*I don't own a monster in Paris or its characters

I'm back from my break of writing and I know some have been waiting. There are so many things I love about this pairing and they really are the sweetest. I never expected the response that I've been getting for this fic, but it encourages me to keep going. So thanks, and hope you enjoy

Chapter 11: 55 days left

Heartbeats, faint heartbeats beating like tiny declarations, ever delicious, ever melodious, life's rhythms rattling in his ears. Hunger roused him to wake, bullied him for action, and he sat up, his body reluctant to quit the comfort of his bed. He stretched, small creaks came from his back. Upon the sight of his reflection in the mirror, he noticed a few more freckles sprinkled beneath his eyes he could not recall, and a dryness in his mouth; most likely from snoring. Five days had passed, and he was five years older then he all those days before. At the moment he was somewhere in his early forties, well in flea years that is. And like that, days passed like years, and he was feeling it, but c'est la vie.

He wondered if Lucille would notice his aging appearance, or if she would be able to hear the creak in his back too, or if his voice affected in any way. The reality, he wasn't getting any younger. He was no young larvae, but a grown flea with life choices to make.

Would staying at the cabaret be best for the both of them? Or should they go on to greater stages? The glamour Lucille deserved would never be accomplished in an old cabaret, he wanted her to see the world. Yet, there was no question that Lucille would never abandon her aunt, but what about him? He could do so much more. There were instruments to be played, stages and houses finely equipped to expand both of their careers, and frankly, she didn't need him. He knew, before he ever existed she entertained twice every night, five times a week.

Taking his drops, he had to wonder if they expanded his awareness. If so, it was a frightening thing. No more worries he thought, or distractions, but to focus on the main things in his life. Picking up pen and paper, and he started on a letter. Once finished, he dressed like normally, and slid the letter underneath her door.

Patience meant nothing when it involved a letter. No time wasted as she passed her eyes over the words, and it was refreshing to say the least.

It read:

No introductions are required with us, we understand from a glance on how to exist and decide. Once decided, now confused, I am but a moment. You're decided in word and deed, I hope I could be just like you. Dare I not say you are blinded by beauty, dare I say I am, we are each others compliments. Yet, I am not perfection, I am but a moment.

Your steps illuminate every path way you follow, if I am as privileged, I would never be away from you, but only if we're both decided.

You glance, and mild confusion which clouds your eyes when I'm full of praise, is it not pleasing?

Your eyes scald me when I'm away, and I am afraid for I am just a moment.

What dust sprinkles your eyes with soft, misty glances, when we pass, when I withhold advances? Is it respect? Is this the creature born from listening?

I am troubled I must admit, but I can handle the consequences. Patience, the long suffering which I must cultivate is a sore in my heart, for I feel we're acquainted enough, but you are forever while I'm just a moment.

My dear, what will become of us when the light shines too greatly? Will I be burned to ash?

If you are confused, do not consider everything, but only what you think best and I'll decide once it's said.

I'd say, you're welcome to praise freely even if I cannot answer, I need reassurance or I'll be dust in the wind before your glance alters.

For we are, and I am but a glorious moment

Closing the letter, she wondered if something was the matter.

The thought of their last couple of days made her wish they could have been better spent, being so busy with the demand for a new song, but a friendly letter or a persuasive one made them pass with ease. Their communication through letters had proven to be highly successful, and his affection deepened by the day.

His affection grew with every curve of a letter, with every ink blot like kisses to his thoughts, every scent a memory in itself. He followed every word like dancing upon exclamations, he stared upon the eyes of the i's as though his lovers reflection would peer back at him; but that was not all. Passing moments, stolen glances, laughter about the place was happiness like nothing he had ever known.

Through letters, facial expressions, and gestures they had gotten closer, and he was happy to admit that he had controlled his impulsive kissing. Now, if only he could keep his focus while she was in view.

All the while Carlotta was quite amused by their behavior, especially when she caught the two sharing glances. They had been so bashful as of late, and she wondered if any work was going to get done. On this particular busy morning, he was watching his world go by. He leaned against the kitchen counter, munching on a piece of toast, his eyes focused on the figure in the hallway. Lucille looked like a creature that stepped out if a painting, with hair that glittered and skin that glowed. The soft sunlight snuck in from a window, and lightly kissed her freckled cheeks with welcomed adoration.

"Francoeur" Carlotta called, "Francoeur dear, I need your help."

What a pity his toast disappeared at that moment, leaving him with no other excuse to remain like a sentry, waiting for Lucille's beckoning call. Instead, Carlotta continued. "You see that pot up there? Could you be a dear boy and reach it? Anita is going to need it for tonight's dinner"

Keeping his eyes glued on Lucille, he felt his way for the pot and handed it to Carlotta without even turning around. She smiled at his actions, but her voice carried that all to familiar tone. "You got to be careful dear. Lose your focus and accidents happen"

Did he listen? Well, walking into the table, Francoeur didn't feel a thing and kept his eye fixed on Lucille, watching as she walked back and forth in the halls writing lyrics for a new song. If love had a name it would be Lucille, and living is all the more sweeter with a sweetheart.

Lucille looked away from her notes to glance upon him and flash that winning smile. "Its awfully sweet of you to offer your undivided attention Francoeur, but if I find my favorite vase broken then I'll know who to blame"

Using an extra arm to steady himself, he made his way to his study, being sure to avoid the corner table. She followed after him, giving him a fright once he took a sight of her right beside him once the door was shut "Thought you could run away did you?"

With a shrug, he offered her a chair while he stood, waiting for her to speak. "No," she replied softly, "it would be better if you rested"

He took his seat, wide awake, terribly aware of the tension between her eyes. "You're latest letter is confusing"

Opening a nearby window, she sighed. "Is it Raoul? Did he tease you again? You really must give him allowance for his behavior, and forgiveness to me for having such friends, but-"

Holding up an arm, he held up a cue card "No"

"Francoeur, what is the master?"

Nevermind it that her arm was not paper, with his pen, he took up her arm, much to her surprise, and wrote with quickness yet with careful gentleness, "I'm troubled, and I rather not withhold this from you"

Her eyes widened, a flicker of uncertainty flashed across his face. It was bittersweet, the flavor of confidence. He was giving her the opportunity to understand, she had to tread carefully. "Go on my dear, I'm listening

With a rag he wiped it away the writing and continued. "We should be honest with each other, don't you agree?"

"This concerns you does it not?"

"Yes"

She wanted to caress his face, but he continued, and for the first time a slight coldness chilled her. "Let us use time wisely, it is no good to waste"

"You missed me?"

There so many words, and so little space, how rephrase it?

"It is more then that. I have had time enough to think over many things"

With a quick wipe, he dipped the pen in the ink. "If there was something you wanted to do, you would tell wouldn't you?"

"Of course, we are partners"

How he believe this woman would withhold things from him?

"You were right, I did miss you"

"I was only a letter away, and we were in the same building, and we saw each other during our performances"

"When do I not see you? When has there ever been a crowd so that I lost you in it?"

"If I must frank, then I'll say that your letters have been my constant company, they lay on my bedside table, and I read them when I can. So, there was no chance to miss you. However, you are simply impossible"

With a rough wipe, and with a slowness he wrote. "Forgive me"

Tugging a strand of hair behind her ear, she closed her eyes and whispered sweetly. "When I do this, it means you have my permission. And it means that you've done great kindness to me and I'm grateful for being with you."

Silence was the reply, and it bit at her eyes. "I'm pleased that you have confided in me, and I want you to know you are amazing. So please, come here so that I may kiss you"

First a light peck, and he felt a world of difference. It burned his heart, the sight of her face draped by the morning light, if only that memory could last forever. His happy chirps gave her great happiness, and she was happy she could do that for him. It always seemed he sacrificed so much, and the little she could do, it was fulfilling.

Before, they partake in another sweet kiss, Carlotta walked in unaware. "Francoeur could you-"

She giggled at the sight once she took notice, and Lucille walked past her aunt in embarrassment and Francoeur turned to his desk and tried to look busy, happiness blooming in the words he started to write. "Nevermind dear," she apologized, "I'll ask Jack once he comes in."

Closing the door behind her, Carlotta smiled and walked down stairs. Lucille felt her aunts amused gaze burning holes in the back of her head, while her cheeks were dusted with pleasant delight. She hadn't actually been working on new lyrics, but busy reading one of his letters, and it wasn't enough.

Francoeur was doing something to her, he started to become necessary.