They rested together afterwards, languid and content in the silence that surrounded them. The closed room was lit by a single candle whose small, golden flame cast dark shadows across the walls and floor. It wasn't long before Meg fell fast asleep, nestled safely in his arms where she belonged. Erik couldn't help but marvel at golden-haired woman who rested so trustingly in his embrace. She had danced for him tonight; he had asked her to, and she had done it. It was without a doubt one of the most arresting sights he had ever laid eyes on. He was sure that she was grace and beauty personified, especially when she danced like that, just for him.

Meg continued to slumber on, and Erik, unable and unwilling to sleep himself, soon began to think in earnest on their situation. The arrival of Firmin still goaded him, and he could not determine what was to come from the new partnership between the man and Edmund. On one account, however, he felt certain: If there were to be two managers for the Opera Populaire, it only followed that Edmund would have half the work to do from before. And that could only lead to one thing—Edmund would surely plague Meg with his company to an even greater degree than before. For he had no doubt that Edmund's sights were still firmly set on his fiancé. A man such as Edmund did not let go of an obsession so easily. Erik, of all people, knew something of that at least.

As evening came on, Erik's troubled thoughts led him to a rather unexpected epiphany. Turning onto his side to face Meg, who was still sound asleep beside him, he watched her sleep for a moment more before gently waking her.

"Erik?" she murmured, stirring reluctantly. "What time is it?"

"Nearing eight, I shouldn't wonder," Erik deduced. "I'm sorry for waking you, my love, but we need to talk. I've been thinking."

That seemed to encourage Meg to pay attention. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she pushed up onto her elbows to regard him, one eyebrow slightly raised. "You've been thinking?"

"Don't look so alarmed, Meg," Erik laughed warmly. "I've had an idea, that's all." At her expectant look, Erik elucidated. "As I hope you know by now, the world of opera is quite taken by you. There is no question that you are a magnificent dancer, and now the patrons of Paris know that you're a talented soprano as well. It's very likely that everyone will expect to see you sing in the upcoming production, should our vaunted managers ever pick one."

"Well, yes," Meg agreed. "I think that's understood. What of it?"

Erik chose his next words carefully. "I think it would be in your best interest not to sing in the next production, but to perform as the prima ballerina only."

Meg recoiled slightly, her eyes flashing momentarily with hurt and disappointment. "My singing did not please you," she sighed, and it twisted Erik's heart to see her look nearly complacent about it the next moment. "I was afraid of that. That's why I didn't-"

"No, Meg, that's not it at all. Hear me out a moment, if you please. You sang beautifully. I would never lie to you about that." She smiled softly at that reassurance, the light of the flickering candle catching the relief in her sleep-softened eyes.

"However," he continued, "I believe that our best course of action is to ensure that Edmund has as little access to you as possible. And the best way to do that, I think, is to limit your role in the upcoming production to some degree, if only to protect you from more exposure to that idiot of a manager. Do you see?"

Meg appeared to think over his words carefully. Erik, meanwhile, knew that he was right. Edmund had nearly drove them all mad during rehearsals for the last production, dogging Meg's heels whether she was onstage or backstage, taking on the role of director even though they had a perfectly good one already, and all just to stay close to her. She deserved better than this. She was talented enough to dance and sing, and Paris deserved to see the bright jewel they had currently living in the Opera House.

"This is only temporary," he assured her. "I'm not suggesting that you relegate yourself to prima ballerina only, unless that is your wish. In fact, I have, well, something of a boon to offer you in the meantime." Taking her hand in his, he drew her closer against him once more.

"I want to help you sing, Meg. I want to be your teacher."

Meg wasn't entirely sure she was hearing him correctly. "You want to be my teacher?" she asked carefully, feeling a little dimwitted to be repeating him. With the candle light at his back, she couldn't make out his eyes in the shadowy room. He must have been in earnest, but Meg thought that she had made herself perfectly clear on that particular aspect of their relationship. She didn't want to be another Christine for him and the idea of becoming his pupil, while not as unpleasant or as unwanted an idea as before, still felt like dangerous territory.

Erik's arms tightened around her. "It's not what you think, Meg. I've told you already, you already have a lovely voice. I don't know who trained you in England, but they did a fair enough job of it." She could sense rather than see his smile. "However, if I may be so bold to say, you will never find a teacher quite like myself. You know what music is to me. You know what I did for Christine."

Meg did recoil then, pushing herself free from his embrace and turning over towards the opposite side of the bed. Of course she knew what he had done for Christine. They were past that now, but it was still, she was sorry to admit, something of a thorn in her side. She loved Christine as a sister, and she knew without a shadow of a doubt that Erik's love for Christine had taken its course and faded away, but it was still nothing short of unpleasant to be reminded of what had once occurred between them.

As she swung her legs over the side of the bed, Erik draw close to her again. She could feel his warmth radiating at her back as he brought his arms carefully around her, gently rubbing his hand down her arm. He really was difficult to ignore sometimes, she mused.

"Just let me finish, Meg. Please." With nowhere to go, and admittedly no real reason to go, Meg simply nodded. She couldn't help but let her head fall back against him, resting against his chest.

Erik sighed as he collected his thoughts once more. "As I was saying, you have a beautiful voice. But it is still, in some aspects, untrained. I can take it to heights that you cannot even imagine. More importantly, I want to take it to those heights. You are not, nor would you become, merely a student to me, Meg. You are the woman I have fallen in love with, the woman that I love. It would…it would bring me great pleasure to teach you. If you would allow me to train you, mold you... It would be a remarkable gift to me, Little Meg."

The man could have been a snake charmer, Meg thought amidst the pleasant flutterings in her stomach his little speech had inspired. Her doubts from before were all but swept away by the sincerity of his fairly smoldering words. Only Erik could mix sincerity and seduction in such an enticing way. The idea was suddenly tempting in the extreme. That innate curiosity of hers wanted to know just what Erik could teach her, wondered how much more there was for her to learn. She loved music, and she loved to sing. What harm could there be in developing her voice under the guidance of a true master, particularly now that she believed his intentions were pure?

When Erik urged her to lie back on the bed once more, she did not resist him. Her eyes were slightly coquettish as she gazed up at him, her hands reaching for him and smoothing their way down his neck to his shoulders. "All right then, Opera Ghost. We have a deal. I'll tell my managers that I wish to perform as prima ballerina only—if we're not too late and they haven't miraculously chosen an opera by now—and I'll spend whatever time I can with you as your pupil. Does this satisfy you, my love?"

Erik's smile was wickedly roguish. "Very much, my dear," he agreed, and bringing his lips to hers, he began to show her exactly how pleased he was.

It seemed that things were finally turning in Edmund's favor. He was not at all disappointed in his new partner. They sat together in his office the morning after Firmin's reintroduction to the Company, going over the more tedious details of management that Edmund personally detested. Personally, he would much rather eschew such matters. Fortunately for him, Firmin was amenable to that fact—at least, he had agreed to see to some of the more administrative duties as part of his role in their partnership, while Edmund was to see to more artistic matters. A certain ballerina inevitably came to mind at that thought. Oh yes, Meg Giry was an artistic matter indeed. And if he played his cards right, he might just be able to win her fickle heart back yet.

"Edmund? Are you listening?"

Pulled from his thoughts, Edmund turned his gaze back to Firmin, who had been droning on about possible selections for their next production. Honestly, didn't the man know how droll this all was? He smiled politely, begging his pardon, and pretended to give his attention to the point at hand, although his thoughts continued to dwell on the lithe body of a certain golden-haired goddess that he hadn't seen properly for days.

Strangely enough, it was at that precise moment that the goddess in question swept into the room a mere moment after her brief knock interrupted their meeting. Both men hastened to their feet, somewhat thrown off guard by Meg Giry's abrupt arrival. "I do beg your pardons, Messieurs," she said in that honey-sweet voice of hers. "I hope that I'm not interrupting anything important."

Firmin was the first to recover. Edmund was too busy looking her over, in as discreet a manner as possible, of course. Meg was the sort of woman who could be dressed in sackcloth and ashes and still look effortlessly lovely. But dressed to the nines in a form-fitting gown of blue, with her hair caught up in a graceful profusion of curls and topped with a jaunty hat to match, she looked simply delectable. It was the first time in memory that she had sought him out in such a way, and Edmund inwardly exulted. Perhaps things were turning up even sooner than he expected.

"You're not interrupting at all, Mademoiselle Giry. Please make yourself comfortable," Firmin invited, offering her his own chair set before the desk. As for himself, he moved around the desk to stand just behind Edmund. By this time Edmund felt that he had recovered his senses enough to speak without making a fool of himself, and quickly added, "Yes, by all means, make yourself comfortable, Mademoiselle Giry."

Dear God, she was wearing perfume. Perfume, for Christ's sake. He could smell it from where he sat, wafting towards him across the desk. It was a scent he could not quite place, but it was heady and sweet at the same time, a profusion of amber and florals that seemed the perfect combination for the little dancer. If she had intended to make an impression, she was making one—she had his utter and complete attention.

"I trust everything is well?" Again it was Firmin who spoke first. "I understand that you have Madame Carlotta's former dressing room. I trust it is not, how shall I say…too garish for your taste?"

Meg laughed, and Edmund felt a stab of jealousy. She didn't laugh like that for him anymore, and Firmin's remark wasn't all that clever.

"No, it is not too garish for me, I assure you, Monsieur Firmin. But then, I did make some changes to it. There are far fewer furs and jewels lying about, for instance, and I have seen to it that some of the, well, the art and décor were changed up a bit."

The enormous painting of the former diva had been replaced. Of that, Edmund was intimately aware, seeing as it had come down on his head thanks to the surprisingly spritely woman before him. It was an episode he preferred not to dwell on, but whenever he did think of it, he was still puzzled that Meg had been able to push him away with such strength and speed. He, of course, could hardly remember any of it, having been knocked out cold for some time after the incident, but it did strike him as odd.

"I'm happy to hear it," Firmin chuckled.

Edmund felt pressed to insert himself back into the conversation before the two decided to talk circles around him. He didn't particularly like Firmin acting so familiarly with her, even if it was rather harmless. "What is it that we can help you with, Meg?" he asked solicitously, aware that his use of her given name might not sit well with her but still feeling anxious to establish for everyone's benefit that he thought himself more intimately acquainted with her than Firmin was.

If it bothered her, she didn't show it, at least not outright. She did not, however, speak directly to him when she responded, but rather to both of them. "It's about the upcoming production," she said, her manner confident and to the point. "I gather that you are both hard at work deciding on the next opera?"

"You gather correctly," Firmin answered for them. "We were discussing the matter before you joined us. I hope that we'll have the matter sorted out in short order."

"Very good, Monsieur Firmin," Meg smiled. "I'm glad I'm not too late. You see, I've given some thought to the upcoming production. I hope that you both understand that I don't wish to be the Opera's new primadonna… The last thing I want is to fill La Carlotta's shoes. However, I do have one request."

"Anything." Edmund couldn't help his response, and he was a touch discomfited by how damned pandering it sounded.

Finally, Meg looked him directly in the eye. "Well, then. It comes to this: In the next production, I wish to appear in the role of prima ballerina only."

For a moment, Edmund didn't know what to say. This was not what he had expected from her at all. Come to think of it, he wasn't really sure what he had expected of her. Despite all his concerted efforts, he never had a damn clue when it came to Meg Giry. But this idea of hers was completely and utterly unacceptable, especially when it had been he who had pushed her into the role of soprano in the first place.

"Out of the question," he told her, meeting her gaze squarely. His tone came out clipped and brusque, and he hastened to soften his response. "You have become an overnight sensation, my dear. Now that Paris has tasted of your charms, you cannot deny them the pleasure of having you sing for them again."

His little ballerina looked undaunted, blast it all. "I wish to devote more time to developing my voice before returning to the stage in a singing role," she clarified, one eyebrow raised ever-so-slightly, as if in a challenge. "And, as I think you know, it is dancing that is my real passion. I would very much like to fully devote myself to my role as prima ballerina."

Edmund's eyes narrowed. "I tell you again, it is out of the question. You may sing as well as dance. It is to be expected."

"But I wish only to dance, nevertheless," she insisted.

"We shall have to hire a new soprano, then, and we are not looking to hire any additional cast members at the moment."

"Nonsense," Meg returned. "I was never hired to be a lead soprano, and you know perfectly well that you have plenty of sopranos to choose from in the chorus alone."

"You are to be polished into our leading soprano. All of Paris will be clamoring to hear you sing again! It is a remarkable triumph for you, Meg. Once you were only a chorus girl, then a prima ballerina, now a talented soprano-the appeal cannot be denied, and you will truly be a star." His words appeared to have no effect upon her, and Edmund was growing somewhat desperate. What would it take for him to convince her just to do as he wished?

"Monsieur, perhaps I'm not making myself clear." Her eyes were positively icy as she all but stared him down. She had gotten that from her mother, he was sure. "I tell you that I wish only to dance, at least for the time being. In the future I will consider singing roles, if you still wish it of me, but for now I will appear only as the prima ballerina, or I will not be appearing at all."

"I think it a fine idea." That, incredibly enough, came from Firmin, who had remained stoically silent during Edmund and Meg's heated exchange. Edmund whipped his head around to look up at him. "You what?"

Firmin took a step forward as he addressed Meg once again. "In fact, I have a suggestion or two to make, if I might, for the next production, both of which feature a strong lead dancer. Would you care to hear them, Mademoiselle Giry?"

"I would very much like to, yes," she readily agreed, and Edmund's head swung back again to face her.

"The first is Cholet's La Rose Rouge. It is a bit melodramatic, I admit, but it does feature some lovely songs that will suit our current lead vocalists, as well as a suitable role for a fine dancer such as yourself."

Meg considered his suggestion for a moment. "La Rose Rouge is a fine enough opera, but it gives little for the chorus to work with."

"You make an excellent point," Firmin agreed, nodding.

"And our last opera was very similar in tone. Perhaps you have one in mind that has less to do with mad magicians and misplaced mythological creatures?"

Firmin chuckled at that, and Edmund, feeling completely out of place and hating every moment of it, swiveled his head back to Firmin again. Just when he was about to interject, Firmin continued without so much as a glance his way, completely cutting him off. "I do indeed. What do you think of Humbert's Ozymandias?"

Meg's eyes brightened. "I think it a very fine opera indeed. Very dramatic, as I recall, but not overly so. Just imagine the costumes and the set pieces—an opera set in Ancient Egypt will be a veritable feast for the eyes."

Edmund was quickly losing ground. Once more he posed himself to interject, scrabbling for a way to convince Meg that she wanted more involvement in the next production, not any less, when Firmin finally turned to face him. "That's exactly what I was saying when we were discussing it, isn't it, Edmund?"

The English man blinked, wracking his brain to recall whether or not Firmin had actually said that. He hadn't been listening at all then, and he was beginning to think that his new partner was very much aware of that fact. Feeling that he was caught between a rock and a hard place, Edmund did his best to smile blandly and nodded. "There's certainly nothing more exotic than Egypt," he said, a trifle reluctantly.

"Good!" Firmin slammed his hand down on the desk, making Edmund flinch. "It's decided, then. Our next performance will be Ozymandias. Alphonse will play the lead role, Mademoiselle Giry will delight and amaze in her capacity as prima ballerina, and everyone in the Company will have their hands full bringing Ancient Egypt to Paris. Do you agree?"

Meg looked positively delighted. "It sounds marvelous, Monsieur Firmin. I'm sure the Company will be thrilled." And then both Meg and Firmin turned expectant faces to Edmund. He felt nothing short of ensnared. Somehow within the last five minutes, his tenuous control on his opera had once again slipped away. Firmin, whom he had thought would be more of a passive, paper-pushing partner, had just cornered him into choosing the opera he had been favoring all along, and Meg, his pretty but very slippery prima ballerina, was once again dancing out of his reach.

"I suppose I have little choice in the matter," Edmund finally said at length, forcing out a smile that must have looked as pained as he felt. If either of the other two noticed, they didn't say. Meg thanked them both graciously and fled almost immediately, then Firmin declared that he had work to do to see that production was shortly underway, leaving Edmund alone in his office.

Glancing at the clock, he swore under his breath and reached for his brandy decanter. Who the devil cared if it was only eleven in the morning? He needed a drink.

Returning to her dressing room triumphant, Meg couldn't quite believe just how well her little meeting with the managers had gone. She'd had no idea that Firmin could be so shrewd, let alone so competent. She told Erik as much when he arrived and was amused at his reluctance to agree.

"His choice in the next opera was not…completely tasteless," he said slowly, looking comically pained to admit it. He had, after all, gone out of his way to make work for the man a living hell when last he had been manager. It couldn't be easy for him to admit that there was some hope for him yet.

"Ozymandias is a very exciting production, and it will perfectly suit the Company. Martine is going to be beside herself. Just think of all the beautiful costumes!"

"It will be as circus-like as that Hannibal garbage was, of that I have no doubt."

Meg's laughter seemed to cheer him some, but still not enough for her taste. "Erik, everything has gone according to plan. You should be happy."

"I am happy, my dear," he assured her, looping his arms around her waist and pressing a kiss to her brow. "I would be happier, however, if you were to remove your hat. As lovely as it is, the feathers are tickling my nose."

Meg snorted softly, reaching for the pins that held the hat in place and pulling them free. As she set the hat on the surface of the dressing table, Erik gave a nod of approval. "Yes, much better. As I was saying, I am happy—I am merely perplexed. Where on earth did Firmin come up with enough sense to present not one but two suitable suggestions for the next production?"

Smiling to herself at his admission, Meg shrugged and leaned her head back against his shoulder. "Maybe he has changed. God knows that many of us have changed over the past five years. At any rate, I don't think that this is a fluke. He was very charming at the gala, from what I gathered, and was quite polished and polite when I spoke with him yesterday as well."

"If you're trying to convince me that Firmin has returned to us as a polished gentlemen with a good head for opera and its management, it's going to take more than one choice in an upcoming production to convince me, my dear. I shall be keeping my eye on him."

"If you insist," Meg sighed. She hadn't really expected him to trust Firmin right away. She wasn't quite sure why she was beginning to find him so trustworthy herself. It was intuition, perhaps, pure and simple. She'd soon have ample opportunities to see if her hunch was correct, and Firmin did seem to be something of a changed man. As far as she was concerned, changed or not, he was a vast improvement to Edmund.

Turning in Erik's arms, she took a step back and tilted her head back to meet Erik's steely gaze. "Just be careful, Erik. Firmin knows all about the rumors of your return, and we don't want any…well, trouble. Not when we have a future to plan, at any rate."

"Of course not, Meg." She was not at all convinced by his attempt at assuring her, but held her tongue. Time would tell one way or another if Firmin really was a friend or foe, or something in between. She could only hope that Erik would behave himself in the meantime.

AN: Another delay, another chapter to hopefully make up for said delay. The two operas mentioned in this chapter are both the creations of your author. The fictitious composer of Firmin's first suggestion is a tribute to the character Cholet from the made-for-TV movie Phantom of the Opera from 1990. I think it is fantastic for many reasons, but mainly because Charles Dance does such a knockout job of portraying a very powerful but very human Erik. As for Firmin's second suggestion, Ozymandias is the Greek name for Ramses II of Ancient Egypt. More to come on that as rehearsals get underway, but the Wikipedia article on him is fascinating enough and much more detailed than anything you'll pick up from this fic.

Please take the time to review—it means so much to me to hear what you think. I hope you've all had fantastic summers and are looking forward to a lovely fall. Until next time!