Meg passed her mother near the door to Erik's office. Madame shook her head as she passed, and Meg whispered, "Did he know?"
In lieu of response, Madame Giry pulled a noncommittal face, passing Meg without a word. Meg knocked lightly on the office door and then pushed it open.
Erik sat on the floor by the window, head in his hands. He didn't look up when she entered or acknowledge her whatsoever. Meg quietly shut the door behind her and looked around. The desk was bare; paperwork and writing utensils littered the floor as if he had swept everything to the ground in a fit of some strong emotion. This wasn't unusual, and Meg knew she wouldn't have to tell him to clean it up like she had in the early days.
"Hello," said Meg, and he raised a hand weakly in greeting.
Stepping to avoid the papers and envelopes on the floor, Meg approached him and sat down beside him, back against the wall, stretching her legs. She waited for Erik to speak.
After some time, he raised his head, looking over at her. "Did you know, Meg?" He spoke in French.
Meg shrugged. "Saw it in the news this morning."
"Why didn't you say anything?" Erik's voice was even.
"I don't know."
"You hoped I wouldn't find out at all."
She heaved a sigh. "Erik, did you invite them here?"
"I did not."
"I'm serious."
"I swear it to you. I had nothing to do with this. I haven't seen them since - since that night in the opera. Unless they suspect I'm with you, they likely think I'm dead."
"You promise?"
"I promise," said Erik. Meg looked at him and only saw weariness in his eyes. She decided to believe him, at least for now. He breathed shakily. "I was so afraid that it was a trap."
"What was a trap?"
"That reporter. Him asking about her. Does he know?"
"I don't think so," said Meg. "He felt bad that he scared you off. He wants to talk to one of us about the theatre. I think he was genuinely interested."
Erik frowned thoughtfully. "Why is she coming here?"
"On holiday."
"Is she going to sing?"
"Not from what I saw in the paper. Although it's conceivable that Hammerstein might invite her to perform. The paper said she's been retired for some time."
He looked over at Meg sharply. "So she continued to perform in Paris?"
"It seems so."
"That's - that's good," said Erik, eyes wide. "I'm glad I haven't ruined her life forever."
"I don't think she'd ever see it that way."
"I suppose not." He leaned his head back against the wall. "She was kind to me even after everything I put her through. I can't imagine such a capacity for forgiveness."
"Neither can I," said Meg.
"Do you think I'm evil?"
Meg frowned thoughtfully, leaning her head back to mirror him. "Not really. I think you behaved like an imbecile."
She half expected him to lash out at her, but he was silent for a moment. Then he let out a chuckle. "That's a very kind interpretation."
They sat in companionable silence for a moment.
"How do you feel about them coming here?" Meg asked.
For a moment, she thought he might not reply at all, but he finally said, "I'm… in a perfect world, I could simply forget that she exists."
"Do you still love her?"
"I have no idea."
"With good reason."
Meg looked over at him, but Erik stared straight ahead.
"Erik, you know that pretending nothing ever happened is no way to deal with things."
"I'm not pretending that-"
"I just mean don't shut it out," said Meg.
"There's no point to thinking about it," said Erik. "About her."
"Well, then, how do you feel about the performance tonight?"
"Huh?"
"Our performance. How was it?"
He pulled a face, confused by the change in subject, but answered, "Well, I enjoyed watching you all enjoy yourselves. The orchestra rushed everything but the crowd adored the singers. You yourself did particularly well. You've grown immensely. I was very proud of you all."
"Me, too," said Meg. "I'm proud of myself."
"You should be."
"It's a great opera," said Meg. "Or revue, or - well, whatever it is, it's wonderful."
"I thought Jeanie was quite charming."
"As always."
"Yes, as always."
"And Jeremy and Raphael's duet! That's still my favorite song in the show."
Erik looked down at her, eyebrows raised. She noticed his flesh-toned mask was ajar. "Is that so? It was added so late."
"I think they stole the show," said Meg. "Here." She handed him the plain black mask that had been knocked to the floor along with the paperwork. Even though she'd seen his face on occasion, she looked away nonchalantly as he switched it out, knowing he would be far more comfortable if she did.
"Everyone who doesn't work on the weekends is going to have a celebratory breakfast tomorrow morning," Meg said. "At the diner where Jay works. You should come with us."
"I'd bring down the mood," said Erik. "Not nearly sociable enough."
"We want you there," said Meg.
"That's very kind."
"No, seriously," said Meg. "They elected me the spokesperson to convince you."
"Oh," said Erik. His eyes went wide. "Really?"
"Yes," said Meg. "You know they all want to be your friend, if you'd let them."
"I'm not a particularly good friend," said Erik.
Meg rolled her eyes. "Oh, stop it. They aren't afraid of you."
"Then I should maybe try a bit harder."
"Don't be ridiculous. You have given them a well-paying job and an opportunity to do what they love. They don't see some terrifying Opera Ghost, they see a brilliant and grumpy old man who endears himself to them by being the most respectful employer they've ever had."
"I'm not old."
"Well, you act like it."
"I don't want them to ask me questions."
"They won't."
He looked at her. "Are you sure?"
"I'll make sure they don't. Even so, I don't think they will."
Erik drew his knees to his chest. He seemed puzzled, guarded. "Okay."
"Can you promise me that you won't go see Christine?" Meg asked.
As she waited to respond, Meg watched him carefully. He seemed pensive, stressed.
"Yes," he said. "I can't imagine she would want to see me."
"Even if she sings."
"Meg…" Erik sighed. "Do you not trust me?"
"I mean for your own sake. It's best to let the past be."
"I don't plan on revealing myself to her."
"Just as well. But why take the risk?"
"Well, she said she doesn't plan to sing, so what does it matter?" Erik snapped. Then he closed his eyes. "I'm sorry. I understand why this is important to you, but I can't promise you anything, Meg. I won't interfere in her life again but I might want to hear her sing one more time."
Meg frowned. "If she's invited to sing, can we discuss it?"
"Are you in charge of my life now?"
"Am I not the prima donna of your theatre?"
"Very funny."
"Erik, just promise me we'll at least talk about it."
"Fine. You win," said Erik, raising his hands in defeat. "I'll follow your guidelines, Your Highness."
"Thank you," said Meg.
For a few moments more, they sat in silence.
"Do you trust me?" Erik asked.
"With what?"
"This. Her."
Meg blinked. "I don't know."
Erik rubbed his eyes. He looked around at the chaotic state of his office, and then at Meg, who slumped against the wall, exhausted.
"I'll be there," he said. "Breakfast. Tomorrow."
"Good," Meg said weakly. "You'll be their guest of honor."
"You performed very well tonight, Meg."
"Thank you."
"No, thank you." Erik climbed to his feet and held out an arm to help Meg up. "We wouldn't have gotten here without you. You've given me a second chance at life."
"I don't deserve so much credit."
"Well, you deserve a good night's sleep at the very least," said Erik.
Meg nodded. "You better clean all this up."
"I will," said Erik. He looked at her cautiously. Meg knew it alarmed him when she grew quiet. As she reached the door, he said, "I promise that you don't need to worry about me. At least not in reference to Christine's visit."
"Okay," said Meg. She wished she could believe him.
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