It was the final night of the year and Meg once again begged off from her obligations at the theatre. There was no gala performance but a masquerade ball that would see out the old year. Her mother was much worse and Meg did not feel like dancing. Erik hadn't returned yet as he'd promised in his note and Meg's heart twisted at the thought of this fresh abandonment.

She drained her teacup as she paced from window to window, wondering if he'd come tonight. She snorted; waiting for the Opera Ghost like her own macabre Père Noël.

"Or maybe I have frightened him away at last." She meandered to the stove to warm her hands. It was more likely that Erik had frightened himself away. She couldn't imagine the terror of human connection after a lifetime without it. Even so, it didn't lessen the sting of his absence.

In the back bedroom, her mother coughed violently; she'd been burning with fever since dawn and nothing Meg tried had broken it. The basket full of stained linens glared red and angry from their place near the front door. She really ought to just stuff them all into the stove.

Meg sagged onto the sofa with a sigh. "I wonder if I have consumption too." She wiped her clammy hands on her skirts and slumped over, tucking a cushion beneath her head. Meg had realized too late that she would've been wiser to engage a skilled nurse to tend her mother. Meg was so tired and ineffectual; nothing helped and maman was agitated with her, just too weak to lash out.

Meg yawned hugely and closed her eyes, seeking for oblivion but not finding it. She was too uneasy to sleep. Still, a brief respite would've been welcome, if only for a few minutes.

A light tapping at the door drew her attention. Sighing inwardly she trudged over and cracked the door. Erik loomed silently into view. She flung the door open wide and tugged him by the wrist inside.

Appearing startled, Erik offered her the basket he carried. "Food for you and your mother." He explained. "Have you eaten?"

Meg shook her head tiredly, confused by such a normal gesture. He sat the basket on a low table and studied her, the corners of his mouth tightened with concern. "Have you slept, Cricket?"

"No, not really." She winced as her mother erupted in another coughing fit. "Where have you been, Erik?" she wrapped her arms around herself. "I thought you left me again."

Erik guided her to the sofa and perched on the very edge, his body tight with nerves. "I tried. My mood was very black, Cricket. I – I thought I must've been dreaming."

"But you weren't." She picked at the tassels of a cushion. "You promised."

Erik hung his head. "Yes."

He reached for her hesitantly, unsure of his welcome but she grasped his hand tightly and moved closer.

"Maman does not approve." She murmured.

"But?"

"But she said she cannot stop us." Meg leaned into him, resting against his shoulder. "Maman wants you to ask her."

"Ask her what?"

"Don't play stupid. Ask her for permission to court me or else she will send a hundred gendarmes to your front door."

Erik shook with silent laughter and slid his arm around her shoulders. "Are you still certain of.. us?" his eyes narrowed as he tried out the unfamiliar pronoun.

"Yes, Erik. Do I need to write notes to remind you of this? Because I will gladly do so, every day if necessary."

"That would be helpful." Shyness had crept back into his voice. He reminded Meg more of a young man, new to the world than the world weary one he usually was. Meg smiled and rested her forehead against the cool leather of his mask.

"I'm so sorry, Cricket."

"I'm afraid she is too far gone now to take note of your visit."

Erik tilted his head, listening to another coughing attack. "You've been all alone with her?"

Meg nodded, swallowing thickly. Tired and suddenly emotional, she didn't trust herself to speak without crying.

"Oh Marguerite." He whispered. "I should have been here."

"Never mind, you are here now." Meg wrapped her arms about his middle and laid her head against his chest. She breathed in the crisp winter air on his clothes; her eyes drifted shut, lulled by the steady beating of his heart. They clung to one another for a time until she felt his body tense slightly as his attention shifted.

"Rest now, Cricket." He smoothed her disheveled hair.

"I can't. Maman." She mumbled sleepily.

He dropped a light kiss on the top of her head. "I'll look after her while you rest."

"But-"

"Ah, no refusal. You're no good to her if you're too exhausted to think clearly."

"If you're certain." She knew she shouldn't sleep but he was so persistent.

Erik reluctantly disengaged himself from her embrace. "Lie down." His voice was kind but firm, wrapping around her like the blanket he draped over her. "You don't have to sleep, just rest. I'll take care of everything."

Meg was asleep before he kissed her cheek.


The room was small and windowless, the air was stale and the reek of sickness hit Erik with a force he hadn't expected. He hovered in the doorway, taking a moment to adjust to the smell. Two lamps cast the room in a strange yellow light, slashed with dark shadows at the periphery of their reach. He scanned the space, his gaze passing over old daguerreotype and tin type photos and knickknacks to the bed in the corner. Erik came to the bedside and sat gingerly in the chair beside it.

"Antoinette." He murmured sadly at the wasted sight of his old friend. Erik had seen plenty of death in his time; had been the cause of it more times than he cared to recall. He thought he had grown immune to its telltale signs. All men, all creatures, must die. It was the way of things. He wasn't prepared for the sharp ache in his chest or the burning sensation of threatening tears. They had never been close friends, but Antoinette Giry had been a fixture in his life for a long time. With her decease, Erik would be that much more alone in the world.

Her eyes rolled in Erik's direction, glassy and unfixed. Pieces of her dark hair were plastered to her forehead and her skin looked almost grey. It would not be long now. He considered calling for Meg. She would want to be at her mother's side at the end. Antoinette reached weakly for him, quietly gasping like a fish out of water. It was deeply unsettling. Erik grasped her hand, gave it a light squeeze and held his peace. Meg had seen enough.

"It is all right to let go, my friend." Erik spoke soothingly, as he might to a spooked animal. She was burning hot enough that Erik was unsure how much she understood. "Do you want me to call for Meg?"

Her gaze locked onto his face with a flash of clarity. She shook her head to the side and tried to form words, choking as she did so.

"Don't speak." He snapped. "I won't trouble her." Erik stroked her hand with his thumb and watched as the tension drained from her body. "I am sorry, Antoinette. For everything, for nothing." He gave a little shrug as her gasps grew even more laboured. "Meg tells me that I'm to ask your permission to court her and now I am come too late. However, I would like your permission and I know she does too."

She squeezed his hand tightly and gave him a small nod while she gasped and choked. Erik itched to help her along; no one should have to die like this. A pillow or even pressure from his hand would kill her faster. "Cricket would never forgive me."

"I know it is not what you wished but I will take care of her." Her grip on his hand began to slip and Erik kept talking about his situation in America to block out the sound of Antoinette's final minutes; but, also to reassure her, if she was lucid at all, that Meg would live somewhere comfortable. While he described the banality of his New York flat, her hand slipped from his. Erik leaned forward. Her body was still and the room oppressively silent. He should call for Meg but his throat felt swollen and he couldn't produce a sound. Erik took her hand again and held it tightly as he bent over her.

"I will not cry." He fiercely told the room. He would not allow it; but the overwhelming loneliness surged through his dam of self control and he wept.

"Erik?" Meg was suddenly beside him, her hand lightly upon his back. He straightened and gritted his teeth in his struggle to stem the tears.

"Your maman is dead." Erik couldn't take his eyes off the corpse.

"Yes, I see." She said calmly. Annoyance flared in his breast.

"Your maman is dead. How are you so calm?"

"And how are you so angry?" Meg countered.

Erik shook his head and sighed. "I don't know, Cricket. Forgive my outburst?"

"Grief can be angry, Erik, there is nothing to forgive." She put her arms around his thin shoulders and kissed the top of his head. Erik leaned into her and closed his eyes. Could grief really be angry? Had the anger at his own mother's death actually been grief? Erik didn't wish to unpack that baggage just then, or ever.

"And I'm not feeling calm. I'm tired and vaguely sick to my stomach. But mostly, I'm relieved."

"You are relieved to be an orphan?" it slipped out before he could stop himself and he felt her stiffen.

"No, of course not." She answered carefully. "I've had a long time to prepare for this. I'm relieved that she is not suffering anymore. There'll be time later for me to process that I'm all alone in the world."

Erik pried out of her embrace and drew her onto the arm of the chair. "You're not alone."

"That's a nice sentiment." Meg looked unconvinced. "Until you convince yourself to disappear and then I'm alone again."

"I will try harder." Erik took her hand and pressed it to his lips. If he kept saying it aloud, eventually it would be true, right? Meg rewarded him with a small, somewhat watery smile and a kiss to his temple. Panic rolled in his gut at the sight of her tears but instead of fleeing, Erik gathered her into his arms and held her while she cried.