Author's note: I know it has been ages, but finally here is your new update. It forced me to have to make some changes in the last two chapters; specifically: after Erik was wounded on the rooftop, I originally had themtaking him all the way into the country, to Chateau de Chagny. He would have been far too injured to travel that far, though, so insteadthey ended up taking him to Philippe's flat in Paris. It is no castle, but it is a generously-sized flat located about 15 minutes' walk from the Opera, in the Boulevarde des Courcelles.
(Itseemed like a verygood location for a weak and wounded Erik to convalesce.)
Read and review, please; I swear, it's the reviews that forced me back into this story after I had been blocked for 2 months. I also have a fairly full plate in real life, too, which has drastically reduced the amount of time I have available for fanfic writing. I will, however, make every effort to finish this one up soon. Cheers!
Erik awoke just as the first rays of dawn were lighting the sky. There was a pressure on his chest; it was hard to breathe, and he gingerly lifted his head to see what the obstruction was.
Christine had fallen asleep in her low chair, leaning forward so her head rested on his good right shoulder. He smiled faintly. "Christine," he whispered. He stroked her hair. "Christine."
She stirred a little, and Erik carefully rolled toward her. "Christine, love, lift your head up a little."
She did so, and he manoeuvred her so that her head was resting on his shoulder rather than his chest. This put her at an awkward angle in the chair, though, and she whined a sleepy little complaint that made him smile in spite of his pain.
"Come and lie down, my dear. It's still early."
In her sleepy state, Christine thought this a fine idea; she slid off the chair and eased down next to Erik on top of the sheet. She curled up next to him like a kitten, with her back pressed against chest and her head on his arm. Erik reached over and brushed the hair from her neck, before brushing it lightly with his lips. "Sleep well, love."
The room was bright when she awoke again to a light tapping on the door. It inched open and Gerard stuck his head in. "How is he?" he asked in a whisper, politely ignoring the fact that the two were lying down together.
Blushing furiously, Christine tried to rise. Erik's arm around her waist held her firmly in place, though, and tightened when she tried to move. She finally gave up and put her head back down. "Forgive me, Gerard," she murmured, still embarrassed. "I know this must look scandalous."
"No need, no need," Gerard replied with a disarming grin. "I don't blame him a bit. When I find something worth keeping, I like to hold onto it, too!"
Christine smiled weakly at the compliment.
"So how is he doing?"
"He seems to have regained some of his strength," she replied sarcastically. She could swear she felt Erik's shoulder twitch a little, as if he had stifled a chuckle.
"So I see." Gerard's reply was amused. "How did he sleep?"
"Like the dead," came Erik's sleepy voice. "Now go away so he can keep doing it, why don't you?"
"Erik!" Christine scolded, half laughing.
"I would, Erik, but I thought Miss Daee might like to freshen up and have some breakfast. She had almost as rough a night as you did."
"I am rather hungry," Christine admitted.
With a groan, Erik released her so she could sit up, and he painfully and carefully rolled back over onto his back. "I wouldn't say no to some breakfast myself, though I don't suppose you two would be willing to let me get up and go down to get it."
"No, love," Christine said, just at the same time Gerard spoke sternly.
"Absolutely not! The doctor said you're to stay in that bed for at least a week, to give your ribs a chance to mend. I'll have someone bring you up a tray."
"A week!" Erik exclaimed. "Not a chance."
"Well, that's up to you," Gerard pretended to give in. "Do you want to live long enough to marry this lovely young lady, or not? The choice is yours."
Christine turned her soulful blue eyes on her fiance. "Erik, I know you hate it here, and I know you don't like Philippe. But if you want to be well sooner, you must follow the doctor's orders. Please, my dearest – for my sake, will you please do as he says for at least a week?"
Unable to rebut, Erik sighed unhappily and nodded.
It was the longest week of Erik's life. It was bad enough to be bedridden, but to be stuck accepting the hospitality of his former rival was a deep blow to Erik's pride. He became surly when Gerard and Christine denied him his clothes, and downright irascible when Philippe stopped in to see how he was doing.
"Oh, I'm fine," he said sarcastically in response to the boy's query. "I just love lying here flat on my back for days on end, staring at the ceiling." He widened his eyes in an expression of mock-excitement. "And then sometimes, just for variety, I can roll over onto my side and stare at…" he blinked. "You," he finished lamely. "Or whoever is in here at the time. I've had prettier visitors, though."
"No doubt," grinned Philippe. Unable to resist baiting the man a little, he said, "But don't worry; I'm doing my best to make sure Christine doesn't get bored."
Erik gritted his teeth.
Philippe grinned. "Oh, come now, monsieur," he teased. "Surely you know by now how firmly you hold Christine's heart! Do you really think that spending a few days having meals with me is enough to wrench it away from you?"
"Why not?" Erik asked bitterly. "There is quite a difference between your appearance and mine." He knew by now that Philippe had seen his face, there on the rooftop of the opera.
Philippe nodded. "There is, it's true," he conceded. "You're much taller and broader than I am. It's no wonder Christine prefers you."
Erik darted him a sharp glance, his grey eyes glittering hard in the sunlight. Seeing nothing but resigned honesty in Philippe's face, he relaxed a tiny amount, and closed his eyes for a moment with a sigh.
Philippe came in and eased himself into the chair beside Erik's bed. He said nothing for a long moment, and then asked quietly, "Where will you live?"
Erik opened his eyes again and stared suspiciously at him. "What?"
"When you and Christine are married," Philippe clarified. "Where will you both live?"
Erik frowned and looked away.
"You cannot return to the opera cellars," Philippe stated. "The damp would not be good for Christine's voice. Not to mention that Gerard and I have gone to a great deal of trouble to make sure that everyone knew the phantom had been killed. If you took up haunting it again like you used to, everyone would know us to be liars."
"I see," Erik said sombrely. He had, in fact, been giving the matter much thought because Philippe was absolutely right. Christine should not be living in the cellars.
"The problem is, M. de Chagny, that with my mask and my face, my alternatives are limited."
There was a knock at the door, and Gerard stuck his head in. "Good afternoon, gentlemen," he said. "May I come in?"
"Of course," Erik told him. "I didn't expect to see you today."
"Well," Gerard said, coming in and leaning on the bedpost. "Things at the opera are finally beginning to calm down just a bit, after Choletti's arrest. So how have you been doing?"
"Do you really want me to answer that, Gerard?" Erik asked dryly. "I'm bedridden in the house of my rival—"
"Your unsuccessful rival," Philippe pointed out.
"—Who has just thoughtfully pointed out that when I am better and Christine and I can marry, we will have no place to live." He turned his rueful grey gaze to Philippe. "Thanks for that, by the way," he said sarcastically.
"Any time," Philippe replied with a grin. "I did not, however, bring up the subject simply to torment you. I was wondering whether you had an alternative plan, or whether you might possibly be interested in buying this flat from me."
"Oh!" For once, Erik was speechless.
Gerard, as was his wont, easily filled in the gap. "Oh, wouldn't that be convenient, Erik," he said. "It's a nice flat, and a good location – only fifteen minutes' walk to the opera!"
"Mmm," Erik said thoughtfully. "Just one thing. How on earth am I to manage living aboveground? What am I to tell people who ask why I wear a mask?"
"Technically, that is two things," Gerard remarked. "However I am somehow sure that we'll be able to come up with some kind of plausible explanation for your, ah, facial adornment."
"The doctor says you'll be convalescing for at least a month anyway," Philippe told him casually. "So you'll have plenty of time to decide, both about the flat and about the mask."
"A month!" Erik exclaimed in shock. "I can't stay here for a month!"
"I am afraid you'll have to," Philippe answered. "Unless you want your wound to get infected, and for Christine to break your ribs again the next time she embraces you."
"I shall take care not to let that happen, monsieur, but I simply cannot stay any longer than absolutely necessary. As soon as I can walk again, I shall be moving back to my own house below the opera."
"And how shall you take care of yourself?" Gerard asked.
"How shall the doctor see you, to care for your injuries?" Philippe added.
"Who shall see to your daily needs: your cooking, your toilet, your hygiene? With your shoulder and ribs so injured, you cannot hope to do it all for yourself, especially down there," Gerard said.
"If you stay here, the doctor will be able to treat your wound, and the servants will quite happily take care of the rest," Philippe urged. "Unless they have been remiss in your service until now?"
"No, no, the servants have all been fine," Erik muttered irritably. He sighed, a deep sigh with a bit of a groan in it.
Gerard chuckled at the expression of dismayed frustration in Erik's eyes as his head fell back against the pillow helplessly. "Come now, son," he patted Erik's foot paternally. "You want to be healthy for your bride, don't you?"
Erik expression softened a bit when Gerard addressed him as "son." It wasn't something that his father had ever called him before actually confessing to his paternity, and hearing it so often now was a balm to Erik's formerly orphaned soul. He sighed. "You're right, of course," he admitted. He swallowed his pride and went on, "You're both right."
Philippe, knowing how much of a compliment it was for Erik to admit that Philippe was right about anything beamed. "I hope my hospitality is not lacking, monsieur, and that you know that you are more than welcome to stay as long as you wish even if you decide not to buy the flat."
"Thank you," Erik told him, and for the first time, he really meant it. He smirked a little. "But I can't help but think you are fishing for compliments on your household, monsieur, because surely you know how well your staff shows your hospitality!"
"Well, your unwillingness to accept it had made me wonder a little," Philippe admitted.
Erik looked down, a little embarrassed at his churlishness. "Forgive me, Monsieur de Chagny. I have had little practice interacting with others until recently—except for my father, of course."
"Of course," Philippe responded graciously.
There was a knock on the door, and a maid stuck her head in to announce that Miss Daee was there to visit M. Carriere, and would he receive her?
"Receive her? Of course I'll receive her!" Erik exclaimed, once he realised that he was the M. Carriere in question. "Please send her up."
Philippe noticed the maid's brief perusal of Erik's masked face. She did not seem put off; rather, she seemed intrigued by his mask, and Philippe remembered with amusement Gerard's referring to it as Erik's "facial adornment," as if it were just another accessory like gloves or a hat.
Suddenly he was struck by an idea. He smiled to himself as he rose from the chair beside Erik's bed. "Monsieur Carriere, if you'll be so good as to excuse us, I have an idea to discuss with Gerard that I think may help you with your other problem that you mentioned."
"Other problem?" Erik said sharply.
Philippe gestured toward his own face and glanced toward the door, through which they could hear Christine's rapidly approaching footsteps. Erik nodded, understanding: it was the problem of his mask, and what others would say about it were he to join society.
Philippe grasped Gerard's elbow and tugged him eagerly toward the door with a puppyish grin. He could hardly wait to hear what the older man would say about his idea! The two men exited the room just as Christine came in; Erik could hear their brief greetings in the hallway before she pushed the door open and came tripping in.
Erik felt his heartbeat speed up as she smiled at him and came over to give him a kiss. She was so beautiful that it sometimes made him ache to look at her. And to think that she would one day be his, still boggled his mind. His, when she could have had Philippe de Chagny who, Erik was forced to admit, was turning out to be less of a lying lecher and more of a respectable gentleman than he had originally thought. He shook his head at his good fortune and pressed his lips to Christine's hand as she sat down to give him all the opera gossip of the day.
