That night, she said nothing about the other bedroom with its tapestry hangings and rich silk cushions.

She knotted the belt of her heavy flannel dressing gown and joined Erik in his room. His mood had improved since the previous day, but he had said little to her after she returned his money.

She could not imagine why he seemed so offended.

She frowned when she saw he was already asleep…with his mask on.

This is getting very tedious.

She slipped the mask off so carefully he didn't awaken and laid it on the armoire. His skin was still raw from where the edges had been pressed into it.

She went and found the jar of salve. Erik had explained that it was merely a mixture of herbs and oils that would help him the heal.

She took a small dollop of it onto her fingertips. And she hesitated.

She didn't want to touch his face.

If you don't do this for him, Meg, no one will.

Gently, she smoothed the ointment onto his skin. Then she wiped her hands and, adjusting the blanket over his shoulders, curled up next to him.

She never realized that he had been awake the entire time.

In the morning, however, he frowned as she removed the bandages and applied fresh salve to his wound.

"I want you to go back today. To rehearsals."

"Back?"

"Yes. You've been very generous and…"

"You're not strong enough!"

"You'll lose your position. A position that I secured for you!"

"You need me here!"

"I assure you, Mademoiselle Giry, I do not…if you think that this is the worst I've…"

She set the bone jar done with a bang that seemed to echo in the silence of his lair. Without another word, she stormed from his room.

-----------------

It was almost two hours before Meg came back into his room.

Erik had bandaged his shoulder himself. Despite the innate dexterity of his hands, the dressing was clumsily done.

A book lay page-down on the bed beside him.

"Erik, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have stormed out like that. It was very childish of me."

He didn't say a word, but picked up the discarded book.

Meg pushed the other books off the little chair and sat down beside him.

"Erik, I thought about what you said. I always thought that the managers promoted me as a favor to Maman. Not that she'd asked for it, though."

She tucked her feet up on the bedrail and propped her elbows on her knees.

She knew she was a very good dancer, but there were many such dancers in the corps. And some, like La Sorelli, were much better.

She wondered exactly how Erik had secured her promotion over La Sorelli. A bit of blackmail against the previous managers? A subtle threat or two? She hoped it hadn't been something worse.

"I'll go back up for rehearsals, Erik," she continued, since he obviously didn't intend to answer her, "since I didn't really earn my position, I'll have to work harder to deserve it. But I'm coming back when they are over. And you cannot stop me."

There was a silence. Finally, Erik slammed the book shut with more force than Meg expected. His twisted lips curved into what might have been the beginnings of a smile.

"Before you go, Meg, would you be so good as to re-bandage my shoulder properly?"

Meg grinned as she set to work, feeling as if she'd won a small victory.

-------

When Meg slipped into the dancers' common changing room, she was met with a few smiles and more than a few whispers.

The other girls of the corps, compulsive gossips that they were, giggled and suggested that Meg's absence involved a lover. Not one of them connected it to the mysterious Opera Ghost and the disappearance of Christine Daae.

Her mother said nothing when she took her place in line, acknowledging her return with a slight frown and a nod.

When practice was over, they were summoned to the auditorium by Monsieur Reyer.

The managers, it seemed, were extremely eager to put the strange events of Don Juan Triumphant behind them as soon as possible. Therefore, a gala performance was planned with excerpts from some the most popular opera and ballets in the theatre's repertoire.

As the other chorus girls and dancers twittered with excitement, Meg sighed wearily.

----------------

When Meg had gone, Erik rose. He found that if he moved slowly, resting every now and then, he was able to dress and make his way to the other room.

He did not put his mask on. If that stubborn young woman was willing to look at his horrible features, so be it. He was getting tired of arguing with her.

He was able to make it as far as the organ, though there were moments when he doubted that he would make it.

He saw that the blood was gone from the keys. She must have cleaned it when she stormed from his room.

He laid his fingers on the ivory, savoring the smooth, cool feel.

He could not remember when he gone so long without his music.

He did not trust himself to play his own compositions yet. Too many of them were so intimately connected with Christine…he did not dare.

He closed his eyes and simply played, easily moving from pieces to piece, melodies he had learned so long ago that he know longer recalled when or where he had first heard them.

But, even without realizing it, he improvised…gradually changed each piece he played beyond recognition.

He almost forgot the pain as he played. Music has always been the most soothing drug for him.

He had not meant to let Meg find him there when she returned from rehearsals. Assuming she did return, that she did not change her mind.

But that was where he was when she limped down the dark passageway on aching feet.

---------

She shook her head with disbelief when she heard the faint music in the dark passageway.

Surely, he wouldn't…

But, yes, he was there, leaning over the organ. He seemed oblivious to her in the doorway.

Oh, Erik, you're impossible!

She noticed he had not bothered to put on the mask. And she found that the rapt look of concentration on his face seemed to almost soften even the worst of his deformity...almost.