hey all, back again for another exciting chapter. All your reviews make me so happy!
I would like to note that even today I know nothing of francs so I pulled all the numbers dealing with them straight out of my ass.
Erik is still acting harshly and he's still in love with Christine but this really is giong to be an Erik/Meg romance so just hold out if that's what you're waiting for. I can't see the relationship moving all that fast, and then of course I've a couple cruel twists of fate to throw at our lovers. But if you read my other stuff, I'm not good at angst. I'll end up crying more than you will so I just don't write it. So I promise (though I'll only say it this once) that things will end happy.
WARNING:
The FADA (Fanfiction Addiction Detection Agency) has come to the conclusion that this story can be highly addicting. The Author cannot be held responsible for drops in the reader's grades due to new chapters. Large doeses of Requiem can lead to dependence. The Author is not responsible for withdrawal symptoms which can occur when author fails to update speedily enough.
The Baron Castelo-Barbezac had long ago made his intentions known.
He had been trying to court me for nearly a year but when the incident with Christine happened I had always been much too worried or busy to be troubled. He, ever the gentleman, and understood and left me on my own for a while. However, now he felt had been more than enough time to allow me to calm down from my ordeal and the flowers and gifts began to come again. He assured me that his love was pure and that should I not feel the same he would understand. Just the same he asked that I kept his gifts, if not in acceptance of him than because he loved me enough that he would enjoy just giving me gifts.
I did not love him but with no more Angel of Music to save my mother and I, the only way she could live in comfort would be if I married well. The downside would be that I would have to give up my dream of dancing but to help my mother I would do it. Dreams are things afforded only to the rich.
'Dreams are precious things Megan dear.' My father always called me Megan. 'I lived in America, the land of dreams and I lived in squalor. Dreams are truly precious commodities and just like gold or diamonds only the rich can afford to make them come true. Don't spend your life dreaming Megan, carve out a life for yourself and do what you can. I loved your mother and I married your mother for love but we are poor. Love and dreams are things that the rich have and we don't.' At the time I had assured myself that this was a complete falsehood and continued to dream.
I dreamed of becoming a prima ballerina and I dreamed of wealth enough to take care of my mother so she could do whatever she liked …
Now I knew that my father had been right, and yet still I clung to childish things like promises. I had promised myself that I would save Erik and I would. And so I would, half my money would go to him, helping him get his life of elegance back and the other half would go to my savings. I had fifty francs saved up and the doctor I had spoken too said that the medicine for my mother coupled with the surgery would cost only 250 francs. I was so close. The opera paid for our lunch and if I could occasionally get dinner with the Baron, I didn't need much more food than that.
The Baron was in England for a fortnight and so right after practice I managed to sneak down to the Phan—Erik's home, past the rock and into the Mirror room.
I pushed hard on the door, forgetting for a moment where it was and wholly disoriented by the mirror-room. It swung open easily and I was met with that gorgeous room that I had been spending time in recently. I was dizzy for a moment after twirling around in the mirrors and didn't notice that which was different. "Kyrie eleison."I gasped, ready to drop to my knees and pray right there if it would make Erik all better and that after everything that had happened he wasn't dead. He was drooping out of the bed, almost like he had tried to climb in only to lose his strength half way through the action. His torso was stretched across the bed, his arms twisted and bent, curling desperately around the sheets, clutching them to his chest. His knees and legs were spilling across the floor. His Domino was back on and I did not remove it this time, if he wanted it on he could keep it. Christine or even my Maman would have been sitting there, one hand covering her mouth but I was moving without even realizing it. His shirt was tangling him up and making things worse so as I pulled his legs into bed, realizing that for all his fineries his pants were plain cotton things like what my father would have worn, I pulled it off, finding his skin was clammy and cold to the touch.
Everything I had learned—not that it was much—in my time visiting Maman at the hospital came rushing back to me all at once. The lessons the nurses taught me about how I could care for someone even without medicine, the lessons about how people were…I piled the blankets on top of him and found the last scraps of rugs and tapestries from his home and stretching them over him as well. I glanced at my watch, I was expected back home in an hour but that would obviously not work. With the way the new Mistress was pushing us…next month we would start performing Tristan und Isolde and since there were two main rolls in the ballet for women and we had but one Prima Ballerina I had the chance to shine. Maman would assume I practiced too long and slipped into one of the dressing rooms to sleep.
I did everything I could for him but he was still shivering. There was only one option left, though I was hesitant to do it. It would be highly improper and if Maman found out she would skin me alive I was sure. However it all came back to the fact that where everyone looked upon Erik like "the Phantom" and a Ghost I looked upon him like the benevolent king in fairy stories, I saw him as some sort of kindly guardian who would never hurt me and would make all my problems go away.
I spent part of my childhood sure he would marry my mother and make her smile again. He was an Angel to me, no matter what he looked like. Still, standing at his bedside and fretting with the hem of my shirt, I did not see him as a man; he was still the Angel, his wings were just broken. A violent shiver shook his body and his face contorted in what I could only assume was pain as he began to thrash. He began to whimper and that was when I knew that he was having a nightmare. Not knowing what else to do I dropped to sit on the side of his bed and curled both my hands around one of his, marveling for a moment at how much bigger his hands were than mine. I knew I was small but it wasn't until this very moment that I honestly felt like I wasn't as adult as I thought myself. It was then I realized that I was nothing more than a child compared to him, and that all the allowances he had made in allowing me to help him, had probably been him humoring a child. I brought his hand to my cheek and hummed lightly.
It was pathetic but my mother could not sing, and yet when I was sick nothing was more beautiful than the cool, calm sound of my mother's voice leading me away from my nightmares. I held his hand against my cheek, wondering what had brought Christine to think it cold, and placed my other hand on his forehead. I didn't sing well, and I knew I couldn't sing any of the women's parts in Operas; there were never any parts for an Alto female. I never even bothered trying out for singing because if I could at all I was of the lowest level, I could never hit high notes like Christine. So instead I sang silly lullabies, songs about little white chickens laying eggs and a few hymns that I liked. I sang until my mouth was dry and my eyelids were heavy. I don't remember falling asleep, but I must have because the next thing I knew I was being woken up.
I was laying down with something very warm beneath me, and though I was awake there was a soft thumping sound that was so rhythmic it was putting me back to sleep. My bed shifted again and there was a moment of absolute clarity during which I realized what was going on. My eyes snapped open and I sat up, only to see that Erik was wide awake and blinking at me. "Oh Monsieur pardon me, I must have fallen asleep looking after you and…" I was standing suddenly and trembling very badly. "I swear I did not mean to, I came down to see how you were doing and you were worse than you were before and so I put you back into bed and I brought extra blankets and then I couldn't just leave you so I stayed at your side and I-I-I am so sorry monsieur it is completely unforgivable of me." I bowed my head and glanced momentarily up through my bangs to gauge his reaction, he opened his mouth to speak and his stomach growled. I knew it was proper to ignore it but he was what I deemed my patient. "Oh you must be hungry, I've some stew on the fire, it's probably cold now but it really is just as good cold." We didn't always have money for even firewood so maman and I had gotten used to our leftovers being less than hot. I turned on my heel and rushed to the fireplace and started spooning the soup into a bowl. Scrambling at the same time to turn up the wick on the nearest lantern, filling the room with the soft red light.
It wasn't until I was at his side again and holding out the soup to him that he spoke. "Megan?" I smiled at him and nodded, trying to push whatever I was feeling deep into the pit of my stomach. "You came back." I didn't know if it was supposed to be a question or if it was a statement but I answered just the same, barrling into the conversation until I realized what he must have meant.
"Of course I came back; I told you that I wanted to help you." It was then that I remembered he had sent Christine away. All his life he must have had people leaving him so much so that my return, even though it was just me and not someone who mattered to him, must have seemed like a miracle. "Now come on, you need to eat." I pushed the bowl at him and he stared at it a moment before taking it into his long hands. I bustled about, drinking a few gulps of the cold concoction and then getting more water while he ate. Of course in doing so I passed a clock and realized the time. It was a little after two in the morning. I heaved a sigh and entered the room once more babbling about how dark everything was when there was no light from le rue pouring in through the grates.
He was staring at the empty bowl and I couldn't imagine what he was thinking. "Monsieur?" I asked, tentitivly, almost afraid that my leaving had undone all the work I had put into trying to make him trust me. "Erik?" I tried again.
"I am sorry Mad—Megan. I have never had someone care for me before and it is still a bit of something to get used to." He explained in that honey soft voice of his. I wondered what it was like to hear him sing. I didn't know how to respond though so I merely smiled and moved to touch his forehead. I wondered if the fever had finally broken or not. As my hand drew close to his face he jerked away violently, tumbling backwards and managing to brush away my hand violently. I moved just as fast, drawing my hand to my chest and cradling it there as though I had been burnt.
"Forgive me Erik I meant only to check your fever." I whispered, backing away from the bed. I'd gone and botched things up. I was such a stupid cow it was a wonder how I could dance at all. I was so desperate to try and get him to trust people again and then I went and did things like that. I really was a stupid cow.
"Forgive me Megan." I shivered at being called as such. He was treating me like a lady and I was not used to that. Sorielli was a lady, men fawned all over her and treated her like I lady. I was just Little Meg and even the Baron treated me like a child. When Erik spoke he spoke to me, he listened to me and to him I was not "Little Meg" I was Megan Giry. It was something I would have to get used to eventually. "I am not used to kindness." I nodded and stood for a moment, unsure of what to do. The clock on the mantle chimed and I jumped, glancing to see it was two thirty in the morning. "You have been spending too much time caring for me Megan." He explained.
"You need extra care if you are to survive this illness that has you." I told him, standing at the foot of his bed, or at least what he was using as his bed. I knew he had meant it for Christine. Vaguely I did wonder how she was but when I saw what misery she had put this poor man through without even caring to realize, I ended up worrying for him more. She had Raoul to take care of her while Erik had no one. Well I would fix that, he had me now, not that that meant very much.
"And if I don't wish to survive?" He asked.
"Bite your tongue!" I shouted before I realized it. I covered my mouth and then ducked my head. "Life is a gift from God Erik and it should be treasured." I explained. My father had been very religious but now I was too busy to dedicate as much time to God as I used to as a child.
"Life is a gift, but is a life cursed with this face as much of a gift?" He asked, and I could see he was withdrawing into himself once more, closing himself off from the rest of the world. I wouldn't let him shut me out though; I was too stubborn for all that.
"You are more intelligent and more creative than any man I know and I have lived my whole life in an Opera House. I have known geniuses and I have known artists who knew their world better than anyone else. I may not have that same skill but I sure as hell can recognize it after a lifetime." I shouted, getting angry enough that I didn't think before I spoke. I knew that he could see the moment in which I wavered, that moment where I wasn't sure that I should have said that. The moment I was sure Maman would come out of no where and rap me with her cane for cursing. However, I pressed on. I tightened my jaw and clenched my fists and barreled forward, standing by what I had said be it right or wrong. I had never thought myself very brave, more foolhardy than anything else actually. However, I have no other name for what allowed me to stand up to the Phantom that had haunted the Opera House where I had spent more time than anyplace else. "I don't know what the matter with you is." Erik had remained more or less quiet throughout my tirade but he didn't let that comment slide by like the other horrible things I had said…
"You're right you don't know! You have no idea what I have been through! You cannot stand there and preach to me about what to do and what not to do! You have no idea the pain and the suffering I've experienced!"
"And you have no idea what I have been through! No, you were too caught up in precious Christine!" That was vindictive of me and I meant it to hurt as much as I loath to admit it now. I was angry that he had been an angel to Christine who had not appreciated him and to me, who had waited her whole life for him to save her he didn't even know who I was. I wanted to hurt him like I had been hurt. I wanted him to see how much pain he had caused me. And after I said it, after the words were out of my mouth and laying n the middle of the room between us, I regretted it. I wished that I could take it back
He was out of bed and across the room in the blink of an eye and I flinched, curling around myself and sure that he was going to hit me. My mother certainly didn't waste any time cuffing me when I'd done something wrong but I had seen how strong Erik was and I did not doubt that his blow would do a lot more damage than my mother's. When no pain came I chanced to look up through my fingers, ready to move if he was going to strike me. He was looming over me, looking more like a Phantom than ever before and as scared as my eyes certainly were his eyes were even angrier. "Don't you ever, ever mention that name down here again. You try my patience showing up down here uninvited and I would have killed you but for the debt of gratitude I still owe your mother." It was a hiss more than speech and normally it would have scared me more than anything else that he had done. It also angered me more than anything else he had done.
"My mother? My mother?My mother is the one who led down Monsieur Raoul and the others who destroyed your home. I am not my mother. I am tired of living forever in the shadow of someone or another. If you want to kill me do so and do not spare me because you owe my mother something!" I shouted, realizing how stupid of a move it was. I was encouraging someone I knew to have killed before to just, go ahead and kill me. I was a stupid cow. For several moments nothing happened and Erik and I stood across form each other, breathing heavily. Of all the things I thought were going to happen, of all the ways I thought he was going to kill me it was the thing that I never saw coming that happened. Erik began to laugh.
"I have seen many men beg for their lives and sob all over themselves as they implore me not to kill them." He told me softly. I was still confused as to why he was laughing though. I was hesitant to believe that just because I made him laugh he wasn't going to kill me so I was still on my guard, just…very confused. "And who should finally have the courage to stand up to me but a petite rat that has strayed into hell to care for this loathsome gargoyle who dares to dream of heaven. A petite rat who looks upon my face as though it were a normal face." I was startled to say the least.
"You are not a devil just because you look differently from everyone else." I told him softly, daring to take a step closer. "And anyone who tells you differently is a devil." It was a stupid comment but it drew another soft laugh from him.
"It is in my soul that the true distortion lies." He told me softly, looking down at the ground between us, then turning away, presenting me with his back. I walked softly around so I could meet his eyes when he spoke. I wondered what he had been through which had made him like this.
"Now hush," I realized I was treating him a bit like a child but I supposed that in matters of emotion he was a child. "Down here is your world, you've said it yourself. So there are only two people in your world right now and I certainly don't think that. Whoever told you that probably couldn't tell his ass from his elbows." I gasped and covered my mouth after having said it. It was something one of the stagehands used to say when he found me hidden behind the sets crying about something else the other rats had done, usually to torture me. For a moment Erik looked at me startled and then he graced me with that warm, full laugh of his.
I wondered why he didn't laugh more often. "Your mother would have your hide if she heard you speaking like that." He told me, a tiny smile brushing at the corners of his lips. It was my turn to laugh now and I covered my mouth, it was entirely inappropriate to laugh as loudly as I was. Of course it was also inappropriate to be in the home of a man I was not married to unattended.
"She'd have my hide for most of what I am doing lately." I told him, looking to my left, suddenly feeling awkward just staring at him.
"She would. But she would be proud of you."
"Proud of me for sneaking to a man's home and staying there until all hours of the night?" I asked, looking up at him again. He thought for a moment.
"You are quiet right mademoiselle, she would be furious if she knew what her Little Meg was up to." He said, but there was that fledgling smile again and I tapped him lightly on the shoulder, laughing without restraint this time.
"You're terrible Monsieur Erik! And after all the time I spent nursing you back to health." He laughed as well and wavered on his feet for a moment. I caught him as he started to fall and helped him back to the bed. "Some nurse I am, letting you stand up and push yourself when you're still ill." I moved to the fire, "I'll get you some tea, I managed to afford some herbs that are supposed to help make you better." I explained, offering a smile over my shoulder.
"Megan, you have been paying for all this from your own pocket haven't you?" He asked, though when he said it, it sounded more like he was reprimanding me.
"Yes but it really isn't all that much. I've been making you stew mostly and that's enough that I can eat the leftovers and the mangers are still terrified of you so my mother still has her job, not that anyone dare sit in box five. We three can get by on what the Opera pays me." I said, trying to brush it off.
"I will find a way to repay you Megan."
"You don't need to." I started.
"I will find a way to repay you Megan, I was not such a fool as to keep my money where that mob could find it." He told me. For a few moments we looked at each other and I looked away first.
"Alright Erik, you will repay me. Once you're well again." I acquiesced turning back to making the tea for him. The herbs had set me back more than I would like to admit and I wouldn't be able to eat—aside from the lunch that the Opera sometimes provided—for a few days. They didn't always provide food for us, during the busy season when hundreds of people were there at once they did. This close to opening they would be serving food so I didn't need to worry about buying my own food. Taking up the offer of the Baron would be dangerous though, it might give him false hope.
I finished up the tea and brought it to his side, offering it to him while taking a seat on the edge of the soft bed. "Here, it is supposed to be very good." I told him, blowing on it lightly as steam billowed up into my face. He took it and took a hesitant sip, looking at me over the rim.
"How much do they pay ballerinas these days?" He asked as I toyed with the edge of the sheet.
"Oh very well actually, we get paid 40 francs per performance and an extra ten on opening night. We also get 5 francs a week during rehersals." I said with a smile.
"You make do on that little?" He asked, sounding appalled.
"It really is more than enough Erik, don't worry." I smiled again, "Our landlord is very kind so rent is hardly anything and sometimes his wife gives us the groceries she cannot use." I told him, and it was the truth. I did very well to keep up our existence, it was just with maman's leg and now trying to care for Erik it was a chore trying to save money. But with the only other option being the Baron I was not going to give up any time soon. "I make enough for maman and I and you have said you'll pay me back." I told him calmly.
"You support your mother?" He asked.
"She does not get paid. Attendants get tips alone and that is their payment." I responded, regretting it. "We're putting on Tristan und Isolde so you need to get better soon. There are two large rolls for Ballerinas and I am going to get the other. If you're well you should try and come and see. I know you don't like Carlotta but other than the temper tantrums she is a good singer." I told him softly, suddenly realizing how close I had come to speaking of Christine again. I would have to wait a while to bring that up, the wounds were obviously still raw.
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