A/N: This week's chapter shows a bit of conversation between Madame Giry and Amelie. It may be a little dry for your liking, but I thought this chapter was particularly important because it shows how Amelie has matured in her way of thinking, and how Madame Giry is, in many ways, a friend and mentor to her. And just a little heads-up, but there is fluff at the end, because we all love fluff, and I haven't written pure fluffy goodness for quite some time. Just a little bit of fluff to tide us over the tough times to come ahead in future chapters (;
Savannah White: I know, Buquet, UGH. I can't wait to get rid of him!
Wild Concerto: I just keep thinking of what Madame Giry says to Buquet in the musical... that Erik will burn him with the heat of his eyes. Mwahaha can't wait for Buquet to be gone.
Masked Man 2: I do have the idea of a scene of Erik playing with the ballet rats in mind, but that will have to be saved for much, much later. I don't think happy times are in the horizon just yet! (Sadly). Our greasy friend Buquet's going to be sticking around for a couple more chapters, but I think we'll all be glad to see him go.
Pineapple3000: It's going to take ages for them to figure out, the two thick-headed people... hehehe.
Aria: Yeah a little honesty goes a long way! Erik needs to stop thinking Amelie is a defenseless little girl.
Lydia the tygeropean: Updates NOW! :D
Bibliophile13:I'm so glad you're enjoying the story so far! I know, I tend to stay away from OC stories, but I wanted to write one somehow. You must read the Kay novel when you have the chance; it's a lovely book, and written so well it's amazing.
Many many many thanks to LittleLady2204, Lydia the tygeropean, devotedtodisney, and Saphirabrightscale for the follows/favourites! It made me really happy! I'm so glad you enjoy the story (:
Chapter 26: Getting Through It
Paris, 1895
Amélie kept her encounter with Buquet a secret. If Erik found out about it, she knew that there was no doubt that he would go after Buquet with all his vengeance, and Amélie did not want any trouble in the opera house, any sort of accident that could cost Erik his future.
It was a risky thing, his plan.
It was so risky and dangerous that every bit of her heart ached to think of him having to go to such extremes.
Sometimes, Amélie wondered if he was making a big fuss out of everything—what if he stepped out into the light, and nobody cared what he looked like, so long as he had the talent? What if all his fears had been naught but a nightmare, to be vanquished as easily as a puff of smoke, as quickly as the opening of eyelids after a restless sleep?
But it was not a risk that he was willing to take, and for good reason; he had spent much of the earlier years of his life being shunned by the people around him, and now he was afraid of the same thing happening again. Amélie understood that, for the exact opposite of her ponderings could happen. What if society turned against him, and called him a monster? What if they condemned him to a life of solitude in the darkness again?
No, it was a risk he could not take.
Amélie sighed. He had not told her everything about his plan – that was something that bothered her quite a bit – but from what she had gleaned, he intended to remove Carlotta from her position as prima donna and place his new protégée on the stage instead. Christine would perform his music after her debut, and then Erik would be known to the world.
'I need a much larger audience than what I already have.', he had told Amélie. That sentence had made her confused. Did Erik have an audience besides her? She had no idea what he had meant by that, but had dismissed it as one of his usual cryptic comments. Whatever it was, she would most probably find out someday in the future, anyway. Erik hardly divulged what he had in store.
"Amélie." A crisp, sharp voice sounded from behind her, and Amélie turned to see Madame Giry striding down the corridor toward her purposefully, her cane thudding imperiously along the hard stone floor. "If we may talk for a moment?"
Amélie inclined her head, and followed Madame Giry through the opera house into her rooms, where she sat comfortably on a chair at the dining table upon Madame Giry's instructions. Madame Giry set about brewing some tea.
"I gather you have spoken with Erik." Madame Giry set the tray, with the teapot and two small cups down upon the table, pouring a generous amount of steaming, freshly brewed liquid into the cups.
Amélie paused. "How did you know that?"
"You were walking around the corridors aimlessly, muttering to yourself under your breath." Madame Giry lifted her cup to her lips gracefully, her eyes never leaving Amélie's. Amélie sputtered in indignation—she had not even realized that she had been doing that. Madame Giry allowed a small smile to waft across her lips as she put the teacup down.
"There was a time when you were as distracted by him as you are now. I recall countless days, uncountable hours spent running around the opera house, my fatigued body aching, attempting to find you, only to discover you skipping cluelessly around the building, mumbling under your breath about princesses and dragons and knights." Madame Giry laughed a little. "How you confused the ballet rats back then; they were always asking me how you had learnt of all those stories, and you never, ever, wanted to tell them your secret."
Amélie looked down at her hands, smiling. "Even back then, I kept his secret for him."
Madame Giry shrugged. "You were good for him. You made him happy. It was the first time I had ever heard Erik laugh so happily. I do not think he had ever done so in front of me – smiled, perhaps, or even grinned, though that was rare, but never once did he laugh like he had nothing to worry about in this world."
"And I was happy, too." Amélie said softly. Madame Giry smiled.
"And yet he chooses not to share his thoughts with me anyway." Amélie raised her hands in a helpless gesture. "I don't know what he's thinking of, I don't even know why he does not acknowledge that we used to know each other."
"Oh, you think so?" Madame Giry raised a quizzical eyebrow. "He shares a lot more with you than he has ever had with me."
"Madame, maybe it is because we are the only two people in this whole world who know about his existence. He has nobody else to tell."
"I think you're learning some dry wit from Erik. Perhaps he's doing you some good instead. But I say it as it is; Erik cares for you a lot more than you think, and he's already telling you more and more of his thoughts. It will take time, but it will happen. Take it from an old lady."
"You're hardly old, Madame." Amélie laughed. "What is it you wanted to talk to me about?"
"Well, as I mentioned, Erik has shared his plans with you and—"
"And you want to know what I think about them."
Madame Giry nodded, and Amélie smiled wryly. "They are… dangerous, as always. Risky. Unpredictable. Unbelievable. Completely irrational." Amélie paused for a couple of moments. "…And yet. So… so logical. So clear, so well thought out. Brilliant."
"Just like Erik."
"Yes." Amélie laughed.
"And what do you intend to do from here on?"
"Help him." Amélie looked at her resolutely. "I did not think this plan would work out, but if Erik wants me to believe in it, and if he believes in it so much, perhaps I can give it a chance."
Madame Giry smiled, a wide smile. "Good."
Amélie smiled back, and took a sip of her tea, before making a face. "Madame, this tea…"
"Don't you start on the tea too. I refuse to drink that Russian swill Erik drinks." Madame Giry made a very disgruntled noise, and Amélie giggled a little.
XXXXX
Paris, 1896
"Do you think Debienne will agree to replace Carlotta with Christine?" Amélie swirled her wine in its glass, staring into the red depths. She rarely drank, but this was a celebratory glass, and Madame Giry had offered it.
"I do not know." Madame Giry sighed. "So much rests on his agreeing to replace Carlotta."
"What if he does not?"
"Erik will have a backup plan. He always does." Madame Giry grimaced. "His backup plans just tend to be a lot more dangerous and drastic. I would hope that we do not have to utilize any of his backup plans, because he will never tell us about them, and I for one would like to be prepared for anything."
Their conversation was cut short by the clacking of the key in the lock, and the door swung open. Petite little Meg slipped in, her blond curls messy and her face smudged with chocolate. She gave a little yelp when she realized that Madame Giry and Amélie were sitting at the dining table, staring at her.
"Oh, Maman!" She grinned ruefully. "I did not know you would be here. Good day, Amélie." Meg rubbed at the stains on her face, and Madame Giry clucked her tongue.
"Wash that face of yours, Meg. A young lady should not go around with chocolate on her face." Madame Giry rose from her seat to wet a towel for Meg. "Why would there even be chocolate on your face? You know my rules, young lady."
"Maman, it's a celebration." Meg protested, scrubbing at her face vigorously. "And celebrations call for chocolate. It simply cannot be done without chocolate."
Meg gave a cheerful grin in response to Madame Giry's disapproving death glare.
"Where's Christine?" Amélie asked. "The two of you are always together."
"Oh, we were together a while ago, but she ran off, saying she had something to do." Meg wrinkled her nose. "She disappeared before I could ask her where she was going, and I haven't seen her since. She's always vanishing off to some place or other now, but I do not know where. Perhaps lessons with her—"
Meg gave a gulp, realizing she had revealed a little too much. She curtseyed hastily, before dashing out of the door again. "Look at the time, I really must meet Francine. Goodbye, Maman, Amélie."
Madame Giry and Amélie watched the disappearing form of Meg, all bright sunshine curls and a cornflower blue dress dart out of the door.
"Well, isn't it like Erik to have lessons on a day like this." Madame Giry said, even though there was a hint of fondness in her tone. "He will wear the poor girl out yet."
"Christine is taking it well. They get along. Erik is brusque and demanding as a teacher, but Christine does not seem to mind, as he tells me. She takes all his advice to heart, and she practices hard, and not once does she ever complain about the intensity of his lessons." Amélie looked down at her wine, and ran a finger over the rim of her glass pensively. "Erik talks about her sometimes –all the time—and he has nothing but praise for her, though I doubt he lets that show in front of her. He talks about her determination, and her talent, and how she is just perfect for his music. He has very little time to meet me now, but when we meet, he is bubbling with excitement over how much she has improved, or how much closer he is to perfect his opera. Imagine that, Erik, excited."
Madame Giry contemplated Amélie's words, staring at her intently. "Is that a tint of jealousy I detect, Amélie?"
Amélie looked up at Madame Giry, a little surprised. "It was not my intention to be jealous."
"Of course not. It must hurt a little though, does it not? Erik used to spend a lot more time with you, and the two of you must have talked about a lot more than you do now."
"We did." Amélie shrugged. "We talked about ballet, if you can believe that. We talked about his travels, about the far off places he had seen, and we talked about anything that came to our mind, such as Carlotta's tyranny and her deteriorating voice, to Debienne's terrible fashion sense. Sometimes we did not talk at all; we just sat in silence reading."
"But now his mind is occupied by something else, and you're not used to that." Madame Giry said, perceptively. Sometimes it scared Amélie to think how well Madame Giry knew the both of them, how well she could read the people around her. Amélie nodded.
"Erik's thoughts may be elsewhere at the moment, Amélie, but this is so important to him that he cannot think about anything else at the moment. You know Erik like I do; when he fixates on something, it is practically the only thing he concentrates on." Madame Giry smiled, and clinked her glass against Amélie's, before taking a sip of her wine. "But know this, Amélie—you were, and will always be, his Rose. No matter what he does."
"His favourite flower, is it not?" Amélie said wistfully. "I know, Madame, I know. It is just difficult."
She downed the rest of her wine, and set the glass back onto the table. "Thank you for the talk and the wine, Madame. Happy New Year." She curtsied, and let herself out of the room.
XXXXX
"Very well, Christine. You may go now, and enjoy the rest of your day."
"But Angel, wait!" Christine stood anxiously. "Have I angered you somehow? Our lesson is a little shorter today."
"No, you have not." He sounded impatient, as though he could not wait to get away.
"Then… then why? We usually practice for much longer." Christine frowned. She could hear her Angel's murmur of disapproval echoing through the room.
"No questions, Christine, that was my rule. However, I will make an exception—I have pressing matters to attend to that cannot wait."
"Pressing matters—Angels have such things too?" Christine could not stop herself from blurting out, for he had sounded happy, happier than he had ever sounded when talking to her.
"Yes." His reply was curt, and his voice already fading, as though he was already leaving her.
"But Angel—" Christine bit her lip, before deciding that it was useless to press further, for it was unlikely that he would tell her anything anyway.
"Happy New Year, Angel.", she called out, before leaving the room to rejoin the rest of the ballet rats, eager to participate in their annual chocolate feast.
Before Christine had fully left the room, Erik had already been hurrying through his secret corridors, trying his hardest not to run. The Opera Ghost had to be dignified at all times whether or not he could be seen, but damnation if he did not want to run. He had not seen her in so very long, and the last time he had seen her, he had only talked of his own music, and his lessons with Christine. He wanted to hear about her this time.
And so it was that when Amélie reached the chapel passageway, the doorway slid open almost immediately, just like it had at the start, and that familiar, comforting, black-gloved hand reached out for her. She was led, no, pulled in, and she could almost feel his eagerness radiating from him. She could smell his smoky, exotic scent, and she could feel his hand in hers, and it all felt very comforting.
His hand clutching hers, they began the walk to the lake.
"You're very quiet today,", he observed as he rowed the gondola across the waters. Amélie sat back on the throw pillows, stretching her tense muscles.
"I thought you might have things you wanted to tell me." She smiled a small smile at him. "I was waiting for you to start."
"I do not want to bore you with my stories—I talk about the same thing almost every time we meet. No, I want to hear about you."
Her smile was his best reward, for her face immediately lit up, and Erik thought he wanted to see that smile everyday for the rest of his life.
"Well I'm glad you asked, because just the other day, I saw a lovely dress when I was in town, and …
… can you believe it, Carlotta actually stepped onto the stage to demonstrate her singing prowess, she said, and all of us ballet rats were in the wings, grimacing at each other, and oh, I forgot, you were there! I do not think any of us will ever forget the look on her face when you dropped that dead rat at her feet after her third time berating Monsieur Reyer for having corrected her pitch. It was so, so, immensely satisfying! She has been picking on the ballet rats all week and…
… I'm sure Monsieur Reyer has been absolutely thankful for your help in pushing Debienne to hire a new violinist, that old one was simply dreadful; he could not tell a tune to save his life, and he was nasty to the younger ballet rats…
… oh and Erik, I know all your unfinished music and work is highly confidential and so precious to you, but I would love to hear some of them. My opinions would not really matter because you know I love all your work, and I am completely untrained and useless at music, but… Erik, are you listening to me?" Amélie suddenly sat up straight, and demanded his attention imperiously.
Erik realized he had been mostly staring at her silently, though all her conversation had been going through his head. "Yes. Yes, I am."
She gave him a very doubtful look. "I would not blame you if you had not been listening. You have many things on your mind."
He flashed her a quick, happy, mischievous grin that made her heart beat a little faster. "You would look lovely in anything, and you're very welcome for the dead rat; I would do it any time again. Yes, Carlotta's voice has been going downhill at a most alarming rate. I try to do my best for the opera house, and Reyer has been doing an excellent job. Yes, I've been watching the ballet de corps practice, and you were good, though I agree Meg has the talent for prima ballerina, and yes, I will let you hear some of my work."
Amélie stared at him in amazement. Erik bowed as best as he could while still propelling the gondola through the water.
"The Opera Ghost does not miss anything out, mademoiselle." He said, with mock haughtiness, and Amélie could not help but smile.
They spent the afternoon just like they had used to, talking about anything they could come up with. Amélie complained about Carlotta's increasingly tyrannical attitude, and giggled over Reyer's attempts to bring her down from her high-horse pedestal, while Erik agreed wholeheartedly with her. Erik sniped about some of the orchestral members' lousy playing, and devised ways to coerce Debienne into replacing them. Amélie stared at him as he talked rather animatedly, his love for the opera house shining through his words. Erik played short excerpts of his current work for her, and as promised, she loved all of his work. Then they sat in companionable silence, side by side, on the divan, reading their own books.
It was not until much later that Amélie realized it had gotten rather late, and she had to get back before her presence was missed. She looked toward Erik, and realized that he had fallen asleep, his head leaning against the back of the divan, his normally pristine hair falling forward onto his face, making him seem a lot younger and more boyish. The mask was pressing into his flesh, and Amélie slowly, slowly untied it and eased it from his face, placing it gently on a side table. She carefully got up from her seat, closing her book and leaving it on the table before them, knowing Erik would want to keep it himself.
She took a few moments to look at his sleeping form, his chest rising and falling with long, deep breaths. Erik had never fallen asleep in front of her before, and it was only now that she could see how tired, how fatigued he had been. In sleep, the corners of his mouth were relaxed, and not pulled tense, and his eyes were now closed peacefully rather than filled with worry. He looked innocent and vulnerable. Between making the decisions for the Palais Garnier, composing his own music, and teaching Christine, Erik was wearing himself thin.
It made Amélie worry.
She went into a spare room and removed the blanket from the bed, carrying it out to the living room and laying it slowly and cautiously over Erik, careful not to disturb him. She then heaped more wood onto the dying embers in the fireplace, to keep the room warm.
"Goodbye, Erik. Sleep well." She whispered. She leaned down, and placed a small kiss on his exposed cheek.
A/N: Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. As usual, please read/review/fav/follow/let me know what you think! xx hazel