A/N: Sorry I haven't updated in a while. Much thanks to all those who review, your encouragement is greatly appreciated. Disclaimer: I own my closet. Leroux owns Erik. Shit.
Giry said nothing to her husband about the note. She kept it hidden in her nightstand, and for days worried about it. It had been a fateful day when she came to Poligny to ask for more leave, and her heart had almost stopped at the thought of Erik's letter.
In the early morning hours she dressed herself in a high-collared black dress and draped a black wool shawl over her shoulders. She put on a black hat with a black lace veil, one she had bought when her dear friend, Beatrice, had died. She also took a black parasol out of the umbrella stand. There she stood, dressed in her finest clothing, a solitary, solemn expression on her face.
"Antoinette?" said Armand. "Why go out dressed like that?"
"I have some business to attend to, and must look respectable." She said slowly. "Please." She laid a hand on Armand's arm. "Do not worry about me. I shall be back soon."
"Why would I worry?" asked Armand with a frivolous wave of his hand. "Go, and do what you please."
She nodded solemnly and walked out of the house, shutting the door calmly behind her. Giry opened up the black parasol although it was not raining, and shielded her veiled face from the sun. People on the street looked askance at her, and the other women, some of which who used to be 'ballet rats', eve made comments to her.
"Madame Jules," said one, "Is Armand, dead?"
"No." she replied. "I have other business to attend to." Her eyes were downcast, but they blazed with fire.
"Farewell, then." Said the woman with a childish laugh to her compatriots.
Giry did not pay attention but went in the direction of the Opera Populaire. With trepidation she opened the door and went inside, heading to Poligny's office.
"Monsieur." She said slowly. "May I ask you a favor?"
"Yes Giry." He said wearily, as he was tired of handing out favors.
"Please, Monsieur, it is Jules."
"Ah, married! But why dressed in black?"
"I had nothing else to wear." She lied. "My clothing is at the tailor's for mending."
"I see. What can I do for you, Jules?"
"I would like to visit the corps du ballet, and announce my marriage." She said, weaving a well-wrought fabrication.
"Of course, Jules." Said Poligny. "Do as you please."
She nodded and curtsied in an almost wanton way, then tripped down the steps and went onto the stage. She looked up at the beautiful ceiling, and at the rafters, where she would have usually seen Erik's face. Then, abandoning all self-consciousness, she did one single pirouette around the stage. Nobody heard her. Then, she went to the back of the theatre and opened a small, concealed door. With slight steps she walked down into the catacombs, and felt the damp walls with lust in her fingertips.
She pulled back the curtain and entered Erik's bedroom. Sadly, she stroked the sheets with fondness, and arranged herself on the bed, tucking her legs up underneath her and pulled the parasol in front of her face.
Erik, himself, was composing a short piece and she listened to it silently. Then, she heard him prowl around his lair, pacing back and forth.
"Antoinette, come back." He whispered. "Come back to me."
She said nothing, but sat still on the bed. She saw his pale hand extend and grip the curtain that covered the door to his bedroom. He opened it and stood stock-still. Neither of them could pull their gaze away.
Giry drunk in the shape of Erik's figure hidden beneath his lustrous clothing and black cape. His black hair was pulled back and his face was hidden by his black mask. Erik also took in Giry's figure, the curves hidden from him, but what most intrigued him were her eyes. They were emeralds blazing from passionate fire, and in truth they made him tremble. But then his eyes scanned her figure more closely, and noticed a gold band that she wore on her finger. She stood up slowly before him.
"Antoinette." He said slowly. "What are you doing here?"
"I am married Erik." She said simply.
"I guessed as much." He growled softly.
"But Erik, you do not understand. I came back, just like you asked me too."
"Why did you marry, Antoinette?" he asked. "I could have given you marriage."
"But my child, our child…" she began.
"Needed a father." He finished, snarling. "Am I not fit to be a father?"
"Erik, what would people say if I was married to the Opera Ghost?"
"People!" he spat. "Who cares about what people think! We could live here, in contentment, and raise our child."
"Erik, we couldn't." she said shortly "What type of life would our child have?"
"Not a very happy one." Erik admitted, his anger evaporating. He bent down on his knees and kissed the hem of her dress. "Oh, Antoinette, please forgive me, for everything."
"And yet you murdered Marie." She whispered. "Erik, just tell me why."
"I did not want to see… a simple child… steal your glory." He whispered. "I love you too much, for that."
"But Erik, she did not steal my glory. I gave my glory to her." She said soothingly. "I must go."
"Wait." Erik grabbed a hold of her shawl. "Please, just do me this one favor."
"What?" she asked.
"I wish for you to dance with me, one last time." He said slowly.
She nodded, and allowed Erik's arm to snake around her waist and she took his other hand in her own. They danced slowly, her head rested on his shoulder, to an imaginary waltz. Once it had ended, Giry broke away quickly.
"When shall I see you again?" he asked tentatively.
"I do not know." She said sadly. "Maybe tomorrow, maybe never."
"Whatever happens." He began. "I wish you love."
"And I accept it, Erik." She said. "And I thank you."
She laid a kiss delicately on his forehead, and a single tear streaked across her pallid cheek. Erik said nothing, but touched his hand furtively to her stomach.
"Our child." He breathed. "Do not forget that, Antoinette."
A/N: Glad they sort have got back together. I anxiously wait for reviews, and those who do will get…a romantic soiree with Erik. Yeah. Or an Oreo. Your choice.