The rest of the week went by smoothly, albeit with a few minor hiccups. While the producers, Alexandre and Charles Monreau, were long-time business partners, they were also brothers, and tended to frequently argue over small things. Their arguments never escalated to anything extreme, however, they were time consuming. You realized quickly you would always need to give them an earlier deadline with their inability to keep from arguing. It was nothing you couldn't handle.

Then, you'd found a member of the technical crew and a housekeeper almost fully unclothed with one another in a supply closet. Your first instinct had been to apologize and run away mortified, however, you then remembered you were in fact the one in charge. You apologized and reprimanded them gently, telling them this wasn't the place to be having sex, and that if you found them doing it again during work hours, you would have to let them go. The look on Erik's face when you had relayed this to him was quite amusing.

On Friday, Monsieur Martin finally made an appearance and spoke with the crew. Although he spent a very short time inside, and spent most of it talking with the producers, he did greet everyone with a smile, no doubt grateful to find so many willing to work at the Opera Populaire after it's famous disaster.

You attributed his short visit, and unwillingness to step beyond the grand hall, to his remaining fear of the Phantom of the Opera. After all of your reports of a calm opera house free of trouble, albeit untruthful, he clearly still suspected the presence of a ghost. Erik would be thrilled.

In the early hours of Saturday morning, you awoke to a cold bed beside you, and wondered where Erik had gone. It was somewhat unusual to find Erik's side of the bed empty, as he usually waited for you to wake, watching you through half-lidded eyes. Your fears were quickly calmed, however, when you found Erik in the main room, tidying a table of fresh breakfast. He had made eggs and ham, and bought fresh baked bread and oranges. Oranges! It was somewhat rare to find oranges this far north in winter, or very expensive. You were elated, and gave Erik many kisses in thanks.

After your wonderful breakfast, you snuggled up against him on the plush couch, a book between your hands and a pile of half finished sheet music between his. You both sat this way for a while, until you returned to the world above to work for a few hours. You'd wished you'd remained down by the lake, however, when you returned later, finding Erik laying in bed, quite pale, almost the color of his mask.

"Erik love, are you all right? You don't look very well."

"Fine," he half hummed, barely opening his eyes.

You pressed your hand to his forehead, pulling away at its hot temperature. A frown spread across your face, and worry creased your brow.

"Erik, you have a fever!"

He only hummed a sort of agreement in response. You quickly left the room, walking to the basin Erik always kept filled with fresh water. You filled both a glass and a cloth with it, returning to Erik's bedside.

"I'll take care of you," you promised, removing his mask from his face. He made a sound of indignation, but didn't open his eyes.

"Don't be such a baby," you spoke, biting your tongue too late. "You are safe."

He made no further comment and you laid the cold, wet cloth on his forehead. You pulled the blankets up around him, keeping him warm, and then attempted to coax him to drink some water, but other than a sip or two, he wouldn't drink.

An hour into your care, Erik began to cough, a deep, wet sound. You propped him up with several pillows, and encouraged him to drink. Only half awake, he took a few more sips, quieting his cough for a little while.

It later returned with a vengeance, waking you up from your sleep. You cursed at yourself for having not stayed awake, failing in your promise to take care of him. Erik looked deeply pale, and a sheen of sweat sat on his brow. Raising your hand to his head, you gasped at the temperature of his forehead. He was burning up, and horribly so. You re-wetted the cloth with cold water, laying it on his forehead, and tried to coax Erik awake. No amount of begging would wake him, and your hands began to shake as you dropped against his chest, listening intently for the sound of his heart. It called to you faintly, less powerful and urgent than normal. You let out a breath, relieved.

Tucking Erik in again, you checked the time on your watch, still wound from yesterday. It was six in the morning. Grabbing your coat and your satchel, you quickly made a plan.

"Erik, I'm going to find you some medicine. I will be back soon."

Making your way to the boat, you quickly turned around and returned to his bedside, pressing a soft kiss on his brow and telling him you loved him. He didn't move.

Returning to the boat, you pushed yourself along the through the labyrinth as fast
as possible, your memory not failing you. Your feet didn't falter either as you dashed up the winding staircase, managing not to trip over your dress skirts despite your rush.

You made it to the nearest doctors office within a few minutes, begging the doctor to see you immediately. While you had considered buying an over the counter remedy, unfortunately, many of them were fake or performed poorly at curing sickness. You knew better than to waste your time with those concoctions. It was safer to get the real stuff.

"My–" What was Erik to you? You couldn't exactly refer to him as your lover to the doctor. It was improper, and would surely not help your situation. "My... my husband is very sick sir, and I need medicine. He has a high fever and a terrible cough."

"Why is it you here then and not your husband?" The doctor asked, looking rather amused, as if this was a joking matter.

"I can't wake him. Please, I'll pay anything. I just need medicine."

"Mademoiselle, if your husband can't be woken, then we can make a house call, but I cannot write a prescription for you without seeing him first."

Seeing.

You left the doctor's dismayed, but still hopeful as you made the trek across town to another practice. You prayed that they would provide you with the medicine.

Your hopes quickly turned sodden as you received the same answer from the second doctor, and then again from the third. You began to panic then, and a terrible, horrible thought echoed in your head. Is Erik doing to die?

You couldn't lose him. You couldn't be alone again.

Your panic increased, and you started digging through your satchel, finding all of your money, prepared to use it all to save Erik, when your hand found Christine's calling card. Could she help you? Would she help you, after everything that happened between them?

Without a second thought, you flagged down the nearest carriage and gave the driver the address listed on the calling card. It was halfway across Paris, in one of the richest neighborhoods, far even from what you'd grown up in. You knew the carriage ride would be expensive, but you were running out of time.

Upon arriving at Christine's home, you quickly paid the driver and thanked him.

"Do you want me to wait in case the Chagney's are not home?"

You cursed internally. You hadn't even considered that Christine might not be home. You hadn't let yourself consider it. She has to be home. She has to.

You politely declined, ascended the steps to the manor, and rang the doorbell. After a moment, someone answered the door, most likely a butler.

"How may I help you, Mademoiselle?"

"Bonjour, I apologize for my impertinence, but is Christine here? She gave me her calling card, and I have something rather urgent to discuss with her."

"Her calling card, you say? What is your name?"

You gave the man your name, and he escorted you inside, telling you to wait in the foyer while he checked the validity of your claims. The exquisite decoration of the foyer made you feel quite underdressed, and you began to wish you had worn your nicest dress. You carefully studied the decor, trying to use anything to block out the dark thoughts swirling in your head.

"Christine is waiting for you in the drawing room, Mademoiselle," the man spoke, finally having returned.

You released a heavy breath and tore your gaze away from the vase you had been heavily analyzing. It had red flowers painted on the outside, and you had begun to count their petals in effort to stay calm.

The drawing room was even more expertly decorated than the foyer, but as soon as Christine's eyes met yours, all thoughts of decor fled from your head.

"What's wrong?" Christine asked, rising from her chair, her brow furrowing with worry.

"Please," you begged, tears springing to your eyes, "I need your help. I have no one else to turn to."

"What is it? Are you all right?" She asked, taking your hands in hers in effort to calm you. She rubbed her thumbs against the backs of your hands gently.

"I'm–I'm all right, but Erik, he's so terribly sick. I don't know what to do."

"Erik?" Christine asked, a question dancing in her eyes. You realized suddenly, with great surprise, that she never even knew his name.

"The Phantom, Christine," you half-yelled, suddenly angry with her. He had been so infatuated with her, and had given her his music, and she had never bothered to ask him his name.

"He's terribly ill! His fever won't break and I can't get him to wake up. I don't know what to do. I very well can't bring a doctor to see him. Please, if there's anything you can do I would be so grateful. I know we don't know each other well, but I love him, and I can't lose him."

Christine smiled softly at your words, and pulled you towards the sitting chairs, pushing you gently until you sat down fully.

"I will get you medicine for him. Tell me his symptoms."

You relayed Erik's symptoms to Christine, trying and failing to compose yourself. This was not how you intended this meeting to go. Once you had finished, Christine quickly called her butler, instructing him what medicines to get and telling him to have them retrieved immediately. She then ordered tea, insisting you stayed and waited for the medicine.

Christine began to mother you quite diligently, encouraging you to drink the tea and eat some of the accompanying biscuits. Once you had calmed down a bit, she began asking you questions, and finally you her in return. After the first biscuit you realized you hadn't eaten anything that day, and sheepishly consumed the rest amidst your talking. Although your nerves were still wired up enough to perform an entire opera yourself, Christine's mothering and calm demeanor had helped distract you. She talked a little of Raoul, but mostly of her son Gustave. He was her pride and joy.

"I can tell how much you love him," she said, surprising you.

"He's changed,"  you found yourself defending him. "He saved my life, more than once."

"I believe you," she smiled softly.

The butler returned shortly thereafter, carrying a paper bag. There were three bottles of medicine inside. The first for fever, the second for cough, and the third for pain. Christine wished you luck and even offered her own carriage to return you to the opera house. You were a bit embarrassed after already having asked for so much help, but you accepted gratefully.

She walked you to the foyer, asking you to visit again under less extreme circumstances, and then you were off. The ride to the opera house was short, but your panic increased with each hoof step closer. What if you were too late?