Much to Gus' surprise, he eventually began to fall into an uncomfortable, but regular routine. He still wanted to be as far away from the opera house as humanly possible, but at least it seemed like his parents were finally beginning to realize he wanted nothing to do with them. Annabelle rarely set foot in the opera house after her near death experience, but when she did, she always made sure to come say hello. The other musicians commented that she must have a crush on him, which mortified Gus to no end. While he couldn't tell them she was his sister since he could hardly admit it to himself, he simply said she was friends with his family back home and grateful he had saved her.

He walked into the pit and exchanged greetings with the others who had already arrived. Since his arrival, he had earned the begrudging respect of most of the older musicians. Not only had he saved Annabelle, his skill with the violin had caused him to climb the ranks, and he wasn't last chair anymore. Granted a pit orchestra wasn't exactly large so he had only moved a couple of seats, but it was more not being last and proving he was worthy enough to be there.

Gus quickly unpacked, tuned his violin, and began to warm up. His fingers flew across the strings, as he played his favorite melody of the show. But after a few moments, he paused and cocked his head as he heard the flute player warming up on a different piece. He started to play again, but only for a couple of notes. The two pieces almost sounded like they could blend together, with a little adjustment of course, but it was something that either the composer had missed entirely or chose to ignore.

"Are you alright Mr. Chaney?" the conductor asked, noticing he had stopped.

"Yes, I'm fine." He glanced back at the flute player. "I was just thinking if we take that solo, lower it a half step, and play it along with the melody I was just playing, it would layer really nicely together."

The conductor stared at him like he had suddenly grown a second head. "What?"

Grabbing his pencil, Gus walked up to the conductors stand and flipped to the flute solo, circling it. "If we take that, move it down a half step," he flipped back several pages to the part he was playing, and drew an X under the violin's part, "and played it there, it would introduce that melody much earlier into the show and would have a beautiful layering effect."

The conductor stared at the flute part for a long while, then the violin, and began to flip between them wildly, trying to imagine how it would sound. "It won't work," he finally said.

"It shouldn't," Gus agreed. "But I guarantee you that it will."

"What will?"

Gus looked up and saw Richard had overheard their conversation and was coming to see what was going on, his father only a few steps behind. Gus ignored him and spoke solely to Richard. Gus explained what he had told the conductor. After Gus handed the score over, Richard stared at it, nodding as Gus talked, but they all knew his specialty wasn't music. "Erik, what do you think?"

His father glanced over at him before flipping through the score himself. His brow was furrowed and Gus could tell he was trying to go through the music in his head, trying to imagine how it would sound. "He's right," he finally said, motioning to the conductor. "It won't work."

"It will," Gus insisted. At this point, most of the pit had arrived and seemed to be intrigued by the argument.

"No, it can't. That's now how music works."

"It's not for you to decide how music can and can't work!" Gus shouted. Shocked gasps echoed through the auditorium and even his father raised his eyebrows in surprise at his boldness. "It can and it will work."

"Gus, you should calm down," Richard warned, knowing full well that he had a temper. He reluctantly took a step back, but continued to stare down his father, challenging him, daring him to try to prove him wrong.

And it seemed he took the bait. "Fine," his father snapped. "Try it. Go ahead, see if it works."

He tugged the score out of his father's hands and gave it back to the conductor. "Start there," he said, pointing at it. As the conductor called out the measure number and the rest of the orchestra scrambled to their seats, Gus approached the flute player. "You'll start here," he said, pointing to his part. "But make sure to take it a half step down. Alright?" The flute player gave him a skeptical look but nodded. Gus took his seat and gave the conductor the go-ahead. The man rolled his eyes, but raised his hands and the orchestra began.

There was a moment of silence once they finished. Everyone started at Gus and his father, waiting with bated breath to see who would react first. Gus calmly placed his violin back in its case and crossed his arms. "So?"

His father pulled the score away from the conductor and stared at it in disbelief. "Where did you learn to do this? Who taught you this?"

"Well I taught myself mostly when I was doing vaudeville, although I picked up some from some jazz musicians who came to the theater that I worked at. A lot of the improvisation involves a lot of play on chords and themes."

"Jazz?" his father repeated. The disdain in his voice was clear and there was snickering behind him. Opera was considered sophisticated and only for the elite. Gus might as well have been talking about garbage. "You do realize that this an opera house and not some backwater theater right?"

Richard's eyes narrowed at the snide comment. He had grown up in that 'backwater theater' and his brother was currently running it, and he clearly did not appreciate the insult. When Richard looked over at him, Gus realized that his father's offhand remark had just given him a very powerful ally. "I think you should give Gus a chance. If he can do that much that quickly, imagine what a day or two of the score in his hands could do."

"No. There's a critic coming for this show and I will not risk a bad review because we're changing the music last minute to something completely different that has never been tried before."

"So no one has told you yet?" the conductor asked quietly.

"Told me what?"

The conductor shared a glance with Richard who let out a deep sigh before explaining, "We've received notice that it's, well, your favorite critic is coming."

"Well isn't that just great." Gus jumped as his father shoved the score at Richard's chest and stormed away. "Do whatever you want," he called over his shoulder. "It'll be a disaster either way."

"What was that?" Gus asked when he was gone.

Richard just shrugged and handed him the score. "You'd better get to work. Show's in a few weeks and we don't have a lot of time to completely rewrite the score."

"But I never actually…"

"Don't worry, I'm sure it'll be great. I've got faith in you," Richard said with a reassuring smile, before leaving to go hunt down his angry business partner.

Christine watched as Erik paced back and forth in his office grumbling to himself. "Well isn't this a good thing?" she asked. "It's the first time Gustave has shown any interest in the opera house. If he becomes invested, then he'll stay here and maybe even eventually come to forgive us. I don't understand why you're letting something as little as where he learned music from to get you so worked up."

"It's not that," Erik said. "I only said that because I couldn't tell them the real reason."

"Then what is it?" Christine asked, wrapping her arms around his neck, trying to soothe him.

Erik was quiet for a long time, as he held her close. "I'm afraid," he finally admitted. "Gustave was right. We weren't there for him for a long time, me far less than you, and now that we finally have him back, I don't want something to happen. His style is so unique; it very well could go over badly. And I don't want that to happen." He stared at Christine sadly. "Can you believe that? I want to protect our adult son from anyone saying something bad about his music, when I've only ever spent a few weeks in his life and he wants nothing to do with me."

She smiled softly before kissing his cheek. "I think its sweet that you care. It shows you care and want to make up for your mistakes. Besides, Gustave is your son. If he shares even a fraction of your genius, and I know he has so much more than a mere fraction, everything will be alright."

He tried to return her smile, but it didn't reach his worry-filled eyes. "Richard is pushing me to let him do it because Bishop will be reviewing the show."

Christine stared at him with wide eyes. "What?!"

"So I hear you're rewriting the score."

Gus hardly looked up at Annabelle as she sat next to him. He was sitting up in her family's private box so he could have the space to work while still able to hear the orchestra as they rehearsed. His pen didn't stop moving as he nodded. "No thanks to your father. He didn't exactly seem keen on the idea."

"That's because Papa is an old fuddy-duddy who hates change," Annabelle replied with a giggle. "What…" Gus' hand flew up and he shushed her as the orchestra began to play. She rolled her eyes, but remained quiet until they stopped. She had seen her father working enough to know when someone did not want to be interrupted. When the orchestra paused, she resumed asking her question. "What changed Papa's mind?"

"I'm not really sure he did," Gus admitted. "Richard said something about his 'favorite critic' coming and he just kind of stormed off."

"Favorite…oh he must have meant Bishop." She fell quiet for a moment. "Well if it's Bishop, then good luck. You're going to need it."

"Why's that?"

"Papa's been trying to please him for years, but hasn't had any luck. Bishop hates opera. He says it's outdated and pretentious."

Gus snickered. "Well it kind of is. Trust me, the theater I came from was more fun and everyone was a lot less tightly wound."

Annabelle smiled, happy he was keeping in good spirits about this. "Well, and if anyone can make Bishop happy, I have a feeling that it's you. But still, it's not going to be easy. I think…"

"Shhh!" Gus hissed, as the orchestra started up again. His pen began to fly across the paper again, and Annabelle realized he probably had a lot of work to get done before the show opened. She tapped him on the shoulder and mouthed 'good luck' before leaving him to his work.