A/N: Well, I'm back again! I couldn't stay away. I got some hits on chapter 1, but no reviews (which makes me sad, but not discouraged!) so I'm hoping that chapter 2 will elicit some responses? (: It's a little cliché to be sure, but I'm sure we all need some fluff and happiness in our lives, haha. So please do read, and review! Let me know what you think! Even a simple little "hi I'm reading this" would make my day haha. Patronise a junior college student who's busy studying for her final year exams, pretty please? (:

Have a good weekend ahead!

xx Hazel

Chapter 2: Amélie-Rose

Paris, 1880

Antoinette continued walking cautiously, until Erik tugged on her elbow slightly. "Stop here, please."

He edged past her in the dark, reaching out his hands to tap a button on the wall before them, and another door swung open, revealing an old storeroom in one of the cellars that was no longer used because it was so out of the way. The room smelled musty, but Antoinette noticed it was clean and mostly free of dust. She supposed that Erik had possibly done some skulking about earlier and cleaned up the room. He had always been much of a stickler for a clean place to stay. Erik entered the room, and struck a match from a matchbox lying on a nearby crate, lighting the lone candle in the sconce on the wall. It cast a dim, mysterious glow over the room, much like how Erik preferred it to be. Mysterious.

He walked over to an overturned crate and sat on it, waving his hand regally to gesture to Antoinette to make herself comfortable on one of the other crates. Antoinette had to stifle a small smile at that—the boy had been so insistent in perfecting his manners, and the way he spoke and ate, that it showed in every nuance of himself. She sat on one of the crates, placing the baby in her lap, the baby suckling happily on the bottle and making gurgling noises.

"In a habit of picking up strays, aren't you, Antoinette?" He crossed and uncrossed his ankles, clearly uncomfortable with the presence of the baby.

"I could hardly leave her to die out there in the cold, Erik." She told him sternly. He shook his head.

"Much like how you couldn't leave me to die at the hands of the gendarmes who would have had me hung for murder. I should have died."

She hated his self-loathing, and how he degraded himself. "Stop that, Erik!" She said sharply. "I won't have you calling yourself a monster. I did not save a monster, I saved a boy who deserved a chance to live in this world."

His stubborn, obstinate face told her that he disagreed with her heartily, but she chose not to push the topic. The earlier years of Erik's life had not been good, and she was perhaps, in no position to be preachy to him. She doubted that anybody who had experienced what he had would have a rosy outlook of the world.

"Never mind about that. I've been too busy to look you up recently, tell me, what have you been up to?" She offered as a means to start a conversation. He rarely talked to her as it was, preferring to remain closed up in his own little world. He gestured around the room.

"I discovered this room a few days ago. I've been cleaning it, making it a good enough place for me to stay in sometimes, to meet you here. It doesn't seem feasible to have you traipsing around the cellars when you could be called back for rehearsals anytime. This room might be a little inconvenient still, but it will be better than the cellars."

Erik had always been somewhat of an enigma to her. Two years ago, Antoinette Bellamy had followed the other ballet rats a little unwillingly to the gypsy fair that had been set up a few days earlier in town, boasting acrobats, tumblers, fortune tellers, and, she shuddered to think about it, human oddities. Amongst them had been a boy, emaciated and starved, beaten. Antoinette had never forgotten the look in his eyes as he made flowers sing, the look of a boy so starved of affection as though he had never felt it before.

She had not hesitated to bring him away when she saw him strangle his jailor to death, after everyone had filed out from the tent, murmuring in shock and disgust. Antoinette had stayed by the entrance, peering in cautiously. Part of her had felt triumph even, when he emerged from the cage, dirty and unkempt, yet not a single bit of remorse on his face. It was a sin to kill, surely, but Antoinette had not wasted a single moment in grabbing his hand and pulling him out of the tent. He had shied back, unsure and unwelcoming of human contact, but she had pulled him along anyway. At that moment she had not thought of anything, not the shouts that echoed behind them, or the fact that she was in fact an accomplice in his murder now. She had smuggled him into the Palais Garnier through the employees' entrance, and showed him the door leading to the cellars.

Through much coaxing, she had learnt that his name was Erik. He refused to tell her anything more about his life before the gypsies, only mentioning briefly that he used to have a mother, who had been the most beautiful person he had ever set his eyes on. Antoinette had seen the slight sheen of tears in his eyes as he had mentioned his mother. As an orphan herself, Antoinette had never known her parents, her mother having died in childbirth and her father in some sort of accident, and she wondered what it was like to be abandoned by one's own mother. She had not brought up his family ever again, and Erik seemed happier that way.

Erik had spent the next two years exploring the Palais Garnier, to discover, to his great surprise, that there were numerous passageways that ran throughout the Palais Garnier, much like a giant labyrinth with no end. The unused fourth and fifth cellars beneath the opera house were a multitude of rooms and empty spaces, and Erik had found the perfect place in the fifth cellar when he now stayed. It was not much, just a pile of cloths to sleep in, in a large empty space filled with numerous storerooms beside a lake, a place for him to call home, but it was home. During the day, he often flitted around the secret passages, listening in to conversations, or watching rehearsals. More than once, Antoinette had met him after rehearsals, only to have to put up with his ranting regarding which trombone had gone off pitch during which movement of whichever song it was. As a ballet rat, Antoinette did not know much about music, and she had sat, slightly bemused, listening to him talk. Honestly, it was not difficult; nobody in their right minds would refuse to listen to Erik speak. The soft, elegant voice had been a calming balm to Antoinette's tired mind and body after a long day of practice.

Antoinette looked at Erik now, two years later. He was no longer as emaciated, but he was no doubt still skinnier than most boys his age were. He did not know what his real age was, having never really celebrated a birthday before, but he estimated himself to be about twelve years old. When Antoinette had asked him about his birthday, he had refused to say anything about it, shouting that birthdays were stupid, and not worth any trouble whatsoever. She had learned quickly that Erik had a rather explosive temper, though he calmed down quickly enough, but it was best not to get him started on one.

"Antoinette, I'm thinking of leaving the Palais Garnier." His voice broke through her reverie and she frowned, trying to clear her thoughts.

"What? What do you mean?"

"I want to travel. I want to see the world. I need to know if there is any place in the world for a monster like me."

"You're only twelve, Erik."

"Old enough."

"No! I do not want you to leave, I forbid you to leave!" She said, a little alarmed. She could not imagine a twelve-year-old boy travelling around the world by himself. Why, when she had been twelve, the only thing on Antoinette's mind had been how to get through strenuous ballet practices, and the disgusting porridge served every morning for breakfast in the opera house. She knew she had said the wrong thing when Erik's eyes flashed dangerously.

"You forbid me to?" He snapped. "Nobody has the right to forbid me to do anything at all!"

"Erik. Please." She said soothingly, trying to calm him. "Give it a few more years, perhaps? You're too young, I don't want to think of you struggling to make your way through the world. A few more years." Antoinette did not want him to leave, honestly, as she had begun to think of him as a young brother. She had never had any family besides the ballet rats growing up, and Erik had been a brother to her.

He acquiesced unwillingly. "Perhaps I'll stay a little longer." But she saw in his eyes that same obstinate streak, and knew that she would not be able to keep him much longer anyway, despite what he said. Antoinette resigned to save more of her meagre pay each month, so that she could give him more when he decided to leave. She knew he would probably refuse her money, but really, logic had to stand firm over pride sometimes; how else was he to live?

The baby shifted in her lap, reminding her of its presence. She removed the empty bottle, setting it aside. Noticing Erik watching her quite intently, she beckoned him over. "Come and have a look at her, Erik."

He balked visibly, and gave Antoinette a look that suggested he would rather gouge his own eyes out than do anything of the sort. She clucked her tongue impatiently, fixing her most stern glare on her face, the one that worked on all the ballet rats in her dormitory, and beckoned him over again. He relented, unfolding his long limbs off the crate and walking over to peer at the baby.

The next thing that happened was rather unexpected, and neither of them were prepared for it. The baby, upon seeing Erik's white mask, began to bawl at the top of its lungs, waving its little fists around and somehow, managing to hit Erik in the face and dislodge his mask, sending it flying. Erik screamed and jumped back in horror, clapping a hand over his face, and the baby cried even louder.

"Oh for god's sake!" Erik shouted, fumbling around in the near darkness and trying to grope for his mask without lifting his hand from his face. Antoinette winced at the combined decibels of the baby's shrieks and Erik's yells. Erik scrambled around frantically, and finally gave up, deciding to use both hands to search.

Antoinette was more than surprised to see the baby quieten down, as it turned its little head toward Erik, peering at his exposed face.

"Erik! She's frightened of the mask, you fool."

"What? Has the damp air gone to your brain, Antoinette? I don't know what possessed you to ask me to look at a baby; it is no wonder the baby screamed. Any baby would be terrified of a demon!" He grumbled, finally unearthing his mask from where it had flown and slipping it back on over his face. The baby took one look at his newly masked visage, and promptly burst into tears again. He jumped back in horror, stuffing his fingers into his ears.

"Take it off!" Antoinette gestured wildly with her free hand, trying to yell over the baby's cries. "I'm going quite deaf, Erik!"

"No!" He protested vehemently, but Antoinette fixed her death glare on her face again. Reluctantly, he slipped his mask off again, but kept a hand clapped over his face. He hesitantly approached the baby and ran a bony finger slowly down its cheek, wet with fresh fallen tears.

"There… there." He barely managed to spit out in distaste. "Uh… don't cry."

It took the baby a short while to register his face, and gradually it stopped crying, making soft whimpering noises. Antoinette heaved a sigh of relief as her eardrums were liberated from their torture. Before Erik could withdraw his finger however, the baby had grabbed onto it tightly in its pudgy fists.

Erik stared. There was silence. And for a moment, Erik felt a strange surging feeling of warmth toward the tiny, noisy creature held in Antoinette's arms. He tugged gently on his finger, trying to remove it from the baby's little hand, but it refused to let go, and instead gurgled happily up at him.

Antoinette observed the boy before her silently. He did not let much of his feelings show, but she could tell he was probably touched.

"Would you like to give her a name, Erik?" She asked gently. When he did not respond and continued staring at the baby with his intent green gaze, she suppressed a smirk.

"Erik?" She prodded.

"Amélie." He said finally. "Amélie-Rose."