God, help her!
Erik scrambled towards Christine, caring little for dirtying his suit as he bundled the limp soprano into his arms. "Christine! My God— please!" he choked out, hands trembling as he tried to put pressure on the wound, blood pushing past his fingers despite his attempts.
"I didn't mean to…" Meg mumbled, wide eyes staring at the blood spreading over Christine's dress, smoking gun dropped to the ground.
"Antoinette, get Gangle immediately!" Feeling half delirious he watched Madame Giry scramble to her feet and run off the pier before he briefly glanced at the sobbing boy at Christine's side. Comforting him would have to wait. It was possible Christine may survive if Gangle came quick enough—he was a doctor, he would know what to do.
Meg kneeled next to Christine as well, tears streaking her cheeks. "Erik, I didn't mean to—"
"Shut up!" he snapped at her, golden eyes ablaze with his fury. "For now, put pressure on that wound, dammit!" He yanked at her hands and shoved them against Christine's wound, pressing harshly onto them. He turned to Gustave and was about to pull the boy close when he saw the blood staining his hands. Instead, he clenched his jaw and dropped his hands, shuffling closer to the sobbing child. "It will be okay, Gustave," he tried to comfort him, though he couldn't deny the waver in his voice or the trembling of his hands.
He was not fit to be a father, how could he possibly— Why had Christine told him after all, she knew him, knew he wouldn't ever be fit to care for a child— Just when he finally had her, damned Meg Giry thinking herself so broken and alone-
"What is— Dear god! Christine!" A blur of brown sped past and the Vicomte kneeled down next to the unconscious Christine, eyes wide and red.
He had been crying.
The Vicomte grasped Christine's hand, lifeless and cold in the ocean's breeze. "What happened?" he asked to nobody in particular, then almost alarmedly looking at his son. "Oh, Gustave—" Instinctively he wrapped the child in his arms. He glanced up to Erik, and even in this damned situation there was fury and contempt within them.
Erik glared straight back, despite this fucking mess, and then past him as Gangle and Madame Giry approached. Immediately he stood and called for them, glaring at the crying blonde desperately pressing onto Christine's abdomen. Hopefully they were quick enough.
Gangle shoved everybody aside and started barking instructions to Meg and Madame Giry.
Erik only had half the mind present to listen, knowing the man wasn't addressing him. His heart still racing and adrenaline pulsing through his veins he stared at the Vicomte trying to comfort the boy, kneeled in front of him and whispering sweet nothings as only a father could.
"Will she…" he started, so quiet he wasn't heard over the commotion. He cleared his throat and steadied himself, taking a deep breath. "Gangle," he said, steadying the tremble of his hands by clutching onto the watch in his pocket. "Will she make it?" His voice still broke and he cursed inwardly.
"Up in the air, sir," Gangle said matter-of-factly. "From what I can gather the bullet missed the vital organs, it may very well be just shock that's got her unconscious. If we can move her where I can take off her dress…" Uncertainly he turned to Erik.
"Of course," he said immediately. "Is she safe to move? Can I pick her up?"
"Yes, sir."
Immediately he swooped the unconscious soprano into his arms, cradling her close as his heart skipped a beat. Christine in his arms at last, but he dreaded the reason for it. When did she become so light? Without another word he took determined strides over the wooden pier back towards Phantasma. His office was the closest building with medical access, and time was of the essence.
He cared not if the people following him lagged behind—Christine needed to get inside.
It took him only two minutes to make his way to his office. Mindlessly he swiped all items off his desk and gently laid Christine down on it, his mouth dry and his throat feeling constricted. He shrugged off his jacket and folded it, then carefully placed it beneath her head.
Gangle burst inside, followed by Fleck and Squelch, all holding various equipment to aid Christine. The doctor glared up to Erik, an apology within his eyes. "If you could please leave the office, sir. I need to focus, and you—"
"I understand," Erik interrupted immediately, ducking his head in acknowledgement. "Call me as soon as you know more. I will be right outside."
"Eri— Sir," Gangle pressed quickly, gripping tightly onto Erik's sleeve. "Where do you keep your whiskey?"
Befuddled, Erik pointed to his cellarett and watched as Squelch followed his direction and took the whiskey.
"Sir," Fleck said kindly, though urgently, from her spot next to the still unconscious Christine. "Please leave."
He nodded and stepped outside at once, heart beating wildly in his chest as he shut the door.
The moment the door was closed, the Vicomte was in his face, Gustave a bit further back hugging himself with dried tears streaking his cheeks.
"What happened?" the blond seethed at Erik, red-hot fury and contempt in his for once focused eyes. "Will she make it?"
Erik clenched his jaw and reflexively felt for where he long ago ceased to carry his Punjab lasso. Icily he stared down the Vicomte, feeling that hatred and despise bubbling back up after so long without its heated disgust. "Miss Giry shot her," he drew out at last, towering high above the Vicomte as he straightened. Somehow, he was able to keep his voice from wavering.
"What do you mean, 'Miss Giry shot her', you beast?!" the blond seethed, red cheeks and nose a clear indication of where he had gone during the performance. Still, he was in Erik's space.
Without second thought Erik seized the Vicomte's accusing hand and bent his wrist with a growl, inching closer and ready to retort.
Then Gustave let out a cry.
Both men shot back at the sound, the heated hatred within Erik's gut cooling and twisting back into worry as he looked upon his crying son staring at them with wide and shocked eyes.
The son who was currently being held by the Vicomte who had rushed over to comfort him.
His nostrils flared at the sight and his heart ached, but with a heaving chest he ignored it He turned away from the pair, feeling that traitorous trembling of his lips and hands and uselessly flexing his fingers to try and quell it. "She…" he started, tension pulling his body rigid. "Gangle is a reputable doctor, I assure you. She will be okay."
The insolent boy's voice rang out, low and mocking, "A reputable doctor in a freakshow such as this?"
"Papa!" Gustave cried softly.
Erik turned back to them, fury ablaze in his eyes at the Vicomte's preposterous attempts at mockery. "You have sunk low indeed, Vicomte," he growled lowly, "to tempt my wrath at a time like this. In front of your son even! Have you no compassion?"
At the echoing of his own words from a decade ago, the Vicomte shut his mouth at last, shame flashing through his eyes. He turned back to Gustave. "Are you okay?"
Erik could see now the discomfort the blond had at dealing with the child, unsure where to place his hands or whether to stand or crouch down. Despite the mixture of feelings currently battling within Erik, for a moment, smug glee won.
"Miss Giry was crying, papa," Gustave whispered quietly, frown creasing his little forehead. "As we went to the pier, I— I don't understand why… She even said she didn't mean to after she shot maman…"
"This is no place for a child," the Vicomte said brusquely, frowning. "You should have had somebody watch you—"
"That somebody would have been you, Vicomte," Erik bit back coolly, eyes not leaving his closed office door. "As Christine performed, you as the father should have—"
"That is what nannies are for, what Miss Giry should have been doing—"
"She is no nanny, Vicomte. She is a performer."
"And a friend of Christine's, I don't—"
"Sirs!"
Erik shot towards the open door, to Gangle stepping through.
Gustave almost ran into the doctor, but Erik was just about able to stop him with a gentle hand at his chest, the boy instead clutching his hand like it was his lifeline.
His throat tightened as he opened his mouth, struggling to say the words he wanted to ask.
"She is well," Gangle said instead, and a broken and shaky breath Erik had been holding since all this began at last left him. His knees buckled but he managed to stay upright, holding a hand to cover his tearful eyes for a moment.
"She is sleeping now, and I am ordering her to rest fully without visitors for at least a day," Gangle continued, softer now. "We have made a makeshift bed from your chaise, sir. I will stay with her for the coming few days, nurse her back to health. She will make it."
"Oh, thank Christ!" Raoul crumbled against the wall and fell limply to the floor as broken sobs shook his frame.
Erik nodded and lowered his trembling hand to meet Gangle's eyes. "Thank you, old friend," he said quietly, almost reverently as he willed the tears not to fall. "Words can not—"
"I know, sir," Gangle smiled kindly and bowed his head in acknowledgement. "For now I can recommend all of you, and that includes you, little Vicomte" —he flashed a smile to Gustave still attached to Erik— "to get some rest as well. If anything changes you will be the first to know, but she seems stable."
"But I—" Gustave started, his usual boyish voice shrill. "I wish to see maman, please!"
"Gustave…" Erik said quietly, biting his lips. Instinctively he crouched down and gently put a hand on his shoulder as he met the boy's tearful eyes. "She must rest, child. When you are sick, do you not wish to be left alone as well?"
He nodded, bottom lip trembling. "But I— the— the blood…"
Pleadingly, Erik looked up to Gangle.
"Very well," Gangle murmured. "But only the child, I beg you. The Vicomtesse has had an eventful night to say the least."
"Thank you," Erik breathed, moving to get up.
"No!" Gustave panicked, small hands seizing Erik's. "Not alone!"
He stiffened, staring down at the tearful child clutching onto him. He glanced behind him to the Vicomte still on the floor, knees up and head hung low. The blond meekly raised a hand in acknowledgement and allowance.
With that, Erik nodded and followed Gangle into his own office.
Christine was, as Gangle had said, on the chaise. A blanket covered her as she slept, and a small table had been moved beside her with some water and medicine.
Gustave ran up to her, gasping and immediately taking hold of her arm beneath the blanket. "Maman!"
"Shush, child," Erik said quietly, though his eyes were on the sleeping Christine. She looked ethereal still, though surprisingly taut—as if the whole ordeal had aged her another decade. Still, none of that mattered.
She was alive and she had chosen him.
His world spun and he steadied himself onto a table, taking a shaky breath.
"Sir?" Gangle inquired, softly enough that Gustave couldn't hear. "Do you need to sit down?"
"No, I…" Erik blinked, feeling quite breathless as he watched as Fleck walk up to Gustave and whisper gently to him, taking one of his hands and squeezing it almost like a mother would. He grimaced and shook his head at Gangle. "I just…"
"I understand." Gangle nodded, following Erik's gaze to Gustave who now seeming more relaxed, tears dried at last as he simply looked at his mother. "I must insist, however, that you two will leave soon. Sir," he added almost sheepishly. "I do not know how stable Mrs. De Chagny's condition will remain, and I wish to monitor her."
"Of course," Erik muttered, cringing at hearing her wedded name. "Gangle, I— If the child leaves with his father, can I— Could I remain?" he asked quietly, ducking his head. "I will be quiet as a ghost, I just wish to be with her when she wakes."
"I wouldn't usually allow that," Gangle said truthfully, frowning at him. "But this room is your office, and all of Phantasma knows your skill with the shadows, so very well. But I must emphasise quiet and rest for the missus."
"Thank you." Erik flashed him a tight-lipped smile before moving past him to join Gustave. Uneasily he lowered to his knees next to the child, ignoring the aching of his old joints so as to be on his eye level. "Are you…" he started quietly, then clearing his throat. "Are you okay, Gustave?"
The boy sniffled and wiped at his nose. "She will be okay, right, monsieur Y?"
Erik swallowed thickly, barely managing not to gape at the teary-eyed child. He gave a stiff nod and forced out a measured breath. "I was told she will be okay, Gustave," he whispered, holding a finger at his lips to indicate Gustave to also whisper. "We would not want to wake her, child. Are you feeling well? Can I get you anything?"
Gustave's big brown eyes stared up at him, and in a flash Erik saw a small Christine before him, the soft roundness of her face, her unruly curls. He suppressed a harsh and foreign bark of a laugh. "I shall see if I have some hot chocolate around here," he murmured, starting to get up.
A tug at his sleeve stopped him, and he looked down at the boy looking at him.
"Maman— maman mentioned you…"
His throat tightened, another spell of dizziness making his stomach lurch. "Please, I—""
"Is it true?"
There was a ringing in his ears, black spots in his vision as he reached for his desk and was just about able to steady himself before his legs gave out. This was hardly the time to discuss this! Yes, the Vicomte knew already, but the child shouldn't— It would ruin—
"So it must be…" Gustave muttered, little eyebrows creasing into a frown as he looked back at his mother. He had no business looking as mature as he did, then.
Helplessly, Erik watched Gustave mull this news over, the knowledge his father of ten years had never truly been so. "Please, child, I— It is a complicated situation, I…" He ran a hand through his wig, eyes pressed close and mouth a tight and thin line. He felt sick. "Nothing changes— I mean, nothing has to, I—" He stopped himself, blinking away the dizziness.
Gustave was not paying attention anymore, sat against the chaise and holding Christine's hand beneath the blanket. "I'm tired," he whispered, frown still on his face. "But maman…"
"I will watch her," Erik jumped in, eager to switch topics. "I assure you, the moment anything happens I will let you and your— your father know. Please rest, child."
Gustave blinked at him, confused. "Don't you need sleep?"
"I feel quite awake." He balled his trembling hands into fists, hoping to steady them. "Please."
With a last look at his mother, Gustave nodded and stood.
Erik joined him and gently put a hand on his back, a foreign motion that somehow felt right. He walked the boy to the door and quietly opened it.
The Vicomte was still where they had left him, back hunched and eyes closed.
"Papa!" Gustave squealed and threw himself at him, clinging to him. "I am tired, papa. Can we please—"
"How is she?" The Vicomte glared up to Erik.
Tensely, Erik regarded the pair. His voice was icier than he intended when he tersely replied, "Alive and well. Resting."
The Vicomte nodded. "Good, that's good…" Then, with a sigh and a limp body, as if the effort cost him all his energy, he started getting up from the floor. He straightened, but was long gone from his once boyish and aristocratic charm. "If anything happens—"
"I am ready to send any news that may occur. Must somebody accompany you to your accommodations?"
"No, that will be quite alright." the Vicomte waved a dismissive hand. "Come on, Gustave."
Gustave threw another look at Erik, staring at him for a moment. "See— see you soon, monsieur," he murmured before hurrying after his father.
Erik exhaled the breath he hadn't realised he was holding as he closed the door, heart pounding in his chest and hands clammy. He almost wanted to lock the door out of habit, but then heard Christine's soft breathing and thought better of it.
Mind racing he stumbled over to the chaise and stood there, staring at the resting soprano.
Oh, God.
He barely managed to control his fall to the floor, body aching as he crumpled and pathetically curled in on himself. Heavy tears dripped down his cheeks and clung to his mask, quiet sobs shaking his frame. He almost lost her, just as he had her! That damned Meg Giry! Those damned witches!
The need for touch overcame him and he scrambled up, going over to the resting Christine. "Oh, petite," he breathed brokenly, carefully reaching for her hand and holding it tightly. "My dearest..." He pressed his lips to her knuckles, more tears dripping down his cheeks. "I'll be here when you wake."
And then exhaustion flooded his senses. Without conscious thought he rested his head on the chaise and closed his eyes.
A panicked shout jolted him awake and had him jump up, reflexively reaching for his lasso.
When he instead found nothing in his hands and saw Christine sitting up, he sobered. "Christine," he breathed, reaching out to her but halting. "You're awake,"
Christine was panting, eyes wide and hand clutched at her side. She eyed around the room and then settled on Erik in front of her. "What—"
"Please, lie down," Erik immediately said, frowning. He carefully took her by the shoulders and applied a little pressure. "I beg you, petite. You were shot, you need rest."
"I had a— nightmare," she breathed, frowning as she ran a hand through her hair. Then, she froze. "Where is Gustave?" Her voice raised an octave and she pushed back against Erik's hand. "Erik, let me— where is Gustave?!" Her hands clawed at his.
"He is safe, Christine!" Erik interjected, giving up his attempts to have her lie down and frowning as the soprano swung her feet off the chaise.
"I must see him, I—" She stumbled in her getting up and Erik easily caught her in his arms. She slumped in his embrace, wincing. "My stomach…"
"Please, Christine," he pleaded quietly. "Lie back down, petite. Gustave is with the Vicomte, you have been asleep for…" He turned to his clock. "It's been about a day, you had much to recover from. You still do."
Pleading brown eyes looked up to him and his heart skipped a beat. He felt his cheeks flush as he carefully sat Christine back down on the chaise. "I will send a notice to them, Christine," he promised. "And get you some food. For now, drink this water, and then lie back down." As he handed her the cup of water she firmly grasped his wrist.
Her voice wavered, "Don't leave me."
"I—" he breathed, throat tightening. "I will call for the trio, they can help." He looked down at her pale hand around his wrist, feeling well like he could cry. "Lie back down, Christine."
She took the glass from him and gulped down the water, exhaling softly. Then, she laid back down and buried herself into the blankets. "My stomach hurts."
"Straighten your body," he muttered reflexively, flashes of their music lessons a decade ago coming to mind. How often he had said something similar to her then. "Don't coil up."
"You've been crying," she muttered, frown creasing her forehead as she looked over him. "Your eyes… Erik, I—"
"Spare your energy." Erik flushed and shook his head. "Please, we can talk when you have recovered."
The trio came at Erik's call, Gangle doing a checkup of Christine now that she was awake. Fleck in the meantime gathered some breakfast for both Christine and Erik, knowing the latter most definitely hadn't eaten, and Squelch ensured a message would be sent out to the Vicomte and Gustave as Erik had promised.
For a moment, quiet returned to Erik's office, Christine and him having eaten their breakfast. Gangle hadn't found anything amiss with Christine and had left her to do some of his other Phantasma duties.
She was leaned back into the chaise, some pillows propped up at her back to keep her upright, when she called, "Erik."
He looked up from sorting his desk, having decided to focus on that while they waited for the Vicomte and Gustave to arrive. "What is it?"
Her bottom lip trembled and she reached a hand out to him. "Hold me."
Without thinking he went over to her, looking over the chaise as he flexed his hands. "I don't want to hurt—"
"You won't. Come here." She shuffled aside to make room for him. "Please."
He could hear the waver in her voice, and his heart broke. Carefully he sat down on the chaise, then put his feet up and gently, reverently, wrapped his arms around Christine.
She immediately leaned into his embrace, cuddling close and pressing tightly against him, keeping a death grip on his cravat as she practically laid herself on top of him.
Tears sprung to his eyes. "Christine, I… I really thought you'd…"
"I know," she whispered, eyes pressed close. "God, I know."
He caressed her arm and nuzzled into her hair. "I don't know what I would have done, petite. I just had you, and then— The blood… Oh, God, I can not bear to lose you. Not now, not after all this. I am so sorry for all of this."
"It's not your fault, Erik. This was just a terrible situation. We should be glad nothing worse happened. I will be recovered soon, and then we can— we can…"
"Gustave asked me, Christine." Tears dripped down his cheeks again. Relief, stress, fear. "I couldn't deny it, but I— God, you told him, and now… what of the Vicomte? What of the boy? I do not know what we should do, Christine. I am hardly fit to be a father, I just… I am so lost."
"Listen," she interjected, tired. "All of that is a concern for later, okay? I am alive to talk with Gustave about all of it, he will not hear it from his fathers. Raoul, well… I will talk with him, too, though I'm sure you have already exchanged your own fair share of words with him." She grumbled and lowered herself to rest her head on his lap, laying back down as she closed her eyes. "Everything else will have to wait until I feel well. Raoul won't go until all affairs are settled. We just need some time and things will work out."
Erik stared down at the woman resting on his lap, the softness of her face, the wrinkles she hadn't had ten years ago. Idly, he caressed her cheek, carding some hair behind her ear. "Very well," he said softly. "You just rest, petite."
"Mhm," she hummed in agreement. "Things will settle, dear, and then we can talk about us."
Us.
He felt the tears well up once again, his throat tightening. He leaned back against the chaise and closed his eyes, emotions overwhelming him.
She still wanted him, even now. It wasn't a fluke, she truly wanted him.
"I love you, Christine," he whispered, the words leaving him before he even realised.
Christine didn't respond, and when he looked down at her she was fast asleep, huddled close against him.