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Paris' Song	By : Hilary Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Het Views: 7620 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
A/N: Here's the next chapter. If any one knows how long it really takes to heal from the type of wounds Paris suffered from in the last chapter I would appreciate it if you'd let me know. Otherwise, the time frame I've used will just have to suffice. Only Paris, Doctor Price and Madame Blanche belong to me. The rest belong to Gaston Leroux and the cat Ayesha, I believe, belongs to Susan Kay. ^_~

For the next few weeks Erik tended to Paris. He made sure she ate well and was well rested. He had nearly had a heart attack when during the first week Paris had decided that she needed a bath. Erik had stared at her with his eyes opened wide in horror and he had nearly fled from her flat but she had laughed that silent laugh of hers and had told Erik that she would have Madame Blanche bathe her on Saturday so Erik had nothing to worry about. From that day on Paris always bathed on Saturday, much to Erik's relief.

They had also grown closer. Erik had learned that Paris knew sign language and he had asked her to teach him. So once Paris could use her right arm again she carefully began to teach Erik sign language. He was surprised how difficult it was to learn the language but he practiced every chance he had and was pleased whenever Paris smiled and nodded indicating that he had successfully learned another sign. So, slowly but surely he was able to communicate with Paris without having to write everything down. Of course he would occasionally mess up a sign and Paris would stare at him in confusion and he would have to try again. Some times she would understand what it was he was trying to say and would then help him fix his mistakes which always made Erik feel better. She was always patient with him and never became cross or annoyed whenever he messed up or had to have her repeat the movements over and over again until he got the sign down. However, he never overtaxed her. He made sure that if she began to become tired that she rested.

Erik hated whenever he had to leave in the evenings and on Saturday. He would have preferred to stay with her at night in case she ever needed anything but she had told him that it would be best if he didn't stay. Her neighbors would become suspicious and she didn't want to have to explain anything. So every evening around midnight Erik left and returned as soon as possible. He always went back to his home beneath the Opera House and tended to what ever needed tending to. Usually that included feeding Ayesha, dusting occasionally and he always worked on his opera: ‘Don Juan Triumphant'. Although, after about the third week of Paris being bed ridden she had told Erik that he should bring Ayesha with him so the cat wouldn't get lonely. Erik had agreed and soon Ayesha began spending her time in Paris' flat and keeping the young girl company.

Paris was slowly beginning to dread the time when she would be well enough to get out of bed and go about her normal activities again because that would mean that Erik would return to his home beneath the Opera House and she wouldn't see him as often. She might not even see him at all if what the doctor had said was true and that she would never be able to dance again. So, she decided she would start keeping her voice limber should she ever truly need to use it again. She always practiced scales softly whenever Erik or Madame Blanche were not with her. She prayed she wouldn't have to resort to using her voice but just in case she practiced.

Erik had also slowly been working on exercises with her that would help her leg muscles regain their strength back. They were painful at first but as she slowly worked the muscles over and over again they began to stretch and she could slowly feel her legs getting back to normal. They always had to be careful since her legs were still healing from being broken but the doctor had said that the one good thing about the breaks was that they were clean and the bones had not shattered. Paris had missed being crushed completely by the chandelier and that she was thankful for.

She was, however, having fun teaching Erik sign language. She enjoyed watching him practice the signs and she always smiled whenever he would get a sign right and he would rejoice like a child getting a difficult math problem completed correctly. She knew that Erik was a very intelligent man and that he knew several foreign languages besides his native French. He had told her that he had learned Persian while he had lived there for a few years working for the Shah, or the prince of Persia. Erik did not have fond memories of Persia and so he told very few stories about his stay there. He knew English and even some Russian but not enough for him to speak it fluently he had told her with a smile. He also knew Spanish and Romanian due to his life as a Gypsy Caravan attraction. Paris had held him tightly in her arms when he had told her of his life as a freak. Paris had a feeling it was easier for him to tell her about his life on paper than it would have been telling her out loud.
And so Paris learned all about Erik while he took care of her. She always missed him greatly whenever he left for the evening and Saturday but she couldn't bring herself to ask him to stay during the night for fear that she would reveal her feelings for him or that he would find her crying into her pillow at night. She always cried when he left for she knew that Erik would not pay attention to her as much once she was mostly healed. So she had told him a lie in which he couldn't stay the nights because she didn't want her neighbors to become suspicious of a man staying the night with her. She didn't know whether to be thankful that she could hide her feelings behind her words on paper or not. After all, if she said something to Erik on paper he couldn't hear the undertone of the words because she didn't say them with her voice. Turning her head Paris stared out the window in her bedroom and sighed sadly.

Three months later Paris was told by Doctor Price that she could finally get out of bed and practice walking. Her healing had taken longer that he had expected due to the fact that she had damaged some of her leg muscles in the crash that he hadn't noticed before and so due to Paris working on her muscle exercises while the muscles had been damaged she had caused the damage to get worse. Paris had also had a couple of other breaks that the doctor hadn't caught before and had had to break the bones again and set them correctly so that they would heal correctly. He had apologized to her about that numerous times but Paris just gave a tired smile and waved his apologies off.
Paris had laughed when Erik found out the news about the doctor's lack of observation for he had been quite livid. Paris, however, had pouted and asked him if he was mad because Paris was in pain for longer than she should have been or was he mad because he now had to spend more time with her? Erik's anger had deflated immediately and he had rushed to Paris' side and told her that he was mad at the doctor for causing her more pain, not because he had to spend more time with her. Paris had just looked at him for a moment before smiling and enveloping his hand in her own.

Now Paris was taking her first faulting steps out of the bedroom. Erik hovered nearby like a protective shield or, Paris thought with a grin, an over-protective mother. Paris made it into the living room and collapsed onto the couch. Erik was immediately by her signing to her asking if she was all right. Paris just nodded as she breathed deeply. That short trek had taken quite a bit of her energy. Erik was not happy with her. So he scooped her up into his arms and carried her back to bed.

"You will stay here until I deem you well enough to get up and move," he signed.

"How will I ever be well enough if I don't get out and move? I need to use my muscles in order to make them stronger again, Erik. Staying in bed will only keep them weak," Paris signed back. She was thankful that Erik had been such a quick learner that she didn't have to repeat anything very much anymore. She did, however, sign slower than she normally did just to make sure he did understand what she was saying.

Erik just stood there silently for a moment before he gave a growl and then signed for Paris to get up and start moving. If movement was what she wanted, then move she had better do. Paris grinned happily at him before she scooted out of bed and once again began the short trek from her bed to the living room.

For the next month Paris practiced walking and Erik even began to help her with some exercises that would hopefully help her dance again. Paris prayed to God that she would eventually be able to dance again. Erik teasingly complained that she had to dance again so that she could perform the role of the gypsy in his opera. That had been all the encouragement Paris needed to get her to practice the exercises with determination.

One Saturday Madame Blanche brought in Paris' mail and Paris had nearly dropped the letters. There on the very top was a letter from Christine. Paris bit her lip nervously as she stared at it. Why was Christine writing to her after so long? Paris put the letter off to the side until later that evening. She didn't want to read it with Madame Blanche in the room. So when Madame Blanche left for the evening Paris pulled the letter out and quickly opened it.

"Dear Paris,
I know I haven't written since I left and I am so sorry for not staying to see how you were after the accident with the chandelier but Raoul said it was best that we leave while Erik was distracted. I have recently learned that you are doing much better thanks to letters from Madame Giry so I am glad about that. Raoul and I are engaged but please don't say anything to Erik about it. I feel terrible about leaving him like that but I was scared. I am returning to the opera company after the New Year Masquerade. Raoul has been invited and we will be attending. Oh I hope you will be well enough to go, I so dearly wish to see you again. I must go but I will visit and you must come to the wedding when we have decided on a date.
Your friend,
Christine Daaé."

Paris looked up slowly from the letter. Christine was returning and she was engaged to the Vicomte. Erik must not know, Christine had said. How little she knew Erik. He would know the minute she was back in Paris and he would not welcome her with open arms, of that Paris was sure. But she didn't know whether to tell Erik that Christine was engaged or not. Sure she and Erik had heard Raoul propose to Christine but it hadn't exactly been a marriage proposal, more of a ‘runaway with me' proposal. Looking once again over the letter Paris stood up and threw it and the envelope away into the fire. She couldn't risk Erik finding out about it that way. Erik might think Paris was keeping things from him and that would ruin their relationship: the one that Paris had come to treasure so much.

During the fifth month that Paris had been staying in her home she was practicing some of the dance steps that she had learned for ‘Il Muto'. She had slowly been progressing her steps to harder and harder dance steps until she could turn her legs out completely with out any pain. She could do the splits again and plié with no problem. She had worked up to the point where she could do all the ballet steps except dance en pointe. So one day she took a deep breath and slowly rose up onto her toes. Erik entered the flat just then with his arms filled with groceries. He glanced over at Paris and did a double take when he saw what she was doing. Dumping the groceries onto the table he rushed over to her just as her right ankle gave out beneath her and she crumpled painfully to the floor. Erik caught her before she hit it and held her in his arms tightly.

"Oh God, Paris don't ever scare me like that again," he breathed against her neck as he waited for his heartbeat to return to normal. Paris wrapped her arms tightly around Erik's neck and let the tears flow silently down her cheeks. She was so tired of not being able to dance and now it looked like she wasn't going to be able to ever again.

Erik gathered Paris up into his arms and carried her over to the couch where he sat down with her sitting in his lap. He gently rocked her back and forth while she cried. When she had calmed down Erik turned her so that she could see him signing.

"Paris, everything will be all right. You just need to keep practicing the steps. You didn't learn en pointe in one day did you when you first learned it did you?"
Paris sniffed and shook her head while Erik gently wiped the tears off of her cheeks.

"See, you have to learn all over again. But please do it when I'm around. I don't want to come home and find you collapsed on the floor in pain or worse because I wasn't here to make sure you didn't do anything harmful to yourself."

"I don't think I can. Dance I mean. Doctor Price was right; I've done too much damage to my body to ever be able to dance like I did. I should just give up and try to find some other job," Paris signed dejectedly.

"Paris, look at me. You will dance again, I promise you. I-I actually almost gave up my music once. I didn't think I could ever be any good for anyone. What was the point of being a wonderfully talented musician if no one wanted to hear me play because they couldn't stand my face? So I stopped composing for nearly a year and just wandered around Europe. It wasn't until I was in Persia did I find a reason to start composing again. I knew a lot about medicine at the time and the chief of the Persian police, Nadir Khan, well, he had a dying son whom meant the world to him after his beloved wife passed on. Anyway, Nadir asked me to look at his son and see if there was anything I could do for him. I couldn't but I did try to make the boy's pain more bearable. I would mix potions for him to drink that would numb his pain and for a while that was all I did. However, the boy eventually asked me to sing for him. I hadn't sung in a long time and so I was a bit reluctant to do so but I eventually granted his request. I eventually composed a song just for him and when he died he told me that I should keep writing music and singing because I was so good at it. He didn't even care about my face. That is what moved me the most and so I followed his advice and composed music regardless of my face.

"That's what you need to do. Dance regardless of what others have told you. You can do it and I believe you can."

Paris stared at Erik long after he had finished signing. Slowly she smiled and nodded. Erik smiled back but it faded a few seconds later and he looked nervously away. He cleared his throat a few times before he turned his eyes back to Paris'. She saw that his eyes were filled with apprehension and a silent plea.

"Paris, I-I want to show you my face."

Paris' eyes widened at his admission but she knew this meant a lot to him even though whatever his face looked like would not matter to her. She loved Erik for who he was, not what he looked like. So she nodded and waited for him to remove the mask. Erik raised shaking hands up to the ties that held his mask in place and then slowly untied them. Closing his eyes tightly he pulled the mask way from his face and held his breath. He was thankful Paris' couldn't talk for he didn't know if he would be able to take her scream of fright. However, when nothing happened he feared that she had fainted or that she had run away without him even knowing it and those thoughts hurt him even more than a scream. Suddenly a soft gentle hand was placed upon his scarred cheek and his eyes flew open.

Paris sat smiling softly up at him while she gently caressed his cheek. There was no fear in her eyes, just a warm emotion that Erik had no name for. He watched, amazed, as she raised her face up to his and gently kissed the scars. Erik closed his eyes and let the tears flow down his cheeks as he pulled Paris into his arms and held onto her tightly while he cried. Paris had accepted him and that meant more to him than words ever could if she had just said that she didn't care about his face. Her touch was a balm on his bruised and battered heart and soul and he knew she would always be able to take care of him like this.
- 6
- 7
- 8
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Paris' Song