A/N: So...I caved and counted the PMs I recieved as part of the six review-ransom I was demanding for this chapter. Look how you slay me you wonderful people. I got a lot of people saying they loved Erik calling Margot cherie though I should probably point out that Erik doesn't necessarily mean it as romantic right now.

So here's my request for chapter ten: five reviews please and i'll dedicate the chapter to the best reviewer!

PS After Margot leaves Christine's chambers, Erik comes to collect as per usual and the scene at the House by the Lake happens.
That's what you missed if you're confused.


CHAPTER NINE

in what was one of the most honest moments of our relationship, Erik shared with me what occurred in his home that night, Christine and I think I can understand how terrifying it must have been to awaken and find your Angel had become a ghost instead. You are my little solnyshka, Christine, you don't fare well in the dark but you must understand that his mask and the darkness are all Erik knew, at that time. Removing his barrier stirred his sense of betrayal which as I've already mentioned is particularly sensitive.

La Carlotta was of course furious but the managers smoothed things over quickly. She asked me into her apartments to tell her a story before she slept, to soothe her, and I discovered then that the casting, despite Erik's demands had been set. Carlotta as the countess and you, my dear Christine, as the silent pageboy for the next opera, Il Muto. (Frankly I hated Il Muto- it gave Piangi and Carlotta an excuse to mock and grope you and Meg and it was revolting.)

Madame Giry refused to allow any of us to see you so I decided I would uncover how the other half of your night fared. I knew Erik would not come fetch me on his own so instead I navigated my own way through the catacombs of the Populaire and found him before his organ, unplaying but instead calculating. I tried to calm him but the Viscount and your rejection of him was too much for me to fix. My news of your casting simply made things worse…


Winter, 1870
Catacombes
Paris, France


"Erik, please," Margot begged, resituating the fallen candelabras and papers from the ground where they'd fallen during one of his rages.

"He is trying to take her from me, Margot." Erik snapped, furiously. "It must not happen!"

"He is a handsome young man trying to woo her!" Margot frustrated. "It is not some sort of conspiracy, I doubt he knows you exist!"

"After my notes, he must know." Erik said in a low, dangerous tone.

"What notes?" Margot asked, suddenly fearful that in his anger, Erik might have become sloppy and have left a trail for the Viscount.

Erik straightened and paced across his home like an angry tiger paces its cage. "I have informed that, that fop!" he bellowed. "That he is never to see Christine again! I know his type, he will take my promising young star and make her his wife and she shall never sing again!"

"Erik, that's ridiculous!" Margot snapped, brow furrowed. "Christine would not leave-"

"You saw them together," Erik accused. "Tell me she would not leave if her childhood sweetheart would only ask!"

"I-I-I cannot." Margot sighed, defeated. "But Erik, this anger- it's not the way to go about this."

"It is the only way that works." He argued, studying the miniature stage he'd set up with determined eyes. "I have ordered Christine in the lead of Il Muto-"

"Christine?" Margot echoed, her ears filled with Carlotta's gloating about having the lead role in the next opera. "Are you sure?"

"Who else would I cast, you silly girl!" Erik shouted, glaring at her. Margot's spine straightened; though she would do nearly anything to comfort the man before, steal, lie and cheat for him, she would not take his tone and attitude lightly. It felt scathing against her heart.

"I did not come down here to be insulted, Monsieur." She snapped. "I came down here to attend to my friend."

Erik let out a breath, attempting to expel some of his anger. "That was uncalled for." It was as much of an apology as she would get.

"I wish I were not the one to tell you but La Carlotta has been cast as countess in Il Muto." Margot added quietly and she watched as the tension bundled into his shoulders again.

"Those fools!" he hissed. "I give them everything they need to make a perfect opera; I give them my time, my advice, my soprano and they are wasting on that talentless witch!"

"Erik, perhaps you must let the public put Christine into favour with the managers," Margot suggested, fruitlessly. "They love her, they will ask for her back but they need time."

"Time? I have no time if I am to stop that insipid Viscount from stealing Christine away from me." Erik murmured, glaring at his miniature stage. He glanced at Margot. "No, this must not come to pass. Christine is the pageboy I assume?"

Margot nodded mutely and picked up one of his folders containing scraps of his opera. "Did Christine accept you Erik?" she asked, quietly after a few moments. "You still haven't told me."

"She has time to accept me." The Phantom said, cryptically as he turned away from his childhood friend. "She will see, eventually, what I am doing for her."

"Erik, I am begging you," Margot said as she finished tidying the aftermath of his anger. "Do not invest all of yourself in this, please."

"I must," Erik said, sounding almost surprised at Margot's plea. He turned back around, his expression confused as though he could not fathom her suggestion. "My Angel has put her voice, her soul in my hands and I will put mine into finding a way for us to be together."

My Angel. Her voice. Her soul. To be together.

Erik did not want her, he loved and begged for Christine.

Margot was hardly was no Angel. Margot had no voice and an unremarkable human soul.

All she had were scarred laundry woman's hands from where she had not developped calluses soon enough and a heart which felt as though Erik were taking a carving knife to it.

How could she hope to compare?

That's enough Margot, she told herself, as Erik continued to mutter and rage under his breath, oblivious to her agony. Absolutely enough. You're stronger than this and you will collect yourself at once.

With that, Margot left the candlelit chamber, her heart broken as she climbed into one of the passageways leading to the chapel.

Taking a deep breath, she carefully slipped out of the loose stone in the floor of the chapel and put the cover stone back just in time to hear footsteps echo down the staircase.

Thinking quickly, she knelt before the candles, lit one and drew a spare length of beads from her pocket, extra from one of her pieces she was working on for Il Muto. They resembled pray beads so without any further ado, she bent her head to pray.

"Christine spoke of an angel of music…" a voice muttered to himself and Margot was startled to see the young patron, Raoul de Chagny arrive in the chapel.

"Monsieur?" she greeted, confused.

"Ah, Mademoiselle…Margaret?" he attempted.

"Margot sir."

"Yes, Christine's friend?" the Viscount clicked his fingers together quickly. "I apologise for disturbing you."

His words felt perfunctory so Margot merely nodded and began to rise. "I was finished anyway, your lordship." She could tell he was surprised at how she addressed him but then, he did not know that her father had had many lords and ladies as clients and she knew how to politely address all of them.

"Wait," he called as she began to climb the stairs.

Chert voz'mi! she thought annoyed as she turned, obediently. "Oui monsieur?"

"Do you know of the angel Christine speaks of?" he asked. "She mentioned him before she disappeared."

Ice seemed to fill her veins. Margot tried not to show her shock that Christine had mentioned Erik to Raoul but replied anyway. "No monsieur. She only claims her father sent an angel of music to protect her."

"Who has been playing with her all these years?" he demanded, angrily. "Who has been toying with her thoughts?"

Margot did not dare reply, though it was clear the Viscount expected one. After her pause extended, the Viscount waved his hand. "You may leave." He said dismissively.

Margot bristled at the dismissal but left, feeling as though she had just dodged death. Barely.


The opening night of Il Muto came quickly and when Margot awoke, she felt sure that it would be the disaster the Phantom had promised.

She dressed warmly and pinned her hair up quickly and away from her face, sure that should catastrophe strike, she would need all her wits about her. But it appeared her calamity was to arrive earlier than opening night. Margot left her room to attend to breakfast only to find her Uncle Franck seated at their small coffee table, waiting for her.

"Margot sit." He ordered, rubbing his eyes. The stagehands had become more unruly lately, having being blamed often by the manager's for the Ghost's tricks.

Margot quietly obeyed, nervous for her Uncle's purpose behind the chat. "Yes Uncle Franck?"

"How old are you now Margot?"

"Twenty, Uncle."

Franck leaned back in his chair. "Your father would've already had you married by now but I've no time to be selecting husbands out of fine society if I even could." He said, his tone unintentionally harsh. Margot felt her stomach drop. "You're a woman now Margot and that means you should be looking for a husband."

"But-"

"Quiet, girl." Franck snapped, gruffly. He rubbed the side of his head, irritably. "I've agreed to one of the men who has come calling on you before and should you find it pleasing," he said, sarcastically. "I'll give my permission towards your marriage."

"Uncle, I don't want a husband!" Margot cried out, eyes wide. This was unlike anything she had imagined for her morning and she hated it. She had fallen in love with a Ghost and anyone else was unlikely to compare to how deeply she felt for Erik.

"I said, quiet." Franck argued. "It's the natural way of things, Margot, grown girls have husbands. Besides, what do you think you're going to do without someone to take care of you? Live here with me for the rest of time? I'll be damned if I'm stuck supporting us both when I'm eighty!"

"But Uncle," Margot pleaded. "I don't like any of the men who called on me. They scared me!"

"Tough." Uncle Franck was unrelenting. "Joseph Buquet has already pled his case and he's a good friend of mine. He'll at least allow you to stay at the Populaire and continue working, be thankful for that!"

"While he molests the other ballerinas in dark corners or tries to take advantage of the maids!" Margot screamed, standing up.

"That's enough!" Franck snapped back. "I've given him my permission and that's the end of it Margot. No discussion necessary."

With that, Franck picked up his hat and stormed out of their rooms, slamming the door behind him.


The entire morning, Margot was consumed with her task of avoiding the vile stagehand her Uncle was hoping to marry her off to.

Joseph Buquet was one of the worst men in the theatre; he was rude, sloppy, petulant and hadn't the slightest shred of decency in him. And Margot was his intended? She nearly threw up after her Uncle left and moved about the Populaire in a daze, thinking of how horrible it would be to marry such a man.

But she could see no way out. It wasn't as though she liked anyone else enough to put forward to her Uncle and Erik was too far obsessed with Christine, not that she would've been able to confess herself anyway. After the third time Margot had pricked one of the chorusmen during a fitting, Madame Tenau pulled her aside and demanded to know her issue.

"Margot, this is unlike you and we have work to do." She said, not unkindly. "Tell me what is wrong."

The woman who had been her employer for nearly ten years looked at Margot with the same soft blue eyes and curly blonde hair she always had, the wrinkles and rough skin adding to the soft image she portrayed. Margot wanted to weep, though her pride would not allow her. "Uncle says that I must marry soon."

"As I would imagine any woman your age must." Madame Tenau agreed, confused.

"And he wants me to marry Buquet." Margot's voice was dead.

Tenau on the other hand, turned shrill. "Buquet? Has the man taken leave of his senses? Margot, you cannot-"

"But I must," she cried, fisting her hair in her fingers helplessly. "I have no one else to put forward to Uncle and he will not allow me to find someone else in time!"

Madame Tenau clutched Margot to her in a maternal hug the younger woman had not felt in a long time. "Shhh, little lamb, all will be fine." Tenau fretted. "You have a place here, child, your Uncle will come to reason."

But the falsehoods did nothing to ease her and when Madame Tenau insisted she leave the costume workshops for her lunch, Margot was feeling even more miserable than before.

As such, however, she was also unobservant.

"Hello there jolie," Buquet's oily voice filled her ears and Margot froze, spinning to see the stagehand staring down at her from the platform above.

"Go away Buquet." She spat, viciously.

He made no move toward or away from her. "That's not a nice thing to say, jolie, not to your fiancé…" he tutted.

Margot visibly shivered. "We will never be married."

Buquet shrugged. "You uncle sure seems to think so. Is it not the husband's job to discipline his wife? Just think, petite, I have years of your rude behaviour to discipline you for…" he smirked, laughing. Margot's stomach turned just thinking of what Buquet would classify as discipline.

"Never, you monster!" Margot screamed, blind with fear and rage.

"Such a mouth on you jolie." Buquet chuckled, taking a swig from his bottle. "I'll have fun with you I think."

Margot nearly threw up but managed to throw one last glare at Buquet who laughed as she stormed away, breaking into the run she could no longer contain within herself as she did.

She found silence in one of the old cleaning cupboards and pressed her forehead against the cool stone wall, pleading with herself not to give Buquet the satisfaction of seeing her weep.

"What happened?" She heard his voice before she saw him appear from one of his trapdoors and, disregarding his space, Margot tossed her arms around Erik tightly, wishing for some of the comfort Madame Tenau had given her. She did not care to remember his inadvertent cruelty from the past night, nor the way even now he stiffened slightly at her touch. Margot did not even care for the red rose tied in black ribbon that fell from his grip, obviously meant for Christine.

Margot simply did not care. She wanted Erik as she always had; as a shelter, as a place of refuge, as protection and safety and contentedness. She wanted him to erase the oily marks Joseph Buquet's eyes had left on her skin.

"Margot, what's going on?" Erik demanded, upset and confused over Margot's shaking limbs and frozen eyes.

"Uncle wants me to marry Joseph Buquet," she whispered, fear evident in her tone, despite her attempts to hide it. "He won't take no for an answer and Buquet- h-he…he said-!"

"Shhh," Erik hushed her, much like Madame Tenau, trying to make sense of whatever was going on inside Franck Ferrand's head.

"Erik, tell me it won't happen." Margot whispered, burying her head in his broad chest. Give me comfort, she begged silently. Tell me it won't happen. Tell me that all will be well and I won't spend the remainder of my life beaten and abused by my own husband.

But for the first time, Erik hesitated.

If his plans went ahead, Christine would sing his opera and then they would be married and escape before his crimes caught up with him. His schedule, should his plans succeed, was tighter than the noose he was currently imagining around Franck Ferrand's neck.

Could he promise that he could take care of Margot's problems? Ensure that her uncle would not simply jump to the next eager man should Burquet disappear? It would require time, time he was unsure he could spare from his plans with Christine. All had to move perfectly if his plans were to succeed. Did he have the time to craft a plan to protect Margot when his Angel was being wooed away from him with each passing second?

But the idea of one of the vile men touching an unwilling, screaming Margot was enough to make him want to slaughter them all. So he merely nodded and brushed away the hair from her face while her shaking began to calm.


Though she couldn't think of how Erik might manage to stop her impending marriage short of killing Buquet (which she was beginning to think she wouldn't actually mind so much), Margot felt confident that Erik would not let her down. It was what she could ask of him, as a friend though she dearly wished for more.

She avoided Buquet for the rest of the day, eventually settling back into her work mindset and finishing the last of the costumes for Il Muto.

La Carlotta had demanded one of her stories to soothe her before she went on stage though she interrupted constantly with gloating over how much more magnificent she was than Christine.

Margot held her tongue but barely until it was time for the production and she retreated to the workbenches of the costume department to put away the chaotic mess left over from the fittings. She didn't mind missing the performance; frankly she thought it was just an excuse for Carlotta to bully Christine and for Piangi to grope Meg and well…every other girl on stage.

By the time she heard the laughter, she was on her way toward the prop department to deliver some of Madame Tenau's requirements. A pair of shrieking ballerinas went past and Margot stopped them on their way. "What's going on?" she asked, frowning. Il Muto was a comedy but it wasn't that funny.

"The Phantom made La Carlotta lose her voice on stage!" one ballerina giggled.

"She sounds like a toad!" the other cackled and they both tugged out of her grip. "We're to go on stage as an interlude before Christine Daae goes on in her place."

"Mon Dieu," Margot muttered as she made her way to the stage and saw the chaotic rush of people trying to repair their opera. "I missed the best opening night the Populaire's ever had!"

Carlotta stormed past and Margot let a small giggle loose as the diva squawked and croaked orders to her entourage who were confused and fearful of the soprano's rage. She watched the ballerinas attempt to handle the fluffy white sheep and twirl between the prop handlers and stagehands that were recreating the scene right before their eyes. Though she felt embarrassment for the Opera House, she could clearly understand why the audience was in hysterics. It was the funniest things she'd ever-

Something dropped out of the platforms above the stage, hung by a rope and twitching violently and before Margot could scream, it swung around and she saw the bloated face of Joseph Buquet, hung right before her eyes.


A/N: Sooo...what'd you think? Realistically, there was no way that Buquet, a lowly stagehand would have ever been eligible to marry a performer like Christine or Meg but Margot, as a seamstress, is a workwoman and therefore far more likely.

Hope it wasn't too cliche for you but I like how Erik's 'handling' of Buquet for Margot fed into the movie timeline.

Now remember: Five reviews please for Chapter Ten and I'm already at work on an outtake, although, did you want me to post it here or on a seperate story page?


Translations:

Chert voz'mi- Russian meaning 'Damn it!'

Jolie- French meaning 'pretty'; occasionally used as a term of endearment