language she was more amused than anything else. "You should still be in bed. I can't believe you, standing in the doorway like that. How long were you there?"
"Not long. You realize I am going to have to get up sometime." Meg turned and studied him with a critical eye. He was still rail-thin, but now that he'd been able to get a good deal more food and water into him he was no longer skin and bones. "If you are concerned about the lack of flesh," he said in a mild but dry tone, "I have always been slender at best."
"Slender, my backside," Meg shot back. "You wouldn't believe how many in the corps would kill to be that skinny." It was a measure of the trust they had built up in the past week that such a remark and the way it slipped out was easily handled by both of them.
The former Phantom refrained from making any of the several quick retorts that sprang to mind regarding Meg's backside. "I think I could guess. Lucky for them that they are not or they would fall right out of the costumes they barely manage to wear anyway." Meg raised one eyebrow and gave him an odd smile, but Erik could have sworn she was also blushing under that mop of golden curls.
"You're still too skinny though. If I let you walk around now, you'll be back to bones in no time."
"It's not like you can keep me in bed, anyway." Too late Erik realized the double implications of that remark when Meg turned bright red for certain. "I apologize, I should not have said that."
"Not your fault," she said, stifling embarrassed laughter. "All right. I won't try to keep you there if you can get up and walk from the bathroom to the door." Erik smiled in triumph. "Five times straight," she added. "No stumbling, no stopping."
"Quite demanding for someone who doesn't want me working off my gains in weight so soon," he remarked, but at least Meg's color had gone down. Really, he had not meant to embarrass her in such a way... was he coloring in return? "I suppose no sweating, either?"
"Don't give me ideas. If I'm not happy you're staying in bed no matter what."
Erik controlled the color that rose to his cheeks again. [[ Really, her mother would throw fits! ]] This casual banter was showing a hidden side as often as not now. [[ All the more reason to get me out of the bedroom. ]]
Meg watched Erik as he rose smoothly. In a week's time since his last explosion, Erik's aloof demeanor had warmed considerably. At times he was still stiff in his manners, but most of that had faded by the other night. She was still blushing about having to help a man bathe, but the memory was funny all the same. {{ Meg, all you did was scrub his back and run squeaking out of the bathroom! }} At any rate, he seemed more comfortable about not wearing his mask for her. And the shirt, or the lack thereof... she couldn't really blame him. Meg was smuggling her father's old shirts in as quickly as she could, but that hadn't been very many since she was also trying to bring in food and reading materials, but the shirt that she had found Erik in... Meg shuddered whenever she looked at that, wadded up carelessly in a corner. {{ I'm going to have to take that shirt out sometime and burn it. Soon. }}
Erik made it to the other side of the room without trouble and started back. "Rap the wall, I want to make sure you're not trying to cut a step each way." He really did move with a grace she'd bet even La Sorelli would envy, Christine had told her about that in hushed tones, as if afraid he would overhear.
"Oui, Madame!" Erik's falsetto mimicry of the prima ballerina's contralto was so absolutely spot-on that Meg jumped and took three steps towards the door before she realized it. "That's one," he added, glancing down at her as he passed the laughing heap his young friend made on the floor. "Am I going to have to help you into bed after collapsing on me? After all the time you've forced on me to stay idle," - another rap on the wall - "that'd be a good change. I could make soup for you instead. Two." It was lucky for him that Meg's face was buried in the carpet, for just then he stumbled and caught himself on the foot of the bed.
Meg sat up, still laughing. "You scared me! I thought that great camel had followed me, was really standing there, she's a great one for telling tales!"
"Hypocritical, too." Rap! "Haven't you ever noticed? She's good at hiding it, but she makes the Saint Andrew's cross on that little wooden ring of hers any time someone mentions the Opera Ghost. Third trip. I know, I've seen her do it. On three separate occasions. Not to mention the horseshoe was her idea, as well. Watch her carefully next time someone drops the doings of the Opera Ghost into the conversation." A fourth knock on the wall.
"I'll do that."
"There, five times." Erik had to admit, Meg was shrewder than he'd given her credit for. The distance was about five meters each way, but it added up quickly on his recovering system and he'd been forced to handle turning around carefully. It was with an effort that he held himself up straight now. "And I'll try the boat tomorrow."
Again she eyed him critically, unknowingly looking just like her mother less forty years. "I don't suppose I could stop you anyway. Fine, you can help me clean up out there starting tomorrow. That's been a mess for too long already."
"How bad is it?" Erik leaned against the wall now, unwilling to sit down now that he was actually up and about officially. "I remember a little bit.. You were there, might have some idea of how to compare it. Meg," Erik stumbled over saying her name without the respectful "Mademoiselle" preceding it, but continued. "Do not try to make it easy, the fact of it is I was burglarized by a lynch mob that was looking for my blood."
"Didn't you see any of it? You said you lived out there for a couple of weeks."
"No, I went through the motions," Erik corrected her gently. "There's a difference."
Meg was stunned. Weeks, and... "You really didn't see any of..."
"Not enough to register it. All I really recall is cold and dark, but after a while even that. I couldn't see very much the first night you made dinner, all the light was in here, and I have not had the heart to look since. Not even a little while ago. I opened the door when I heard you coming in the front."
Meg shivered involuntarily. It had been a close call indeed. She took his hand, cool and dry, and held it as she told him the damage. {{ Better that he hear it from someone who cares about him than have to walk right out into it unprepared. }}
Erik seemed unmoved by most of it, locked away within his mental fortress. "And... the organ," he asked, the hesitation only slight in his voice but it spoke volumes. Meg could only grasp his hand more tightly. It was all the answer he needed.
"It might be repairable," she said softly. "I don't know anything about that. It looked pretty bad, but things aren't always as bad as they look."
Erik sighed and finally made his way over to the bed. He took the chair on the far side, though, and leaned onto the night-table. His companion sat on the bed by his side facing him, their knees close but not touching. "Somehow I doubt it. Surely someone in that mob would know how to demolish a pipe organ. And amateurs can do worse damage than a professional, if they are angry enough. I have no doubts that they were that night."
It was Meg's turn to sigh now. "Do you want all your bad news at once?"
Erik just motioned for her to continue.
The little dancer took a deep breath before starting this. She had absolutely no idea what reaction to expect from Erik to this news. "I'm going to have to leave, with Maman, in about three weeks. I'll be back, it's only a short journey."
"And the reason?" Erik prompted gently when she could not continue. Meg just got up and went to the vanity. The bundle she had brought in was almost completely unwrapped and from within she pulled out an ornate white parchment.
"This was in my lock-closet earlier this week." She handed it to him.
Reading the paper, Erik's heart sank. She had made her choice for certain. But he controlled his face once more, kept it as expressionless as the white mask that lay beside his arm on the nightstand. "I wish her happiness, then."
The little mantle clock chimed the time in its soft crystal tones and interrupted them.. Erik looked up as it hit eleven. "You've been making a habit of coming down here at night after rehearsals and going home after I go to sleep, haven't you?" Meg couldn't deny it and nodded, caught off- guard by the sudden change in topic. Erik felt the gentleman's duty tugging at him and it put something of the stiffness back in his manner. They were going to have to share a room. "'Il Muto' starts this week, tomorrow night, does it not? You should rest. The best I can do is to offer you this bedroom: consider its contents yours if you wish to. I will see about offering better hospitality as soon as I am able. If you would like to change for bed, I will see about finding something for a pallet on the floor."
"You're not sleeping on the floor, Erik."
"I cannot offer you anything less than the bed if you wish to stay here tonight," the older man returned.
"I sleep on the floor at home, I'm not averse to it."
"Then it's all the more reason you should spend at least one night in a proper bed."
"And what did you call that awful coffin?"
"You saw that, then. That was my bed, what else?"
"You slept there?! Then its all the more reason you should spend at least one night in a proper bed," Meg good-naturedly threw Erik's own words back at him.
"What do you think I have done for the last week thanks to you, my tyrannical young nurse?"
"You don't have to sleep on the floor. I can make it home all right -"
"At this hour and unescorted? I would not hear of it!"
"I'm hardly a child, and I've made the trip alone hundreds of times before."
"Paris is not safe at night, and men often have strange ideas about young ladies walking alone after dark. More so in this city. Megan, you may trust your safety to me, I will not violate it nor allow it to be violated."
That was a surprise to Meg: Erik did actually care about her as a person.
"Erik," she tried again, more gently this time and took his hand, resting her fingertips in the center of his palm. Erik almost seemed to jump: he seemed to shrink from physical contact whenever it was possible for him to do so and had not allowed her to touch him any more than absolutely necessary in the last week. Nor had he initiated their few contacts, but broke them as quickly as he could. "I'll be all right. I can get home safely."
Erik's hand, cool and dry to her touch, wrapped slowly around her fingers and enveloped them completely. No pressure was exerted to hold her hand in his own, Erik held it as though it were a butterfly come to light on his palm, or some exquisitely beautiful and delicate snowflake. Meg had never realized how big his hands were, or maybe it was just a comparison to her own small, flame-shaped hands. When he spoke, his voice almost seemed raw: she could see his throat working below his half-ravaged face while he found the words he was looking for.
"I would be remiss as a gentleman, as a host and as a friend if I allowed you to walk home through Paris at this hour alone and without an escort. I am concerned that you would not be safe but I do not feel that I can provide that escort for you at this time and would not be comfortable in trusting your safety to a hansom driver. Meg," he said, and his soft voice dropped to a whisper. "Enough people have been hurt by the actions I have taken. Please do not let me see you come to harm by an action I did not take and should have, I do not think I could bear that. Stay here tonight."
What could Meg say to an entreaty like that? It was more than she had ever expected to hear from Erik before, as though the walls that Christine had knocked down were only partially repaired but the damage had been hidden by a fog that only now blew away. It was the man, wounded and vulnerable but trying hard to trust, who looked out through those dark eyes at Meg from atop those half-demolished defenses. Caught between what he both wanted and feared, he still had made the offer. Meg smiled with understanding: what a dilemma for this man to be caught in!
"I will see Maman tomorrow, I can let her know I'm safe then, I suppose. A woman is definitely needed here, anyway," Meg said lightly. The little dancer watched a certain tension leave Erik's shoulders and frame. {{ So that wasn't just a sense of responsibility behind that offer. He cares. There's no getting around it, for some reason he cares. }} "Thank you."
"You're welcome, Mademoi- Megan," he said softly, staring at their hands together. "You're welcome here at any time, day or night."
Silence stretched between them. Neither moved, unwilling to break this quiet moment. "You're blushing," the dancer whispered with a smile teasing the corners of her lips after a few minutes.
"No more than you, little Meg," he replied just as softly, his tone carrying a little bit of mingled awe and disbelief.
It was true and undeniable. Both of them had caught the other red-handed or, as it were, red-faced. Erik broke this second silence with a wry chuckle and released her hand. "There is a fair amount of comedic value in this situation, wouldn't you agree? The end of the matter is this, Meg: regardless of the condition it is in, this is still my house and I will not have a guest sleep on the floor under my roof."
There was nothing for it, Meg decided: the tone Erik used had that touch of steel in it that said he was not kidding this time. So Meg pulled a chemise and dressing gown from Christine's wardrobe here, gasping at the array of fine clothing before her, and ducked into the bathroom to change. Meanwhile, just beyond the closed bathroom door she could hear Erik setting out a few blankets on the Persian carpets, though they probably would not be needed. He seemed to be humming something: with a little effort she placed the tune as "The Dance of the Country Nymphs" from 'Il Muto.' It carried the distinction of being the ballet that had immediately followed Carlotta's infamous croak, but it was a light and bouncing tune and it sounded as though Erik was in fairly good spirits. Certainly better than she had expected from him, given the news she had had to break.
Shrugging out of the dress - one of her own this time - Meg slipped the soft pink satin over her head. "Consider them yours," he had said. Had he given up on Christine entirely? The man had nearly died for losing her, and now he was giving away what he had obviously taken care to gather for her to another? Most disturbing in the whole picture was his apparent calm. The dancer could not believe that such a studied indifference was anything less than a masterful act. [[ I should think I've learned something about acting after so many years as a ballet dancer in an opera house! ]]
When the young dancer tied the sash on the dressing gown and stepped out into the bedroom, she found that a wooden brush and comb set had been laid out on the vanity for her along with a toothbrush and a full cup of water. The man who had set them there for her was nowhere to be found, though the blankets were laid at the foot of the boat-shaped bed where the footboard might provide some privacy. She smiled at Erik's thoughtfulness and stepped back into the bathroom.
"I would trust the lake water for drinking before anything that passes through the pipes here," he had told her three nights ago. "The lake is fed by an underground river well below the bottom of the casing and drains off as easily. The pipes. well, I have not yet managed to find a way to clean out the kilometers of piping out with any efficiency from here sufficiently that I would care to drink from them, so I use that water only for bathing."
Quickly she brushed her teeth and rinsed the brush, dumping the remains of the water into the drain of the bathtub. Cream-colored polished marble it was, with rich streaks of dark brown through it. So cunningly were the tiles cut and fitted together that Meg could not find their edges by touch or by sight, the chocolate streaks through the stone were all matched up and aligned perfectly. She spared another marveling glance at the bath, finer than any she had dreamed outside of a palace, and stepped back out to brush her hair.
By the time she was finished, Erik had not yet come back from wherever he had gone. Quickly slipping into a pair of slippers she also found by the vanity, she hurried through the gutted remains of his home to the ruined front door. The object of her search stood by the lake, looking out into the darkness of the cavern as though it held some secret he alone could divine and only by patience. "Erik?" she called softly. He half-turned towards her. "You should come in. I still don't intend for you to die of chill and if you'll catch it anyplace it's out here." He still hadn't donned even one of the shirts she had brought for him, Meg noted with some exasperation, and pulled the dressing gown tighter about her to ward off the chill.
"Go to sleep, little Meg," Erik said, his voice drifting gently to her ears. "I will be inside in a short while."
Meg nodded and padded back to the warm bedroom. {{ Likely enough he just needs time to think. What with my mother-henning him, I'd not be surprised if he feels a bit trapped. And after having the whole city to wander, being kept in one room has to have been a strain on his patience. }} When she saw the pallet of blankets made up on the floor, she smiled wryly. {{ He still shouldn't be out of bed. And I'll be damned if he sleeps on the floor after wandering around out there! }} Grinning playfully, she tucked herself into the soft blankets on the floor and let her breathing slow. She was thinking of his large, pale, elegant hands playing the piano and wondering if he would be able to repair the wreck the mob had left behind when she fell asleep, the playful smile still clear on her countenance.
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Erik laid the blankets down, readying a spot on the floor at the foot of the bed to sleep. Meg was in the bathroom changing for bed. He picked up the second cup from where it sat next to the first on the nightstand - Meg had brought this one from home as she had brought so much already - and carried it out. It was only a moment to wash it in the clean, dark waters of the lake and he left it next to the brushes on the vanity before walking back outside. He needed to think and to walk freely outside: he barely noticed the desolation that had once been the inside of his home.
Truth of it was, Erik was glad she'd decided to accept his offer and stay the night. He could not and would not force her to stay with him and, had she pressed the issue, he would have dressed and escorted her home. But he really was concerned for the girl's safety: she was the first person who had seen past the defenses he put up. [[ A wise old soul she is, for her years. ]] It was the first time in Erik's forty-four years that kindness had been extended to him without any thought of recompense and it stirred warmer, softer feelings in his chest and in his gut than even Christine's lovely voice had. Music had always been all he needed, but she was also a harsh taskmistress and seldom gave back more than a promise.
[[ Ah, Music. Sweet Euterpe, Muse of Music, I seem to have much more in common with dark Pan or with your nephew Orpheus than with bright Apollo, your teacher. Must I always be this cross between them, not of the sunlight but always alone in my cave, caught in the twilight of Hades' realm without my singing Eurydice? And yet even bright Apollo was refused, though I can hope for no such miracle. But I have not even a branch of my laurel to hold to, only your mother's legacy of memories. And my Eurydice was stolen away by a snake with golden hair. Why did she go so willingly? Why did the Fates take her from me? ]]
Caught by this melancholy mood, it was several moments before Erik realized he hadn't yet dressed, and the cold air of the fifth cellar, a massive, manmade cavern, left his bare skin feeling clammy and prickly with goosebumps. [[ And a young woman in the room with me all that time. Where are my manners getting to? ]]
But the man knew the answer to that before he asked the question. [[ I am comfortable with Megan Giry in a way I never was with Christine Daae. She was always my Angel - still is my untouchable Angel of Music - but I had to walk so carefully with her. I did not willingly strip her of her naïvete, but I could never have allowed myself the kind of freedom that I have with Meg. The laughs that she and I have shared over each others' slips, Christine would never have understood. She was too innocent. Christine saw my face and ran back to her Vicomte. Meg saw my face when she pulled me from the chair that would have been my grave, and she didn't care. She came back again and again to nurse me back to life. ]]
Erik wondered if Christine would have shown him the same level of caring that Meg had shown him. The memory of the shock and horror that painted the ingenue's face upon discovering his own was all the answer he needed. She would not have, and possibly could not have. In her own way, she was as selfish as La Carlotta, even if she lacked the cruel calculation of the diva's mind behind her acts. Erik had given his young protegèe everything he possibly could and in the end, it had been too much, and not enough. The last plunge downward had come about in large part because he had nothing left for himself. Meg's care and friendly company now was a healing balm to his soul.
[[ I wonder if she understands now when I felt for her. What I still feel for her. Oh, Christine, be happy where you are. I could not bear it if you came back into my life now. Let me remember you as my beautiful, innocent Angel of Music. ]]
Meg's voice interrupted his reflections and, half-turning, he caught sight of her slim, short form in the wreckage that had once been his front door. She was shivering in that thin dressing gown, he realized. [[ And little Meg has the nerve to tell me to dress? I've lived down here for years! ]] But the thought carried no rancor and he told her as gently as he could that he would definitely return. It was a slight surprise that she retreated as quickly as she did. [[ But she is not stupid, she is merely young, and not naïve. Can I tell her, then, about what has happened? I see the questions in her eyes every time she allows her gaze to linger on these scars. ]] Unconsciously his fingers traced the long, lone scars that raced up and down his forearms. [[ I do not ask for her pity or anyone else's. And I do not ask her to understand why or how anyone can hate just on the basis of one's appearance, I do not understand that myself. Some things, ]] he thought with a touch of resignation, [[ simply are beyond my capability to understand.
[[ Athena, mistress of battle and tactics, protectress of heroes. Goddess of wisdom. Women seem to have a different sort of wisdom than men, perhaps that is why I seek my solace among the fairer gender. Men seek out wisdom in the books their fellows wrote: women seem to find it within themselves, at least more easily than men do. I could certainly use your aid now, if you are willing to give it. ]]
When he made his way back in, the destruction began to impress itself upon him. So many memories in the furnishings that lay around, scattered carelessly except where Meg had started to tidy up. What wasn't scorched or chewed on by vermin was damaged by the permanent damp and mold. He had to see the remains of the organ, though, and picked his way to the room that had once been home to it, his inner sanctum.
When he emerged, it was with a darkness on his brow for the invasion of his home and shining patches under his eyes for the demolition of his beloved music and the organ that he had taken such pains to keep in pristine condition. But there had been a gleam of hope there as well.
His beautiful pipe organ, the one belonging he would have traded almost anything for, that had seen him safely through so many crises. the organ could be repaired. He had wept when the understanding hit him. It would be difficult, and it would never sound quite as perfect as it had before, but it could be repaired with time and patience. It was with relief that he slipped silently into Christine's - no, Meg's room, now and prepared to go to bed.
Relief changed into astonishment, a touch of frustration and an overwhelming amusement when he looked down at the heap that was curled up inside the blankets he had thought to use!
[[ Meg, if you were the daughter of anyone other than Isabelle Giry, I might call you a tease. Knowing you as briefly as I do, though, I am more willing to guess that this is your way of just being obstinate. Of course, in that case you shouldn't have fallen asleep. However, this is my opera house and my home beneath it, and I am not allowing a woman under my roof to sleep on the floor. ]]
Erik folded back the rumpled sheets on the boat-shaped bed and returned to scoop the sleeping girl up in his arms, blankets and all. He was surprised at how little she weighed even to his somewhat deteriorated strength. It was no effort at all for the former Opera Ghost to carry the little cocoon the few steps to the bed and lay her down. [[ Apologies, Mademoiselle, in advance. I think I may want those blankets myself, those are all that are clean and you have the quilt. ]] Carefully he unwound his sleeping charge from the blankets that she had somehow twined around herself, trying hard not to look or to touch her. He caught a glimpse of her leg, bared nearly to the hip, before he laid the sheets and the heavy down-filled quilt over her to tuck her in. Permitting himself to brush one golden curl away from her peaceful face, secretly admiring the graceful curve of her lips and the way her hand rested against the pillow, he smiled back at her. "Thank you," he whispered, and gathered up the still-warm blankets to bed down himself.
It was with a grateful sigh that he stripped off his trousers and curled up in the blankets, enjoying the lingering traces of Meg's body heat and the scent of her shampoo - roses, it was one of the few indulgences she allowed herself on her meager dancer's salary. Very quickly, Erik too fell asleep.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Meg thought it was a sound from her dream.
"No - leave me alone - "
As she came awake she realized it wasn't a dream. She was tucked into the big boat-shaped bed, which meant that Erik was on the floor. {{ Where I specifically told him he would not be sleeping tonight! Always the gentleman? }} And in another moment she realized that it was Erik himself who was crying out in his sleep.
"Maman, help me..." he was calling. She could hear him moving restlessly, the blankets rustling on the carpeted floor. "Maman... hurts... don't touch..." His body shook as though he was being hit or kicked, Meg could trace each impact in his dream by the way he shuddered. Curled in a tight ball, even in his sleep Erik shielded the side of his face that was so horribly disfigured.
Meg laid down behind Erik and embraced him protectively. "Shh. It's all right, Erik. You'll be all right, nobody's going to hurt you," she murmured in his ear. "Hush, now, you're safe, you're all right."
Slowly the sleeping man calmed as she whispered, his breathing slower and deeper, eyes no longer darting around behind his closed eyelids. Meg took a moment to snuggle under the blankets since it didn't seem right to leave him alone at this point, and paused as Erik rolled in his sleep. His arm fitted right over her waist and the good side of his face pillowed itself against her breast. He hadn't seemed very heavy when she had pulled him out of the bottom of the black throne, but now his weight against her seemed almost crushing.
{{ Oh my God, }} she thought, almost panicked. But careful examination proved that he was sound asleep. Meg wasn't sure what to do. Moving would most certainly wake him, which was the right thing to do anyway... this was just not proper at all! She wasn't a stranger to a man's embrace, very few of the petite rats were despite their taskmistress' harsh discipline, and she was old enough that Isabelle Giry could not do much more than grumble... But that was if anything happened. Meg had no experience with anything beyond a quick snuggle! She had to decide what she would do now, if anything did happen.
When Erik seemed to have settled, though, Meg's pulse slowed. It was actually rather a comfort, she thought, to be held like this and before shutting her eyes she wrapped her arms around him again and rested her hands on Erik's back between his shoulder blades. {{ Not always the gentleman, it seems. Or is it just that I'm not a lady? }}
"Sweet dreams, Erik," she whispered sleepily.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
. Don't ask, just review. Yes, you'll hear from Christine again soon! Tell me what you think, I'm still focusing on the trust between them since Meg's still a little skittish and Erik's still hurting. R&R? (The Muses are trying to hijack this again.)
AngelCeleste85
Other notes: My strange blend of Leroux and ALW comes through again. I don't picture Meg as wishy-washy like the rest of the corps: I think she could have a very strong personality. I also don't see her as a complete innocent like Christine. Just my thoughts, feel free to disagree.
Thalia (Greek Muse of Comedy) has been speaking quietly throughout this story, more so in recent chapters. Melpomene (Muse of Tragedy) seems to be resting at the moment. "Thank you" to them, and also to their sister Calliope (Muse of Epics), for your help as well since I think that's what this is turning out to be (at least, it feels like one).
I believe the references I make to Greek mythology are self-explanatory. The Muses themselves are the 9 daughters of Mnemosyne (goddess of memory), Orpheus is the son of Calliope. Euterpe is the Muse of Music. Apollo, god of light and music, Pan the god of nature, ugly but plays beautiful music when he's in a good mood.
I'm getting rid of the well. ::grins and waves her blank paper (artistic license) around:: All the incidents that happened between Erik and Christine at the well. I'm moving them elsewhere. Where, I'll decide when I get there, if I decide to include them at all. I hope you're enjoying my mindless ramblings 'cause you're getting a buttload here (12 pages' worth)!
Thanks to all of you who have been so patient with me and reviewed my work! Ok, I'm shutting up. On with the story!
{{ Meg's thoughts }} [[ Erik's thoughts ]]
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Lachesis' Weavings, Chapter 9 by AngelCeleste85
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Ch. 9 - A Bridge of Trust
Day by day, Erik grew stronger. He also grew more and more restless with each day of enforced idleness as Meg refused to let him out of bed in her presence, though she knew he walked around when she was aboveground. Erik was not yet strong enough to handle the flywalk, let alone the boat across the often treacherous and deadly-cold lake, and they both knew it.
A week and a half after he first regained consciousness in Meg's care, Erik decided that he would end this irritating convalescence. He'd been walking around in her absence frequently, rebuilding his strength and stamina though it was clear he could not neglect himself like that again.
Breaking out of the confines of the room meant, of course, deliberately provoking Meg. That in itself was a challenge, but how to do so in a way that would not anger her without cause? He had no fear of her temper, but did not wish to break the easy peace that had settled between them in the time that they had begun to get to know one another.
That night, he greeted her standing in the doorway to the bedroom that was once Christine's. He had left his mask on the night-table: she had already seen him without it and Erik was pleased in a quiet way that the little dancer flinched neither from the sight of his face or body, or from the feel of his cold touch. "Mademoiselle,", he said gravely, knowing humor danced in his eyes and let it give his voice the lie.
As expected, Meg flew into a bustle, hustling her charge backwards. He let a small smile crack through the façade now. "Good gracious, Erik," she exclaimed. "I don't know how long you've been standing there in the doorway but you're going right back to bed this instant, I will not have you falling over on me just because you decided to do something foolish and stand around - Shirtless, of all things! - in the cold and damp! My God, you'll catch your death of cold that way!"
Apparently Meg had decided formality was a little ridiculous and the former Opera Ghost had to agree. [[ After all, she did save my life. What that's worth, I don't know, but she does seem to care. ]] But he had no idea whether to call her "little Meg" like the managers did when she so rarely came to their attention, or Meg, like her friends in the corps de ballet. "Giry" seemed a bit too impersonal for a friend - she did consider him one, no? Better not to assume, Erik decided. The backs of his legs hit the mattress and he nearly fell back. Meg tried to take advantage of that momentary imbalance and almost succeeded. Erik held his feet, if just barely, and gave her a very amused look before settling down of his own will.
"You take more after your mother every day, did you know that?" he chuckled. "You are the only person who has ever managed to regularly push Erik around to her liking." Meg relaxed a bit and smiled. She had yet another load with her, he saw, a neatly tied package that she set down on the vanity and started to untie. "In all seriousness, Mademoiselle-"
"You can call me Meg if you want. Or little Meg," she interrupted.
'Mademoiselle Meg-" he tried again. Meg laughed.
"Just Meg. Unless you want me calling you Monsieur at every turn. And curtsying. I will, too!"
"A dancer should know how to curtsy properly," he returned archly.
Meg grinned. "Trust me, I can't. I can dance decently enough that Maman doesn't talk my ear off about it at home unless I've really been horrible, but I'll never be prima, the whole corps knows that. A curtsy? Out of the question, I'm all knees and elbows. If I don't fall over or break something valuable I'm guaranteed to hit someone!"
Erik let his rare but rich laughter roll out into the room. "It sounds more like you will try to curtsy, then! I think I should like to see this, if it's truly as bad as you say. But as you wish, Meg. Since you seem to be my keeper at the moment, I suppose I will need to ask permission to get out of bed when you're in the room?"
Meg sighed, but by her body language she was more amused than anything else. "You should still be in bed. I can't believe you, standing in the doorway like that. How long were you there?"
"Not long. You realize I am going to have to get up sometime." Meg turned and studied him with a critical eye. He was still rail-thin, but now that he'd been able to get a good deal more food and water into him he was no longer skin and bones. "If you are concerned about the lack of flesh," he said in a mild but dry tone, "I have always been slender at best."
"Slender, my backside," Meg shot back. "You wouldn't believe how many in the corps would kill to be that skinny." It was a measure of the trust they had built up in the past week that such a remark and the way it slipped out was easily handled by both of them.
The former Phantom refrained from making any of the several quick retorts that sprang to mind regarding Meg's backside. "I think I could guess. Lucky for them that they are not or they would fall right out of the costumes they barely manage to wear anyway." Meg raised one eyebrow and gave him an odd smile, but Erik could have sworn she was also blushing under that mop of golden curls.
"You're still too skinny though. If I let you walk around now, you'll be back to bones in no time."
"It's not like you can keep me in bed, anyway." Too late Erik realized the double implications of that remark when Meg turned bright red for certain. "I apologize, I should not have said that."
"Not your fault," she said, stifling embarrassed laughter. "All right. I won't try to keep you there if you can get up and walk from the bathroom to the door." Erik smiled in triumph. "Five times straight," she added. "No stumbling, no stopping."
"Quite demanding for someone who doesn't want me working off my gains in weight so soon," he remarked, but at least Meg's color had gone down. Really, he had not meant to embarrass her in such a way... was he coloring in return? "I suppose no sweating, either?"
"Don't give me ideas. If I'm not happy you're staying in bed no matter what."
Erik controlled the color that rose to his cheeks again. [[ Really, her mother would throw fits! ]] This casual banter was showing a hidden side as often as not now. [[ All the more reason to get me out of the bedroom. ]]
Meg watched Erik as he rose smoothly. In a week's time since his last explosion, Erik's aloof demeanor had warmed considerably. At times he was still stiff in his manners, but most of that had faded by the other night. She was still blushing about having to help a man bathe, but the memory was funny all the same. {{ Meg, all you did was scrub his back and run squeaking out of the bathroom! }} At any rate, he seemed more comfortable about not wearing his mask for her. And the shirt, or the lack thereof... she couldn't really blame him. Meg was smuggling her father's old shirts in as quickly as she could, but that hadn't been very many since she was also trying to bring in food and reading materials, but the shirt that she had found Erik in... Meg shuddered whenever she looked at that, wadded up carelessly in a corner. {{ I'm going to have to take that shirt out sometime and burn it. Soon. }}
Erik made it to the other side of the room without trouble and started back. "Rap the wall, I want to make sure you're not trying to cut a step each way." He really did move with a grace she'd bet even La Sorelli would envy, Christine had told her about that in hushed tones, as if afraid he would overhear.
"Oui, Madame!" Erik's falsetto mimicry of the prima ballerina's contralto was so absolutely spot-on that Meg jumped and took three steps towards the door before she realized it. "That's one," he added, glancing down at her as he passed the laughing heap his young friend made on the floor. "Am I going to have to help you into bed after collapsing on me? After all the time you've forced on me to stay idle," - another rap on the wall - "that'd be a good change. I could make soup for you instead. Two." It was lucky for him that Meg's face was buried in the carpet, for just then he stumbled and caught himself on the foot of the bed.
Meg sat up, still laughing. "You scared me! I thought that great camel had followed me, was really standing there, she's a great one for telling tales!"
"Hypocritical, too." Rap! "Haven't you ever noticed? She's good at hiding it, but she makes the Saint Andrew's cross on that little wooden ring of hers any time someone mentions the Opera Ghost. Third trip. I know, I've seen her do it. On three separate occasions. Not to mention the horseshoe was her idea, as well. Watch her carefully next time someone drops the doings of the Opera Ghost into the conversation." A fourth knock on the wall.
"I'll do that."
"There, five times." Erik had to admit, Meg was shrewder than he'd given her credit for. The distance was about five meters each way, but it added up quickly on his recovering system and he'd been forced to handle turning around carefully. It was with an effort that he held himself up straight now. "And I'll try the boat tomorrow."
Again she eyed him critically, unknowingly looking just like her mother less forty years. "I don't suppose I could stop you anyway. Fine, you can help me clean up out there starting tomorrow. That's been a mess for too long already."
"How bad is it?" Erik leaned against the wall now, unwilling to sit down now that he was actually up and about officially. "I remember a little bit.. You were there, might have some idea of how to compare it. Meg," Erik stumbled over saying her name without the respectful "Mademoiselle" preceding it, but continued. "Do not try to make it easy, the fact of it is I was burglarized by a lynch mob that was looking for my blood."
"Didn't you see any of it? You said you lived out there for a couple of weeks."
"No, I went through the motions," Erik corrected her gently. "There's a difference."
Meg was stunned. Weeks, and... "You really didn't see any of..."
"Not enough to register it. All I really recall is cold and dark, but after a while even that. I couldn't see very much the first night you made dinner, all the light was in here, and I have not had the heart to look since. Not even a little while ago. I opened the door when I heard you coming in the front."
Meg shivered involuntarily. It had been a close call indeed. She took his hand, cool and dry, and held it as she told him the damage. {{ Better that he hear it from someone who cares about him than have to walk right out into it unprepared. }}
Erik seemed unmoved by most of it, locked away within his mental fortress. "And... the organ," he asked, the hesitation only slight in his voice but it spoke volumes. Meg could only grasp his hand more tightly. It was all the answer he needed.
"It might be repairable," she said softly. "I don't know anything about that. It looked pretty bad, but things aren't always as bad as they look."
Erik sighed and finally made his way over to the bed. He took the chair on the far side, though, and leaned onto the night-table. His companion sat on the bed by his side facing him, their knees close but not touching. "Somehow I doubt it. Surely someone in that mob would know how to demolish a pipe organ. And amateurs can do worse damage than a professional, if they are angry enough. I have no doubts that they were that night."
It was Meg's turn to sigh now. "Do you want all your bad news at once?"
Erik just motioned for her to continue.
The little dancer took a deep breath before starting this. She had absolutely no idea what reaction to expect from Erik to this news. "I'm going to have to leave, with Maman, in about three weeks. I'll be back, it's only a short journey."
"And the reason?" Erik prompted gently when she could not continue. Meg just got up and went to the vanity. The bundle she had brought in was almost completely unwrapped and from within she pulled out an ornate white parchment.
"This was in my lock-closet earlier this week." She handed it to him.
Reading the paper, Erik's heart sank. She had made her choice for certain. But he controlled his face once more, kept it as expressionless as the white mask that lay beside his arm on the nightstand. "I wish her happiness, then."
The little mantle clock chimed the time in its soft crystal tones and interrupted them.. Erik looked up as it hit eleven. "You've been making a habit of coming down here at night after rehearsals and going home after I go to sleep, haven't you?" Meg couldn't deny it and nodded, caught off- guard by the sudden change in topic. Erik felt the gentleman's duty tugging at him and it put something of the stiffness back in his manner. They were going to have to share a room. "'Il Muto' starts this week, tomorrow night, does it not? You should rest. The best I can do is to offer you this bedroom: consider its contents yours if you wish to. I will see about offering better hospitality as soon as I am able. If you would like to change for bed, I will see about finding something for a pallet on the floor."
"You're not sleeping on the floor, Erik."
"I cannot offer you anything less than the bed if you wish to stay here tonight," the older man returned.
"I sleep on the floor at home, I'm not averse to it."
"Then it's all the more reason you should spend at least one night in a proper bed."
"And what did you call that awful coffin?"
"You saw that, then. That was my bed, what else?"
"You slept there?! Then its all the more reason you should spend at least one night in a proper bed," Meg good-naturedly threw Erik's own words back at him.
"What do you think I have done for the last week thanks to you, my tyrannical young nurse?"
"You don't have to sleep on the floor. I can make it home all right -"
"At this hour and unescorted? I would not hear of it!"
"I'm hardly a child, and I've made the trip alone hundreds of times before."
"Paris is not safe at night, and men often have strange ideas about young ladies walking alone after dark. More so in this city. Megan, you may trust your safety to me, I will not violate it nor allow it to be violated."
That was a surprise to Meg: Erik did actually care about her as a person.
"Erik," she tried again, more gently this time and took his hand, resting her fingertips in the center of his palm. Erik almost seemed to jump: he seemed to shrink from physical contact whenever it was possible for him to do so and had not allowed her to touch him any more than absolutely necessary in the last week. Nor had he initiated their few contacts, but broke them as quickly as he could. "I'll be all right. I can get home safely."
Erik's hand, cool and dry to her touch, wrapped slowly around her fingers and enveloped them completely. No pressure was exerted to hold her hand in his own, Erik held it as though it were a butterfly come to light on his palm, or some exquisitely beautiful and delicate snowflake. Meg had never realized how big his hands were, or maybe it was just a comparison to her own small, flame-shaped hands. When he spoke, his voice almost seemed raw: she could see his throat working below his half-ravaged face while he found the words he was looking for.
"I would be remiss as a gentleman, as a host and as a friend if I allowed you to walk home through Paris at this hour alone and without an escort. I am concerned that you would not be safe but I do not feel that I can provide that escort for you at this time and would not be comfortable in trusting your safety to a hansom driver. Meg," he said, and his soft voice dropped to a whisper. "Enough people have been hurt by the actions I have taken. Please do not let me see you come to harm by an action I did not take and should have, I do not think I could bear that. Stay here tonight."
What could Meg say to an entreaty like that? It was more than she had ever expected to hear from Erik before, as though the walls that Christine had knocked down were only partially repaired but the damage had been hidden by a fog that only now blew away. It was the man, wounded and vulnerable but trying hard to trust, who looked out through those dark eyes at Meg from atop those half-demolished defenses. Caught between what he both wanted and feared, he still had made the offer. Meg smiled with understanding: what a dilemma for this man to be caught in!
"I will see Maman tomorrow, I can let her know I'm safe then, I suppose. A woman is definitely needed here, anyway," Meg said lightly. The little dancer watched a certain tension leave Erik's shoulders and frame. {{ So that wasn't just a sense of responsibility behind that offer. He cares. There's no getting around it, for some reason he cares. }} "Thank you."
"You're welcome, Mademoi- Megan," he said softly, staring at their hands together. "You're welcome here at any time, day or night."
Silence stretched between them. Neither moved, unwilling to break this quiet moment. "You're blushing," the dancer whispered with a smile teasing the corners of her lips after a few minutes.
"No more than you, little Meg," he replied just as softly, his tone carrying a little bit of mingled awe and disbelief.
It was true and undeniable. Both of them had caught the other red-handed or, as it were, red-faced. Erik broke this second silence with a wry chuckle and released her hand. "There is a fair amount of comedic value in this situation, wouldn't you agree? The end of the matter is this, Meg: regardless of the condition it is in, this is still my house and I will not have a guest sleep on the floor under my roof."
There was nothing for it, Meg decided: the tone Erik used had that touch of steel in it that said he was not kidding this time. So Meg pulled a chemise and dressing gown from Christine's wardrobe here, gasping at the array of fine clothing before her, and ducked into the bathroom to change. Meanwhile, just beyond the closed bathroom door she could hear Erik setting out a few blankets on the Persian carpets, though they probably would not be needed. He seemed to be humming something: with a little effort she placed the tune as "The Dance of the Country Nymphs" from 'Il Muto.' It carried the distinction of being the ballet that had immediately followed Carlotta's infamous croak, but it was a light and bouncing tune and it sounded as though Erik was in fairly good spirits. Certainly better than she had expected from him, given the news she had had to break.
Shrugging out of the dress - one of her own this time - Meg slipped the soft pink satin over her head. "Consider them yours," he had said. Had he given up on Christine entirely? The man had nearly died for losing her, and now he was giving away what he had obviously taken care to gather for her to another? Most disturbing in the whole picture was his apparent calm. The dancer could not believe that such a studied indifference was anything less than a masterful act. [[ I should think I've learned something about acting after so many years as a ballet dancer in an opera house! ]]
When the young dancer tied the sash on the dressing gown and stepped out into the bedroom, she found that a wooden brush and comb set had been laid out on the vanity for her along with a toothbrush and a full cup of water. The man who had set them there for her was nowhere to be found, though the blankets were laid at the foot of the boat-shaped bed where the footboard might provide some privacy. She smiled at Erik's thoughtfulness and stepped back into the bathroom.
"I would trust the lake water for drinking before anything that passes through the pipes here," he had told her three nights ago. "The lake is fed by an underground river well below the bottom of the casing and drains off as easily. The pipes. well, I have not yet managed to find a way to clean out the kilometers of piping out with any efficiency from here sufficiently that I would care to drink from them, so I use that water only for bathing."
Quickly she brushed her teeth and rinsed the brush, dumping the remains of the water into the drain of the bathtub. Cream-colored polished marble it was, with rich streaks of dark brown through it. So cunningly were the tiles cut and fitted together that Meg could not find their edges by touch or by sight, the chocolate streaks through the stone were all matched up and aligned perfectly. She spared another marveling glance at the bath, finer than any she had dreamed outside of a palace, and stepped back out to brush her hair.
By the time she was finished, Erik had not yet come back from wherever he had gone. Quickly slipping into a pair of slippers she also found by the vanity, she hurried through the gutted remains of his home to the ruined front door. The object of her search stood by the lake, looking out into the darkness of the cavern as though it held some secret he alone could divine and only by patience. "Erik?" she called softly. He half-turned towards her. "You should come in. I still don't intend for you to die of chill and if you'll catch it anyplace it's out here." He still hadn't donned even one of the shirts she had brought for him, Meg noted with some exasperation, and pulled the dressing gown tighter about her to ward off the chill.
"Go to sleep, little Meg," Erik said, his voice drifting gently to her ears. "I will be inside in a short while."
Meg nodded and padded back to the warm bedroom. {{ Likely enough he just needs time to think. What with my mother-henning him, I'd not be surprised if he feels a bit trapped. And after having the whole city to wander, being kept in one room has to have been a strain on his patience. }} When she saw the pallet of blankets made up on the floor, she smiled wryly. {{ He still shouldn't be out of bed. And I'll be damned if he sleeps on the floor after wandering around out there! }} Grinning playfully, she tucked herself into the soft blankets on the floor and let her breathing slow. She was thinking of his large, pale, elegant hands playing the piano and wondering if he would be able to repair the wreck the mob had left behind when she fell asleep, the playful smile still clear on her countenance.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Erik laid the blankets down, readying a spot on the floor at the foot of the bed to sleep. Meg was in the bathroom changing for bed. He picked up the second cup from where it sat next to the first on the nightstand - Meg had brought this one from home as she had brought so much already - and carried it out. It was only a moment to wash it in the clean, dark waters of the lake and he left it next to the brushes on the vanity before walking back outside. He needed to think and to walk freely outside: he barely noticed the desolation that had once been the inside of his home.
Truth of it was, Erik was glad she'd decided to accept his offer and stay the night. He could not and would not force her to stay with him and, had she pressed the issue, he would have dressed and escorted her home. But he really was concerned for the girl's safety: she was the first person who had seen past the defenses he put up. [[ A wise old soul she is, for her years. ]] It was the first time in Erik's forty-four years that kindness had been extended to him without any thought of recompense and it stirred warmer, softer feelings in his chest and in his gut than even Christine's lovely voice had. Music had always been all he needed, but she was also a harsh taskmistress and seldom gave back more than a promise.
[[ Ah, Music. Sweet Euterpe, Muse of Music, I seem to have much more in common with dark Pan or with your nephew Orpheus than with bright Apollo, your teacher. Must I always be this cross between them, not of the sunlight but always alone in my cave, caught in the twilight of Hades' realm without my singing Eurydice? And yet even bright Apollo was refused, though I can hope for no such miracle. But I have not even a branch of my laurel to hold to, only your mother's legacy of memories. And my Eurydice was stolen away by a snake with golden hair. Why did she go so willingly? Why did the Fates take her from me? ]]
Caught by this melancholy mood, it was several moments before Erik realized he hadn't yet dressed, and the cold air of the fifth cellar, a massive, manmade cavern, left his bare skin feeling clammy and prickly with goosebumps. [[ And a young woman in the room with me all that time. Where are my manners getting to? ]]
But the man knew the answer to that before he asked the question. [[ I am comfortable with Megan Giry in a way I never was with Christine Daae. She was always my Angel - still is my untouchable Angel of Music - but I had to walk so carefully with her. I did not willingly strip her of her naïvete, but I could never have allowed myself the kind of freedom that I have with Meg. The laughs that she and I have shared over each others' slips, Christine would never have understood. She was too innocent. Christine saw my face and ran back to her Vicomte. Meg saw my face when she pulled me from the chair that would have been my grave, and she didn't care. She came back again and again to nurse me back to life. ]]
Erik wondered if Christine would have shown him the same level of caring that Meg had shown him. The memory of the shock and horror that painted the ingenue's face upon discovering his own was all the answer he needed. She would not have, and possibly could not have. In her own way, she was as selfish as La Carlotta, even if she lacked the cruel calculation of the diva's mind behind her acts. Erik had given his young protegèe everything he possibly could and in the end, it had been too much, and not enough. The last plunge downward had come about in large part because he had nothing left for himself. Meg's care and friendly company now was a healing balm to his soul.
[[ I wonder if she understands now when I felt for her. What I still feel for her. Oh, Christine, be happy where you are. I could not bear it if you came back into my life now. Let me remember you as my beautiful, innocent Angel of Music. ]]
Meg's voice interrupted his reflections and, half-turning, he caught sight of her slim, short form in the wreckage that had once been his front door. She was shivering in that thin dressing gown, he realized. [[ And little Meg has the nerve to tell me to dress? I've lived down here for years! ]] But the thought carried no rancor and he told her as gently as he could that he would definitely return. It was a slight surprise that she retreated as quickly as she did. [[ But she is not stupid, she is merely young, and not naïve. Can I tell her, then, about what has happened? I see the questions in her eyes every time she allows her gaze to linger on these scars. ]] Unconsciously his fingers traced the long, lone scars that raced up and down his forearms. [[ I do not ask for her pity or anyone else's. And I do not ask her to understand why or how anyone can hate just on the basis of one's appearance, I do not understand that myself. Some things, ]] he thought with a touch of resignation, [[ simply are beyond my capability to understand.
[[ Athena, mistress of battle and tactics, protectress of heroes. Goddess of wisdom. Women seem to have a different sort of wisdom than men, perhaps that is why I seek my solace among the fairer gender. Men seek out wisdom in the books their fellows wrote: women seem to find it within themselves, at least more easily than men do. I could certainly use your aid now, if you are willing to give it. ]]
When he made his way back in, the destruction began to impress itself upon him. So many memories in the furnishings that lay around, scattered carelessly except where Meg had started to tidy up. What wasn't scorched or chewed on by vermin was damaged by the permanent damp and mold. He had to see the remains of the organ, though, and picked his way to the room that had once been home to it, his inner sanctum.
When he emerged, it was with a darkness on his brow for the invasion of his home and shining patches under his eyes for the demolition of his beloved music and the organ that he had taken such pains to keep in pristine condition. But there had been a gleam of hope there as well.
His beautiful pipe organ, the one belonging he would have traded almost anything for, that had seen him safely through so many crises. the organ could be repaired. He had wept when the understanding hit him. It would be difficult, and it would never sound quite as perfect as it had before, but it could be repaired with time and patience. It was with relief that he slipped silently into Christine's - no, Meg's room, now and prepared to go to bed.
Relief changed into astonishment, a touch of frustration and an overwhelming amusement when he looked down at the heap that was curled up inside the blankets he had thought to use!
[[ Meg, if you were the daughter of anyone other than Isabelle Giry, I might call you a tease. Knowing you as briefly as I do, though, I am more willing to guess that this is your way of just being obstinate. Of course, in that case you shouldn't have fallen asleep. However, this is my opera house and my home beneath it, and I am not allowing a woman under my roof to sleep on the floor. ]]
Erik folded back the rumpled sheets on the boat-shaped bed and returned to scoop the sleeping girl up in his arms, blankets and all. He was surprised at how little she weighed even to his somewhat deteriorated strength. It was no effort at all for the former Opera Ghost to carry the little cocoon the few steps to the bed and lay her down. [[ Apologies, Mademoiselle, in advance. I think I may want those blankets myself, those are all that are clean and you have the quilt. ]] Carefully he unwound his sleeping charge from the blankets that she had somehow twined around herself, trying hard not to look or to touch her. He caught a glimpse of her leg, bared nearly to the hip, before he laid the sheets and the heavy down-filled quilt over her to tuck her in. Permitting himself to brush one golden curl away from her peaceful face, secretly admiring the graceful curve of her lips and the way her hand rested against the pillow, he smiled back at her. "Thank you," he whispered, and gathered up the still-warm blankets to bed down himself.
It was with a grateful sigh that he stripped off his trousers and curled up in the blankets, enjoying the lingering traces of Meg's body heat and the scent of her shampoo - roses, it was one of the few indulgences she allowed herself on her meager dancer's salary. Very quickly, Erik too fell asleep.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Meg thought it was a sound from her dream.
"No - leave me alone - "
As she came awake she realized it wasn't a dream. She was tucked into the big boat-shaped bed, which meant that Erik was on the floor. {{ Where I specifically told him he would not be sleeping tonight! Always the gentleman? }} And in another moment she realized that it was Erik himself who was crying out in his sleep.
"Maman, help me..." he was calling. She could hear him moving restlessly, the blankets rustling on the carpeted floor. "Maman... hurts... don't touch..." His body shook as though he was being hit or kicked, Meg could trace each impact in his dream by the way he shuddered. Curled in a tight ball, even in his sleep Erik shielded the side of his face that was so horribly disfigured.
Meg laid down behind Erik and embraced him protectively. "Shh. It's all right, Erik. You'll be all right, nobody's going to hurt you," she murmured in his ear. "Hush, now, you're safe, you're all right."
Slowly the sleeping man calmed as she whispered, his breathing slower and deeper, eyes no longer darting around behind his closed eyelids. Meg took a moment to snuggle under the blankets since it didn't seem right to leave him alone at this point, and paused as Erik rolled in his sleep. His arm fitted right over her waist and the good side of his face pillowed itself against her breast. He hadn't seemed very heavy when she had pulled him out of the bottom of the black throne, but now his weight against her seemed almost crushing.
{{ Oh my God, }} she thought, almost panicked. But careful examination proved that he was sound asleep. Meg wasn't sure what to do. Moving would most certainly wake him, which was the right thing to do anyway... this was just not proper at all! She wasn't a stranger to a man's embrace, very few of the petite rats were despite their taskmistress' harsh discipline, and she was old enough that Isabelle Giry could not do much more than grumble... But that was if anything happened. Meg had no experience with anything beyond a quick snuggle! She had to decide what she would do now, if anything did happen.
When Erik seemed to have settled, though, Meg's pulse slowed. It was actually rather a comfort, she thought, to be held like this and before shutting her eyes she wrapped her arms around him again and rested her hands on Erik's back between his shoulder blades. {{ Not always the gentleman, it seems. Or is it just that I'm not a lady? }}
"Sweet dreams, Erik," she whispered sleepily.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
. Don't ask, just review. Yes, you'll hear from Christine again soon! Tell me what you think, I'm still focusing on the trust between them since Meg's still a little skittish and Erik's still hurting. R&R? (The Muses are trying to hijack this again.)
AngelCeleste85