| He wandered slowly through the lobby of the station, searching for his baggage tossed amidst the rest of the passenger's belongings. He did not look up at anyone he passed, or at his surroundings. Erik already knew plenty well how plain the architecture was. Yet because he didn't look up, he did not see the two young women standing near the numerous entrances, which led out onto the street. Sighing heavily, he leaned down to pick up a black leather bag, which had his tag attached to it. "Papa!" For a moment, he ignored the single word, not making the connection with the voice. "Papa Erik! Papa!" He stood straight so suddenly his back almost hurt, and he whirled to see the two young women coming towards him, silhouetted by the brilliant sunlight shining in from the doorways. He recognized each by their subtle differences, and their dresses. They were often recognizable by which colors they wore. Fleur liked green, blue, and purple. Marguerite adored her Red, white, black, and unfortunately blue. Still, had they both been wearing blue, he'd have known them immediately. "My angels!" he gasped, dropping his bag from shock, and opening his arms to them. He felt as though he'd been thrust back in time, and he was again crouching down on the sidewalk to catch the two little ones launching themselves at him. Yet immediately, he brought himself back to the present. The girls put their arms around him, and set to kissing his face as though those many years had yet to pass. "Papa!" Marguerite sighed, kissing his cheek joyfully. "We are so lucky that you came home today! We just came off of the boat this very day!" He had barely heard the words they spoke. His arms were tight about their waists as he held them, feeling as though their affection was a battering ram against all the walls he'd kept up since the night of his daughters masquerade. He'd wept for his daughter, yet had never let all of his emotions run free. He had yet to let himself be truly afraid that perhaps Raoul was about to turn his wife and daughter completely against him. He'd yet to admit to himself that there was at least some small chance that he'd never see them again. Holding onto these two younger ladies, as dear to him as his own daughter, he felt as though they were stripping him of all his final defenses. Still, since he was about to go home alone, he felt like they were a gift from God. "My darlings . . ." he murmured gently, backing away from them to lightly caress one white cheek each. "You're a sight for weary and sore eyes. Come. I must take you to supper!" "Oh, Papa! You look so tired!" Marguerite glanced at Fleur, who was using her sign language frantically. Erik might have helped her learn the hand signals, but she was going so fast she'd be amazed if he could follow her. "Fleur! Let him relax a moment! We'll tell him everything when we get back to his apartment! Let's go, Papa. We don't need any great big supper. Let's just go back to your home, and you can rest. We've so much to tell you!" "Yes?" He asked softly. "I have things to tell you as well. Not all of it very pleasant." "No?" Marguerite looked concerned, immediately. "Is my little sister all right?" Fleur elbowed her, and Marguerite cleared her throat. "I mean - our little sister?" Erik smiled at them wearily. Sighing, he again picked up his luggage. "Come. I'll tell you somewhere more private." |