A/N: Late again, I apologize... AP English Lit is really throwing me for a loop. I'm reading Doctor Faustus at the moment.

Thank you all so much for your reviews! I never thought I would have a fic with ninety reviews to its name. *sends out a HUGE hug to you all*

Disclaimer: I do not own the Phantom of the Opera and the opinion stated by Juliet's friend, Bridgette, in no way mirrors my own about the adoption process. I believe that as long as you're otherwise eligible, it doesn't matter if you're "traditionally" married, want to be a single parent, or are in a same-sex relationship. As long as you can give the child a good home, why not?

Erik's road to recovery would be a long one, and that fact was becoming very obvious to Juliet. He had to be continuously pumped full of medicine that would numb the agonizing pain he was in most of the time. Unfortunately, that medicine was morphine. It made Juliet uneasy; she was concerned he would relapse into his dependence. Seeing him look up at her with hazy, unfocused eyes whenever she came to visit made her stomach turn.

On the first day of Erik's hospital stay, Juliet had left in late afternoon with Nadir. Almost immediately after they exited the doors, Monsieur Blanc had approached them in the street. A wide smile had creased his face as he held his hands out to her in a gesture of familiarity.

"I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me, Juliet," he'd chuckled, clasping one of her hands in his own. Despite feeling emotionally drained, his exuberance for life had managed to put a smile on her face.

"Forget you, Monsieur Blanc? Never," she had said. "I've been quite busy, but it seems to be winding down again."

"Well, I had intended for you to receive this information sooner," he'd remarked, pulling a thick envelope from within his jacket, "but if you'd be willing to join us, the Normandy Opera House would be delighted to join our ranks as our secondary soprano, understudy to the prima donna. I know you were prima donna in Paris for a short time, and if—"

She had laughed, breezing over his oncoming apology. "No, no, monsieur. I was only prima donna for a very short time and it was a need-based circumstance. I think I have a very great deal of learning to do before I would dream of being considered for such an honor again." She had embraced the man tightly. "As it stands, I am grateful to you for this opportunity. Thank you."

Nadir had escorted her home, excusing himself at the nearest moment to go to the post office. He had a telegram to send to Darius. His sudden desire to adopt Corbett if the opportunity presented itself had been a strange concept for her to wrap her mind around. Prior to her knowledge of the family he had lost, Juliet had considered him to be a nice man, but not one inclined to spend much time around children, never mind being a father. However, she had no doubt he would be an excellent one if he had a chance to be one.

It was now three days since Erik had been brought to the hospital. Earlier that morning, Juliet had escorted Madame Giry and Meg to the train station. Meg had gained back enough of her strength to allow travel and Madame Giry had decided they had imposed upon the hospitality of Juliet and her father for long enough. She had also left Nadir at the train station at around noon, as he was awaiting the arrival of Darius and his belongings. He had just recently found a suitable flat a few blocks from where Erik was currently in residence.

At that moment, she was en route to the orphanage where Bridgette worked. Anticipation fluttered in her stomach. She hoped she would be able to greet Nadir later in the day with good news concerning Corbett. The hope in his eyes as he explained his plans to her had been unmistakable. Her prayer was for it not to have case to extinguish.

"Good afternoon, ma ami," Bridgette beamed at her as soon as she opened the door. "This is a lovely surprise. Come in, please." She ushered her friend inside the modest orphanage. The carpet was threadbare and all the colors present had acquired the muted, faded look of age, but the place held a sense of comfort. It felt like home and Juliet suspected it was the first place to feel like that for most of the children there.

"I have a question for you," said Juliet as she carefully placed her cloak on a peg, "is there a place we could go that might escape small, curious ears?"

Bridgette's expression was bemused, but she nodded and led her to a tiny room at the back of the house. "My office," she explained. There was a tiny, wooden writing desk in the middle of the room with a rickety chair accompanying it. Bookshelves stuffed with files and various books lined the walls in a sort of organized chaos only Bridgette would understand. "I do all my business from here. Not that there is much, interest in adoption isn't very high at the moment." Her expression was sad. "But I did get a bit of paperwork in this morning, which I was doing when you arrived."

"I apologize, did I interrupt anything important?" asked Juliet, secretly wondering if the paperwork had to do with the same little boy she had come to ask about.

"Oh no, don't worry," Bridgette replied. "It was relatively straightforward, I've almost finished. It's always nice to get easy paperwork, but not the sad kind like this was. Poor love, the little fellow had no father and his mother didn't care one whit about him. Just dumped him on the doorstep with a little note with his name on it, a tiny sack of clothes, and, oddly enough, a violin."

Juliet was now fairly convinced she was thinking about the same boy as her friend was speaking about. Hearing about how neglected the boy was made her heart hurt all over again for him. "That's awful, he deserves more than that," she said. She fussed with the folds of her dress, searching for the best way to phrase her question about if this little boy was indeed Corbett Valois and if Nadir would be eligible to adopt him. Many words sat on the tip of her tongue, but, try as she might, she could not find a suitable arrangement for them.

Bridgette abruptly sat back in her chair, a knowing look upon her face. "All right, what is it?" she inquired.

She flinched at the sudden question. "What is what?" she asked, displeased that yet one more person could see through her so easily. I really must work on being less transparent, she thought, annoyed.

"You've got a look on your face that I know," her friend replied. "It always means you're bursting with questions, but haven't got the faintest idea how to put them in the best way." Bridgette smirked momentarily at the blush she had procured and continued, "Whatever it is, just ask it. It can't be anything too strange, can it?"

"Well..." Juliet drew out the monosyllabic word, catching the tip of her tongue between her teeth. "The young boy who just arrived, is his name Corbett Valois, by any chance?"

Bridgette's eyebrows shot upward. "How on Earth could you possibly know that?" she asked, leaning forward once again. Her interest had been sharply piqued.

"He's one of Erik's music students," she answered. "The violin was what made me completely certain. I know him well enough. I often see him when I'm doing my errands, but I had no idea he had no father. However, I am aware of his... mother, if you must call her that."

"What makes you say that?" Bridgette's tone was curious, but cautiously so. It seemed as though she had an inkling as to why Juliet held the boy's mother in such contempt.

"I'm not sure how much time you've spent with him yet," she began, "but I'm sure you've noticed the bruising on his face."

The orphanage manager's forehead creased in a frown. "Yes, I had noticed. I just assumed he'd been roughed up at school, the note only said she couldn't afford to have a child anymore—"

Juliet interrupted, feeling herself begin to bristle with ire at the memory of her short meeting with Corbett's mother three days previously. "—She gave him every single one of those bruises. There are more on his arms. He found me in the street and tried to hide from her, with no success. She... Oh, Bridgette, it was terrible. That monstrous woman apparently told Corbett on a regular basis how much easier her life would be without him and that she ought to take him to an orphanage."

Her friend's eyes were bright with unshed tears. She clapped a hand to her mouth. "Bon dieu, the poor child. Coming here could be better for him, so for that I am grateful. I will ensure he heals and feels comfortable here." She paused, examining Juliet's expression once again. "You're still wondering about something."

"The fact that you can read me like a novella is frustrating," sighed Juliet.

"Well, if you wouldn't wear your heart quite so prominently on your sleeve..." Bridgette teased, trailing off at the first sign of true frustration seeping into her features. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'll let you continue."

"It's all right," said Juliet, linking her fingers together. "It's just... I have a friend. He was with me the day I found out about Corbett's horrible home life. His response to Corbett's mother was to sharply reprimand her. I asked about it later and he admitted to me that he would be interested in adopting Corbett should the opportunity arise."

"Oh, I don't know about that," said Bridgette. A skeptical look settled into the lines of her face. Juliet remembered how protective she was of every child who came into the orphanage, no matter their age or situation. "I've never liked the idea of allowing a single parent to adopt a child. I prefer it when a married couple is able to adopt. I'm a strong believer in the full family setting, I'm afraid."

"He was a single father for many years," Juliet protested. If anyone were to adopt Corbett, she wanted it to be Nadir. He was the only one she trusted with the fragile young boy. "His wife died in childbirth and he raised their son on his own. Unfortunately, the child had an incurable degenerative disease and he died at the age of ten."

"I don't know—" Bridgette propped her chin on her hand. "I mean, that's a regrettable situation, but—"

"Please, just interview him once and see with your own eyes that he's a suitable father," begged Juliet."

"... All right! Fine," Bridgette ceded. "I have time tomorrow at noon."

"Thank you!" she exclaimed, getting to her feet. "I've got to go now, but I promise you Nadir—sorry, that's his name, I forgot to mention—will be here tomorrow at noon. Goodbye!"

She rushed to the door, intending to head to the train station. Nadir will be so pleased, she thought. I mean, it's not the best of news—he'll still have to significantly impress Bridgette—but it's a step in the right direction.

Nadir was in the process of hauling some of his belongings to a waiting carriage when she found him. "Nadir, I've just been to the orphanage," she said after waving hello when she caught his eye.

He jammed the suitcases into the carriage with perhaps more force than was necessary and spun around to face her. "And?" he prompted. Cautious hope trickled into his expression.

"Bridgette wants to interview you tomorrow at noon to see if you're a good match," said Juliet. "She's very discriminating when it comes to the children she cares for, so I'm not sure how it'll go, but..."

A small smile brightened Nadir's features. "I believe this is the first time I've felt so happy about such a neutral announcement," he told her, taking the last of the items from Darius, who had approached them. He bundled them into the back of the carriage and closed the latch with some difficulty.

She smiled at him. "I'm glad," she said. "I was just on my way to see Erik and go to rehearsal, but I'll stop by your new flat later if I have time."

"Don't go out of your way, Juliet," he said, getting into the carriage and raising a hand in farewell. "You've been spreading yourself thin ever since I met you for the first time. Take some time to rest and relax, yes?"

Juliet waved her assent and turned in the direction of the hospital. Her heart filled with hope for Nadir. He deserved to be a father more than almost anyone else she knew. She just hoped Bridgette saw it the same way she did.

At the hospital, she was gratified to see the staff was allowing Erik to sit up in bed. He had been laying down for the better part of three days and while he was in pain, his patience with his limited abilities was wearing thin. Morphine still clouded his eyes, but they seemed clearer than they had on previous visits. A smile signified he was aware of her presence and wasn't sleeping as his lowered lids might suggest.

"There's some color in your cheeks," Juliet commented as she sat down beside his bed.

"I'm pleased to see you, ma amour," he said, reaching a hand out for hers. "Now that I'm not flat out with the pain, it gets dreadfully boring to be cooped up here."

She took his hand, kissing his fingertips. "I thought you might be feeling that way. Since you gave me a key to your flat, I went in and got some of your sketching materials when I checked on Ayesha this morning. Speaking of her, the poor dear," Juliet laughed, "she misses you so much, her disappointment was clear when I appeared and not you today."

Erik chuckled, his free hand raising gingerly to adjust his mask. Juliet had brought him a proper one on the second day of his hospital stay, knowing he would want to protect his dignity as much as he could. "Thank you for thinking of my interests. The doctor says he expects I'll be able to go home either tomorrow or the day after, so long as you're able to check in on me once or twice a day."

"I can do that, I'll come by between rehearsals," she replied, unpacking her bag to hand him the sketching materials. Erik accepted them gratefully, setting them in a neat stack on the bedside table. His range of motion was improving in small increments, but the key word was small. Any large movements caused extreme pain and posed the risk of tearing the wounds open again.

"And speaking of the Opera House, your students are clamoring to know when you'll return," said Juliet. "Many of them have approached me and complained of the inadequacy of their substitute."

"That's flattering, but I'm sure their substitute is just as capable, if not more so, as I am," he said in light humor. "I expect to return in a week or so. If you see any of them, tell them I hope they've been practicing dutifully and will be demonstrating flawless technique." The spark of mirth, which had been so sorely missed in his eyes had returned at last, even if it was somewhat more diluted than it could be.

They talked for another hour or so before Juliet was to leave for rehearsal. She wanted to stay longer, but they were rehearsing for a rendition of Faust and it was a deeply labor-intensive opera to prepare for. As she walked, she passed the jail and an involuntary shudder made her draw her cloak more tightly around her body.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

"Up you get, Rosseau," a guard barked harshly. "Inspection."

Not finding the energy within himself to make a sharp retort, Gaston hauled himself to his feet and held his arms out. He hadn't had a proper wash in three days nor a change of clothes in that time. As a result, he was even beginning to offend his own nostrils. The sway-backed man seemed to find him adequate for a prisoner and grunted his approval, moving on to his cell-mate.

Gaston had yet to speak a word to his cell-mate. And, now that he thought about it, he hadn't gotten a good look at him either. He was aware that the man was tall and thickly built, but that was the extent of his knowledge.

He might have to look at him now, though. Heavy, shuffling steps were coming his way. "Ridiculous, these daily inspections," he muttered, seating himself beside the man who used to have the theatre-going population of Paris at his beck and call.

"Yes," Gaston uttered the small word in a breath, dropping his head into his hands.

"What are you in here for, anyway? You look more like you belong in one of those fancy houses uptown, not here," the man said.

"Revenge gone wrong, and you?" Gaston asked, turning to face his roommate for the first time in three days. His face was thick and meaty, with a square jaw, small eyes, and lank, greasy hair that he pushed away from those far-apart eyes. He reminded Gaston of the butcher in the neighborhood where he had lived as a child. The memory that told him the butcher had been set to death for the brutal triple murder of three people from his neighborhood made his pulse speed up.

"Something similar," he said, picking at the filthy sleeves of his shirt. "A man was attempting to seduce my wife, and I disposed of him." The man did not appear to be remotely remorseful for his actions.

"See, you actually accomplished what you set out to do," said Gaston. "I never finished what I wanted to do." They trailed off into silence for several minutes before the other man spoke again.

"What's your name?"

"Gaston Rosseau, and yours?"

"Joseph. Joseph Laux."

They shook hands. Unknown to both them and the rest of the population of Normandy, a destructive duo had just been formed.

A/N: Joseph Laux... does that name sound familiar to you? If you remember, I will be incredibly impressed.

Review? :3