Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera, this is purely a work of fanfiction.
"They know you walk like you're a God,
They can't believe I made you weak"
Strange Love - Halsey
"Leave Christine alone."
The Phantom stills. He tilts his head as a woman slips from the shadows. She is dressed in a plain dance frock; blonde curls escape a messy bun. There is nowhere for her to hide a weapon unless she is concealing something in the folds of her tutu.
"And you are?"
He is used to people cowering under the force of his gaze but she lifts her chin, defiant. He could kill her for such insolence and might yet. However, there is something familiar about how she holds herself. As a regular at the Opéra Populaire he has no doubt seen her perform but his senses suggest there is something more.
"No one of importance."
She can hide her identity if she likes, it won't be difficult to discover, and then he can decide what to do with her.
"Yet you have the nerve to approach me and make demands."
There. The slightest bob of her throat. He tastes weakness like blood in the water.
"Christine is my friend. I won't let you harm her."
His hands tighten into fists at the insinuation but he doesn't let the anger translate to his face. "I do not intend Ms Daaé any harm. Although, if I did I fail to see how you could stop me."
He stresses you with a condescending look that shows how little he makes of her. The ballet rat straightens.
"Maybe not… which is why I'm here, appealing to your better nature."
He laughs, coldly. "My dear, do you even know who I am?"
"They call you The Phantom."
She doesn't sound scared but if she knows his name then she knows something of his reputation.
"You see, I am the bogeyman who lurks in the shadows, worse than all your nightmares put together. Whoever made you believe I have an ounce of kindness in me has grievously misled you."
"Antoinette Giry."
"What?"
For the second time that night the Phantom is surprised.
"Antoinette Giry is the one who made me believe there was kindness within you. When she lost her dance career after the accident that paralysed her from the waist down your kindness saved her from becoming destitute. Now she serves as your accountant."
She is wrong. Yes, he helped Antoinette but he didn't do it out of the kindness of his black heart. He owed the ballerina a life debt and was merely paying it back. Embroiling her in a life of crime was hardly kindness although Antoinette has never complained. But how does this nobody know his history with Antoinette?
He trails his gaze over her once more and realisation strikes like a match.
"Marguerite Giry."
"I prefer Meg."
"And what does the Little Giry want with me? Does your mother know what you're up to?"
The answer is obvious; Antoinette would never allow her daughter near the Phantom. She keeps her daughter far from the business and for good reason, this frail mouse would be torn to shreds by the wolves he runs with - and he is the biggest, baddest wolf of them all.
The fact that she dare confront the Phantom - however intriguing - proves she is far too naive and headstrong for her own good. Her only advantage is she is Antoinette's daughter and he would never hurt the ex-ballerina. Not that he is going to let the chit know that.
"I want you to leave Christine alone."
This again.
He bares his teeth in a manner that resembles a smile but no one would mistake for one. "I believe that is Christine's decision."
"Then let her make it. She doesn't want you."
She might as well have slapped him. He is fast losing patience with this girl.
The Phantom stalks forward until his face is mere inches from her own. The foolish girl doesn't even flinch.
"You would be wise to keep your nose out of other people's business. My relationship with Ms Daaé is none of your concern."
"That's where you're wrong."
The Phantom snarls. No one would miss one bratty ballerina when there's a whole troop of them. Except she is Antoinette's daughter. Damn.
"I make it my concern. Christine is my best friend and I don't want to see either of you hurt."
"Either of us," he scoffs. "Don't pretend you harbour any sympathy for me."
She looks up at him, blue eyes glittering beneath long eyelashes, her cheeks flushed from dance practice, lips plump and rosy. He falters, pulse stuttering. He hasn't been this close to a beautiful woman in a long time.
Is Meg Giry beautiful? She is not unpleasant - though she doesn't compare to Christine. Besides, Antoinette would have his hide if she learnt he thought of her daughter in such terms.
"You think I'm too young but I remember when the bad men came. I remember how you made them go away."
Her voice startles him from his reverie but the earlier rage does not return. He listens as she speaks.
"I remember you setting us up in your own lodgings for a time, not long, just while you made alternative arrangements. You played the piano, late at night when I was supposed to be fast asleep, I would lie awake and listen to the music and it would sweep over me and send me to sleep. I never had bad dreams when you played."
Before, her voice had been firm and unyielding. Now she sounds breathless, her tone wondrous and intangible, like the stuff of clouds. His breath catches in his throat. She is looking at him as no one ever has… as if she sees all he is - the horrors and the broken shards - through to his withered husk of a soul, huddled in its dark corner. And yet instead of the revulsion he expects there is compassion.
But how can this bright-eyed ballerina know of the hell he lives in, of the sins he has committed. If she saw a fragment of the beast within, she would turn and flee before the monster devoured her too.
As if reading his thoughts, she speaks. "I may not know much about you - and I'm probably better off not knowing - but I don't think anyone who plays that beautifully could be a monster."
He almost laughs because anyone with enough talent and the correct score can play a pretty melody, monster or not. But he is unexpectedly touched by the sentiment and keeps his peace.
The dancer's eyes gleam as if she senses his wavering. He doesn't like how easily she reads him even with his mask in place. Having located the crack in his armour she doesn't hesitate to dig her nails in.
"Christine is in love with Raoul de Chagny."
The Phantom hisses and the Little Giry is actually taken aback. He delights in this small victory but then she smirks and any pleasure turns sour.
Noticing the shift, she bites back her grin and smooths her features into a neutral mask, but he feels the curve of her lips seared into him.
"Christine loves Raoul and Raoul loves Christine and they will happily continue to be obnoxiously in love except for the one admirer who refuses to take the hint and, of course, that admirer is the frickin' Godfather."
She glares rather pointedly and the Phantom would be amused if her words didn't inflame him so.
"You dare criticise my treatment of Christine. I have given her more than she could dream."
The look she gives him is downright frosty and altogether too evocative of her mother.
"And her love is the price you demand, is that it?"
He recoils at the venom in her tongue and like a snake she strikes.
"Christine didn't ask you to make her a star. You saw her talent and cultivated it for your own satisfaction. She didn't know who you were. She thought your intentions benevolent. She made a deal with the devil and believed him an angel."
"She understood it was a transaction." He is surprised he manages to keep his voice level with the blood pounding through his ears.
"A transaction, what a cold term for love. It's not Christine's fault you confused business with pleasure."
"I am owed- "
"Don't act as if Christine's rising stardom hasn't been mutually beneficial. You own the Opéra Populaire - the bigger the crowds, the bigger your cut. She doesn't owe you anything."
He wants to strangle her, this insolent shrew, wants to push her into the wall and… and…
There is little light in this forgotten corridor at the back of the theatre but Meg Giry's eyes are blazing. She wields her words like a dagger, plunging it into the chink she has exposed.
"You fell in love with her. But you cannot frighten her into loving you. Raoul is the one she wants."
The Phantom fixes her with his fiercest glare, the one that has made grown-men piss themselves. Meg does not falter. Who is this mad woman who dares meet him toe-to-toe? Even her mother isn't bold enough to push him so far. Is it pure stupidity or something more?
"I can take care of de Chagny."
She actually rolls her eyes. Unbelievable.
"I know you can take care of him," she emphasises the words with quotation marks, "that's what worries me."
He sneers, "You fear for the posh ponce."
"I like Raoul, he is a genuinely good person and he treats Christine right." She gives him a cutting look. "But I also worry what will happen when the heir of the very rich and very powerful de Chagny family mysteriously disappears. They have huge influence and plenty of resources. They will discover your involvement and seek to destroy you and anyone else caught in the crossfire."
It would be a bloodbath, the Phantom realises. There would be no winners in a war between the de Chagny's and the Phantom, only collateral.
He hasn't considered the risk before, everything else seemed inconsequential to winning Christine's heart. But now the cogs are whirring in his brain. He has always been weak to desire; those born with nothing crave everything. Strict discipline is necessary to keep him focused on what is important, yet he has allowed himself to succumb to this one flight of fancy and if he follows temptation down its path he risks losing everything he has worked so hard to build.
And would it be worth it, for a woman who doesn't love him?
Awareness washes over him like a bucket of ice and Meg is the one who dumped it. He can't let her see how she has affected him.
"What do you care if I am destroyed? Your mother is smart, she'd keep you safe, and surely the world is better off without monsters like me."
Meg narrows her eyes, nose crinkling, and gives him a considering look. He tries not to tense under her scrutiny. Her opinion shouldn't matter to him as much as it does.
"You killed Joseph Buquet."
The Phantom is surprised but doesn't let the accusation throw him. It is hardly the first time someone has tried to trick him into confessing.
"The name rings a bell."
"Joseph Buquet was our chief stagehand and a drunk. He got tangled in the ropes one night and fell to his death during a live performance. It was a massive scandal."
"An accident," he hums. "I must have read about it in the news."
Her eyelids lower and she stares at him from under her lashes. It almost distracts him from her next words.
"Rumour is the managers had been late in paying your fee. Some wondered if there was a connection."
"And what do you think?" He doesn't mean to lean in but they are so close now and she doesn't pull back.
"I think it's odd the elusive Phantom would go to the trouble of killing a man himself and risk being seen but then who would believe a distraught ballerina after the trauma of a corpse almost dropping on her. It's not surprising in her state of distress she imagined a masked man standing in the rafters."
She taps a finger against his white half-mask. The Phantom catches her wrist but doesn't snap it like he could.
"You were there?"
"Of course," she chirps, not sounding particularly traumatised from what he can admit would be a terrifying ordeal.
He never gave much thought to who was on the stage that night. He knew Antoinette's daughter danced at the Opéra Populaire but hadn't considered her involvement.
"I'm…" with alarm he realises he is about to apologise and give himself away, "...that must have been… alarming."
She shrugs. "Yes, it was… but I'm glad."
His chest stutters.
Her mouth twists with a wire thin smile. "You look shocked. I'm sure you're no stranger to the cold-hearted in your line of work."
The Phantom is not, but she doesn't seem the mercenary type. With blonde curls and a white dress she resembles a winter sprite yet warmth radiates from her like a summer sun.
"I do not believe your heart cold, Ms Giry."
"Meg," she corrects. "And maybe, maybe not. I'm glad all the same. Joseph Buquet was a monster."
He doesn't reply. He is familiar with Buquet's character.
What did he do to you? He wants to ask and dreads the answer.
She hears the unspoken question. "He spied on us in our dressing room and assaulted some of the girls. The managers knew but never did anything about it. I broke his nose once," she grins, a wolf's smile, and something inside him perks up. "He was livid, made all sorts of threats, implied if I wasn't careful I'd suffer the same fate as my mother."
Her smile disappears and she glances at his hand, the one still clenched around her wrist, white-knuckled and near bruising. He releases her, startled by his anger.
He hadn't known of Buquet's threats. If he had he would have ensured Buquet broke both his legs before choking on his own blood (harder to disguise as an accident but the authorities know better than to pry). He is surprised Antoinette didn't tell him, but if she'd known she probably would have butchered Buquet herself.
"As it was, tragedy befell him before it did me," Meg finishes, nonchalant. "I never told the police what I saw that night. Not that it would have mattered, but…"
But.
He doesn't know how he, the most feared man in the criminal underworld, is hanging on the words of a ballet rat, but…
Meg looks at him, face set, eyes steady. "Maybe it's wrong of me but I've no issue with a monster who hunts other monsters."
The Phantom sucks in a breath and releases it. "You recognise I am a monster."
She opens her mouth but he holds up his hand and she miraculously remains silent.
"You know what I am capable of yet you ambush me here, in this dark forgotten crevice where no one will find us. If you scream, everyone is too far away to arrive in time, if they even bother."
He drops his hand to her throat, holding her there. She stiffens, pulse quickening beneath his gloved palm. He flexes his fingers but doesn't tighten his grip.
"You, Meg Giry, are at the mercy of a monster."
She stares up at him, defiant till the end. It riles him, frost creeping into his voice.
"You have the gall to confront me about my personal affairs, to lecture me. You foolish, reckless girl. I have killed for less. Don't think your mother will save you. She answers to me. I expected her daughter to show more sense. What foolish sentiment compels you?"
"Love."
The word is a slap in the face.
"Love, the most foolish sentiment of them all."
She surges forward, rising on her tiptoes, even with his hand still around her neck.
"I love Christine, she is my best friend. I will defend her with my life."
"And if I kill you now there will be no one standing in my way."
"Except for Raoul, his family, their associates, the authorities, and Christine herself." She actually looks bored, slumping into his hold. "You won't kill me."
"Don't tempt me."
He squeezes his hand waiting until she winces and then releases her completely. She stumbles but recovers with a dancer's grace. He spins on his heel, distancing himself by a few paces then turning back around to face her, his long black coat swishing with the movement.
"What will you give me in return? If I agree to leave Christine and de Chagny alone."
He isn't thinking, mouth running without a plan, but for the first time Meg looks unsure.
"What do you mean?"
"Come now, Ms Giry, I am a businessman. You cannot hope to succeed with threats so you must have something to trade. What is it you offer? Keep in mind Ms Daaé is a treasure beyond compare."
"What is it you want?"
She glares and it fills him with childish glee. He resists from clapping his hands. Although he is the most formidable of the pair until now it has been Meg leading the dance. It is time he seized control.
"I want Christine but since you are standing in my way perhaps you will offer yourself in her place."
It seems he has finally rendered her speechless. It doesn't taste as sweet as he thought it would but he ignores the twist in his gut. As the quiet stretches out his unease grows. She doesn't appear shocked or disgusted but thoughtful as if she is seriously considering his proposal.
He wasn't expecting that and doesn't know what he will do if she takes him up on the offer. He can't lose face by backing out now but Antoinette will have his balls if she learns he blackmailed her daughter into having relations with him. It is the sort of line the Phantom never crosses and yet it dawns on him this is where his flirtation with Christine is leading. The thought does not sit easy but before he can examine it further Meg makes her move.
She steps forward and he can't stop himself from flinching (so much for being the most feared man in the criminal underworld). She stops in front of him and places her hands on his shoulders, fingers curling into the padded fabric. He doesn't know why he is allowing her to touch him; he rarely permits anyone so close.
He stands, tense, as she rises on her tiptoes, and watches transfixed as those pink lips press against his own, warm and moist, with the faint taste of cherry lip balm. He observes her as she kisses him. He knows etiquette is to shut his eyes as she has her own but he fears if he does she will disappear and he is curious. She doesn't wince, doesn't appeared disgusted or pained, no wrinkle mars her brow. Her features are smooth, calm, absorbed with the task at hand.
To his regret she soon pulls back. He had been so focused on reading her reaction that he forgot to savour the moment, unlikely to get a second chance.
Her eyes flutter open and she meets his gaze. Whatever she sees makes the corners of her mouth twitch. His face heats feeling like a teenager caught doing something he shouldn't, but there is nothing nasty about her smile.
"You should consider turning your attentions elsewhere. There is more than Christine. Others who are willing and wanting."
The desire to ask if she is one of them burns through him but he bites his tongue, afraid of the answer and his reaction to it. If Christine Daaé is the impossible pipe dream then Meg Giry is a moonbeam in his hand.
"You should return, they will be missing you at rehearsal," he says, dismissively, needing this interaction to end before he loses what little remains of his sanity.
Meg retracts her hand, stepping out of reach. "I guess so."
The Phantom doesn't let himself acknowledge her disappointment or his own. Instead he turns his back, remembering his purpose for taking this route in the first place. How much time has this interlude cost him? It feels like hours have passed in this grimy corner of the opera house.
"What will you do about Christine?"
He tilts his face so it is the mask looking back at her. Christine, the reason for everything, the supposed love of his life.
"I am not some love-struck fool. Time is money and I shall not waste it pining," he asserts, although until now that's exactly what he intended to do. "I will not interfere with Christine's happiness so long as she is happy with de Chagny. If he mistreats her or she changes her mind then I will be there."
"If Raoul hurts Christine you can do whatever you please."
Her fierce devotion to her friend is admirable, even if it leads her to do stupid things.
He nods and carries on down the corridor.
"Wait!"
The Phantom gives commands, he doesn't take them. And yet, he pauses.
"Our bargain?"
She sounds unsure, different to the woman who cornered a crime boss in a deserted corridor.
"There is nothing I want from you."
That's not strictly true, not anymore, but he pushes those thoughts aside.
However, Meg is insistent. "All the same, I'd rather not be indebted to you. Name your price."
Does she have no sense of self-preservation? He shall have to speak with Antoinette, although he will leave out the part where he threatened and kissed her daughter.
Very well, if she wants him to name a price…
"Call me Erik."
He doesn't wait for her response, striding down the corridor and disappearing round the corner into a secret passage that should prevent her following if she does indeed have a death wish.
The withered clump of coal that serves as his heart shudders inside his chest. Sweat has gathered on his palms and is seeping through his gloves. His fingers twitch with the urge to compose.
He curses Meg Giry. She is stubborn, insolent, foolish…
...and fierce, and brilliant, and brave…
It is possible the Phantom has finally met his match.
Again, this is a fanfiction, reality and common sense have been suspended in favour of romance. Don't do crime and stay away from the mob.