Through blackmail or an unreasonable amount of charm (both equally possible, considering his parentage), Geoffrey was offered the position of conductor rather quickly. If Erik had eyebrows, he certainly would have arched one at this. When the standing conductor retired from the orchestra, it stood to reason that a violinist would take up the role until a suitable replacement was found.

Instead, though, Geoffrey had been invited to step in; an arrangement that, after only one concert, the more wealthy patrons insisted be made formal and permanent.

Erik, of course, was beaming with pride when he received the letter, and informed Christine that they would pay their son a visit. Christine, who had become the only temperance to Erik's impulsiveness, was able to convince her husband not to call for a carriage at that very moment, but instead to wait until a respectable hour, the next morning. He grumbled and complained about the injustice of it all, but was disinclined to say 'no' to the woman he adored.

She did not, however, stop him from sending a hastily written letter to Nadir, instructing him join them for the concert. Christine wondered how a friendly invitation sounded like a reprimand.

Erik and Nadir had the strangest of relationships. Once, Christine had asked him about it. The daroga just laughed and explained that Erik had an allergy to kindness and they had always treated each other accordingly.

Very strange, indeed. Fitting… but strange.

"Mama!" Geoffrey exclaimed, giving his mother a hug. "Father, Mr. Khan," he nodded, shaking each man's hand in turn.

"Good afternoon, son," Erik said affectionately. It was good to see his boy again.

The four exchanged small talk for a few minutes, before Geoffrey picked up on his father's increasingly less-subtle hints and offered them a tour of the concert hall.

It was a bit different from the opera house, but that was to be expected. The stage was large, but not set up to accommodate large sets and heavy props. Overall, Erik was suitably impressed by the auditorium. Granted, he had seen it all before, but somehow it seemed bigger and grander now that his son was in charge.

Knowing it would only be hours from sending his letter until his parents arrived, Geoffrey took the liberty of reserving a box for the night's performance.

"Box five," Christine whispered, earning a smirk from Erik. They did not know whether or not their son knew the significance of that same space in another auditorium.

"I'm sure I have no idea what you are talking about, my dear," Erik whispered back, amused. "Now, if you'd stop your silly comments, I would like to listen to the performance now."

"But it hasn't even started yet."

"Shh. Some of us are trying to enjoy the concert."

Christine rolled her eyes. Not fifteen seconds later, she felt her husband's hand surreptitiously slid over and rest on her knee.

"I thought you said you were trying to enjoy the concert!"

"Shh."

"Ahem," Nadir coughed. He earned a dangerous glare from Erik… but honestly! He was right there next to them!

Erik flipped through the program, able to read it clearly, regardless of the fact that he was completely enveloped in shadows.

"This is a very odd, program," he explained. "Usually they perform the lesser known works in the beginning and play the grander pieces last. That way people do not leave during the intermission. But… here, look, Christine… this program starts with well known music… and features this piece by an unknown composer at the end."

"Ah, perhaps I can explain that, my friend," Nadir said. "You see, I daresay this is what has garnered your son's instant popularity. The composer of which you are referring is not unknown but rather anonymous. He is known only as 'The Ghost's Apprentice' and has produced some of the most daring music the city has seen in a long time. And… it would appear that your son--and your son, alone--has access to his compositions."

Erik barked out a laugh. "The Ghost's Apprentice, you say?"

Nadir shrugged, equally amused. "Yes, it would seem that you are not the only one out there with a flare for the mysterious. The point is, though, that the music is wildly popular. The first concert, nearly half the audience left after the great, established works at the beginning of the program--I thought poor Geoffrey would be sacked for sure. But, those who stayed raved so much about the remaining half so much that the theater has been sold out for every concert since." He began to dig through his jacket pockets and pulled out a small strip of newspaper. "Here you go… the critics have called this 'Not a concert, but an experience'. You should be very proud."

"That I am," Erik agreed. He sharply turned to Christine, eyes narrowed. "Why have I just now heard of this?"

Christine shrugged. "I'll do better next time," she said sweetly.

Erik grunted irritably. That was wife-speak for 'It's your fault, you idiot, but I'm not going to embarrass you in front of your friend'.

She was probably right in that. He'd been rather inspired creatively these last few weeks and had grown out of touch the world outside his house. Christine had dragged him upstairs for meals every few days, but he'd only been half-listening to their conversations.

Nevertheless, he had to be annoyed with someone… so he just silently glared at a rather confused Nadir until the orchestra had finished tuning and the concert began.

The first half was impressive enough; it was clear Geoffrey had done some wonderful things with the musicians in front of him. However, it was the second half that had nearly the whole audience on the edge of their seats. Christine had to physically push Erik into his chair a couple of times to prevent him from standing and pacing while he listened.

If the composer's pseudonym hadn't tipped them off, Erik still would have recognized his son's music anywhere. Every now and then, he would lean over to Christine and say something like, "Did you hear that? That run… right there… in the bassoons… the one that the cellos keep echoing? That's mine. I taught him that."

Christine grinned. She had not seen Erik so excited in a long time. And she did not think she had ever shown so much pride in his son… though she knew it was there under the surface. He was usually such a grump when the twins were around. Well… not the twins specifically… just any living being that wasn't his wife.

After the concert, Geoffrey invited them all to his flat to catch up. Christine, of course, was excited to see her son's new apartment, and Erik was just happy to get away from the crowds. Nadir followed along happily, keeping the conversations rolling along and occasionally wringing a death threat or two out of Erik. Just for fun.

"So, son," Erik said, softly… "The Ghost's Apprentice, eh? I take it you and he are close?"

The silent question hanging there was obvious. Why don't you claim your own work?

Geoffrey flushed bright red and gave an embarrassed glance toward his mother. He shoved his hands in his pockets and Erik was instantly reminded of the mischievous little boy, caught mid-scheme.

He cleared his throat. "The… ah…" he mumbled, "the girls like the mystery."

Erik smirked and Nadir laughed out loud. Christine clapped her hands excitedly and asked which lovely young lady he had his eye on.

All of them, Geoffrey wanted to say. He was young, handsome, charming… there was no lack of 'lovely young ladies' coming his way. Add 'mysterious genius' to the mix and he was in a pretty good place.

But he couldn't tell his mother that.

Geoffrey shot a pleading look at the other men. Erik would have been completely content to let the boy flounder in his awkwardness, but Nadir humanely stepped in to rescue him.

"Perhaps you could give us a tour of your home?" he offered. Grateful, the young man opened the door and ushered them all inside.

Erik sat, staring blankly in front of the fireplace, a journal resting uselessly on his knee and an untouched drink on the table beside him.

"I feel old, Christine," Erik muttered.

She laughed first and frowned second. Erik was the passionate kind of man who would rage about something one minute, weep the next, and produce come beautifully inspired creation ten minutes later. Moping seemed dreadfully incongruous with his overall being. Christine was not sure she liked that.

Best do something about it, then.

"Well, you're not," she reassured him.

That much was true, actually. Erik was not as old as he thought he was, or so Nadir explained once. The daroga was already grown and married by the time he met Erik, who was merely a boy at the time. If Erik was old now… then Nadir must be ancient. As this was not the case, it stood to reason that…

Well, Erik didn't care very much about reason. He had accumulated such an extensive reservoir of experiences that he could easily claim to be a hundred and fifty and still be convincing.

And really… it's not as if one could tell by looking at him.

"Mm," Erik hummed, noncommittally.

Christine came over and sat on the arm of his chair, kissing his forehead. She took off his mask and massaged his temples until his perpetual scowl relaxed a bit.

"What makes you say these things," she asked.

He shrugged. "We had these children. And they were so little…" he gestured with his hands, looking at his palms like he was holding something tiny. "And then… they grew up. And now they are adults who live on their own. One of them is married. But it feels like yesterday that we were just married. But it wasn't. And, when I think of that… I feel like an old man."

He paused for a moment, and then continued. "What are we supposed to do without them?"

"The same things we did before we had them," she answered. "We sang, we read, we…"

"Yes, yes, I know. And I enjoy those things still. It's just… different… without the constant threat of the house burning down."

Christine smirked and moved off the chair and placed herself in his lap. "Well," she mused, "if that is what you are worried about… we could always have another baby."

His responding grin was rather unholy. But in an endearing sort of way.

"As much as I like what you are implying, Christine," he said, enjoying the way her straddling position caused her skirts to ride up on her legs, "If you get pregnant from this, I shall be very vexed with you, indeed."

Christine gave a rather undignified snort as she laughed into his shoulder.

"Erik," Christine sang, wandering through the hall in search of her husband. "We have a letter!"

"Well, don't just stand there, woman… what does it say?"

"Stop sneaking up on me, you fiend! It isn't nice."

"I am not a nice person. Now, are you going to read it to me or aren't you?"

She huffed, by sat down anyway.

.

Dearest Father and Mother,

I have embraced this opportunity to write these few lines, hoping they find you in good health as I am, at present, writing thanks be to God for it. Alexandre and I have…

.

"Oh skip all that, Christine… you know I don't want to hear ten pages of inanities…"

Christine glared and Erik gave in to the urge to roll his eyes. Jeanette was every bit the proper and polite young lady. Naturally, Christine was ecstatic to have someone to correspond with, but Erik was never one for long flowery prose that, when broken down, actually said very little. Short and to the point, was his philosophy. There was too much to do in life without wading through unnecessary verbiage.

Luckily, he had a translator right there in the room.

"Well… let's see…" Christine said, skimming through the pages, "They loved Italy. Alexandre thanks you for the sight-seeing suggestions. You were right, the architecture was exquisite. He purchased a number of books while he was there that he is certain you will enjoy. Ooh… they are going to visit soon! Isn't that wonderful, Erik? Let's see… what else… Jeanette has been busy with all her charity work…"

"I bet Alexandre is thrilled about that," Erik scoffed.

It wasn't that their son believed that a woman should not step outside of her home… he just didn't like to share. Erik could relate to that. On the other hand, Jeanette was not the type of girl to be pushed around or put up with a domineering husband. No, those two were well matched. Erik could relate to that, also.

"It doesn't say…" Christine said, still reading, "But she did convince Alexandre to give music lessons at the local orphanage. That will be good for him, don't you agree, Erik?"

He agreed. Instead of picking a singular trade like medicine or architecture, as Erik had encouraged him to do, Alexandre decided to take on the business world as a whole. He regularly invested in struggling and failing businesses and personally turned them around. It was a delicate process, to which Alexandre thanked the inordinately well-rounded education he had received under his father's hand, but he had done quite well for himself in the short time since he left home.

The downside of all this was that Alexandre--having inherited Erik's obsessive personality--tended to overwork himself. Luckily, he had Jeanette to force him to relax and spend time with his music. Whenever they traveled, she made sure he spent at least a couple of days taking her sightseeing.

And now he had a hobby. How lovely.

"That's pretty much everything, then," Christine finished. The majority of the letter consisted of descriptions and details that Christine knew her husband cared nothing about. She would read it thoroughly later.

"Is there anything for me?" Erik asked, hopefully. Alexandre tended to tuck messages of his own in with Jeanette's letters. Sometimes they were little anecdotes that, for one reason or another, were unsuitable for mixed company. Sometimes they were math problems or puzzles he was sorting through. Or sometimes it would be a page of a newspaper or journal, highlighting an article and featuring Alexandre's written commentary in the margins. Erik had come to look forward to reading the informal communications written solely for him.

"Ah… yes… here it is."

Erik greedily ripped open the smaller envelope. It was short this time, as if hastily written on a ripped piece of scratch paper.

.

Father,

She's pregnant. She can't have a baby--we haven't even been married two years yet! What the hell am I supposed to do?

-A

.

"Are you going to write a response soon, Christine?"

"Yes, I was going to send them a letter tomorrow. Do you wish to include something?"

"Yes." He fetched a pen and scribbled a note on the back of Alexandre's message.

.

Son,

Give it a chance. It's not as bad as you think.

-E

The End.