(A/N – 'A Little Fall of Rain' is in French in this chapter. (French is prettier, if not English…) For you non-Les Mis fans, 'A Little Fall of Rain' is between Marius and Eponine. Eponine loved Marius, although it wasn't mutual, and is now dying. Translation:

Eponine:
Don't you fret, M'sieur Marius
I don't feel any pain
A little fall of rain
Can hardly hurt me now
You're here, that's all I need to know
And you will keep me safe
And you will keep me close
And rain will make the flowers grow.

Marius:
But you will live, 'Ponine - dear God above,
If I could heal your wounds with words of love.

Eponine:
Just hold me now, and let it be.
Shelter me, comfort me

Marius:
You would live a hundred years
If I could show you how
I won't desert you now...

Eponine:
The rain can't hurt me now
This rain will wash away what's past
And you will keep me safe
And you will keep me close
I'll sleep in your embrace at last.

The rain that brings you here
Is Heaven-blessed!
The skies begin to clear
And I'm at rest
A breath away from where you are
I've come home from so far

Eponine:
So don't you fret, M'sieur Marius
I don't feel any pain
A little fall of rain
Can hardly hurt me now

Marius: (in counterpoint)
Hush-a-bye, dear Eponine,
You won't feel any pain
A little fall of rain
Can hardly hurt you now

Marius: I'm here
Eponine: That's all I need to know

Eponine:
And you will keep me safe
And you will keep me close

Marius: (in counterpoint)
I will stay with you
Till you are sleeping

Eponine: And rain...

Marius: And rain...

Eponine: Will make the flowers...

Marius: Will make the flowers... grow...

I'm not really fond of that song, but it fits more than the others, and I needed a song for Erik to sing with Boston. )

"Tell me about the rose, Erik." I said, hoping he was still there.

At first I thought my fears would be confirmed, but then he spoke. "Rose?"

"The rose you left backstage," I wiped my cheeks with the back of my hand, "remember?"

"Yes." He sounded very tired, but this wasn't new. "The rose was for you."

"Why?"

"Does that matter?"

I realized he was going to avoid that subject at all cost, so I abandoned it for another.

"What do you think of the new production?"

"Details I won't get into." He said. "As I'm very tired today and shan't talk long. But I like the story, although it's a very sad one."

"That's why it's 'Les Misérables'." I answered matter-of-factly. "Of course, they had to give me the part of the lonely one who loves someone who loves another."

I don't know if he caught that particular ironic statement. Normally he was quite sharp, I'm sure, but he was so tired so often lately this was hard to see.

When he had nothing else to say, I asked my usual question despite his tiredness. "Will you teach me today?"

To my surprise, he agreed. "Yes, a short lesson would do me good."

I frowned, because he seemed to be saying this to himself, not to me.

" 'A Little Fall of Rain'?" I asked, as this was one we could do together and one I needed practice with.

"Yes. 'Un peu de sang qui pleure'." He consented.

I paused, then decided that was his cue to begin. "Ce n'est rien, monsieur Marius, je n'sens plus la douleur. Un peu de sang qui pleure quelques gouttes de pluie. C'est vous! C'est tout c'qui compte pour moi. Vous me protégerez, blottie sur votre coeur. La pluie fera pousser les fleurs."

It took him a little longer than it normally would to gather himself, but he sang the notes anyway. "Mais tu vas vivre, Ponine, regarde-moi… L'amour saura refermer ta blessure!"

I felt a little guilt at the amount of pleasure I could take from his powerful, beautiful voice. I, and no other living person, had heard an angel sing, and I held that very close as one of my reasons to live.

"Abritez-moi, réchauffez-moi… Je vais mieux dans vos bras." I managed the lines barely, because his voice always rattled me so. I knew he'd give me a talking-to for the shakiness of it.

"Tu vivras jusqu'à cent ans, si tu veux bien m'entendre… si tu me laisses t'apprendre." I hardly realized the meaning of words, such was the beauty of the sound.

So, I was again slow on the uptake. "…Dernières gouttes de pluie…Vous êtes le printemps qui revient, vous me protégerez… Très fort serrée, tout près… Dormir entre vos bras, enfin…" Poor Eponine… I always thought. 'I'll sleep in your embrace at last' always got to me. I continued, despite the lump growing in my throat. "Que soit bénie la pluie qui vous ramène… Je me sens bien. Mais d'où vient cette lumière? Un souffle à peine qui nous sépare… Il n'était pas trop tard."

Now we were to sing together. I had a hard time making myself do this: I never felt 'worthy'.

His part was: "Dors en paix, chère Éponine…" Hush-a-bye, dear Eponine… "Tu n'sens plus la douleur, un peu de sang qui pleure…Quelques gouttes de pluie…C'est moi." It's me. "J'attendrai là que tu t'endormes." I'll stay with you 'till you're sleeping.

My part, which I barely maintained, was this: "Non, ce n'est rien, monsieur Marius …" No, it's nothing, Marius… "Je n'sens plus la douleur, un peu de sang qui pleure…Quelques gouttes de pluie…c'est tout c'qui compte pour moi." That's all I need to know. "Vous me protégerez, blottie sur votre coeu…"

The duet ended, "La pluie…" And rain… I sang.

"La pluie…" And rain… he echoed. Although 'echoed' doesn't seem proper for him… he can't echo, he's too perfect.

"Fera pousser…" Will make the flowers…

"Fera pousser… les fleurs…" Will make the flowers grow…

After recovering from his performance, I steeled myself for his criticism. It was always there; he didn't usually compliment. If he did, it was because he wasn't the man he used to be. His words were usually professional and sometimes harsh, except on days when his illness was worse than usual.

(I knew little of this illness: I assumed it was the price a one-hundred-and-fifty-year-old man must pay for living.)

He worried me when his only comment was, "It's better. You'll be ready in a week."

As I returned to the land of living, as I called it, I thought of little but his voice and the fact that the words he sang were words of love.