Chapter Four: Gladly Beyond Any Experience

As Erik walked along the streets of Rouen with Gerard three days after his arrival in Rouen, he couldn't help but feel a sense of trepidation. It was too warm to wear his usual cape and hat, so his face, and the mask, were left exposed to any who chose to look.

And many did. Several times along the walk towards Gerard's office he'd heard the short gasps, though thankfully, he had not yet been confronted with violence. Gerard, for his part, was ignoring the stares that were pointed towards his nephew.

They'll not say a word while you're with me, Erik, I assure you.

Erik heard those words, spoken the evening before at dinner, in his head once more as they walked along the Rue De Lacat. It seemed years to him before Gerard finally stopped at a building and entered.

"This," Gerard gestured with his left hand, "is the same building where your father and grandfather, your mother's father, once worked together."

Erik's eyes widened as he looked around the office, the shelves lined with weighty tomes which upon further inspection turned out to be architectural books.

"This is your place of employ then?"

"Yes, Erik."

"And what is it you do here?"

Gerard smiled brightly, "I design buildings."

Erik shook his head in astonishment.

"You come from a long line of architects and master masons, Erik. It did not surprise me in the least when Christine told us you were designing a building. It's in your blood, just as the music is."

"I'd never thought about it, not until . . ."

"There would have been no need to, would there," Gerard sighed. "She likely would not have mentioned it to you. Don't look so surprised, Erik. I may not have known your mother well, but I knew what she was in her younger years. Spoilt. Willful. But I can't deny she loved your father, and he . . . he was a good man, Erik. Intelligent, hard working, honest."

Erik nodded as Gerard reminisced some more about Charles Laramie, intent on every word imparted, and carefully listening for the answer to the question that had plagued him from the moment he had seen the headstone in the cemetery in Boscherville.

Gerard watched the furrowing of the brow not hidden behind the mask, and could see his nephew's inner torment through the younger man's eyes. "You may ask me anything about Charles that you wish, Erik. I find that after more then fifty years, it's no longer difficult to talk about him."

Erik opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came out, and he closed and opened his lips several times before finally saying, "I do have questions, but this is neither the time nor the place."

Gerard nodded his acceptance of this, and began to show Erik around, introducing him to the others in the office as he went along. Mostly younger men sat behind the drafting tables, and all were polite as they met Erik, even if a few did stare at him from behind his back.

Eventually, they found themselves in Gerard's private office, where the older man closed the door behind them. "I've been meaning to ask, Erik," Gerard began as they sat down. "At Christmastime, I know that you had not decided what to do with the house, and I must say, my curiosity has been killing me. I promised Marie I would not be so gauche as to ask you, but I find that away from her ear, I can't help myself."

Erik glanced down at his hands for a moment, then back into his uncle's eyes. "Christine and I have discussed it at great length. She enjoys our holidays in Rouen, though I daresay Marie has something to do with that. Neither of us is ready to leave Paris for good yet, Christine still has her career, and though I could conduct my business anywhere I wished, Paris allows us certain conveniences. Though we've discussed one day perhaps moving into the house on a more permanent basis, for the time being, we're going to keep it and use it on holiday."

Gerard nodded, "You've been rather quiet about your business in Paris, Erik."

"Because even though it is mine, I don't deal with the running of it, Gerard. I fear I've been a bit of a recluse in the past few years, growing a bit more eccentric with age, and if it had not been for my associate keeping a few of my older creations on hand and selling them from time to time as needed, I doubt I'd have a business left to speak of."

"You mean you've trusted this man for years, without keeping an eye on him, and he's kept the business running?"

"Jules could easily have taken everything if he had wished, and I'd often told him he could, but he's an inherently honest man. Not quite unchecked, Gerard, I've met with him on a regular basis over the years, merely I did not realize he was keeping the business running, so when he came to me two months ago and told me that there was still interest in my designs, I was flabbergasted. When he showed me the books for the past six years, I was even more astonished, I'd thought that everything I'd put out toward the Opera house had strangled the business completely, but I was wrong once more. He'd merely been waiting until I showed a spark of interest in it once more."

"Well, if you are once more turning your creative sights towards architecture, I should admit I had another reason for brining you here today. I had thought to offer you a position, but if you've already got a thriving business . . ." Gerard trailed off, spreading his hands before him. "I don't know why I would have thought otherwise."

Erik's eyes widened behind the mask, "Without even seeing any of my work? Just like that?"

Gerard pursed his lips in a fine line, "I fear even I am not that vain, Erik. If you are even half as talented now as you were as a child . . ." Gerard trailed off once more, then reached in his desk and took out a handful of drawings.

Erik took the drawings from his uncle's hand, and sorted through them. "I was surprised once before in a similar fashion, I don't know why it didn't occur to me that Marie may have managed to save some of my childhood compositions from the fire I set the lot to twenty years ago."

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It was pure folly, telling him that those drawings survived. Marie had told me of his reaction upon entering his mother's house all those years ago.

Gerard sat in his study later that evening, after Erik and Christine had left to their house on the edge of town, and Marie had gone to bed. He could not sleep however, and sat at his desk, his chin resting on his bridged hands.

A memory came back to him unbidden, something he'd overheard just before Christmas.

~~~

"Persia, though you have never told me the full story," Christine's voice echoed through the door, "I know that at least. He didn't care what happened there, Erik. And I am here, so you know that though I know the worst of it, at least I believe I do, that it does not matter to me, either."

A rustling of clothes, and then silence for a moment, before Erik spoke again, "Yes, for some reason I can not comprehend, you are here despite my past and my face, and God knows I am grateful for that every day I awaken. But the people down there, Christine, they are from the world that for so long I have turned my back on, the world that I allowed to drive me down below the Opera in the first place."

~~~

The comment about being driven below the Opera had plagued him for quite some time, more so when he'd realized an invitation to Paris did not seem to be forthcoming. His nephew was very secretive about their home in the city, that much he'd realized from the first. It had become more apparent when he had realize the address that Erik and Christine had given him was actually Nadir's apartment.

Nadir had promised not to mention his trip to Paris in February, when he'd thought to surprise his nephew and niece with a visit while he was wooing a new client. He'd never told Marie what he had discovered, merely said that he had not had time to see Erik and Christine.

It was a damn good thing Marie did not come with me!

What could he have told Marie if she had been there? He wouldn't have been able to protect her from the knowledge that the two young people she'd come to care about nearly as much as if they were her children were hiding something from her.

"Gerard?"

Gerard glanced up from his pensive thoughts, to the woman who stood framed in the doorway. Her now gray hair was flowing down her back, unbound, and her eyes were twinkling as she looked at the man she loved more than life itself. He smiled at the vision she presented before him.

"I'm sorry my love, I was having trouble sleeping and didn't want to disturb you with my tossing about."

Marie made her way around the desk, and knelt before her husband, "What's wrong, Gerard. You've been worrying over something for the past week now, and you've never kept secrets from me before."

Gerard smiled ruefully, "It's nothing important, Marie darling, merely worries over a rather difficult client."

Marie squeezed his hand, "What ever is going wrong, I've got no doubt it will turn out in the end. You've got a way of wooing even the toughest cookies, you'll win this one over too," she smiled wickedly, "In the meantime, I could attempt to distract you."

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Erik sat in his own study later that night, in a similar stance to that his uncle was sitting in on the other side of town.

Why does it surprise me so he's seen my work? After all, didn't Garnier manage to get his hands on my earlier designs? Even if it was through a different source.

Erik's mind drifted briefly to that first meeting with Garnier, nearly twenty years before, when the man had pulled out his designs in a fashion similar to that Gerard had used today. The discovery that Garnier knew more about him than he had been ready at that point to admit had nearly gotten the man killed that night. Only an eventual understanding had saved him, that and the rage finally leaving Erik momentarily.

And had I not begun to feel the stirrings of those feelings at times towards Gerard? I don't want to hurt the man, indeed, he's become . . . I've come to . . . care.

Oh bloody hell. Erik took in a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves, I could tell that half those men in that building today were afraid of me, this mask . . . his thought trailed up, and his hand rose to touch his naked face. Christine had accustomed him to removing the mask when they were alone, and here it was no different. Though there was a housekeeper, employed so that the house did not fall into ruin during their extended absences, she left in the evening to go home to her own family, leaving them with the house to themselves.

He'd left their bed when he realized he wouldn't be sleeping any time soon. Rarely did that happen; usually he was so replete with happiness after an evening in Christine's arms that he fell into a deep and peaceful slumber, something he'd never before in his life experienced.

His thoughts locked onto his wife, who was now sleeping alone in their bed. The way she'd touched his naked face, night after night, always with a look of love in her eyes. The soft caresses they'd bestowed upon each other in these past four months, and the love that swelled his heart every time they'd made love. For a moment, it chased his other worries from his mind, before he thought of the looks Christine had been flinging at dinner between him and Gerard, almost as if she could sense the slight tension.

Which brought his thoughts back onto his uncle. Erik knew the man had questions for him that had been left unasked, just as Erik had questions of his own he could not put voice to yet.

What would my father have done if he had seen my face? Would he have hated me as my mother did? Or would he have softened her response towards me, perhaps treated me as Gerard does now, treated me as Giovanni did for that time I was under his tutelage? With respect, and perhaps, even the love of a father for his son? Would he have shut me away the way she did, out of sight from the world?

He heard the rustling on the stairs, and his instincts took over as he made his way quickly toward the staircase, hiding in the shadows, until the source of the sound appeared at the bottom. A dark haired angel in a flowing white nightdress.

"You couldn't sleep?"

"Erik!" she turned back towards him, as he'd called out after she'd passed. "Where are you, it's too dark down here."

He stepped out of the shadows into the pale light cast through the window by the moon, and held out his hand to the vision before her.

"You should be getting your rest, Christine; I know Marie has quite a day planned for the two of you tomorrow."

"I was sleeping, until I realized you weren't in the bed with me. Erik, what's wrong? You've been rather quiet all evening, quieter than usual and at dinner . . ."

Erik groaned deep in his throat, "My thoughts are running away with me, that's all my dear."

Christine smiled wryly, "You didn't have a quarrel with Gerard, did you?"

"Why on earth would you think that?"

"Because the two of you barely said a word to each other at dinner."

"No love, we didn't quarrel," Erik reassured her as he took her gently in his arms. "Merely I think we were both thinking of topics that nearly came up between us this afternoon."

"Erik? You're being cryptic again."

"Sorry, it's just that there was something that I nearly asked him this afternoon, and I'm not sure if I really want to hear the answer."

Christine looked at him silently for a moment, allowing him the chance to continue.

"I almost asked him some things about my father."

Christine let out a soft "oh" before pulling wrapping her arms around him tightly, the embrace meant to soothe. "You want to know how your father would have reacted to you."

"Yes," Erik rasped out.

"Erik, I didn't know him, but . . . I . . . I'd like to think he would have loved you regardless. Don't you remember Marie telling you that on that first day in Degardeau cottage?"

Erik nodded his head in the dark, "Yes, I remember, but I think I would believe it a bit more coming from his brother. Even Gerard told me once that he could not have guaranteed his own reaction to me upon my birth, that after many years however of not knowing he had a living relative yet, he was able to accept me."

"Oh Erik!"

"At least he was honest about it. If he can be honest about himself, can he not be honest about my father? I have this burning need to know, but I don't know what I'll do if he tells me my father may well have reacted as my mother did!"

Christine sighed softly, her hand gently caressing her husband's naked face in reassurance, and as proof that he did indeed now have love at his very fingertips.

Erik, understanding the gesture, gazed down into her bright blue eyes and whispered, "I love you, Christine."

"And I love you, always."

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*Author's Notes: Y'all would have seen this update days ago, but Fanfic decided to go down ::: sighs ::: well, I'm back. Though as much as I tried, I am no longer a full chapter ahead of myself. Well, I promised some E/C, here it is!

Deidre: No, Philippe isn't dead, because the standoff at the Opera between Raoul and Erik never happened. See what happens when I tamper with the timeline? *Laughs softly* But we needed some more angst, and he was more than happy to provide it!

Everyone else: Sorry, I'm tired so I'm bunching things together – Thanks for reviewing! And I'm STILL NOT TELLING!

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