Omg I'm so sorry this took so long. Even after JCS I still have no life. I blame it on my stupid research paper. However, its done so maybe I'll be able to do some more work on this.

"Five hundred twenty-five thousand
Six hundred minutes!
Five hundred twenty-five thousand
Journeys to plan.

"Five hundred twenty-five thousand

Six hundred minutes
How do you measure the life
Of a woman or a man?"

-"Seasons of Love" from RENT

4. Measure in Love

It was not long before the Girys had managed to get back on their feet and had almost reached normalcy. After all, they had each other, they had a decent place to live, and now that Meg was performing again, they still had enough money to make it by. But at the same time, there were many voids in their souls left open in this new life. The Comique was not filled with family like the Populaire had been. There were a few girls that Meg considered companions, but she found no sisterhood in them and everyone else remained fairly distant. Yet Meg knew better than to complain about it. She had enough to be content.

As time passed, Madame Giry's health continued to deteriorate. Every day she was a little weaker and every day Meg's concern about her increased. Madame's physical strength was waning, but her inner strength and stubbornness still prevailed as she protested again a doctor. Bed rest, she claimed, would make her well. Meg didn't have the heart to remind her that it had been two months and it was doing nothing.

At the Comique, Meg's spirits began to rise. Rehearsals had been going very well. Though she did miss the splendor of the Populaire, working at a smaller theater had advantages as well. There were still those who had Carlotta-proportioned egos, but thankfully no diva-sized tantrums. And, thanks to Raoul's patronage, the theater was finally going to add on dormitories and construction would begin after Midsummer was over. It felt as though she had never left the stage. Still, there was one thing about the Comique that was both a blessing and a curse: no Christine. Meg did miss her friend, for she had been the closest thing to a sister that Meg ever had. This corps was not as much fun without Christine to gossip and laugh with. But there was one good thing about Christine's absence that Meg could not deny: there was no Christine around to take time with Raoul away from her. It was often that the ballerina and the vicomte crossed paths that soon followed with a short conversation, and Christine was not there to distract him from her.

After a vigorous rehearsal, Meg hurried home, wanting nothing more than to soak her aching feet. However, she had no sooner come through the door and found Mme. Giry in another coughing fit. She quickly when to fetch a glass of water, but when she returned, she noticed the flecks of blood that spotted her mother's handkerchief.

"That's it! We aren't waiting any longer to take you to a doctor."

Madame, still coughing, looked at her daughter with defiance that Meg easily read in her eyes.

"No maman, you aren't fine! You're coughing up blood! That's not normal. You need a doctor."

The Giry's quickly hailed a coach to the nearest hospital and Madame was quickly attended to. To soothe her condition, she was given some cough syrup and laudanum and was peacefully asleep. Meg sat by her mother, lost in deep thought and staring into space before the doctor came in, jolting her out of her trance.

"Will she be all right?" Meg asked, fearing what such a question could bring. As the doctor's face turned grave, she felt her heart freeze with fear.

"For now she will," he said, pausing for a moment. "You and your mother worked at the Populaire, am I correct?"

Meg nodded.

"I assume that you were both near by when the fire started."

"Yes."

"I am very sorry Miss Giry, but your mother is suffering from smoke inhalation. It has damaged her lungs very badly."

"There must be something that you could do?"

"I'm afraid that nothing can be done to cure her. An apothecary might have some elixirs that might make her condition easier, but that is all that I can recommend."

The doctor had answered nearly all of her questions, but there was still one left, one that Meg feared to have answered above the rest. She swallowed as she gathered up her courage.

"How… how much longer does she have left?"

"It is hard to tell, but up to two months at the most." His look was very sympathetic as he noticed how the little ballerina fought to hold her tears back.

So that was it then. Her mother had a maximum of two months left to live and that was it. 'Why?' she thought miserably. 'Why does life never cease in punishing me? It took away Raoul before I ever had a chance, it took away my home, my career, my friends, and now, I have been robbed of the only family I have left.'

Poor Meg had never felt more torn between anything before. Because Madame's time was severely limited, she wanted to spend as much time with her mother as possible. Yet, with this sickness came paying for the elixirs that kept her mother comfortable, so Meg had to work in order to keep money in the house. Her torn duties could only be satisfied by trying to hurry home as soon as possible.

Meg's fellow dancers had noticed a change in her behavior. She was always such a lively girl, and though she was shy, she was always so full of spunk. Her eyes, once bright, were always downcast, her dancing was sluggish, and she had lost the spring in her step.

Raoul had noticed Meg as well. She was so quiet around him and he could not help but notice how something sad lingered in her normally bright, blue eyes. Though she and her mother had been through more than he could imagine in so little time, Meg had seemed to handle it so well. 'Wait a minute… her mother!' He remembered how her face had fallen the first time he spoke with her since she joined the Comique as soon as that topic was mentioned.

The vicomte found the poor girl as soon as he could after rehearsal and managed to catch her just in time before she prepared to scurry home.

"Mademoiselle Giry!"

Even with her desire to get home immediately, Raoul's voice easily stopped her in her tracks.

"Monsieur le Vicomte, bon soir."

"Same to you. Mademoiselle, I'm sorry, but I've noticed that you haven't quite been acting like yourself. Is something wrong?"

Raoul noticed how her eyes instantly dropped and he could not help but feel sympathy for the poor girl. She motioned with him to follow her backstage, out of the way of everyone else.

"It's maman. She's very sick. She started coughing up blood the other day. I took her to the hospital and…" Meg's voice trailed off as she tried to quiet the tears that now stung her cheeks. She felt a warm hand enclose hers and Raoul's touch gave her the extra push she needed to go on. "She's dying, monsieur. She has two months at the most left!"

Carefully restrained sobs soon took over her small body. Raoul felt his heart break as he watched Meg mourn. After all that her family had done for him, it was unbearable to see her cry. With kind sympathy, Raoul embraced the trembling ballerina and gently stroked her head, much like she had done the morning after the fire. As soon as she felt his strong arms around her, Meg let out a small gasp that was covered by a sob. With some hesitancy, she leaned farther into his arms. The warmth that surrounded her soothed her and Meg felt a little better as the sweet scent of his cologne met her nose. Meg wanted so much to stay like this forever, but already she could feel awkwardness setting in. Slowly she slid from his arms and wiped her swollen eyes and Raoul offered her a handkerchief.

"I'm sorry you have to see me like this," she said with a fake laugh.

His soft gray eyes met hers in a serious gaze. "No, feel free to cry. You did the same when I acted like a blubbering fool that night. Besides, I know it's hard to loose a parent."

Through her tears, Meg smiled up at him. The fact that he cared did not entirely dissolve her sorrow, but it certainly made it a little easier.

"Mademoiselle, if there is anything I can do, any way to assist you and your mother, please feel free to tell me."

"Thank you," she said meekly. "Thank you very much."

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­

As death drew nearer, both Girys had begun to feel the doom and anxiety that its shadow cast over them. It was so hard for Madame to watch as her devoted daughter struggled to care for her, maintain their home, and work as both a dancer and a seamstress at the opera to pay for the tenement as well as medicines and doctor bills. Protector and provider was her natural duty, but the old woman knew that her health had caused the roles to switch. Though Meg's tireless devotion was vital, it further reminded her of how much her illness had weakened her body, yet her soul was still strong.

It was not long before Christine, as well as her new husband arrived and secretly stayed with the Giry's. With the Phantom, she had fled out of the city and moved outside of Tours, but a letter from Meg of her mother's condition had instantly brought them back. They arrived in the cover of night with an anxious look that had lightened once Meg greeted them.

As soon as Meg opened the door and found Christine, she quickly concealed a squeal of delight so as not to disturb the other people in the tenement. Though her absence was beneficial at the theater, Meg couldn't have been happier to see her friend again.

"Oh Christine, it has been too long!"

"Yes, it has," Christine replied as they entered the apartment. "Meg, you know Erik, don't you?"

Only when Christine had mentioned him did Meg really notice the tall shadow that loomed behind them. Immediately she felt herself shrink from intimidation. So, this was the Phantom of the Opera. As he stepped closer into the light, she noticed the piercing white mask. He was everything she had expected: intimidating, powerful, quiet as a shadow, and cloaked in darkness and majesty. She swallowed as he drew closer. "Yes… of course. Pleased to meet you," she said meekly as he shook her hand.

"Ah yes, Meg Giry," he said in a voice that was quiet but filled with power. "We truly meet at last. The pleasure is mine."

"How is she?" Christine asked in a concerned tone.

"Asleep for now," Meg replied. "It's only been a week since we found out, but how time has flown." Her voice wavered dangerously and she stopped herself before tears seized her again. "Come, I'll show you where you can stay."

Meg led them to her room. The cot that she slept on next to her mother would suit her fine. Though her guests would certainly have a bit of a tight fit on her small bed, it was the best she could offer in this small apartment. Besides, Meg did not believe she would be getting much sleep these days while a bit of her mother's life slipped away with each passing minute.

Meg could not have been more grateful for Christine's friendship. While she was rehearsing and sewing, Christine and Erik took care of her mother as well as the house, making her load considerably lighter. Yet despite their much-needed assistance, the weight on her shoulders did not lighten as her mother's health truly took a turn for the worst.

Finally, after many rigorous months of rehearsal, Le Théâtre Comique was finally ready for opening night of A Midsummer Night's Dream. Like many opening nights of the past, backstage was filled with enormous chaos as the performers scrambled into their costumes and makeup. Meg's stomach was filled with a thousand butterflies as she applied glitter around her eyes. Though stage fright was certainly nothing new, it never failed to come before a show. But that was not the only reason that Meg was worried sick. The thought of being away while her mother was almost gone was unnerving and nothing she did could drive that away. It filled her with an even greater fear than stage fright. What if her mother died before she got to say one last goodbye! But a call from a fellow dancer reminder her that the curtain would rise in five minutes and all of Meg's worries were soon lost in the fabulous whirlwind of performing.

Opening night had been a fantastic success and Meg enjoyed it not only because of triumph, but because for a few, precious hours, the terrible load that weighed her down was momentarily lifted and made her light enough to dance with all of the grace and agility that she possessed. But nothing lasts forever, a lesson that Meg had learned repeatedly and harshly. No sooner had she left the stage after curtain call when she remembered what lay in store for her at home and the wings that ignorance had given her were torn away, leaving her to plummet back into sorrow. She passed the Vicomte backstage but the urgent look on her face immediately let him know that no time could be spared for a usual conversation. Her costume was quickly thrown back onto a hanger and into the wardrobe of her dressing room before she took off.

Meg's heartbeat pounded in her ears as she sat as patiently inside the carriage, silently willing for it to move faster. Yes, ignorance could be bliss, but not knowing whether her mother still had life within her was one of the worst forms of torture possible. Her heart leapt as she jumped out and stopped only a moment to pay the driver before tearing up the stairs of the tenement. She stood outside the door, searching through her purse for her key. Her hand moved to slide it into the slot but the door opened before she could, revealing a grave looking Erik. Meg looked up into his chilled, blue eyes filled with anxiety. For a split second she wondered if she should dare to confirm her biggest fear, but her strength failed her and she only dashed away into the bedroom where Christine sat with tear-stained cheeks. Meg's heart gave a fearful pang and again she wondered if she should ask, when a small, strained sound met her ears.

"Meg," her mother whispered and in an instant she was at her side.

"Maman, thank God! I though…"

"Shh, there's no time. Listen, I must go very soon, but I must tell you something… Meg, I could not have asked for a better daughter. I have watched all of my hopes and dreams come true in you ever since you were a little girl, and such a fine young woman you have become." Madame paused for a moment as a dry cough echoed in her raged throat. Tears proceeded to stream down Meg's rosy cheek as her mother's hand gently caressed it.

"Come now, don't cry. I'm not worried dear. I can finally be with your father now. He was a wonderful man Meg. You would have loved him just much as I. I love you, my daughter, never ever forget that."

"I love you too, maman!" Meg sobbed, feeling grief overtake her trembling body.

"Be strong Meg. Do not give up all you've worked for because of grief. Promise me Meg, promise that you will stay strong." Meg nodded her head, to overwhelmed with the bittersweetness of this last goodbye. "You are a Giry, and you are a strong, talented woman. Be strong dear, keep going strong, no matter…"

One last shallow breath fluttered from Madame's lips before her life left with it and her hand fell limp in Meg's grasp. For one moment, all was completely still and a hushed silence fell over the room. Meg just sat there motionless, holding her mother's hand as Christine quietly sobbed into Erik's arms while the Phantom just watched in sorrowful awe. Whether the silence or Meg and Christine's anguished sobs were worse to observe, it was hard to tell, but both cut through Erik like a white hot knife as his own grief welled up inside him. Death was so familiar to him. He was used to feeling the life depart beneath his strangling grip, but never before had death affected him so as the only true mother-like figure in his life was lost. He held his trembling wife closer and kissed her head as silent tears of his own splashed onto her chocolate curls.

The funeral of Madame Antoinette Giry was fairly large one as nearly every living person whose life she had touched came to say farewell. Christine and Erik had remained distant from the crowd of mourners upon fear of recognition, but Meg knew that they were still hiding in the shadows of the church. Almost every ballerina who had danced while she was in charge of the corps de ballet came with tear-filled eyes and heavy hearts, as well as some singers who came to know her for the strict but caring woman she was. The Vicomte de Chagney had come to honor Madame for Meg's behalf and for saving his life. Even Monsieurs Lefevre, Andre, and Firmin had come to pay last respects. The small church was nearly packed. Many stood there in reverent silence, many cried with great sobs, but the most moving display of grief came from Little Meg. As she stood there in the first pew, Meg allowed a silent river of tears to flow, not letting grief and mourning overpower her. Antoinette's daughter had not forgotten her mother's last words. She was going to be strong and resilient, just as her mother had been to the very end, no matter how much her strength tried to waver.

After the burial, a few mourners lingered about before silently returning to their carriages. Christine and Erik watched her from a distance, knowing better than to try to move her. Meg stood there over the mound of fresh dirt loyally, much like she had at her mother's deathbed. The cool breeze blew at her hair and skirts rapidly, yet she remained numb to everything around her.

'I can't believe this is really goodbye,' she thought repeatedly. Half of her just wanted to run away as fast as her legs would carry her, but she remained glued to the spot, unable to believe that this long-lived nightmare was over, yet just beginning.

Even with the whistle of the wind in her ears, Meg heard approaching footfalls, believing them to belong to Christine or Erik. She turned slowly to face them, only to find that it was Raoul. He stood before her in silence with grief clouding his gentle, mournful gray eyes. Not a word was exchanged between them and none needed to be. Raoul understood that it was not words, but actions that helped to heal. Meg's gaze locked with his for a moment, before she burst into violent sobs and flung herself into his arms, not caring about the numerous divides between them, only aware of the desperate need to be held and to feel the warmth of another human being. Raoul wrapped his arms around her, holding her close and her cries were muffled as she cried into his chest. As she trembled in his embrace, his memory brought him back to the morning of his own loss and how he had sobbed while she held him. He remembered that primitive need for human contact while a heart was so full of sorrow and he drew her closer, gently stroking her mane of golden hair. It was then that the young Vicomte came to understand something: both of them needed friendship of another who could understand while both suffering in the same, terrible way from losses of different forms. Raoul was all ready aware that Philippe would reprimand him for associating with someone from a lower class, but the expectations of society's hierarchy had not blinded the younger de Chagney from the need of human companionship, especially when both him and Meg needed it the most. Besides, after all that Meg and her mother had done for him, it was the least he could do.

Sorry guys, I seem to have a habit of killing off Madame Giry. However, nothing brings people together like grief and I need Meg to be alone for later chapters.