A Very Important A/N- Okay, because it's going to be important later, let me just say something right now, regarding the timeline here. Antoinette brought Erik to the Opera Populaire when the pair of them were ten. Antoinette left the opera to get married when she was sixteen, and returned when she was twenty-three (at this time Meg had just turned five). So just to clear things up, that makes Antoinette and Erik now thirty-five, and Meg is seventeen. Got it? Good, because this timeline IS going to be important in future chapters. Okay. Moving on to the story...
When Clothilda first joined the ballet company, she was given no more attention than any other ballerina, but as her talent gained notice, she began to be featured more prominently in the company. Adéle, who had spent the last four years as the star of the Opera Populaire's ballet, was completely thrown by suddenly sharing the spotlight. That much is, perhaps, understandable. Anyone would have been unsettled by such a thing. Her reaction to the new status quo, however, was entirely unacceptable by the standards of basic courtesy.
Clothilda reported being threatened by anonymous notes left on her pillow and in her drawers. Dead rats and other equally unpleasant things mysteriously found their way into her belongings, and it is almost certain that Adéle was responsible for the terrorizing. Monsieur Benoit, it has been said, took no measures to check his protégé's wild behavior.
Antoinette Giry's quarters were small, but considerably more comfortable than the ballet dormitories just outside the door. The space was cozy, the lamps draped so as to provide a softer, more inviting light, and the room was filled with mementos and photographs. Through a door Erik caught a glimpse of a bath that, although tiny, had the advantage of being private. The room smelled strongly of the lavender oil Antoinette used to rub on her hands and he almost smiled at the thought that some things never changed.
True to her word, Meg had led him safely through a series of little-used walkways and one uncomfortably narrow crawlspace behind a false wall that even he hadn't known about. If nothing else, her claim to know the opera house as well as anyone alive certainly seemed to be true. Erik found himself quite impressed by her knowledge, and in fact her in general. Up until a few hours ago, she had hardly ever crossed his thoughts before. He had noticed her, of course, as Antoinette's daughter and Christine's little shadow, but he had never given her more than a passing acknowledgement. Quite suddenly, though, she had taken it upon herself to carve out a place for herself in the spotlight and the results were startling. He never would have guessed that beneath her innocent exterior there was such a bright young woman.
Then again, he supposed, she was very like her mother. She even bore a startling resemblance to Antoinette at that age, though heaven only knew where she had gotten that hair from! Perhaps her father had been fair... Erik shook his head, trying unsuccessfully to settle his thoughts into some kind of order. He couldn't seem to focus on anything and what scrambled thoughts he did manage to pull out were inconsequential. Maybe that was better.
Meg closed the door softly behind them and turned to look at the man she had spirited here. Goodness, he was big! He always seemed to fill up a room with the proud way he carried himself (that much she remembered vividly from the masquerade, how the entire hall seemed suddenly focused on the place where he stood and the rest of the universe might as well not have existed), but even reduced to a heartbroken wreck, his height and broad shoulders made the room feel absolutely tiny.
She noticed, quite suddenly, that he was shivering. Then it occurred to her that she was, as well. It took her a surprising amount of time to realize that they were both soaked to the bone from their separate misadventures in the lake, and several hours of sitting on a wet, freezing stone floor hadn't helped. She supposed she would have to find them some dry clothes or they would both catch their deaths.
"If you'll wait here, I'll go see if the seamstress' rooms are still intact," she said. "Maybe I can find us something dry to wear."
He nodded dumbly at her, and Meg saw again something she had noticed below: though he had done an admirable job of trying to appear calm and unfazed since he had recovered from his hysteria, it was obvious he was fraying around the edges. He was just barely keeping it together, and probably only for her benefit. She wondered if he would still be lying there in the damp and the dark, crying his heart out, if she hadn't come along and found him.
She slipped out of the room, taking care to lock the door behind her on the off-chance that someone was still inside to discover him, and made her way from the ballet dormitories at the back of the building towards the costuming department at the front, just behind the stage. As she approached the front of the theatre, the smell of smoke became stronger, stinging at her nostrils. She rounded a corner and came into full view of the stage.
Meg's heart stopped. The stage and the orchestra pit were little more than damp, ashy ruins, and most of the theatre was damaged beyond repair. The gold leaf that had covered the elegant carvings all around the balconies had peeled off or simply melted from the heat, exposing the wood beneath, all of which was blackened beyond recognition. The grand sweeping aisles of velvet-covered seats were just twisted heaps of metal now, and the great, sparkling chandelier that had poured light down from the dome like a second sun lay in a deformed ruin at the edge of the stage. It was apparent that the fire hadn't spread beyond the theatre, but the devastation here, at the seat of the Opera Populaire's magic, was so great Meg couldn't see how it could ever return to its former majesty.
All the strength she had vanished, the adrenaline that had sustained her these last few hours draining from her. She dropped to her knees on the fire-scarred wood that used to be the stage, and she numbly reached out her hand, swirling it through the ashes. She turned her hand palm-up and studied the ashes that covered her fingertips. A tear dropped onto her skin, and Meg realized with a start that she was crying.
Panic filled her, and she felt an unconquerable need to leave the scene of destruction. She scrambled back to her feet and sprinted away, back into the depths of the opera house, heart pounding painfully in a way that didn't come from exertion, but from horror.
The door flew open and Erik leapt to his feet, prepared to defend his life against whomever had come at last to make him pay for his sins, but it was only Meg. She whirled inside and slammed the door shut behind her, leaning her forehead against it and breathing heavily. He was surprised to hear that she was trying and failing to hold back a sob.
"Mademoiselle?" he asked hesitantly.
She whirled abruptly to face him, hair spinning behind her like a fan, and he saw the soot on her hands and the tears pouring down her livid face. "The theatre is ruined!" she shouted, and it was obvious that she was trying very hard not to break down sobbing. Her ash-covered hands flew to her head, clutching at her scalp. "The opera house is destroyed! This place is the only home I have known my entire life, the only home for hundreds and hundreds of people, and now it's gone, maybe forever, and you did that!" Her normally gentle voice rose to a shriek as she choked on her tears. "You did this, Erik! What the hell were you thinking? I know love makes fools of us all, but why couldn't you be happy with taking her?" She drew in a shaking, sobbing breath. "Why couldn't you just leave it at that? Why did you have to go and destroy everything? God, I- I-"
Her emotions overwhelmed her, and she dragged her hands down from her head to cover her face, painting little streaks of ashy black against her golden hair and fair skin. She let out a bitter sob, and Erik didn't know whether to move to her side to try to comfort her or stay where he was, undeserving to dry the tears of an angel. Suddenly, though, Meg seemed to get the better of her emotions. She took several deep, hiccuping breaths, eyes squeezed shut and curling her hands into fists as she pressed her white knuckles against her lips.
Then her eyes opened and though they were still bright with tears, she was calmer. She straightened her posture, returning to her usual graceful stance, and looked him in the eye. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have shouted," she said.
"You have nothing to be sorry for. You're right, I have done terrible things, but I don't... I c-can't... I just don't know." He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to calm himself as his cold, lifeless heart threatened to choke him once again. When he was sure he could speak without breaking down, he looked up to meet her eyes again. "I am sorry. But I promise you, Meg Giry, I'll find some way to fix this. The opera house is my home, too."
One corner of her lips twitched ever so slightly. "I suppose it is," she said.
Then she let out her breath in a rush, puffing out her cheeks, and her distress seemed to vanish. She was capable, businesslike Meg once more. "You should get some rest," she said, pointing to her mother's neatly-made bed. "You look exhausted."
Erik hesitated, glancing where she pointed. He didn't deserve anything as safe or as comfortable as this, not after everything he had done. "What about you?" he asked.
She shook her head. "One of us should stay awake in case someone comes looking, and you need the sleep more than I do." The look on her face was one he was so used to from her mother, and considering how like Antoinette she had already proved to be, he suspected that arguing would be useless. Very well, he would lie down at any rate. At least it would appease her.
He removed his boots and set them neatly at the foot of the bed. Then he laid himself down gingerly, immediately enveloped in that lavender smell even more strongly here. He glanced at Meg, who was busying herself with dimming the lamps, and once he had ascertained that her back was very much to him, he slipped the mask of and laid it on Antoinette's bedside table, burying the right side of his face in the soft pillow. He closed his eyes, just for a moment...
Meg couldn't help the tiny smile that crossed her lips as she threw a glance across the room at Erik. She was pretty sure he had fallen asleep from the moment he lay down. She wondered how long it had been since he had slept. The poor thing had been hard-pressed even to stand up straight, which had been at least half of her reasoning behind ordering him into bed. She moved as silently as she was able to the bed and sat carefully on the very edge next to him. It was testimony to how tired he really had been that he didn't even stir as her weight shifted the mattress.
Sleep robbed him of some of his guardedness, giving her the chance to study his features properly. He really was handsome, she noted. In fact, he was devastatingly so. The ruined right side of his face didn't change that. Had his features been regular, he could have had his pick of any woman in the world, but even as he was, she certainly thought he was good-looking. Meg remembered that moment in the caverns below when he had looked up at her with those piercing blue eyes. Beautiful eyes...
The little smile widened and she brushed a lock of his sandy hair away from his forehead. Who on earth was he, this solitary man who was somehow gentle and deadly all at the same time? How on earth was she to separate Erik from the Phantom? Where did the mask end and the man begin? This look at him when he was so vulnerable was enlightening, but he was still as much a mystery as he had been her entire life.
People began filtering back into the Opera Populaire around dawn, and Antoinette Giry was the first inside. Her daughter wasn't among those who had emerged, dripping, from the catacombs. Many claimed to have seen her there and in fact, a few people had actually said she had lead the way down. Antoinette was torn between pride at her daughter's courage and anger at Meg's foolishness, and both were overruled by her fear that her only child might not have survived the disaster.
She was certain, though, that if Meg had come back up from the depths, she would make her way to the one absolutely safe haven the opera house afforded- her own rooms. Antoinette all but flew through the unnaturally silent halls to her door, trying hard not to see the destruction that had been wrought all around.
When she unlocked her door and peered inside, relief filled her, followed quickly by an equal amount of utter confusion. Meg sat on the floor next to her bed, her blonde head resting on her folded arms on the edge of the mattress, dozing. On the bed lay Erik's unmistakeable figure, obviously deeply asleep. Her breath caught sharply in her chest; she hadn't been this close to him since they were just sixteen. Oh, she had caught glimpses of him here and there since then, seen him stalking about in his mask and his cape, but she hadn't seen him properly for nearly twenty years.
Once the surprise passed, Antoinette noted with amusement that the pair were wearing identical outfits; as strange a sight as the two of them were, she couldn't help but mentally compare them to matching salt and pepper pots.
At the sound of the door opening, Meg's eyes fluttered open and she glanced around sharply. Once she had seen who it was, she threw a look at Erik. Having apparently satisfied herself that he was still asleep, she raised a finger to her lips to indicate that Antoinette should be quiet and rose to her feet with all the grace that thirteen years of intensive ballet training had given her. She crossed the room to her mother and the two of them embraced in silently. They didn't need words to express their mutual relief at finding the other one alive and safe.
A/N part deux- No, I didn't reveal which instruments I elected for Erik to take in this chapter. What can I say? It wasn't important. It would have been just stuffing in totally random dialogue for no reason. When it becomes important in a chapter or two, I assure you that you'll find out what I went with. In the meantime, requests are still open for that third slot if you care to try and convince me one way or another for that...