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Hello again my fellow Phantom fans!

Here is a short little story that has been pinging around in my mind for a while...ever since a reader (I wish I could recall who it was) asked if I might ever write a Erik/Meg story. At the time I said I had no idea how one would go...but then this came to me.

I hope you enjoy the pairing.

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Tonight Was the Night

Chapter 1

~X~

Tonight was the night. The night Erik would at last get everything he ever dreamed of. He had been waiting for this moment for six long months, biding his time as he worked unceasingly to finish his opera. Don Juan Triumphant was now complete.

As Erik looked around the ballroom, the myriad of costumed guests all blending together, he spotted her at last. Christine. His protégé, his obsession, his angel of music. Oh, how she glowed, dancing in the center of the room…with that pathetic boy on her arm. It sickened him.

Erik had come to the masquerade early, wanting to get the lay of the land, and mingle amongst the sheep he would soon scare the fleece off of later on. No one would recognize him, for he too wore a disguise, one that allowed him the anonymity he both craved and needed for this evening's event. Oh, he had his terrifying Red Death costume waiting for him in one of his tunnels, ready to be donned and worn in a theatrical spectacle when he presented the managers with his opera. But for now, he blended in nicely wearing a matador's outfit, complete with a flowing red cape over one shoulder and a black leather mask that hid his deformity well.

Erik had never condoned bull fighting, having found the sport repulsively cruel, but the clothes worn by the Spanish matadors proved to be very flattering to his tall, lean form. The brightly decorated red and gold jacket, called the chaquetila, accented his upper body nicely, accompanied by the hombrera on his shoulder and the alamares about his forearms. He had chosen not to wear the traditional talequilla trousers, however, for he felt much more comfortable in long dress slacks than the tight-fitting pants that normally ended at the knee. The oddly shaped montera hat also had to go, making him feel as if he were sporting droopy dog ears, which was not at all a pleasing look for him. Still, even without those elements, the costume fulfilled its purpose, and Erik felt completely hidden within plain sight.

He stood off to the side, watching that ridiculous dandy of a boy parade Christine around the room, introducing her to this person or that, acting as if she were a bauble he had bought at some expensive store. Yet what made his lip curl even more in disgust, was that she appeared to be enjoying it! His little pupil had always been rather flighty, never able to pass up a shiny trinket or pretty ribbon, and it would appear that she delighted in having the insipid Vicomte as her latest accessory.

Erik had purposefully avoided any contact with his little songbird during his absence from the Opera Populaire, choosing to focus on his music instead of what she was up to. Yet, now, as he watched her fawning over the boy on her arm, he began to believe that had been a mistake. She should know better! She was allowing this Raoul fellow to distract her from what was truly important…his music!

Well, that would all change tonight, Erik thought to himself, reaching over and swiping a glass of champagne off a passing tray, eager to get a bit closer in hopes of hearing what was being said between the two lovers. Striding towards them, he was so focused on his goal that he failed to take notice of the lavishly dressed blonde-haired woman off to his right…until it was too late.

"Oh, there you are, Darling," she cooed, reaching out and taking hold of Erik's arm as she slipped the glass of champagne from his hand. "What took you so long, I was simply dying of thirst!"

Erik, obviously stunned by not only her touch, but her willingness to engage him in conversation, simply stared at her from behind his mask. Had she just called him darling?

"I fear there has been as mistake…" he began, yet she cut him off.

"Oh, that's alright, I don't mind champagne, even if I did ask you to get me wine," she assured him, taking a sip of the bubbly liquid. "This is quite delicious." She then turned to a man whom Erik suddenly noticed was standing beside her…and far too close for simply a mere acquaintance by his way of thinking. "As you can see Monsieur, my escort for the evening has returned, just as I said. Thus, I will bid you goodnight." Erik watched as the man gave the woman a scowl, before turning and taking his leave, causing his curious companion to heave a sigh of relief. "Please forgive me, Monsieur, but I was desperate to get rid of that idiot, and he would simply not take no for an answer," she explained, giving him a sheepish grin from behind the mask that covered the upper portion of her face.

Erik was still quite stunned by this odd turn of events, yet now that he had a moment, he took the time to examine her closer. He allowed his eyes to graze over her rather colorful dress and bolero style jacket, topped off with a jaunty feathered hat. Yet, it was her hair and voice that ultimately gave her identity away…it was little Meg Giry! However, Erik was struck with surprise at how the outfit clung to her shapely figure in a way he had never noticed before. Granted, the petite dancer had pranced around in tight fitting leotards and a tutu since she was old enough to walk, but suddenly Erik could see that Antoinette's little girl had grown into a woman, and quite a voluptuous one at that. When had that happened?

"I…I am glad I could be of service, Mademoiselle, but if you would kindly remove your arm, I believe I will be going now," he told her, an odd sensation spreading through him as he stared at the portion of her body which was still entwined with his.

"Oh, but you can't!" Meg pleaded, gripping him a bit tighter. "That buffoon is still watching, and I don't want him to come back and call me on my ruse. Can you not stay just a little longer?" She bit her lip in worry. "Or…or are you here with someone and I am keeping you from them?"

"No," Erik quickly replied, aghast at the idea of him having a companion of any sort, yet wondering if he should have kept his mouth shut on that subject. "I am not here with anyone." At least not yet, he thought to himself, his eyes once more searching the crowed for Christine.

"Wonderful! Then, might I interest you in a dance?" Meg asked, a grin now spreading across the portion of her face that Erik could see.

"I do not dance," he told her in a dead-pan tone.

"Then what are you doing at a masquerade ball?" she teased, taking another sip of the drink she had confiscated.

"Attempting to avoid interacting with bothersome guests," he replied, hoping she would take the hint and leave him alone. He was sadly disappointed.

"Perfect! So am I," Meg laughed. "We can avoid people together."

"Mademoiselle…" Erik began, but she cut him off.

"Meg," she offered. "My name is Meg."

"I know your name, Mademoiselle Giry," he huffed, really wishing she would just let him loose and go find someone else to converse with. He could easily have removed her hold himself, but he didn't want to make a scene or garnish any unwanted attention.

"You do?" This seemed to shock the young woman, causing her to look up at him with a curious tilt to her head. "Then you have me at a disadvantage, Monsieur. Might I inquire as to what your name is, so we might be properly introduced?"

Erik froze…she wanted to know his name? Well, this time she was going to be the one sadly disappointed.

"If you must address me at all, you may refer to me as The Matador," he instructed. "For that is the only title I shall be offering tonight."

"Ahhh, a man of mystery, it would seem," she giggled, not at all deterred by his lack of information. "Then Monsieur Matador it shall be. Still, might I ask how it is you know my identity?"

"I have frequented this opera house a time or two over the years," he replied. Of course, that was an understatement if there ever was one. "I have seen you dance several times."

"And did my performances please you, Monsieur Matador?" she questioned, looking as if she were eager to hear his reply.

"Occasionally," he nodded, though in truth he had always found her movements to be the most fluid and graceful out of all the irritating ballet rats. He attributed this to her mother's diligent teaching, as well as Meg's eagerness to excel. "I fear I normally come for the music, more than the dance."

"Yes, well, one can't have a decent opera without the chorus line, now can they?" she muttered, as if this was an old grievance. "Not all of us can have the voice of an angel, you know."

"No, I suppose not," Erik nodded, his mind once more returning to Christine.

"Still, not every singer can dance either," she added, her mood brightening. "And thus, I ask again…would you care to dance?"

"As I stated before, I do not dance," Erik repeated.

"Is that because you can't, or you won't?" Meg pressed.

"Won't," he answered curtly.

"Not even if I ask very nicely?" she pouted, sticking her lip out in a way that made Erik's eyes instantly focus in on her tantalizing mouth. What was wrong with him?

"No," he managed to get out, yet his hesitation seemed to give her hope.

"Then I suppose until you change your mind, we will simply have to stand here and make scintillating conversation," Meg deduced, finishing off the glass of champagne and placing it on a tray as a waiter passed by.

"Are you then to hold me hostage until I agree?" Erik enquired, raising an eyebrow that she could not see. Oh the foolish girl, she had no idea who she was dealing with.

"It's the only way for me to avoid that greasy brigand who seems dead set on monopolizing my entire evening," she said with a shrug of her shoulders, nodding her head towards the man who continued to watch them from the other side of the room. She then batted her eyes at her masked companion in the loveliest manner. "You wouldn't leave me at the mercy of a fiend like him…would you?"

Erik almost laughed out loud at her choice of words. She thought that man a fiend? While unbeknownst to her, she was at that very moment conversing with none other than the infamous Opera Ghost himself. How amusing.

Still, this presented Erik with an intriguing opportunity. Here he was, in disguise, currently on the arm of a very lovely lady, who saw him as her white knight. Shouldn't he take advantage of such an offer and actually find out what it was like to spend an evening with a willing woman?

Oh, he wouldn't take any liberties, that was quite out of the question, for should Antoinette Giry find out, there would be no place on this planet that he could hide from her vengeance. His box-keeper was the one and only person Erik feared crossing…ever! Yet, what harm could a few drinks, a bit of conversation, and maybe even a dance or two cause? It wasn't as if anyone would ever find out.

Erik glanced at the clock, noticing that he still had several hours before he had intended to make his appearance to the managers dressed as Red Death. And with one final look at the seemingly happy Christine, he decided that for once, the Opera Ghost would attempt to have a bit of fun.

What a novel idea.

"No, Mademoiselle Giry, I would not leave you at the mercy of such a man," he told her, the corners of his lips curling into a small grin at his words. "And if it will aid in the ruse that we are indeed a couple, I suppose a short turn around the room will not hurt."

"Marvelous!" Meg squealed, delighted by his acceptance. "Shall we then?"

"Most certainly," Erik nodded, taking her hand in his gloved one as he led her towards the dance floor. It was a rather fast paced waltz, but thankfully one he was quite familiar with, and soon the two of them were gliding around the room as if they were seasoned partners.

"Monsieur Matador, I must say, you dance divinely," Meg complimented, loving how well they seemed to fit together, his one hand in hers, the other on her waist. He was not too tall, nor was he too short, in fact he was just the right size for dancing, made even more clear when he twirled her under his arm before bringing her back against his firm body. "I'm extremely pleased that you changed your mind, for I would not have missed out on this for anything."

"I am happy my skills do not disappoint," he stated, and if a touch of smugness was heard in his tone, well…he felt he was entitled. Erik had gone to great lengths to learn how to dance, all alone in his underground lair, hoping to one day find an occasion to put the talent to use. "And coming from such a proficient dancer as you, that is indeed a compliment."

"Oh, now I'm proficient, am I?" she teased. "When just a few moments ago, you insinuated that I was merely passable."

"I said no such thing," he objected, hating to be misquoted. "I simply stated that your dancing pleased me on occasion."

"Meaning that on other occasions, it did not," she pointed out.

"You are twisting my meaning, Mademoiselle Giry," he huffed.

"Meg…please call me Meg," she offered once more. "And I'm sorry. I didn't mean to presume your intentions when you spoke. I will take whatever compliment I can and be happy with it." Here she gave him a small smile, but it was more than obvious that it did not reach her eyes.

Erik stared at her for a few moments, the rest of the dancers spinning around them as they continued to glide across the floor. He instantly recognized the look that crossed her features…that of rejection. It was something he was more than familiar with himself, and it bothered him to think that Meg doubted her talent in any way.

"If I am forced to admit my true opinion on the matter of your dancing skills," Erik said with a sigh, completely unsure as to why he felt the sudden need to alleviate her fears. "Then I would have to say that you hold great promise, and are certain to one day rival even your mother on the stage."

"Really?" Meg sounded quite flabbergasted by his words, not expecting anything of the sort from the man who claimed to be more interested in music than dance. All her life she had dreamed of being as good as her mother, working twice as hard as everyone else simply to be noticed, and to have a complete stranger praise her this way, well, it felt amazing. "I…I don't know what to say. Thank you very much."

"I speak only the truth," Erik replied, feeling a bit uncomfortable to be on the receiving end of words of gratitude. "Now, are we going to dance, or talk?"

"Can we not do both?" Meg asked with a sly grin, swaying this way and that as he led her expertly through the moves. "I have to say I'm beginning to enjoy our conversation as much as dancing with you."

"Only because you are being praised, Mademoiselle Meg," he teased. "If I were to remain silent, you would grow bored with me soon enough."

"Perhaps," she mused. "Yet thus far, you have fully intrigued me, and I find I would very much like to know more about you."

At that, Erik did let out a bark of laughter, the very idea of her finding out who she was dancing with being both ludicrous and rather detrimental…for everyone. In the past, it had always been Meg who was quick to announce his ghostly presence or blame some mishap on him. Not that it didn't normally work to his ultimate advantage, but it would certainly put a kink in his plans tonight. Still, while hidden behind his mask and the matador's costume, Erik felt somewhat safe.

"How about we simply enjoy the evening and leave such mundane matters alone," he suggested. "Tonight is all about mystery, and I would hate to ruin the fun by revealing too much to you."

"If you insist, yet I have been told I am very persistent…as well as astute," she warned. "I might glean more from your words than you think, Monsieur Matador."

"We shall see," he chuckled. "We shall see."

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They continued to dance, making light conversation as the music allowed, yet soon Meg guided the two of them over to a refreshment table. After partaking of another glass of champagne, they stood there in companionable silence as they watched the guests mill around them.

"Do you live in the area, Monsieur Matador?" Meg questioned, raising the flute to her lips once more as she gazed up at him.

"I live…nearby," he replied vaguely.

"I do as well," Meg teased. "Right up stairs in fact, in the dorms. My mother has her own room, but I prefer to share with the other dancers. Camaraderie is important you know."

"I will take your word on that," Erik nodded, also sipping at his drink. Comrades were something he was not familiar with…unless you counted that pesky Persian who was dead set on keeping tabs on him. Granted, the man had saved his life…but only once, and it had been a very long time ago. Was there a statute of limitations on a life debt? Erik certainly hoped so.

"My roommate is right over there," Meg continued, pointing towards Christine who was not far away, still in the arms of the Vicomte. "She was in the chorus with me, but recently she has been promoted to understudy to Carlotta. She really is a marvelous singer," here Meg couldn't help but let out a short laugh. "Much better than she ever was at dancing." However, her look of mirth quickly turned to one of shame as she covered her lips with her fingertips. "Oh, that was unkind of me! I don't want you to think I was making fun of her, she is my dearest friend, but let's just say her true calling is music, not the ballet."

"Do not worry, I completely agree with you," Erik chuckled, recalling how Christine always looked like a baby dear on ice when she danced. Her talent had always been in her voice…not her feet.

"Oh? So, you've heard her sing?" Meg inquired.

"I was there the night she debuted in Hannibal," he explained, his mind drifting back to that triumphant night when his angel had soared to the heavens. "It was a night I will never forget, and I fully expect her to be featured in the upcoming season's performances as well."

"Not if our managers have any say in the matter," Meg huffed. "Those two wouldn't know talent if they tripped over it and got it stuck up their pompous noses."

Erik couldn't help but laugh at the girl's comical reference to Messieurs Debienne and Poligny. In fact, he found her description to be spot on. And as he took another sip of the bubbly liquid in his glass, Erik found that he was indeed having a very enjoyable time with Meg. Too bad masquerade balls came along so infrequently, otherwise he might be tempted to attend more of them in the future.

"MEG!" came a high-pitched voice from behind them, causing Erik to flinch. "There you are! Are you coming with us or not?"

Turning, he saw it was little Jammes, one of the flighty ballet rats, and often the first to faint whenever he played a prank on…well, anyone. She was accompanied by several more of the younger members of the corps de ballet, both male and female.

"I don't know," Meg hedged, looking from the pixy-like Jammes to Erik and then back. "I'm kind of engaged at the moment." Here she gave him a shy smile, apparently believing his companionship to be preferable over those of her friends.

This made Erik's heart beat faster in his chest. No one had ever chosen his company over another…not even his poor mother! Yet, here was this delightful creature, willing to forgo some activity in order to remain at his side.

"But you have to come!" a few of the other girls insisted, reaching out as they tugged on her hand. "You're the only brave one among us! We would be lost without you, Meg!"

"Are you saying we can't keep you safe from the Opera Ghost?" one of the male dancers spoke up, acting as if he was insulted by their accusation. "Meg's not the only one who knows how to enter his secret tunnels."

"However, I am the only one smart enough not to get caught in his traps," the blonde ballerina accused, placing her hands on her hips and glaring at the young man. "I think it's high time you all grew up and stopped flirting with death. You know that my mother has forbidden us from seeking out the Phantom. He has not been seen in months, so just leave him alone."

"Oh, come on! Since when do you listen to your mother?" another of the boys challenged her. He then looked over at Erik, giving a shrug of indifference. "You can invite your friend to come along if you want."

Erik stood there in shock. He was more than aware that during certain celebrations, such as this one, many of the troupe dared to venture down to the lower levels of the opera house in order to seek out his whereabouts. It had become something of a rite of passage for the newer performers. It was a nuisance, to be sure, but Erik had begrudgingly put up with such foolishness, often simply to amuse himself. Yet, here he was, not only listening to Meg defend his right to privacy but being invited to come along as they sought him out. Oh, if only they knew the truth!

Erik had every intention of turning down their offer, and oddly enough, asking Meg to remain with him…that is until he caught a curious stare from across the room. Unfortunately, it wasn't Meg's unwanted admirer that had spotted them, nor was it Christine and her well-to-do fop. It was Madame Giry! He wasn't certain if her look of disapproval stemmed from the fact that her daughter was in the company of a strange man, or that she saw through his disguise and recognized him for who he truly was. And if Erik had any choice in the matter, he was not about to linger long enough to find out!

"I would very much enjoy scouting out this fabled Opera Ghost with you," he broke in, reaching out and taking Meg by the elbow in a gesture of compliance. "In fact, I think we should go right now."

"There, see," the tallest of the male dancers said with a smile. "He's not afraid to go."

"I never said I was afraid to go anywhere!" Meg seethed. "I just said it was a childish venture. Still…it would appear that since I'm surrounded by a bunch of babies…" she let her sentence trail off with a heavy sigh of resignation.

"Does that mean yes?" Jammes asked, clapping her hands in glee. When Meg nodded, she was once again pulled towards the side exit of the ballroom by her friends, with Erik being shuffled along among the group.

Normally he would have balked at being hemmed in so closely by others, but after one final glance in Madame Giry's direction, Erik was only too happy for this odd form of protection. For Antoinette had been heading directly for them, and any opportunity to make his escape was preferable to the alternative. As they disappeared through the doorway that would take them to the lower levels, and out of his box-keeper's reach, Erik released a sigh of relief.

Yet, soon, as the small group began to make their way down the stairs…a sly grin graced his lips. Oh, this could prove to be very entertaining. Very entertaining indeed.

Oh, Erik...what do you have up your sleeve? And while this might be entertaining for you, will it be so for those planning to search you out? Oh, if only they knew.

So, how do you like the pairing of Meg and Erik thus far?

And what adventures will they encounter in chapter two? Tune in and find out.

Sorry I have been away so long, I'm back over in the Hobbit forum writing there. If you are a fan of that universe, check out my work...it's under ThatOtherWriterGirl.