Erik stayed at her bedside for a few hours after she fell asleep. He watched as her chest rose and fell quietly, listened to the words she spoke in her sleep, and rolled his eyes when she managed to make a mess of her hair. She was obviously messy in her sleep, he learned quickly - the bed sheets were sprawled everywhere, a pillow was down by her feet, and she had moved onto her side. It only angered him further to be stuck dealing with this girl.

He flipped Alison onto her back, moved the pillows back, and pulled the blanket over her again. She groaned in her sleep and instantly moved onto her side again.

Ridiculous. He shook his head and looked at her serene face. The bruises on her face had gotten larger and her face was swollen. There was still the cut on her face he had yet to tend to and decided to busy himself doing that.

He fetched bandages and a small antibacterial wipe. He had found a first aid kit years ago when the theater was required to have them in certain locations, and figured it may come in use one day. Today was that day.

He opened the wipe, stared at it curiously, and then stuck it to her face. He left it there for a few seconds to look for a reaction, and when there was none he removed it to replace with a bandaid. Once it was secured on her face, he found his eyes lingering to other places on her face that he shouldn't be looking at.

Her eyebrows. Her eyelashes. The scar on her forehead. The mole on the right side of her face.

He shook his head at himself and turned to put away the kit.

Foolish. I hate this girl. He glared at her sleeping form, but then his gaze softened. Then why are you keeping her down here? Why didn't you let her die?

He was ready to smash a mirror at his internal battle when he heard Alison stir from her slumber. Her eyes slowly slid open and she looked around at the room with pain in her eyes. When they landed on the Phantom, they slightly widened before she slid away.

"You," she said, breathing heavy. She couldn't remember much of anything, other than at one time she had been walking and the next . . . darkness. Now she was in a place she didn't know, sitting next to the ghost of the theater. He looked at her, tilted his head, and said nothing. "What happened?"

"You fell," he said, and noticed that her voice was soft again. It wasn't ditzy or delusional - just soft.

"I know that. How did I get-" She went to sit up and pushed on her wrist. As soon as she did, a sharp gasp left her mouth and tears threatened to spill from her eyes. She fell back onto the bed helplessly.

"I pulled you out." She looked at him, unbelieving. She wondered how he had found her but decided not to question it.

"Oh . . . well, Erik, thank you." He looked at her curiously, surprised by what she had said. "You saved my life."

"You are welcome." He couldn't believe that she had thanked him. He hated her, and the words she spoke made him feel sorry for what he had done to her. It even made him wonder if he just hated the girl because he could. He still couldn't pinpoint why he hated her.

They both went silent and Erik stood from his chair next to the bed.

"Madame Petit will be awake by now. I will escort you to her chambers." Alison nodded and stood from the bed with Erik awkwardly lingering close by to make sure she didn't fall. He turned his back from her and walked from the room. She trailed behind as they walked to the main section of his home, and she stopped in her place with an amazed sigh.

Erik stopped, annoyed, but once he saw the fascinated look in Alison's eyes he realized that he shouldn't ruin her moment. It was the same look he had given Christine at one time in his life.

"Is this your home?" Alison asked, studying the candelabras and then the piles of books.

"It is." He crossed his arms as she drifted around the cave, careful not to touch anything or linger for too long.

"This is a writer's haven," she said, smiling softly. "The piles of books reminds me of home."

Against his will, Erik grew curious as to what she meant. She brushed a thin layer of dust from a few books and looked back at him to see him furrowing his eyebrows.

"Your home?" he said at last. He wanted to slap himself for striking conversation with the girl.

"Well, my room, specifically. I love to read." She looked over the books with a sad look in her eyes, Erik noticed. She seemed to be thinking of something from the past. "It distracts me. I ran out of bookshelf space in my room, and I have piles of books everywhere. What kind of books do you like?"

He didn't want to answer, but something from his mind told him to. Against his stubbornness to ignore this girl, Erik replied to her question.

"Classic. Music." She nodded, then looked up at him.

"I like music books, too, but probably not the ones you mean." At his confused look, she smiled. "Modern music."

"I see." Despite the bruises on her face, she still had a way of making the room brighter. She had a slight limp to her walk and she winced as she went around the room, but it didn't seem to keep her from what she wanted to see.

"You've read Phantom of the Opera, right?" she asked, tilting her head curiously.

"I am aware of the book, yes." The thought of it made him scowl. When he had first read it a few years before his death, he was furious and wished to hunt down the author. He hadn't captured Christine's beauty. The author made him out to be a villain, and Raoul the hero. He didn't capture important details. It was a mess to him.

"It's a favorite of mine," Alison admitted, a faint blush on her cheeks. "Actually, it's my favorite piece of French literature."

"Why."

"Well . . ." She stood straighter, but flinched at the pain in her leg and leaned against a writing desk. "I like the complexity of the characters. It's hard to find something like that in books nowadays."

"It is unrealistic."

"But didn't it happen?" He glared at her, and she looked to the ground. Erik suddenly remembered what he wanted to do and beckoned her away from his space. She limped to him and followed him to a little boat.

He offered a hand to help her in, but she politely declined and sat down. Erik stood behind her and began to paddle them away. It was silent between them, and Erik enjoyed that, but she ruined his pleasure by speaking.

"I think you would really like The Great Gatsby," she said, turning to look at him. He continued to stare straight ahead with a stern gaze. "If you want . . . you can borrow my copy. I mean, you don't have to, but . . ."

"Leave it in balcony 5." She turned around and smiled brightly to herself, making a mental note to leave the book where he had said. They reached another area of the catacombs and Erik tied off the boat and watched as Alison stood. As soon as she went to step from it, however, it began to lean.

As soon as she lost her balance, Erik's instincts kicked in and he caught her around the waist. She gasped at the sudden events and held onto Erik's arms to help steady herself. She looked up with fear in her eyes, and Erik noticed that there was something else in their blue depth.

He didn't want to let her go. Her curvy waist felt nice under his hands, her arms gripping his felt right, and he enjoyed the feeling of vulnerability he had over her. She moved, breaking his trance, and he allowed her to stand straighter.

"Be more careful next time." She nodded and followed him up a set of stairs to a corridor. It was silent the rest of the way through the labyrinth of tunnels before he led them to a two-way mirror into a dressing room. He slid it aside and allowed her to step through first. He shut it again and Alison estimated it was sometime in the morning. When they stepped from the room and she heard the few voices from backstage, she knew it had to be.

"Wait here." He left her in an isolated corridor and strode down the hall with his cape billowing around him. She watched with a raised eyebrow, then leaned against the wall to look at her wrist. It was swollen and bruised and she flinched at the look. It was even worse that it was her painting wrist, and fear coursed through her as she realized she may lose her job.

I can't! She thought, tears coming to her eyes. I've worked so long for this!

She heard approaching footsteps and dried the tears, trying to look as natural as possible.

"You are lucky I do not smudge the whole property!" She realized the angry voice of Madame Petit, and saw her short form getting closer down the hallway. When she was directly in front of Alison with her stern eyes looking over her face, she only began to look angrier. She snapped her gaze to look at Erik like an eagle zoning in on its prey. "My newest addition, Erik. I am disappointed, after everything I have done for you."

Alison raised an eyebrow. Madame Petit lifted her wrist to look at, then sighed with anger once she realized it was her dominant hand.

"You will make this up to me," she demanded. Erik looked to the ground and Alison could've laughed. A ghost, afraid of a human!

"Madame-"

"Do not begin with me!" She pointed an accusing finger at him. "My employee was hurt at your cause! I will not simply overlook this as I have with other things you have done in the past."

She placed an arm around Alison's shoulders, guiding her down the hallway. Alison wondered how Madame Petit knew Erik seemingly well, but was too afraid to ask at the moment. In fact, she was afraid to say anything between the fuming woman and frustrated Erik.

"I will take you to the hospital," Madame Petit said. "I will call Josephine and inform her."

"Okay," Alison said, unsure.

"Where is your health card?"

"In my room." Madame Petit whipped around and snapped her fingers.

"You. Go fetch it." Erik turned around to make his way to her room, and Alison watched him until she could no longer see his retreating back.

He thought angrily to himself, and cursed ever meeting the girl.

I regret this. He went back through the dressing room, through the mirror, and made his way through the catacombs. He wanted to stop and clear his mind, but he knew that Madame Petit would only make things worse if he stopped.

He reached the hatch to her room in no time and was pleased to see everything was still as it had been left. He slid through the hatch, stepped out of the wardrobe, and looked around. It was then that he realized he never asked Alison where this "card" would be.

Cursing himself, he looked through the drawers of the dresser, in the little nooks he had discovered years before, even looked under the bed. He eventually gave up, picked up the purse she had carried from the theater the day prior, and carried it out of the room to the tunnels.

Madame Petit and Alison were waiting on the marble staircase for him. He didn't look Alison in the eye as he handed her the purse.

She used her uninjured wrist to dig into the purse and pull out a navy-blue wallet. She fished out a white card, handed it to Madame Petit, and closed the purse.
"You and I will be having a talk later," Madame Petit said with squinted eyes. "You are lucky for now."

She turned from the phantom, put an arm around Alison's shoulder, and led her out of the building.