It's sappy, everyone's out-of-character--these things I know! I decided to type this for the enjoyment of all you Meg/Erik shippers out there. And, also, for myself, b/c Meg pwns Christine.

I based the date at the end on the date of the Christine Caper that the movie gives at the beginning. You know...just so you know. (Have I ever used that phrase before? I think I have...)

Yay, disclaimer time! I don't own PotO. I am simply a humble phan. I own nothing. Boo hoo.

Spring

When Meg awoke on February 19th, she thought nothing of its importance until her mother crept into her room, shut the door with a staccato click, and drew closer as she said in a soft voice, "Today is Erik's birthday."

Meg whirled around, still in the process of tying a blue ribbon in her long, golden hair. "Is it?" she exclaimed; and then, at her mother's reprimanding look, murmured, "I'd forgotten. Forgive me."

Mme. Giry dismissed those last few words with a wave of her hand. "It's not as if he himself remembered it, anyway. But I'm going to send a note, at any rate. I'd suggest you do the same." She sighed, her expression turning dark. "He needs all the comforting possible, after what happened between him and Christine Daae."

They were both silent for a moment, remembering. Then Meg raised her head and said, decidedly, "I think I'll go and visit Erik today."

Mme. Giry nodded. "Good luck, though I doubt you'll be able to cheer him," she remarked. "I've never seen anyone so miserable."

She left Meg to wash and dress herself. Some hours later, Meg strode out the front door of the small flat she and her mother shared, clutched the note underneath her cloak, and set off into the crisp, wintry air toward the Opera house.

How awful it must be not to remember one's own birthday, Meg mused as she walked, thinking of her mother's comment from that morning.

The note in Meg's hand was from Mme. Giry. Meg herself had brought nothing for Erik, but she had something in mind to give him regardless. Meg and Mme. Giry had been helping Erik manage for as long as Meg could remember; but during the past year or so, the ballerina had begun to experience odd sensation whenever she was in the presence of the Phantom: her heartbeat quickened, her palms grew clammy, and she talked too much. Meg began to crave Erik's attention as little children crave sweets.

She had been puzzled at the time, having never felt such conflicting emotions. Naturally, Meg had asked Christine for help through letters, though she hadn't mentioned that it was Erik who caused the feelings. Christine's answer had been straightforward:

Well, it's quite clear to me that you are in love with this man, she'd written.

This was the sentence that rang in her mind as Meg stood on the crowded sidewalk facing the damaged remains of the Opera house. Most of the right side was scaffolding, and the great wooden front door was barred shut. The repairmen were sitting on the steps, eating lunch and laughing at something one of them had said.

But did she really love him? Meg pondered over this often since receiving Christine's sure reply. That was what she did now, as she rounded the building to enter through the stables.

Meg stopped for a moment, standing in hay up to her ankles, breathing in its sweet scent. The horses had been sold to a farmer in the country until the Opera house was finished with its renovations. In the passive silence, Meg let her eyes fall shut. Immediately, a vision of the legendary half-mask filled her closed lids, glowing with whitish brilliance.

Her eyes snapped open when she felt herself begin to sway. Meg strode through the open doorway into the building, down a few ill-lit corridors, into Christine Daae's old dressing room, and down the dark stone passage behind the mirror panel.

Upon arriving at the lake, Meg climbed aboard the gondola and used two oars she found propped against the wall to row across the glassy water. Erik had taught Meg and Mme. Giry how to pole a gondola properly, but both preferred rowing instead, so a pair of oars was left for their use.

Erik's home had fallen into a state of disrepair, despite that he was slowly rebuilding as he regained his strength and confidence. The organ was completely in ruin, as were the mirrors and the Opera house diorama. Meg tread carefully over bits of broken glass and charred wood, peering through the darkness. The silence here was oppressive, deafening, unlike the tranquility of the stables.

"Erik!" It came out more timidly than Meg intended. She was about to try again, when suddenly, he materialized a few feet to her right. Looking closer, she realized that the tall rectangle of shadow he stood in was blacker than the rest: a doorway. Presumably to his bedroom.

Erik, dressed in a loose white shirt and black pants, stepped closer to the blonde girl, his weak smile lighting up his eyes. Meg felt herself being drawn in by those dark, hypnotic eyes, a strong contrast to his ashen skin. As always, he wore the white half-mask on the right side of his face.

"What are you doing here?" Erik asked, obviously pleased she had come. Despite his broken, sickly appearance, his voice still held the same power and resonance as it had during happier times. The question cut through the shadowy quiet like a knife through butter.

Meg smiled, holding out the note. "I came to wish you a happy birthday," she said. Erik took the folded note and read it several times, disbelief etched on his pallid features. "The note is from Maman; she was unable to make it today."

Erik looked up at her, into her beautiful sapphire eyes. Meg was strongly reminded of a small child gazing in complete awe at something they had received, something that, to them, seemed as wonderful and magnificent as life itself.

But then, Erik had lived a difficult life. To him, even something as simple as a note acknowledging his day of birth wasn't to be taken for granted.

"Thank you," he murmured sincerely. "Thank you very much." Then, after one last glance at the note, he folded it and put it in his pocket.

"I have something for you, too," Meg told him. "Close your eyes."

Erik hesitated for a moment, looking doubtful, but eventually did as she instructed. Meg took a deep breath and drew closer to him, letting her own eyelids fall gradually shut. When their faces were mere inches away, she reached out, tore the mask from Erik's face, and kissed him full on the lips.

He started at first, and then settled contentedly into the kiss. Never before had he felt such bliss as he did now! Memories of his moments with Christine were growing hazy, fading. But Meg had always been there, Erik suddenly realized. She had always been there, though he'd been so captivated by Christine's beauty…her voice…

Meg had always been there…

Always…

She withdrew from him now, her expression mirroring his own of absolute, radiant joy. They embraced—the two angels, of Heaven and Hell. Meg thought back to the question that had eluded her for so long—did she really, truly love Erik? Yes, she thought simply. Yes, I do. And she told him so—in that warm, unspoken way only someone with absolutely no uncertainty can.

Erik may have lived most of his life in darkness; but now, a new light was becoming visible over the horizon. A new day was emerging: one where the sun was long, golden locks, the sky two brilliant sapphire eyes.

Winter was drawing to an end. Spring would arrive at last.

Erik and Meg Destler
Married: March 20, 1876

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