A/N: I am so mean to Erik. He had enough worry and jealousy with the young Chagny brother, now he'll have to deal with the older Chagny brother. Thank you reviewers! I love you all!

Enjoy!

Chapter 11- Welcome Back

"Where is Joséphine?" Constance questioned, looking at Christine and back at the men who had just entered the room. She found it strange that everyone would come to the Opera to have a look about, and Joséphine would be the only one to stay back at the estate. Actually it was strange that Raoul had not insisted that Christine stay away until he gave the all clear for her to come back.

Christine sighed, "She decided to stay at home with Alexandre. He has come down with a fever."

"Oh, that is dreadful," Constance replied. "I hope it does not turn out to be anything serious."

"Neither do I," Christine said.

Constance smiled at the young woman again, "I am so happy that you have come Christine. Monsieur Reyer says that of the sopranos signed up to try out tomorrow, he knows most of them and says they would not be decent leading ladies."

The Vicomtess laughed lightly, though there was a measure of reserve in it, as though she were still not quite sure about returning to the Opera Populaire with the past still fresh in her memory. Constance knew she should have told her right then that the Phantom was alive and well, and living in the theatre somewhere; it was the only ethical thing to do for someone who had lived through so much because of him. Though she could not bring herself to say anything about it. She knew if Raoul and Philippe found out that the Phantom was still in the Opera, they would hunt for him and make sure that justice was served. And if that meant killing him, they would do just that without thinking about it. She could not allow that to happen to the Phantom… Erik.

Pity was a dreadful thing…

She found it quite funny she pitied the man in the white mask after he had done nothing but threaten her and demand things from her in the least friendly way, but it was hard not to pity him. There was something about him that just begged for it.

Christine sighed, "Well, I am certainly glad to be back. I have missed the smell of the greasepaint and the applause of the audience."

"It will be very stressful for you Christine, I only wish to warn you one last time. With a new child anything can be stressful, but carrying a show on your shoulders… that is asking for a great deal pressure," Constance explained.

"I can do this…" Christine said, except it sounded more like she was trying to convince herself of that than Constance. "Really, Marguerite is young, but we plan to hire a nursemaid now that we have returned to Paris."

Constance nodded, "That will be helpful to you, I am sure. I only worry as a friend and as your potential manager."

Christine laughed, brushing a strand of her curly russet hair back from her face, "And I am thankful of that worry, Constance… but as I have told you before there is another who worries too much for me already."

"It is only because he loves you Christine," she smiled and the child in her arms let out a short wail, preparing to let out a longer, much more louder one.

"Christine!" came the excited shout from the stage. They both turned to see the blonde Meg running down the side of the stage and toward Christine.

Christine turned to take the babe out of habit, but Constance only smiled, "Go say hello to her, Christine. I can manage the little one."

The young Vicomtess nodded her head and walked quickly to meet Meg halfway to the stage. Constance chuckled at the reunion as both hugged and kissed each others' cheeks. They spoke like giddy schoolgirls, like they were once again young in the corps de ballet. She had not quite taken a liking to Madame Giry and her daughter yet, but Madame Giry was a skilled teacher and strict enough to get the job done. Meg, on the other hand, while kind and polite, was like a defenseless and naïve little kitten which was the reason for her apparent limited intelligence.

"A child in your arms does become you, Constance," came the deep, breathy voice of the Comte as he whispered close to her ear.

The hair on the back of her neck stood up and she turned slowly around to face him, "Do you think so, Monsieur le Comte?"

"I do," he said. "Though I had planned on you holding this instead."

She glanced down at what he held in his arms. There was the small brown and white puppy she had admired a few weeks ago at the country château, yawning tiredly. Glancing back up at Philippe's eyes she chuckled, "Carrying that pup around could ruin your image, Philippe."

"And what image is that?" he questioned with a laugh.

"It is not important," she chuckled, standing on her toes to greet him with a kiss on each cheek. "Welcome back to the Opera Populaire."

"Thank you, but I can guarantee you I did not come back for the Opera Populaire," he replied. She smiled slightly, knowing a blush appeared on her cheeks.

Christine came back to them then, and wordlessly motioned to take the babe from her. Constance nodded and handed the child back to its mother, and her arms were then summarily filled with leggy dog. She laughed at the pup as it clawed its way up her chest to hold onto her dress, reaching its long neck up to lick her chin. Constance sighed and looked at Philippe, "I need to take some papers back to the managers' office… if you would like to come."

"You say that as though I would not follow you," he said, offering his arm to her.

She chuckled and shook her head, not taking his arm and leaving his side to walk to the stack of papers on the chairs she had left them on. Glancing back at him, she saw the look of confusion on his face. Constance pointed down at the papers, "You can carry those for me."

He rolled his eyes, walking swiftly to her side, bending over to pick up the paperwork. "What are you doing with all this work out here?"

"I was sitting in on the ballet auditions," she replied, nodding her head in the direction of the stairs to the right of the stage so that they could go back up to her office. He followed her along the walkways, various people recognizing Philippe, stopping to say hello to him and questioning as to why he was back at the Opera. As politely as he could manage, he told them that he was only back to see that Christine made a smooth transition back into the Opera, purposely leaving out the real reason he was there. That was the last thing she needed- for everyone to be making bets about her and the Comte de Chagny if they found out his motives to being there- but Philippe had always been a private person so she was not worried it would be spread around the theatre.

Soon they made it to the office, and she let herself in, followed by Philippe who shut the door behind him. She placed the puppy on the floor, and he set the paperwork down upon the large desk, looking around the room, searching for something. She smiled wryly and chuckled, "Over there, Philippe."

He turned his head to the side, finding the large vase of flowers. Walking over to the table, he surveyed the buds carefully and turned back to glance at her. "I had wondered if you received them."

"Yes, I did… and I will say thank you. Though, I have to ask, who helped you with the meaning of the flowers? I know that was the last thing in your long list of things to learn in your life," she replied.

With a short chuckle, he sighed, "Christine helped me select the flowers."

"And you say she had no training in society!" Constance said.

"She doesn't," he said. "Just because she knows the meaning of flowers, does not mean she is adequately trained in other manners."

Constance shook her head, "Dear Philippe, you don't really think the women of society talk about things of importance, do you? That she should know how to diplomatically end an argument? All she needs to know is how to present a tea service, how to nod her head politely while on Raoul's arm and how to interpret the meaning of inconsequential things like flowers and the movement of fans. That is all it takes for a woman to be considered civilized in polite society."

"You speak of it as though it is the bane of your existence," he said with a small smile, and walked over to her.

"It is wholly mind-dulling, and something I do not like to be a part of, but I suppose that is what the men of this age want… women who cannot think for themselves, women who readily follow the manuscripts on etiquette. Those who do, use it as a Bible and fret over it because they have nothing else interesting to do in their life," she said.

"Do you really think me one of those men, Constance?" he questioned. "If I was, I would not be here in a closed room with you. It is seen as very uncouth of an unwed man to be in the room with an unmarried woman."

"I am widowed… there are entirely different rules for that," she said.

He nodded, his right hand going up to caress her cheek. His fingers were roughened from his daily activities, that she was sure regularly involved working with his horses. They were slightly abrasive to her cheek, but in a way, it was comforting to be having him do this… showing that he did care, even if it was too fast for her. And yet, she felt powerless to try to stop him from doing it.

"If I am not mistaken, the same rules apply for all courting procedures. I should not even be speaking with you until Olivier 'reintroduces' us for the millionth time," he said.

She had to laugh at that. It was true. They were not supposed to be alone until their wedding night, if they did adhere to etiquette, and if that was where they were to go. "But no one would think twice with you in here, because I am a widow."

"True," he said, inching closer to her. His fingers brushed across her cheek again, back to push a piece of her hair behind her ear.

Taking a deep breath, she turned her head away from him. She was uncomfortable… truly she was. Not necessarily being in such close proximity to Philippe, but because of the actions he was taking toward her now that she sensed would lead to a kiss. She was entirely not prepared for that with Philippe… not physically or mentally. She had never been easily talked into things, but Philippe's presence was something that was hard to get around. He was dominating- almost too dominating for her. And as much as he swore he was not like the normal Victorian man, she knew otherwise. That was why they had never 'worked out' when they were younger and she fell in love with William instead. He had always been too stuck in polite society for her tastes.

She had to stop this between her and Philippe, especially if she could not foresee being able to give him what he wanted. She was, first and foremost a friend of hers in a personal sense and of the family, and she did not want to ruin that because she led him on to believe she loved him, or could love him. But she was held in place as he gazed down at her. His fingers slid down to her jaw line, applying ever so slight a pressure to turn her face to his again. She kept her eyes away from his, though, and said, "Philippe, what you said in your letter to me…"

"I know," he said quietly. "I know it will difficult, but I must do this now, Constance. I never was given the chance ten years ago."

She had the ability to say no then, to take on her own domineering personality and demand that he wait, but she could not. His head lowered to hers, and she sucked in a sharp breath, closing her eyes, waiting for him to finish this. Just as his lips touched hers, though, and she realized there was no shock of excitement running through her as there had been during a kiss with someone she truly loved and decided she needed to stop this before it got too out of hand, there was a loud shriek from somewhere in the theatre. If she had not been certain before, that happening right then was enough to tell her she should have not been doing this with Philippe.

Constance jerked away from him quickly, listening again for the shriek. Her heart stalled and jumped to her throat and she prayed silently that this had nothing to do with Erik seeing Christine again. There were loud, excited shouts as the high-pitched wailing continued. She backed away from Philippe, meeting his eyes and seeing the same worry in his eyes. She did not wait for him, and left quickly through the door. Running toward the stage area, she saw the scene before her. One of the young ballerinas, barely into her teens, had fallen halfway through a small portion of the stage floor. Olivier and Raoul were already there, breaking some of the rotten wood away and pulling her out along with it.

"What happened?" Constance questioned worriedly, kneeling down beside Olivier.

Raoul lifted the small girl up, and placed her over to the side on the ground. There was a long gash in her arm where blood was seeping out in a steady, but not heavy, stream. Constance moved over to the girl, looking at her arm. It was not terribly bad, but she was sure it certainly hurt. She glanced around for a piece of cloth to tie off the flow of blood, and found Olivier and Raoul already removing their long, silk cravats. People could say a lot of things about her brother and the Chagny men, but they were most definitely not helpless or unconcerned when it came to matters like this with someone 'below' them.

"What is your name, dear?" Constance questioned, looking down at the girl. Olivier moved around her and tied both his and Raoul's cravat around the upper portion of her arm to slow the flow of blood.

"Sophie," she said through a loud cry, grabbing for her arm as the makeshift tourniquet was tightened.

Constance grabbed her hand, "It will stop the blood, Sophie, do not fight them."

The girl nodded, the tears now freely moving down her face, "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Constance said. She sighed and looked around her. "What happened?"

"I was walking across, and I fell through the wood," the girl sniffled.

Raoul glanced over at Constance, "It's the trap door they use for people who need to escape downwards off the stage… you know, into Hell."

Constance nodded, and looked at Olivier, "We need to have contractors come back to look over the entire stage and make sure the wood will not do this again."

"I will make sure to do that," he said. "But first, I am going to go find the physician to come have a look at Sophie's arm."

"Of course," Constance said and stood up. "We will put you in one of the rooms to rest until he comes, if that fine Sophie?"

She nodded, "Yes, Madame."

Madame Giry appeared then with cloths in her hand to wrap about Sophie's arm. Constance where she had been for such a long while, as everyone else was standing around now watching the activity, but fetching the cloths would have not taken her that long. Had Erik been out and about? Had he caused this? Too worried about the girl to focus on it, though, she watched as Madame Giry wrapped one cloth, about the cut. Without anyone having to ask then, Philippe bent down to pick the girl up to carry her back into the living quarters and dressing rooms of the theatre.

"Will you bring warm water, Madame Giry?" Constance questioned

"Yes," the ballet mistress walked away from the stage then.

Constance led the way to one of the dressing rooms on the same floor instead of leading them up to the dancers' quarters as it would have been hard to carry the girl up the narrow iron stairs. She went into the room and quickly dusted off the chaise lounge so that Philippe could set the girl down. Sitting beside Sophie, Constance removed the cloth to look over the scrape again. Sophie winced, more tears streaming down her cheeks.

"I'm sorry if I hurt you, Sophie, but I am looking for any splinters of wood that I can take care of without the physician," she said.

"I understand," Sophie whimpered.

Taking her time to look over the wound in the dim light of the gas lamp in the room, she found a few large splinters of the rotten wood and pulled them out quickly to Sophie's pained cry. After the first one was removed, however, Sophie was remarkably courageous as the others were taken care of. Philippe, in the meanwhile, had removed his handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to the girl.

"Thank you, Monsieur," Sophie said quietly, almost shyly as she gazed up at Philippe.

Constance recognized that look very well… looking up at the handsome face of any man while still fresh into the teen years of a girl's life was quite blush-provoking. She chuckled, "Sophie, this is the Comte Philippe de Chagny."

Madame Giry arrived then with the water in a porcelain pitcher and bowl, both Christine and Meg following close behind, seemingly ready to help despite Christine's obvious impediment of Marguerite. Philippe smiled pleasantly, placing his hand on Constance's shoulder with a soft squeeze, "I think you have enough help now, I'm off to find my brother."

"He is still trying to make sense of how the girl fell through the floor," Christine replied, adjusting the child in her arms. Philippe nodded and disappeared quickly. Constance watched him go before turning back to look at the others in the room, and let a heavy sigh escape her lips.

Welcome back to the Opera indeed.