Disclaimer/Blame: Not mine, but all mine. 8-P
A/N: Oh dear. The dreaded moment when the guy meets her parents... except Erik fortunately only has Madame Giry to worry about. Or is he getting the short end of that trade?
::devours her feedback in one gigantic bite:: Yum! ::belches:: Thank you to Mystery Guest, Phantom Aria, BW and my own dear Maman for all your wonderful comments and for your patience with me in getting this story up! I consider it a massive compliment that so many E/C fans are enjoying what I can say with certainty now is most definitely an E/M... thank you everyone!
Liz D-M, this chapter is for you - some of the miscommunications possible between a mother and her almost-grown daughter come through here, and maybe a bit of their love for each other as well... I don't think I have a tall, dark and handsome man slipping roses into my locker, but all the same - Maman, I love you!
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"Lachesis' Weavings" by AngelCeleste85
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Chapter 11 - Revelations
The figure, clad in black almost as dark as the shadows except for where her pale face and hands gleamed, emerged from the darkness of the tunnel.
"It seems the rumors are at least partially true, a tall dark man running off with my daughter," Isabelle Giry said wryly.
Meg winced. This was not at all the way she had hoped to tell her mother! "Maman, don't be mad - it's not like that at all -"
"I am not angry, dear. But I do wish you had told me before making this decision."
"Maman, I'm not running off anywhere."
"Oh?"
Erik stepped forward, a silent shadow behind the ballet dancer, his hand unconsciously resting on Meg's shoulder. "Good evening to you, Madame," he said gravely.
Isabelle only nodded. "Monsieur le Fantome. I might have guessed when I caught Meg sneaking down the corridors. You could not have Christine so you turn your attentions to her friend?"
"No, Madame. She came to me, not I to her."
It seemed the older woman's brows were about to climb to her receding hairline. "Well, this sounds like it will be quite the tale. However, this damp and chill is unkind to an old woman's joints. Shall we go somewhere that is warmer?"
Erik removed the lantern from the boat. "Madame, I would invite you to my home, but as yet it is in no condition to again receive guests."
"I was under the impression that you considered the entire Opera your home and property, Monsieur le Fantome."
Erik was silent to that as he led them back up the corridor. Isabelle trailed him, Meg under her arm. The only sounds were those of their footsteps, the elder Giry's cane, and the squeaks of rats. Meg could barely see Erik as a silhouette against the dim red light he carried aloft for them all. Soon they came to Christine's abandoned dressing room and the shattered mirror-door.
Meg took one look at her mother's face and her heart sank. This was not going to be an easy interview, or amusing. By her face, the ballet mistress was wishing that she had Erik in the corps, as well, just to make him jump when she said as well. Soundlessly, the girl tried a few of the drawers at the vanity before finding what she was looking for. There was nothing to trim the wick with, so Meg just touched it to the flame inside the now-unshuttered dark lantern. Light filled the room, and she set the candle in a holder on the vanity's top beside the inkwell, the quill pen and a vase with a single red rose, long since dead and withered.
Erik was looking at the rose, she realized. {{ Was it one he gave to her? }} He seemed expressionless, but she had had so much time recently to talk to him and study him, she was almost certain there was something to it. {{ I'll keep my nose short, I think. He's still so hurt about Christine. }}
Isabelle took the vanity's stool, motioning her daughter to sit on the bed facing her. Erik remained standing where he was, habitually drawn back into the deepest shadow he could find, not that there were many within the room itself with a candle lit and the lantern unshuttered. Meg looked down at the floor and realized then how lucky she was that nobody had yet chanced across her quick jury-rig on the doorway's appearance from the main corridor: a fine layer of dust had settled here and her shoes had disturbed it many times. It was just barely noticeable, but it was all the same.
Old Madame Giry had seen this as well. "So, would either of you mind enlightening me? Meg, you say that the rumors I hear are not true. If not, then what is? How long have you been sneaking down - after rehearsals, I presume - to meet with him?"
She took a deep breath as she steeled herself for her mother's reaction. "I was worried about him, Maman."
"Worried? About someone who kills for spite, for jealousy. A man who bullies the managers into running the theatre his way, extorts an outrageous salary from them. Who stalks the girls he fixes his mad obsession upon until they are driven nearly insane. And who hides so well within this building that for years nobody could track down the source of the rumors. You were worried for him?"
Meg couldn't help shooting a glance at Erik. He seemed unmoved, but... no, there was a distinct hardness to his eyes, twin amber flames in the shadows of his face, and to the set of his strong jaw. He was angry, no doubt about it.
Come to think of it, so was she. This had been a topic that they had not touched in the weeks since, and it seemed that it was about to come out now.
"Yes, Maman, I was worried for him! You weren't with the mob, Maman, you didn't go with them. They would have killed him, Maman! Didn't you know that?"
Isabelle sat back, thunderstruck.
"So it was you." Erik's whisper sounded like steel being drawn from a leather sheath. "You showed them the way down, just like you showed the Vicomte."
"Not quite. I was not able to help you directly and I apologize for that, Monsieur," the old ballet teacher said quietly, "but I could not stand by while you did to another woman what once you stopped from happening to me."
"I would never have harmed her," Erik returned. To Meg, who was thoroughly lost, it seemed as though the masked man was trying to burn a hole through her mother with his glare.
"Would someone please explain this to me?" she asked.
The question seemed to freeze the air in the room. Finally Erik shrugged.
"If I said anything, it would sound like boasting," was all he said, a tacit way of telling the old woman "You tell her."
Isabelle sighed. "Do you recall, during the production of 'Robert le Diable' about five years ago, when I came home and you said that I looked like I'd rolled in an alley?"
"How could I forget that, Maman, you only caned me for that remark until I couldn't sit comfortable for a week."
"Which I should not have done, and as I recall I apologized about that." Her tone was brisker, her words more clipped now. "I never told you what happened, but I may as well now. I was walking home from a late meeting with the managers, as a matter of fact, and I was tired. I decided, more fool I, to turn through an alley as a shorter way to get home. A group of half-drunk men attacked me and tried to have their way with me. That man in the corner there pulled them off of me. Three of them died, and the last two are likely still running."
It was Meg's turn to be shocked. "I never... never suspected - But you should have gone to warn him, then, and instead you betrayed him!"
"Silence, child, when you do not know everything! I did consider it both ways - openly aiding him, and betraying him each, and every possibility between. On the surface of it, I should have helped, you are correct there. But - I could not allow him to force himself on Christine. The Vicomte had to be there. I do not believe that one capable of rape under most circumstances, but I would not put it past him in a temper and I know of nothing as liable to put a man into a jealous rage as the thought that another man might be interested in the one he himself has chosen. If nothing else, the Vicomte had to be there to provide Christine with the choice." That, with a sideways glance at the man who leaned, arms crossed over his chest, in the corner. "My choice, I pray, has harmed as few as possible."
"That very nearly backfired," Erik put in coldly. "And may yet still, though in a different manner." The tone of voice made Meg shiver, it was suspiciously close to the voice that had laughed with such malice during the last production of "Il Muto" when the Phantom...
The Phantom. So the Opera Ghost was not entirely dead, after all.
Isabelle Giry had not seemed to notice, though. "I did not think it would then. But, far from giving them directions, I delayed the mob that went seeking your life, Monsieur le Fantome."
"I heard you telling them the way!" Meg said, no longer content to sit. "I was right there in the middle of the group where you wouldn't see me, and I heard you tell them three rights, two lefts, take the left fork, down two flights of stairs..."
"And the directions I gave were wrong, deliberately so. The directions I gave brought them around to the wrong side of the lake. I suppose I need not ask why you were in the mob to begin with - concern for him?"
"For both of them, actually," Meg muttered sullenly, sitting down again, her face flushing.
[[ For both of them. Which "both?" I assume Christine was one of "them," but you did not know the Phantom of the Opera then. ]]
"Do you see now why I am so concerned for you when you do not come home at night?" Isabelle asked a trifle more gently. "The Paris streets are not safe, you can meet all sorts of riffraff there." A double-edged remark, though Meg was ashamed that she had heard it. Erik's jaw tightened still further. "I do not mind admitting, this man saved my life that night. I tried to give him as much opportunity as I could to let him save his own without ruining Christine's and the Vicomte's in return. And that, child, is very much off the topic."
"You are very much mistaken, Madame," the Phantom's voice, as cool as the air flowing past them from the mirror, replied to Isabelle. "If you think that I honestly would have harmed Christine then, or Meg now, you are far more mistaken than you realize! Whatever else I have been and done, I have never, ever, forced myself upon a woman.
"Nor did I kill Buquet, or Piangi. Meg already knows, but I could not have touched Buquet from where I was, not did I tamper with his safety equipment. His death was purely an accident. Piangi, I did not want to kill, nor did I."
Cool and controlled up to this point, the Phantom was losing his hold on the man's voice and Erik came through once more, unconsciously gathering heat as he spoke. "My concern for Mademoiselle Megan now is as a friend. She is the first person to have seen me without my mask and not tried to run away. Whether or not she ran and vomited in the lake while I was unconscious, I do not know, nor do I care. She still came back and saved my life: she nursed me back to health and gave me a reason to live when I would not have otherwise given a damn. I owe her my life and should she need anything from me, she has only to say the word. I will die before I see her hurt."
"You do not mention the chandelier."
"Must I account to you for every accident that has occurred in my presence since my birth?" Erik nearly shouted. "The chandelier was not me, either - do you honestly think I would have risked any hurt to Christine? The damned thing came down of its own accord! What I would not give to be a safety inspector just to be able to boot those fools out of their office myself..."
Almost beside himself, Erik ripped off his mask: Isabelle recoiled, her face pale and her eyes wide. "Look at me, Madame! I am a man, not a monster, however much I look like one! Your daughter saw that where Christine failed to, where I myself had forgotten! Do not think that, because I look like a monster on the outside, I must be a monster inside as well! I have faced that for fifty long, lonely years. I will not hear it now. I am not a monster, I am only a man! No more, no less!"
Erik turned, dropping the mask, and buried his face in a corner of the walls. Isabelle stood, but Meg beat her to the man's side, ignoring the fallen mask and stroking his back through the borrowed white shirt as he wept silently. Isabelle watched in silence as her daughter soothed the older man, whispering silently to him.
The petite rat herself was amazed by the sheer force of the emotions that drove Erik. {{ He would die to protect me? }}
"Well then, would you mind telling me how long this has been going on." It was not a question, however worded.
"A week and a half. I came down the first day that the gendarmes were gone, after rehearsal."
"I take it that this is where my husband's old clothing has gotten to, not to mention my spare pot? For that matter, Meg, how have you been feeding him?"
Meg stopped, seeing that Erik was somewhat settled. "I was using my savings."
Erik, who had taken advantage of Meg's sudden pause, swiped at his face and donned his mask once more. "I will see that you are repaid, Meg, for your time and money."
"You?" Isabelle scoffed, though perhaps not as hard as she might have only ten minutes before. "I saw the things that were lifted from your home. Maybe you had money three weeks ago, but I doubt you would have enough now to repay the food!"
Erik faced old Giry squarely. "Madame, your daughter is my friend, and it is for her sake and the sake of memory that I restrain my temper now. Give me some credit that is rightfully mine, at least, I am neither street pauper nor complete fool."
"Are you saying that you could provide for my daughter?" Giry's brows were raised as she took in the borrowed attire, the sleek porcelain mask and his clean but still slightly shaggy hair.
The former Phantom tensed, he knew well the implications of that question. [[ Good grief, she is as bad as the Daroga. I suppose this is what I get for calling upon the goddesses, a woman nosing into my private affairs? ]]
"As I said, should Meg need anything, she has only to say the word. I do not seek her hand, nor indeed anything she does not choose to give to me of her own free will. I am content with her friendship. I believe it may go without saying that she has mine."
To his surprise, the old ballet mistress nodded slowly. "What are your plans for the Opera then, Monsieur le Fantome?"
"Erik, please."
"Erik, then. What are you planning for the Opera now?"
There seemed to be a note of longing or wistfulness in his voice now. "I have no plans to harass them further, Carlotta can sing as often and as badly as she likes." [[ They can go to hell for all I care. Though I do intend to see that Andre and Firmin do not forget their Ghost's salary. ]] "I may watch from Box Five, if they continue to leave it unsold, but if not I can always watch from other hidey-holes."
"You should be trying to get that mess down there tidied," Meg chided playfully.
"What, you expect me to do that all myself?" He sighed theatrically with a glance to Madame Giry and shook his head. "Good help is so hard to find these days." Erik found himself having to quickly sidestep an elbow to the ribs from his laughing young friend.
Madame Giry smiled at their byplay. "Very well," she said at last. "It is not as though I can stop you, Meg, from visiting him. Monsieur - Erik. Erik, I expect that she will be home at nights, unless you have accommodations for her in your home?"
"Accommodations can be found for Meg," Erik replied smoothly enough. "If she would rather go back home at nights, I will send her home with you until I am fully capable of providing an escort for her."
"You could try talking to me and not over my head," Meg muttered dryly.
"In this case, Megan, he is correct. Thank you, Monsieur Erik, for seeing to my daughter's safety. You may hold onto the borrowed items for as long as you need them, though I should like my spare pot back soon. And - Erik?"
"Yes?"
Madame Giry's dark eyes met Erik's squarely. "I will not betray your secret, so long as Meg and the Opera remain unharmed."
The threat was plain - old Giry did not trust the man who was still whispered about as the feared Opera Ghost. Erik nodded. "They will remain safe."
Giry nodded, and stepped forward to her daughter. Quickly she planted a kiss on Meg's forehead, more than she had done even in private for a long time, and held her. "Megan, Megan, you have always been so headstrong. I do not know what the two of you do down there in the cellars and I will not ask. Just promise me that you will not do anything you would not want to tell your mother about, non?"
The dancer smiled and hugged her mother back. "I promise, Maman. Thank you... for not trying to force me away from a friend."
"It never does work when I try it, I should know that by now. Will I see you at home tonight?"
"I think I will see if I can help Erik clean up his home for a few days. There's one useable room and he won't let me sleep on the floor even though I'm more used to it, not to mention the kitchen is about gone and I'm cooking meals in what left of the living room fireplace."
The old woman sighed, long and heavy. "All right. But be on time in the morning, or bring a toothbrush. I will see if I can leave some things around that might help you two to clean house. Sleep well."
// My daughter is growing up. I can no longer protect her from everything as I would have even two weeks ago. Megan... be careful. //
With those words, the elderly woman made her way to the door and checked the corridor behind for sounds before easing it open. The door sounded its close with a creak and a click, and they listened to Madame Giry's steps making their familiar "click-click-tap" down the hall.
Meg smiled gently at Erik. "That went well, I think."
"Better than I expected, though not as well as I hoped. You said she liked me!"
Meg giggled just a little. "She does. That's why you got off that lightly. You should have heard her when the Baron d'Orsay tried courting me two years ago."
"You will need to inform me of this, I do not believe I remember hearing about that particular interview," Erik chuckled, pinching out the candle. Meg picked up the dark lantern and closed the shutters again and they stepped through the remains of the mirror once more while she told him of the rather disastrous meeting Isabelle Giry had had with the young man who, as it turned out, had been flirting the same way with a half a dozen of the dancers all at once. Erik's booming laugh resounded warmly across the icy lake well before she reached the end.
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Well, I hope that wasn't too disappointing. I shall try to move this story along a bit here in the next chapter.
AC85
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I know Madame Giry is pretty harsh on Erik in this chapter - please understand that she is somewhat protective of her only daughter and only wants the best possible for her. Especially since Meg's taken to associating with someone who, to Isabelle's eyes, can only be considered a shady and rather dangerous character...
Feedback! Feed me!
A/N: Oh dear. The dreaded moment when the guy meets her parents... except Erik fortunately only has Madame Giry to worry about. Or is he getting the short end of that trade?
::devours her feedback in one gigantic bite:: Yum! ::belches:: Thank you to Mystery Guest, Phantom Aria, BW and my own dear Maman for all your wonderful comments and for your patience with me in getting this story up! I consider it a massive compliment that so many E/C fans are enjoying what I can say with certainty now is most definitely an E/M... thank you everyone!
Liz D-M, this chapter is for you - some of the miscommunications possible between a mother and her almost-grown daughter come through here, and maybe a bit of their love for each other as well... I don't think I have a tall, dark and handsome man slipping roses into my locker, but all the same - Maman, I love you!
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"Lachesis' Weavings" by AngelCeleste85
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Chapter 11 - Revelations
The figure, clad in black almost as dark as the shadows except for where her pale face and hands gleamed, emerged from the darkness of the tunnel.
"It seems the rumors are at least partially true, a tall dark man running off with my daughter," Isabelle Giry said wryly.
Meg winced. This was not at all the way she had hoped to tell her mother! "Maman, don't be mad - it's not like that at all -"
"I am not angry, dear. But I do wish you had told me before making this decision."
"Maman, I'm not running off anywhere."
"Oh?"
Erik stepped forward, a silent shadow behind the ballet dancer, his hand unconsciously resting on Meg's shoulder. "Good evening to you, Madame," he said gravely.
Isabelle only nodded. "Monsieur le Fantome. I might have guessed when I caught Meg sneaking down the corridors. You could not have Christine so you turn your attentions to her friend?"
"No, Madame. She came to me, not I to her."
It seemed the older woman's brows were about to climb to her receding hairline. "Well, this sounds like it will be quite the tale. However, this damp and chill is unkind to an old woman's joints. Shall we go somewhere that is warmer?"
Erik removed the lantern from the boat. "Madame, I would invite you to my home, but as yet it is in no condition to again receive guests."
"I was under the impression that you considered the entire Opera your home and property, Monsieur le Fantome."
Erik was silent to that as he led them back up the corridor. Isabelle trailed him, Meg under her arm. The only sounds were those of their footsteps, the elder Giry's cane, and the squeaks of rats. Meg could barely see Erik as a silhouette against the dim red light he carried aloft for them all. Soon they came to Christine's abandoned dressing room and the shattered mirror-door.
Meg took one look at her mother's face and her heart sank. This was not going to be an easy interview, or amusing. By her face, the ballet mistress was wishing that she had Erik in the corps, as well, just to make him jump when she said as well. Soundlessly, the girl tried a few of the drawers at the vanity before finding what she was looking for. There was nothing to trim the wick with, so Meg just touched it to the flame inside the now-unshuttered dark lantern. Light filled the room, and she set the candle in a holder on the vanity's top beside the inkwell, the quill pen and a vase with a single red rose, long since dead and withered.
Erik was looking at the rose, she realized. {{ Was it one he gave to her? }} He seemed expressionless, but she had had so much time recently to talk to him and study him, she was almost certain there was something to it. {{ I'll keep my nose short, I think. He's still so hurt about Christine. }}
Isabelle took the vanity's stool, motioning her daughter to sit on the bed facing her. Erik remained standing where he was, habitually drawn back into the deepest shadow he could find, not that there were many within the room itself with a candle lit and the lantern unshuttered. Meg looked down at the floor and realized then how lucky she was that nobody had yet chanced across her quick jury-rig on the doorway's appearance from the main corridor: a fine layer of dust had settled here and her shoes had disturbed it many times. It was just barely noticeable, but it was all the same.
Old Madame Giry had seen this as well. "So, would either of you mind enlightening me? Meg, you say that the rumors I hear are not true. If not, then what is? How long have you been sneaking down - after rehearsals, I presume - to meet with him?"
She took a deep breath as she steeled herself for her mother's reaction. "I was worried about him, Maman."
"Worried? About someone who kills for spite, for jealousy. A man who bullies the managers into running the theatre his way, extorts an outrageous salary from them. Who stalks the girls he fixes his mad obsession upon until they are driven nearly insane. And who hides so well within this building that for years nobody could track down the source of the rumors. You were worried for him?"
Meg couldn't help shooting a glance at Erik. He seemed unmoved, but... no, there was a distinct hardness to his eyes, twin amber flames in the shadows of his face, and to the set of his strong jaw. He was angry, no doubt about it.
Come to think of it, so was she. This had been a topic that they had not touched in the weeks since, and it seemed that it was about to come out now.
"Yes, Maman, I was worried for him! You weren't with the mob, Maman, you didn't go with them. They would have killed him, Maman! Didn't you know that?"
Isabelle sat back, thunderstruck.
"So it was you." Erik's whisper sounded like steel being drawn from a leather sheath. "You showed them the way down, just like you showed the Vicomte."
"Not quite. I was not able to help you directly and I apologize for that, Monsieur," the old ballet teacher said quietly, "but I could not stand by while you did to another woman what once you stopped from happening to me."
"I would never have harmed her," Erik returned. To Meg, who was thoroughly lost, it seemed as though the masked man was trying to burn a hole through her mother with his glare.
"Would someone please explain this to me?" she asked.
The question seemed to freeze the air in the room. Finally Erik shrugged.
"If I said anything, it would sound like boasting," was all he said, a tacit way of telling the old woman "You tell her."
Isabelle sighed. "Do you recall, during the production of 'Robert le Diable' about five years ago, when I came home and you said that I looked like I'd rolled in an alley?"
"How could I forget that, Maman, you only caned me for that remark until I couldn't sit comfortable for a week."
"Which I should not have done, and as I recall I apologized about that." Her tone was brisker, her words more clipped now. "I never told you what happened, but I may as well now. I was walking home from a late meeting with the managers, as a matter of fact, and I was tired. I decided, more fool I, to turn through an alley as a shorter way to get home. A group of half-drunk men attacked me and tried to have their way with me. That man in the corner there pulled them off of me. Three of them died, and the last two are likely still running."
It was Meg's turn to be shocked. "I never... never suspected - But you should have gone to warn him, then, and instead you betrayed him!"
"Silence, child, when you do not know everything! I did consider it both ways - openly aiding him, and betraying him each, and every possibility between. On the surface of it, I should have helped, you are correct there. But - I could not allow him to force himself on Christine. The Vicomte had to be there. I do not believe that one capable of rape under most circumstances, but I would not put it past him in a temper and I know of nothing as liable to put a man into a jealous rage as the thought that another man might be interested in the one he himself has chosen. If nothing else, the Vicomte had to be there to provide Christine with the choice." That, with a sideways glance at the man who leaned, arms crossed over his chest, in the corner. "My choice, I pray, has harmed as few as possible."
"That very nearly backfired," Erik put in coldly. "And may yet still, though in a different manner." The tone of voice made Meg shiver, it was suspiciously close to the voice that had laughed with such malice during the last production of "Il Muto" when the Phantom...
The Phantom. So the Opera Ghost was not entirely dead, after all.
Isabelle Giry had not seemed to notice, though. "I did not think it would then. But, far from giving them directions, I delayed the mob that went seeking your life, Monsieur le Fantome."
"I heard you telling them the way!" Meg said, no longer content to sit. "I was right there in the middle of the group where you wouldn't see me, and I heard you tell them three rights, two lefts, take the left fork, down two flights of stairs..."
"And the directions I gave were wrong, deliberately so. The directions I gave brought them around to the wrong side of the lake. I suppose I need not ask why you were in the mob to begin with - concern for him?"
"For both of them, actually," Meg muttered sullenly, sitting down again, her face flushing.
[[ For both of them. Which "both?" I assume Christine was one of "them," but you did not know the Phantom of the Opera then. ]]
"Do you see now why I am so concerned for you when you do not come home at night?" Isabelle asked a trifle more gently. "The Paris streets are not safe, you can meet all sorts of riffraff there." A double-edged remark, though Meg was ashamed that she had heard it. Erik's jaw tightened still further. "I do not mind admitting, this man saved my life that night. I tried to give him as much opportunity as I could to let him save his own without ruining Christine's and the Vicomte's in return. And that, child, is very much off the topic."
"You are very much mistaken, Madame," the Phantom's voice, as cool as the air flowing past them from the mirror, replied to Isabelle. "If you think that I honestly would have harmed Christine then, or Meg now, you are far more mistaken than you realize! Whatever else I have been and done, I have never, ever, forced myself upon a woman.
"Nor did I kill Buquet, or Piangi. Meg already knows, but I could not have touched Buquet from where I was, not did I tamper with his safety equipment. His death was purely an accident. Piangi, I did not want to kill, nor did I."
Cool and controlled up to this point, the Phantom was losing his hold on the man's voice and Erik came through once more, unconsciously gathering heat as he spoke. "My concern for Mademoiselle Megan now is as a friend. She is the first person to have seen me without my mask and not tried to run away. Whether or not she ran and vomited in the lake while I was unconscious, I do not know, nor do I care. She still came back and saved my life: she nursed me back to health and gave me a reason to live when I would not have otherwise given a damn. I owe her my life and should she need anything from me, she has only to say the word. I will die before I see her hurt."
"You do not mention the chandelier."
"Must I account to you for every accident that has occurred in my presence since my birth?" Erik nearly shouted. "The chandelier was not me, either - do you honestly think I would have risked any hurt to Christine? The damned thing came down of its own accord! What I would not give to be a safety inspector just to be able to boot those fools out of their office myself..."
Almost beside himself, Erik ripped off his mask: Isabelle recoiled, her face pale and her eyes wide. "Look at me, Madame! I am a man, not a monster, however much I look like one! Your daughter saw that where Christine failed to, where I myself had forgotten! Do not think that, because I look like a monster on the outside, I must be a monster inside as well! I have faced that for fifty long, lonely years. I will not hear it now. I am not a monster, I am only a man! No more, no less!"
Erik turned, dropping the mask, and buried his face in a corner of the walls. Isabelle stood, but Meg beat her to the man's side, ignoring the fallen mask and stroking his back through the borrowed white shirt as he wept silently. Isabelle watched in silence as her daughter soothed the older man, whispering silently to him.
The petite rat herself was amazed by the sheer force of the emotions that drove Erik. {{ He would die to protect me? }}
"Well then, would you mind telling me how long this has been going on." It was not a question, however worded.
"A week and a half. I came down the first day that the gendarmes were gone, after rehearsal."
"I take it that this is where my husband's old clothing has gotten to, not to mention my spare pot? For that matter, Meg, how have you been feeding him?"
Meg stopped, seeing that Erik was somewhat settled. "I was using my savings."
Erik, who had taken advantage of Meg's sudden pause, swiped at his face and donned his mask once more. "I will see that you are repaid, Meg, for your time and money."
"You?" Isabelle scoffed, though perhaps not as hard as she might have only ten minutes before. "I saw the things that were lifted from your home. Maybe you had money three weeks ago, but I doubt you would have enough now to repay the food!"
Erik faced old Giry squarely. "Madame, your daughter is my friend, and it is for her sake and the sake of memory that I restrain my temper now. Give me some credit that is rightfully mine, at least, I am neither street pauper nor complete fool."
"Are you saying that you could provide for my daughter?" Giry's brows were raised as she took in the borrowed attire, the sleek porcelain mask and his clean but still slightly shaggy hair.
The former Phantom tensed, he knew well the implications of that question. [[ Good grief, she is as bad as the Daroga. I suppose this is what I get for calling upon the goddesses, a woman nosing into my private affairs? ]]
"As I said, should Meg need anything, she has only to say the word. I do not seek her hand, nor indeed anything she does not choose to give to me of her own free will. I am content with her friendship. I believe it may go without saying that she has mine."
To his surprise, the old ballet mistress nodded slowly. "What are your plans for the Opera then, Monsieur le Fantome?"
"Erik, please."
"Erik, then. What are you planning for the Opera now?"
There seemed to be a note of longing or wistfulness in his voice now. "I have no plans to harass them further, Carlotta can sing as often and as badly as she likes." [[ They can go to hell for all I care. Though I do intend to see that Andre and Firmin do not forget their Ghost's salary. ]] "I may watch from Box Five, if they continue to leave it unsold, but if not I can always watch from other hidey-holes."
"You should be trying to get that mess down there tidied," Meg chided playfully.
"What, you expect me to do that all myself?" He sighed theatrically with a glance to Madame Giry and shook his head. "Good help is so hard to find these days." Erik found himself having to quickly sidestep an elbow to the ribs from his laughing young friend.
Madame Giry smiled at their byplay. "Very well," she said at last. "It is not as though I can stop you, Meg, from visiting him. Monsieur - Erik. Erik, I expect that she will be home at nights, unless you have accommodations for her in your home?"
"Accommodations can be found for Meg," Erik replied smoothly enough. "If she would rather go back home at nights, I will send her home with you until I am fully capable of providing an escort for her."
"You could try talking to me and not over my head," Meg muttered dryly.
"In this case, Megan, he is correct. Thank you, Monsieur Erik, for seeing to my daughter's safety. You may hold onto the borrowed items for as long as you need them, though I should like my spare pot back soon. And - Erik?"
"Yes?"
Madame Giry's dark eyes met Erik's squarely. "I will not betray your secret, so long as Meg and the Opera remain unharmed."
The threat was plain - old Giry did not trust the man who was still whispered about as the feared Opera Ghost. Erik nodded. "They will remain safe."
Giry nodded, and stepped forward to her daughter. Quickly she planted a kiss on Meg's forehead, more than she had done even in private for a long time, and held her. "Megan, Megan, you have always been so headstrong. I do not know what the two of you do down there in the cellars and I will not ask. Just promise me that you will not do anything you would not want to tell your mother about, non?"
The dancer smiled and hugged her mother back. "I promise, Maman. Thank you... for not trying to force me away from a friend."
"It never does work when I try it, I should know that by now. Will I see you at home tonight?"
"I think I will see if I can help Erik clean up his home for a few days. There's one useable room and he won't let me sleep on the floor even though I'm more used to it, not to mention the kitchen is about gone and I'm cooking meals in what left of the living room fireplace."
The old woman sighed, long and heavy. "All right. But be on time in the morning, or bring a toothbrush. I will see if I can leave some things around that might help you two to clean house. Sleep well."
// My daughter is growing up. I can no longer protect her from everything as I would have even two weeks ago. Megan... be careful. //
With those words, the elderly woman made her way to the door and checked the corridor behind for sounds before easing it open. The door sounded its close with a creak and a click, and they listened to Madame Giry's steps making their familiar "click-click-tap" down the hall.
Meg smiled gently at Erik. "That went well, I think."
"Better than I expected, though not as well as I hoped. You said she liked me!"
Meg giggled just a little. "She does. That's why you got off that lightly. You should have heard her when the Baron d'Orsay tried courting me two years ago."
"You will need to inform me of this, I do not believe I remember hearing about that particular interview," Erik chuckled, pinching out the candle. Meg picked up the dark lantern and closed the shutters again and they stepped through the remains of the mirror once more while she told him of the rather disastrous meeting Isabelle Giry had had with the young man who, as it turned out, had been flirting the same way with a half a dozen of the dancers all at once. Erik's booming laugh resounded warmly across the icy lake well before she reached the end.
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Well, I hope that wasn't too disappointing. I shall try to move this story along a bit here in the next chapter.
AC85
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I know Madame Giry is pretty harsh on Erik in this chapter - please understand that she is somewhat protective of her only daughter and only wants the best possible for her. Especially since Meg's taken to associating with someone who, to Isabelle's eyes, can only be considered a shady and rather dangerous character...
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