Hey-hi-hiddle-huggle-heedle-hee-ho! This chapter reveals a very important secret Madeline has. Bee dee ba! That was a reference, by the way. Oh, and I LOVED the reviews I got last time! Can you guys do that again? Cause it'd be cool if you did.

Well, there's not much else for me to say, so read on!

Chapter 17: Recovery

The maids were very busy. They bustled about frantically. None of them seemed to really believe that a little girl could properly tend to their master or his friends. They were constantly knocking on the door and asking if they should change the sheets or if they could "lend a tiny bit of their skills".

"Goodness, you'd think they'd never seen a child prodigy before." grumbled Genevieve as she returned to her work. Erik had to smile.

They had returned from the fight and settled in a room with two beds in it. Henri was in one and Armand in the other. Erik sat in the corner, as he was not badly wounded and did not require much care he could not provide for himself. He looked into his friends faces. Armand was pale, and worryingly so. The gash in his arm had been serious and he had passed out from blood loss. They had decided to call a doctor, who was likely to arrive within the hour. Henri was sleeping peacefully. His leg would be out of commission for a week or two, but he would definitely recuperate over time. Genevieve sat on the floor, blurry eyed. She yawned. She's probably never stayed up this late. Erik noted that the clock on the wall read 3h 27.

"Here, Genny, you may have my chair." The man stood and went for the door. "I am going to speak with your sister." The child ran eagerly to his seat as Erik made his way down the hall. A maid became absolutely fascinated by the dirty laundry she was carrying as Erik passed her. A young manservant discovered that the design on the wallpaper absolutely enthralling as Erik walked down corridor. The disfigured man knew it was because they didn't want to seem rude by staring at his face. He didn't mind. In fact, it made him feel surprised, but pleased. It meant that people cared about how he felt or what he thought of him. No one had done that before.

He reached the door to Madeline's room. For obvious reasons, she was not staying with the men. No one had seen her since they had returned. She wouldn't let anyone into her domain. But he felt he had to speak with her, to make sure she was alright, to comfort her.

He took a deep breath and knocked on the door. Nothing happened. He tried again.

"Madeline? It's me, Erik. May I come in?"

No response. He opened the door the tiniest bit and then closed it again. He heard the sound of a glass bottle smashing against the wood. This might be harder than I anticipated . . "Madeline, I'm coming in." There were no sounds from the other side. Taking one final moment to prepare himself, Erik threw the door open and marched into her room.

There was a pause, and then a bottle of perfume flew at him and hit him in the gut. It smashed on the floor and the room immediately stank of vanilla, to a point it was over-whelming.

"What are yo- oof!" another bottle hit him in the chest and broke on his feet. This one was lavender. The little fragments cut through his shoes. Yet another hit him in the leg. The glass shattered on the floorboards. This one was by far the heaviest scent. The whole place was washed in the smell of roses.

Erik coughed indignantly and tried to fan the stink away from him. When he was able to breathe again, he looked around to see the young woman standing by the vanity, poised to through a water jug at him. They stared at each other for a minute. Suddenly Madeline's bad leg gave way beneath her and she almost fell, but she caught herself on the edge of the vanity. Erik rushed to her side and helped to over to the bed and sat down with her.

"What was that?" he demanded, but not too harshly. "I am not going to hurt you, Maddi. There's no need to attack me. I came to help."

The young woman looked at him. She had taken a bath and washed her hair, and she looked much better now, appearance-wise, anyway. She was wearing a simple yet elegant dress she had borrowed from a maid. The Brunet manor did not house any females otherwise. Madeline gazed into Erik's eyes sadly. She was biting her lip. Suddenly she burst into hysterical sobs and buried her face in Erik's shirt.

Erik was absolutely stunned. He had never, ever, in his whole life, had anyone do something such as this. He stared at the top of the girl's head. He was baffled. That didn't occur often. He didn't know how to react in the least. He decided to just wait it out. Soon, he realized that Madeline was talking between sobs.

"Oh, Erik! I d-d-don't know wh-what to d-do an-an-an-anymore! I'm s-so c-c-confused. I keep thinking h-h-he'll show up wh-when I'm not looking and grab m-m-me from b-behind. And . . . and I have to t-tell Papa something im-important, but I-I-I don't know how I'm going to . . . to do it and what he'll do when he finds out . . ."

Erik waited patiently for her to run out of tears. When she did, she straightened up and wiped her eyes. "Sorry . . . I had to do that."

The man wasn't quite sure how to respond to that, either. Should he ask her about her ramblings? Or should he continue as he had planned to before the perfume incident. He chose the latter.

"Madeline, I noticed earlier . . ." he paused in a very awkward, un-Phantom like way and tried to find a good way to word what he was attempting to say. He seemed to have lost all his usual characteristics. Stolidity being one of them. "Your back." He said simply.

Madeline was very much amused by Erik's nervousness, and tried hard not to show it. "My back?" of course, she knew what he was referring to, but decided she might as well have a little fun.

"Yes, that. I saw it was not exactly in what one would call a 'good way'. I assumed Bakar . . . with his whip . . . well, I have this cream." he continued hastily "It would help the healing process and limit scarring." He produced a little tin from his pocket. He watched his companion's face as she considered his offer. All the while, he was yelling at himself mentally. You blubbering fool! What are you doing? "Your back"? What was that? Erik began to plan in his mind what he was going to say. He had never felt this odd feeling before. It was like he was some unpopular adolescent who had grown up going to a strict, sheltered all-boys school trying to woo a rich pretty girl for the first time. He hated the feeling. Even during his real teenage years, this had never felt this uncomfortable emotion. Not that he had ever had a chance to.

Madeline decided there was no harm in complying. She turned and Erik began to undo the buttons on the back of her gown. He was pleased to see that his fingers had not been affected by the clumsiness of his mind as he unlaced her corset. They both realized that if anyone were to walk in at that very moment, they would most likely misinterpret what was happening and there would be much embarrassed explaining that would not necessarily be believed. The last thing Armand needs right now is scandal flying about his household. Erik decided, and was about to stop, when a memory came to his mind's eye that convinced him to continue. He put a little of the ointment on his fingers and started rubbing it into the cuts on Madeline's skin.

The girl was tense first, but then relaxed under his touch. Underneath the stench of the perfume she could smell the light scent of almonds that was tinged with some sort of flower. It made her feel very calm, and she was grateful for it. Then a question crossed her mind.

"Erik?" she asked "Did you make that balm yourself?"

"Yes. Why do you ask?"

"Why did you have it in your pocket?" Erik froze. How was he going to respond to that? Madeline went on jokingly. "Is just because one can never tell when a random passerby decides you deserve a beating? Just in case. You never know."

There was a long silence "Erik?" she turned her head to look at him. He was staring at the floor, deep in thought. She could only see the disfigured half of his face. She saw that there was dried blood on his forehead from where he had been struck on the face. "Are you alright?' Madeline grew concerned. Finally, he spoke.

"You guessed correctly."

"What de you mean?"

"Have you ever heard of a freak show?"

Madeline began to understand. "Oh, God. Erik . . . are you saying . . .?"

"That is precisely what I am saying."

Madeline was absolutely stunned. What was she supposed to do? It wasn't a common scenario, this. No matter how adaptable you were, it was not an easy thing to deal with. Then Erik decided to tell her his story. And it horrified her all the more.

"I was nine when they caught me. Gypsies, it was. I was running away from home. I was lost in the forest, I hadn't eaten in so long, so I was trying to steal from them when they grabbed me and forced me to take off my mask. One of their company realized there was a profit to be made off of my ugliness. Next thing I knew, I was in a cage. Javert, I think, was my master's name. Though I had many other things I called him inside my head. I am most likely not permitted to say any of them out load in front of a lady.

"He had a fondness for spirits, Javert. And I am not referring to the art of communicating the deceased that is so popular amongst his people. He was always yelling about something or other, and was never seen without his whip. It was not the sort of whip one would with a horse, oh no. This was more like the kind used on Good Friday. Pieces of glass were imbedded in the leather."

Madeline didn't want to hear any more, but at the same time she knew she had to listen, for his sake. He continued. "Javert, as I have said, greatly enjoyed alcohol. It had done permanent damage, I think, or perhaps the man was not properly sane. But either way, he found some reason to beat me at least once a day. Once when the band was traveling, he would stop at mealtimes and strike me for making too much noise, even though I had been sleeping silently for more than three hours. I don't believe he considered me truly human, and I suppose I never did the same for him. He was too cruel to be one of us, or at least that's what I thought then. Now I realize that all people are like that. They don't like what is different. They try to destroy it, or at least make it suffer.

"A few years later the gypsies were in Paris. We went through the usual routine: the crowd comes, they see my face, they laugh as Javert shows his skills with the whip. Then they give Javert money for his entertainment. But around the fourth time we did that that day, something changed. While Javert was distracted, I saw a piece of rope, and my chance. I strangled him before he even had a chance to turn around. Then a young girl, Antoinette Giry, saw that the police were coming, and led me to the catacombs of the opera house. I have lived there ever since, solitary, in darkness."

There was an utter silence. Madeline had not been expecting that. She had always supposed Erik had not had a pleasant past, but never something so horrible. She imagined little Genevieve, her sister whom she so loved dearly, in a cage, alone, hated. How could anyone do such a thing to a child? True, the disfigurement was ugly, but it was not hideous. What world do we live in, where we destroy a life out of small disgust? Suddenly, Erik's strange behavior at the opera made sense. What love he had felt for Christine had been the only love he had ever known. He would've done anything to preserve it, even if he had to kill. A little idea blossomed in her mind.

Madeline reached forward and plucked the little tin from his hand. He looked up at her.

"Hold still." She put one hand on the back of his head and started to massage the salve into the slash on his face. Erik was confused at first, but then realized that the girl was trying to help him. He had completely forgotten about the lacerations that covered his own body. He noticed that Madeline was staring straight at the broken part of his visage. But it was not the kind of discriminating, horrified staring, but more like the way anyone would gaze at the face of the face of anyone else. It was barely staring, really. It was just looking, and she was only focusing at the task at hand.

"Your chest is bleeding, too." Madeline said when she finished. Erik knew she was trying to help him. His arms, back, and stomach had also felt the sting of the lash at least twenty times. Bakar was not one for mercy. Erik knew they could get infected. He should let himself be tended to. Any normal person would have. But a worry in the back of his mind nipped at common sense. Reluctantly, he chose to adhere to her suggestion and removed his shirt.

Madeline stared. Now she was truly even more horrified, if such an emotion was possible. Most of Erik's torso was scar tissue. She could see that most of the individual marks had been torn open again while they had been healing so long ago and now made his skin appear grotesque. He was well muscled, and would've made just about every girl Madeline knew tear their own ears off for one glimpse of him shirtless if it hadn't been for those scars (A/N: I am not one of those people. I swear. Trust me (shifty eyes).). The tiniest bit of doubt she'd had in Erik's story flickered and died that very second. No way would anyone do something like that to themselves just for attention. Even in a suicidal state of mind, no one would do that to themselves.

She began to apply the cream to a slash on his shoulder, but more gingerly this time, like she was afraid she was going to hurt him too much. He saw it.

"Madeline, the scars are from old wounds. I can't feel them now."

"I know, Erik, it's just . . ."

". . . Just hard to get used to. I know."

Madeline continued tending to the cuts, and neither of them said anything. When she was done she returned to Erik. She looked at the sheets of the bed they were sitting on, not wanting to make eye contact. It was so awkward for many long minutes.

Suddenly, Madeline found herself staring not at the blankets, but at Erik's eyelids. They were closed in pleasure. Their lips were touching. No, touching was not the right word. They were locked. Erik had grabbed her face and pressed her lips into his so fast she hadn't even noticed. This time, she didn't protest. She let him kiss her. There was no point in denying that she enjoyed it.

There was not point in denying that she was in love.

---

Henri limped down the hall, leaning on the wall for support. The doctor had just arrived to see to Armand. Henri had come to a few minutes before, and decided that he should leave the room so he wouldn't get underfoot for any reason. He had decided to visit Madeline. He had not spoken to her in so long. He needed to tell her how much he had missed her.

Finally he came to her door. It was slightly ajar. He pushed it open a bit and peered inside.

What he saw was enough to get any parent and average churchgoer a heart attack.

His daughter was sitting on a bed with Erik. The back of her corset was open quite wide. Erik was completely topless. The two were kissing rather passionately. Their eyes were sealed tightly in contentment.

Stunned, the father stood there in the doorway, unsure of what to do.

Then Madeline opened her eyes. She almost jumped. There stood her father, mouth agape, staring at them, shocked. Erik sensed her alarm and turned around.

"Good morning, M. Boufard." said Erik calmly. "It's good to see you out of bed so soon."

Henri opened and closed his mouth a few times before he managed to speak. "I . . . I am going to see . . . I'll go . . . I'll ask if the cooks can start breakfast." He turned tail and hobbled away as fast as his injured leg would allow.

The couple almost fell off the bed laughing.

---

The group congregated once more in the dining room. Armand was very groggy from the amount of medication that had been forced down his throat, but he had joined them for breakfast anyway. Genevieve was dead tired, and much in the same state of awareness as the former. Henri had had some sleep, but he was not feeling very well. Erik was sitting silently, thinking. Madeline was much the same. Finally she broke the hush and made everyone jump.

"It will be impossible to forget Bakar."

Henri reached out and touched her hand. "I know, Madeline. But remember, he's gone now, behind the stone walls of prison. He can never hurt you."

"Well, it's not Bakar himself I fear now. And it's not a thing that can be taken away."

"What do you mean, Maddi?" all attention was on the girl now. Everyone was giving her quizzically looks, even the heavily drugged Armand.

"I-" Madeline hesitated. Should she tell him? It would be hard to hide. He would have to learn sometime. But everyone was there. It would be strange with everyone knowing. They saved me. They have the right to know. She decided, and took a deep breath.

"I am carrying Bakar's child."

And that's why this phic is rated T.