Normal=Present

Italics=Flashback

Two weeks later, Antoinette was making preparations to visit Raoul and Christine—the wedding was over a week away, but they had requested not only her attendance to the actual event, but the company of both the Madame and Meg Giry a few days prior. Christine had also requested that Meg be her Maid of Honor, if possible. When Antoinette told her daughter, she lit up like a fresh candle.

"It will be so wonderful to see her again, to be able to talk like we used to…I think perhaps when she marries she will have little time for her old friends…I don't think she'll want the bad memories that will come along with the good."

Meg's face grew darker with that last sentence, and although the look she gave her mother asked for her words to be negated, Antoinette could only hug her, and offer the most optimistic reassurance she could think of.

"Christine is stronger and smarter than many of us have given her credit for, Meg. We can't try and predict her actions…now let us talk of it no more until we leave on Saturday."

It was Tuesday morning, early enough that the birds had only just started their morning song, and the smell of baking bread drifted through the open window that looked out onto the street. It had been two weeks since He'd dined with them, and neither Antoinette nor Meg had seen him since. Every night Antoinette would hear noises coming from the attic, but she wasn't sure if it was her imagination or reality. She refused to let it haunt her. Most of the time, that refusal was effective.

"Meg, go to the bakery and grab whatever loaf is freshest," She ordered, "While you're out check to see what it would cost us to rent a buggy and driver for a trip..." She drifted off, Meg would understand.

The petite blonde nodded, and took the small purse her mother was holding out, "I'll be back within the hour," She smiled as she walked out the door.

Antoinette's own face was graced with a small smile as she watched her daughter—now her only light in her world—move with such youthful optimism. Her daughter had the best of both traits, she mused. She had her father's happy attitude and if she paused long enough to think, she really did have Antoinette's good sense. Her biggest problem wasn't even her impulsiveness; it was that terrible, unquenchable curiosity that had plagued her since she was born.

The thought sparked the smile on Antoinette's face, and it broadened into something much more genuine, before the Madame shook it off with a sigh. She'd applied as Ballet Mistress to the only other school in the area, and was still waiting to hear back. That left her with little but a few house-chores and her own thoughts.

Antoinette knew if her daughter were placed in the position Antoinette had been in as a ballet girl…she would have taken the same action. Perhaps that was why she was so understanding of her mother's odd relationship—not because she was her daughter, but because Meg understood the real why of the whole tangled, emotional mess of an equation.

***

Sometime in the middle of Wednesday night or perhaps very early Thursday morning, a peculiar scraping sound jerked Antoinette into wakefulness. She flew into a sitting position, her hand flying to her chest reflexively. There was nothing—no one—in her room. Her window was closed, the curtains still. Her door was shut, everything exactly as it had been when she slumbered. Deciding it had been her own superstition, Antoinette lay back down.

Thursday morning, Antoinette's face went a plastery shade of grey as she tied her robe around her dressing gown and prepared to go make breakfast—she and Meg traded off days, and today was Meg's day, but Antoinette doubted her daughter had woken this early, and she was hungry. Hanging from the top of the mirror above her dresser, falling down in a shimmering cascade of deep and light red was a silk-and-velvet dress. Although the cloth was the exact same as the one in Madame Babin's shop, the make of the dress seemed finer than any of the examples the woman had had in her shop.

Antoinette walked towards the regal dress, unable to make any sort of sound, not even a gasp. When she reached it, she extended her arm and brushed the fabric softly. As it moved with her touch, something near the top of it came loose and fell at her feet, at last startling a gasp from her.

She bent and picked up the letter, and the flower that had fallen along with it. The note simply said

Compensation.

The single word, unsigned, was written in bold letters that were, for the Phantom, rather plain. The flower, which she hadn't done more than glance at, was not a rose as she had first assumed. She peered at it more closely, and when she realized what it was, her breath froze in her lungs again.

"Well, what do you think?" Antoinette twirled again in front of Erik, showing off her new costume. She still couldn't believe she'd gotten a lead dance part. Finally, after all this time. She slowed her twirls, however, when she saw Erik's face.

"What's wrong?" She asked him. He was frowning severely at her, a strong expression for his young, scarred face.

It had taken him a year before he was comfortable with leaving his sack—at this point his mask—off around her. She suspected even now she was more comfortable with his face than he was, and he left it off only because he didn't really realize he didn't have it on.

It had taken the full five years she'd known him for him to accept casual touch, both giving and receiving, and habit made Antoinette stand pin-straight and still as he walked up to her and put one hand on her waist, pulling up and bunching some of the fabric before letting it down again and circling her.

"It's not cinched enough at the waist, and the neckline is crooked. And the trimming isn't the right shade. What kind of idiot is making your costumes anyway?" He asked her critically.

Slightly hurt, Antoinette folded her arms and pulled away from him, "It's not quite finished yet, but I wanted to show you while I could. I thought you'd care." She sniffed.

Suddenly, his frown changed into a smile, it was such a rare expression that Antoinette immediately smiled back, wanting to do whatever she could to keep that expression on his face, even if he was being cruel.

"I didn't mean to upset you, 'Nette." She'd told him how much she despised the nickname "Annie" early on, and he had promptly decided to start calling her "net", which Antoinette sometimes thought was worse, but she had to admit that his argument made some sense—He'd chosen a simple name, so it would only be fair for her to have such an easy one as well.

Erik continued, "It's only, I know how much this means to you, so it's important to me too. I'm sure it'll look better once it's finished…still." He gave the dress one last glance, and then abruptly turned and walked away from her, calling over his shoulder, "Wait just one more moment, please, I have something I want to give you." He disappeared around some tunnel's curve.

When he returned a good five to ten minutes later, he was wearing the clothe mask he'd fashioned recently. It fell over the top of his head like a hat, and the front part worked almost like a skin-tight veil, with eye-holes cut and the edges sewn so that he could see out of it clearly. It wasn't as bad as the sack he'd been wearing when Antoinette had first seen him…but it still lended an element of the ridiculous to him, and she wished he'd just leave it off. Her gaze drifted off his face when he handed something to her.

"Happy Birthday," He said the phrase awkwardly, but there was a note of cheerfulness in his tone that made Antoinette want to giggle. She was still puzzled, however.

"I didn't say anything to you, how did you know it was my birthday?" She questioned.

"Well, first of all, you've told me before, and I vaguely remembered the date this year, so I kept my ears open. Your ballet friends talk and giggle too much." He shoved the thing in his hands more forcefully at her, and at last Antoinette took it.

It was a lovely green glass vase with ferns and a single bloom in it. The flower was the most beautiful white-pink bloom, the petals heavy and glowing.

"Oh," She murmured, tracing the petals with her finger gently, "What is it?"

"It's a water lily." He said, his tone was even, but just barely, "I…I did some reading, because I wanted to show you how grateful I am for the things you've done for me. A water lily means 'purity of heart'. It just seemed appropriate…I don't know anyone that would've done what you did just because of empathy." He paused, watching her for a moment, his expression hidden by the hat-mask, before he cleared his throat and continued, "The ferns…well, they are easy to get—and that flower wasn't, to let you know—they mean shelter. Not just because you sheltered me…I'll always keep you somewhere in my heart. I know it."

It sounded as if he were trying to reassure himself as much as her…it was so strange.

"I'll never forget you, ever." Impulsively, he removed the mask, and Antoinette watched him intensely, something suddenly striking her as off. Everything about this scene seemed so unlike him. When he reached out to take her hand, she was positively frightened.

"I don't know—" He broke off whatever he was about to say, and just held her hand for a moment before he continued, "I'm not…whole, 'Nette." He held up his other hand to stop the words about to fly from her open mouth.

"I don't mean my face…not just my face. Inside me, there's something that's just not there. And you've always helped me make up for it…but you're not always going to be my friend like you are now. You've got too much to do." He released her hand suddenly, and turned his back to her.

"I'm sure I'll always have time to visit you, though." Her voice was bewildered, forlorn. She knew, hearing herself, that she sounded much younger than she actually was. He had a way of making her feel that way, for all that he was a few years younger than herself.

She took a step towards him.

"Don't" The word cracked through the dank chamber around them, making Antoinette jump and freeze in place.

"Please, just take the flower and…" He paused, breathed in a ragged breath, and donned the mask once more, before he turned to her, "I'll watch you tomorrow evening. Don't doubt that." And he walked away.

Breathing shallowly, Antoinette made her way back up into the Opera House, her normally light feet feeling heavy and clumsy as she tried to figure out just what was happening to the person that she cared most about in the world.

The flower that had been included with the note was the most beautiful white-pink bloom, the petals heavy and glowing. Antoinette stared at it for a long, long moment, before she set it on her dresser, and walked out of her room, suddenly feeling as if she couldn't breathe. She traced the wall with her hands as she walked along, unsure if her legs would hold her. She walked out of the house into the very small front yard, and then into the street. She didn't know where she was going. She just knew she needed to get out of her house for a few moments at least.

Well, this was an interesting chapter…and the dress and flower aren't quite such a romantic gesture as you might believe…Erik has his own desires still, and he's still determined to make people do his bidding. Even Antoinette. Well, review, tell me how you liked it! (I wrote this exhausted after being up 24 hours, so probably not my best chapter ever).