Author's Note: Chapter Originally Posted on Ao3 on Jan 1st, 2024
Dr. Mehri
Doctor Kian Mehri's work was never dull.
Not one moment was absent of purpose or intrigue by the manner in which he chose to study and practice medicine. While it seemed many physicians of note were intent on treating the wealthy to keep their livelihood comfortable, he was of the mind to provide care to those more impoverished. Those who could scarcely afford food on the table, much less the roof over their heads.
Not only did his move to France grant him a few more freedoms, but he also gained a lovely wife, Jasmine. Her family's wealth and generosity allowed him to practice medicine so freely. He had little need to demand payment from those who just needed help. In today's venture into the seedier neighborhoods of Paris, Kian was en route to the cramped and dingy flat of one of the Palais Garnier's chief stagehands.
With the circumstances of this particular visit, Kian wore a thin cotton coat over more worn-out attire, that if it needed to be burned, it was no loss to him. Paris was wonderfully forward in its civil engineering, which kept the city's pulse in a healthy rhythm. Even the poorer sections possessed suitable waste disposal. Yet, there were still souls that were unwilling to take up more hygienic practices, and preventable diseases still possessed the capacity to wipe out a neighborhood.
Kian prided himself on being well-studied in advances of medicine and medical sanitation practices. One technique he favored, especially in his current case, was rubber gloves. While the concept was a few years old, acquiring them was not the cheapest option, but for the sake of the safety of his family and patients, they were worth every franc. He had acquired four sets for himself and his associate, Doctor Fraise. Both of their regular assistants had them in equal numbers as well, to ensure there was always a clean set. Keeping them clean and sanitized was always something of a chore, between boiling and the application of a harsh stringent.
Due to this case, Kian was grateful for these extra measures he took. His patient, Mademoiselle Buquet, was not a well woman, by any sense of the word. It was hard to determine which ailment would kill her first: liver failure, consumption, or syphilis. The only treatment he could offer was to stem the worst of her symptoms and give some relief to her discomfort through inebriating methods, that he was not always fond of prescribing.
The most disturbing part of visiting this grimy residence was not his patient or her slimy brother, but rather the children. Seven in total, before illness took over. Now, only two remained. Matilda at age eleven, and Mildred, age six. They had a good chance at surviving, but the longer they stayed in that tenement, the sooner their fortune would eventually fail.
With the knowledge of Margot Buquet's profession, Kian could not stop worrying over what would become of Matilda. With her family on the fringes of poverty, there was a fair chance of what would become of the girl soon enough. There was little he could say or do at that point. There were some discussions he had with Jasmine about the situation, that did not betray his oaths. While they agreed on an option, he was not sure where to even start.
When Kian neared the main entrance to the tenement house, where the Buquets rented a pair of rooms on the third floor, a startled gasp and curse stemming from a narrow little alley nearby caught his attention. Though the sound made him still with pricked ears, the subsequent scuffle and muffled curses drew him closer with prudent steps, until Kian pressed a shoulder against the wall of a neighboring edifice. He then pulled the short-brimmed hat from his head before daring to peer around the corner, where he saw Joseph Buquet pinned against a brick wall by the throat…and the tall shadow looming over him.
A chill crawled up Kian's spine when the shadow spoke in a harsh whisper.
"You dare blackmail me, when you already are stealing from the opera to fuel your vices!"
There was a disturbing familiarity to that voice. Though Kian struggled to recall just where he'd encountered it before, its distinct clarity and accent were not easily dismissed.
"I–I'm sorry! I was desperate! I need the money!" whimpered Buquet.
The shadow drew the Fly Chief away from the wall and slammed him back against the brick. "You threatened Giry!"
Kian pulled back by instinct as the shadow glanced his way, but continued to listen to the scene unfurl.
"She was meddlin'!"
"Poor reasoning!"
Another thud.
"Look, I ain't sorry, 'cause I need that money! I got an ailin' sister and her brats to mind. She's dyin', and I'm all they got left once she's gone. Doctors ain't exactly cheap neither."
Kian frowned. He never once asked for a franc from Buquet.
"Mehri is charitable, compared to the others that are on-call for performances," spoke the shadow after a pause.
Damn straight… Kian thought, his mind beginning to puzzle together who this mysterious shadow was. With this talk of the opera and his rather intimate knowledge of the Garnier's inner workings, an identity to the shadow was becoming clearer.
The conversation had the strange power of gripping his attention more than idling thoughts.
"He ain't any better than the rest of 'em."
Bastard.
"I will pay you nothing. However, should you continue to pursue a ransom from me, or threaten Giry again, it will be the last thing you will ever do," spat the shadow.
Sensing the end drawing near, with no immediate threat to Buquet's life, Kian pulled away from his position and retreated across the street to the tenement house where his patient resided. As he ascended the front steps, he dusted off his hat. It was a silly ruse and an excuse to take his time in entering.
Time, which allowed him to glance up at the sight of Buquet crossing the quiet street in hasty, unathletic strides.
"Ah! Monsieur Buquet!" Kian smiled warmly as the partially obtuse man reached the bottom of the stairs, red-faced and winded. "All you alright, Monsieur? You are looking a bit… flushed."
"Yes, yes! I'm fine," he grumbled and ambled up the steps. "Let's get on with it. 'Nough pleasantries."
Kian pursed his lips and shut his eyes tight for a second as Buquet roughly brushed past him to get inside. "Very well," he replied in a careful exhale and followed the unpleasant stench of liquor and body odor left in the man's wake.
When the door clicked shut behind them while they headed for the staircase, Kian casually glanced back through the small windows framing the entryway as he grasped the banister. One of the tiny windows framed the alleyway perfectly, allowing him to see the shadow in a tilted fedora and long cloak, emerge from the dead-end alcove and vanish down the street.
Twenty minutes later, Kian settled into a grimy wooden chair across from Mademoiselle Margot Buquet. Her lesions were dressed, and he administered suitable tinctures for her cough and aches, but there was little more he could do the soothe her ails. The room where she stayed isolated from her brother and daughters was damp and musty for reasons unknown. Although he opened the dirty window to give the poor woman some fresh air whenever he was there, it was always sealed shut by his return. Which did nothing for her condition. In all likelihood, it was hastening her demise.
"I've not got long left, do I?" she rasped and pressed a soiled cloth to her mouth as she coughed.
"No…" he said softly unphased by her red-rimmed eyes or the pallid color of her skin, which glistened from sweat. "A day, maybe two at best."
She let out a weary sigh.
"Margot," he spoke with a somber cadence, as he struggled with an internal conflict. He dreaded having to summon the questions that hung in his mind, but knew he would regret it if he said nothing at all. Much of it was rather taboo, but it remained a lingering concern that needed sorting out before he could proceed toward the end goal. "I understand that what I am about to ask you is inappropriate, but in situations such as these, it is not an uncommon thing."
She was slow to absorb his words, but gave an eventual nod, "Go on."
"Does your brother have any claim to Matilda or Mildred?" It was a tender subject, no matter the circumstances. Whether permitted or forced did not matter now, but if the brother fathered the girls and knew it, Kian would have to ask Joseph the pressing question.
If the chat he overheard was any indication, a payment would have to be made.
"No… Joe is a swine, but even he ain't that boorish," Margot answered without pause.
Kian gave a relieved nod. "My wife and I have a son, Danyal, whom we love very much," he began. "It was something of a journey to just have him. Conceiving was easy enough, but the pregnancy was rather hard on her, and the delivery even more difficult. It seems that, as a result, we have not had much fortune since."
"What are you saying, Doctor?"
"My wife and I would like you to consider letting us adopt your daughters," he managed to say. "We would treat them as we do our son; give them a loving home, a formal education, and any needs they have will be well met."
"You'd do that for my girls?" Margot eventually asked. "Have 'em in your fancy house and all pampered?"
Kian's brows quirked, with a small smile forming. "Yes, I would have them in my fancy house. Though, perhaps not pampered. My wife may have grown up a bit indulged, but I very much did not. Danyal has chores to mind and can dress himself without someone buttoning his shirt or tying his shoes…"
The Mademoiselle gave a laugh, which quickly turned to coughs, with that rag pressed over her mouth. "Then it's true," she rasped after a moment of recovery. "Those high class-types need someone to do the dressin' for 'em."
Kian chuckled. "In some households, yes. Not mine. Unless you count me helping my wife button the back of her dress, on occasion," he gave a wide grin. "I don't want to raise a pretentious son. There's enough of those running around Europe."
Margot relaxed in her little bed, her expression growing more saddened with the bend of her brows. "You'll take good care of my girls? Give 'em a good life?"
"You have my word."
"Then take them," Margot said with a small smile. "Don't let 'em forget me neither."
"We won't," Kian assured.
From there, Joseph was summoned to Margot's room, where they informed him of their decision on the girls. The glare from the acrid man was palpable, which only cemented Kian's position.
Yes, be angry that I'm taking potential income from you, Kian thought as he turned away to collect the girls, keeping his smirk at bay.
Matilda and Mildred, nicknamed by their mother as Tillie and Millie, were huddled together on a thin mat in the main room. They both had sweet round faces and their mother's sad brown eyes. Their hair marked the likelihood of different fathers; while Tillie had copper-colored locks, Millie's was a pale blonde. Each of their ragdolls with stitched faces, and mismatched button eyes, had yarn hair to match their owners.
"We're going to live with you?" asked Tillie, hugging her little sister.
Kian offered them a warm smile as he squatted down to their level, while his arms casually rested over his knees, and he balanced on the balls of his feet. "With me and my family, yes."
"What about Maman?" asked Millie.
"She wants you both to have a good and prosperous life. My family wishes to grant her that wish, if you will have us."
They gave a slow nod.
Kian gave a small nod in return. "Now, you tell her you love her, and kiss the air in your goodbyes."
When the girls climbed to their feet and went to bid their mother farewell, Joseph drifted toward Kian, as the latter rose to full height. "Tell me Doctor, those maids of yours getting a bit boring, and you need replacements?" he leered.
Kian's jaw tightened, "Mind your words, Monsieur," he warned. "I have no desire for any woman apart from my wife, much less a child."
"Girls grow up—"
Kian's index and middle shot up from his side into the hollow of Buquet's throat, in a sharp jab that dropped the man to his knees, gasping. It was not enough to kill, not by any means, but enough to stun him in sort gasps and bulging eyes of panic. "Those are your nieces, Monsieur. I've no appetite for pubescent girls. I know the same cannot be said of you, since everyone knows why you work at the Garnier."
Joseph was glaring daggers as he held his bruised throat when the girls returned, a small pouch now slung across Tillie's shoulder.
They cast their uncle a nervous glance as they side-stepped him in a wide berth, hand in hand.
"Come along girls. Time to embark on a new adventure," Kian offered warmly with an outstretched hand.
Tillie was all too quick to grasp it, while still holding on to her little sister. While their eyes glistened with tears to leave their dying mother, they did not even bid their uncle farewell.
After collecting his medical bag and ensuring the girls had what little treasures they had of their mother and deceased siblings, Kian led them away without remorse. Doubtless, he would have any second thoughts about offering to take the girls from their only known blood family. However, Buquet's behavior on full display that day destroyed his few misgivings.
As they walked down the street without a glance back, they never glimpsed the shadow lurking in their wake.