Gia needed someone to talk to. Having spent years avoiding relationships with nearly everyone on the opera staff, she was now in the position of having no one to confide in. However, the next afternoon, when she spied Meg Giry chatting with a couple of the other members of the corps de ballet she decided to approach her. The blonde girl always had a smile on her face and a sweet, open expression. It would be easy to talk to her. Gia took a deep breath, plastered an awkward grin on her face, and lightly tapped the young woman on the shoulder.

"Excuse me Meg, I'm not sure if you know me, but I was wondering if we might speak, in private, for a moment."

Meg turned to see who was speaking to her, and quickly responded, "Of course I know who you are! You're Gianna Burnside. There seem to be more than a few rumors about you around this place."

Gia returned stiffly, "I hope you do not believe all that you hear. There is nothing particularly interesting about my life."

"You sound like Maman! She told me nearly the same thing the other night. I thought it was all so wonderfully tragic. Just like everything Christine told me about the phantom of the opera."

At the mention of him, Gia seized upon the opportunity to shift the conversation away from herself and on to another subject. "Are you friendly with Christine Daaé, then?"

"Oh yes. We have been as close as sisters ever since she moved into the Populaire after her father died. Why, just the other day I received another letter from her. She and her husband are planning to attend the gala performance of The Magic Flute. It will be their first trip to Paris since the baby was born. I'm so excited about seeing her and Raoul. It's just been ages!"

This unexpected news caused Gia to lose track of her thoughts. Christine was coming back here? What would he do if he found out? More like when, she silently amended. Would she bring ruin to this place as well? She would do all she could to prevent that from happening, even if it meant delivering the vicomtess to the Phantom herself. Her trip to his underground domain had made one thing abundantly clear, his love for Christine Daaé burned as brightly as it ever had. The drawings on his wall had been a silent testament to it. He had probably even fantasized it was her lips, her tongue on his mouth instead of hers.

Why should she even care? She had not wanted his kisses. "Then why did your body nearly burst into song at the touch of his mouth and hands?" her inner voice questioned. He had made her feel alive for the first time in years, and for that she wanted to hate him. In a few moments, he had shattered the glass wall she had erected to keep the world out and now nearly all her waking moments were filled with him. She, who had prided herself on her reserve and her ability to avoid all the temptations of this place had been at the point of letting him slake his lust upon her until his arousal reminded her what a dangerous game they were playing. Damn him!

She should have never let him touch her.

These were not appropriate thoughts for her to be having in the presence of the young dancer. A scowl briefly crossed her countenance, and she finally added, "I'm sure it will be wonderful for you to see your friend. I should be going. I rudely interrupted you and your friends, please excuse me."

"But I thought you wanted to talk!" she called to the young woman who's figure was rapidly disintegrating into the backstage ether. At that moment, Madame Giry saw her daughter and her look of distress, and she immediately went to her side.

"To whom were you speaking, my child?" she said softly, her hand smoothing Meg's slightly mussed hair.

"It was the oddest thing, Maman. Mlle. Burnside was just here, and she said she wanted to talk to me alone, and then she ran off. I wonder if something is wrong with her," she said thoughtfully.

The mention of Gianna Burnside's name troubled Madame Giry. She had been reaching out to Meg only to back away. Had Erik already made his presence known to her? He had not moved this quickly with Christine. But then, the circumstances here were far different.

"Did you say anything to her Meg? Perhaps you upset her in some way?"

"I don't think so. I only mentioned the letter that Christine wrote me saying that she and Raoul would be in Paris in a couple of weeks for the opening." Meg shrugged her shoulders and then fell easily back into conversation with her peers, her encounter with Gia all but forgotten. It was far too much fun telling them all about the events of the last two years and what had gone on at the Opera Populaire the last few months it had been standing to dwell on the odd Mlle. Burnside.

Madame Giry reeled at Meg's mention of Christine and her husband, and she was visibly shaken. She was aware that Meg had received a letter just the other day, but she had not thought to ask her about the contents since usually the letters contained nothing but amusing little stories about life in the country or anecdotes about little Phillipe's adventures. Now she was confronted with two options. Giry could write to Christine and tell her that she should not come to Paris under any circumstances, but that would mean revealing that Erik was not dead. Christine would undoubtedly inform her husband, and that would bring about police involvement. She had protected Erik for years, and she was not about to jeopardize his safety. The other possibility would be to confront Mlle. Burnside and learn if she planned to tell Erik about this turn of events. The former being an unacceptable solution, Antoinette Giry chose the latter.

Hazarding a guess, she made the climb up to the chorus dormitories and found the door to Mlle. Burnside's room ajar. A light push caused the door's hinges to squeal and altered the young woman to her presence. She was sitting on her bed, her back facing the door, and at the noise she whipped her head around. Her cheeks were moist with new fallen tears, and in her hands she clutched a set of rosary beads so tightly her knuckles were white.

The sight of a figure looming in her doorway caused Gia to stop crying. It would not do to be weeping in front of others, particularly if it was him. She would not let him see her upset. It would be a victory for him, and he would take perverse joy in her sadness. As the mist of tears fell away, she realized the dark figure was Madame Giry, and she allowed herself to relax slightly. She said nothing, but walked into the room, shut the door softly and took a seat next to Gia on the bed.

"There, there child, why the tears? I rushed up here because dear Meg was concerned that something was wrong with you. It would seem she was not wrong."

Wiping the tears away, and sniffling Gia replied, "It is nothing. I was just thinking about my mother."

Giry eyed the girl closely. She was not a good liar. "Are you distressed by the news that Christine will be coming here? There is no shame in that. Heaven knows what he will do when he finds out."

"I must tell him, you know. If I do not, he will find out on his own, and that will only make matters worse."

Madame Giry sat back against the pillows. She must have spent some time with Erik to have drawn such a conclusion. This woman must be a keen observer to have made such a judgment so quickly. She carefully posed the following query, "He has come to you then?"

She nodded, "Yes. On two separate occasions. The night you caught me in the practice rooms, and then again last night. He took me to where he lives beneath the opera house."

"Mon Dieu!" Giry thought, but aloud she said smoothly, "I am rather amazed he would trust you so quickly. He does not do that easily."

"He made me wear a mask with no eyeholes. I saw nothing until we arrived there." At this point, Gia stopped, trying to think of what she should say next. She could not possibly reveal all that passed between her and the Phantom last night. It was not seemly, and Madame Giry would only think her a shameless hussy for throwing herself into his arms. "He wanted me to tell him about Monsieur Dupoix, but I lost my temper, so he brought me back to my room."

By the expression on her face, it was painfully obvious to Giry that something more had occurred between them. However, she was not one to pry into another's personal business. If she did not think it would upset Mlle. Burnside further, she might have chuckled at the notion of her losing her temper with Erik. Instead she inquired, "You lost your temper with him? What did you do? What was his reaction?"

Gia had been dreading this question since she had mentioned she had been with the Phantom last night. Steeling herself, she looked into Madame Giry's eyes and said, "I threw a pot of ink at him. He told me to go back to the boat and put the mask on. Then he brought me back. That is all."

Giry did not believe that for a moment. Erik would have responded in some way, but she was not about to contradict Mlle. Burnside who was determined to keep her affairs private. "Are you expecting him this evening?"

"I assume he will come again, however he did not say anything to me on the trip back. Perhaps he will leave me alone now that I have displeased him."

"I doubt that my dear. But you have done well to show him some spirit. He will not underestimate you in the future," she said with a quick smile. "Do not be surprised if he does not come to you for a few days. He may not show it, but his ego is most fragile. The phantom will sulk and pound away on that organ of his, writing music for a while. It is his way."

Gia looked up, startled, "How did you know he had an organ?"

"An assumption on my part, I assure you. He has not seen fit to take me to his lair. He had one at the Populaire. I always knew what mood he was in by the music that would occasionally drift up from the cellars. Such beautiful music it was too," said Giry, reflecting on the old days.

In the pregnant silence that followed Gia uttered one sentence. "He still loves her."

"I know, Gia, I know."

At a loss for exactly how to proceed, Giry headed for her room, and found a note waiting for her on her dressing table. It was short and curt:

Meet me in the manager's box as soon as you receive this.

I will be waiting,

Erik.

There was no question of tarrying here. Giry made her way to the box, being careful not to be observed. The theater and stage were deserted now that the day's rehearsals had drawn to a close. She had decided she would tell him nothing of Christine until she learned if he planned to pay a call on Mlle. Burnside in the near future. She had learned a hard lesson from the events two years ago; sometimes keeping one's own counsel was necessary to avert disaster. She had been torn between her desire to see Christine and Erik happy, and in the end she had chosen the girl she thought of as a daughter over the man who had become like a brother. When she had been privy to the vicomte's foolish plan to ensnare the Phantom, she had known it was hopeless and destined to end in disaster. A little piece of her had died that evening as she watched Erik pour out his soul to the girl whose heart belonged to another. And when the mask had come off to reveal all to the rapt crowd, she could only sigh knowing the rage it would bring on.

She found him hiding in the shadows at the back of the box. The only clue to his presence the white mask that nearly glowed in the darkness.

"Erik, what is it you want? What have you done to Mlle. Burnside? She will not tell me, but I have no doubt you are the cause of her upset."

He leaned back against the door to the box, and weighed what to tell the one person he would allow himself to call friend. "I am only doing what must be done so the past does not repeat itself, Antoinette," he began. "I'm sure you of all people have no desire to see that happen again. Or did you enjoy your stint as the ballet mistress of all those trifling theaters?"

"That is neither here nor there. Meg and I can fend for ourselves. Now answer my question. What have you done to her? Today she wanted to talk to my daughter, and she approached her backstage but became wary and ran off. It will only lead to more talk, you know that. This will only fuel the fires that she is a strange woman."

Erik crossed his arms, and gave Madame Giry a hard glance. "What do I care for her reputation? I need her, and I shall not be deterred because you have taken a liking to her."

"For what do you need her Erik?" she snapped. "In your bed? Have you become that desperate that you would prey on a lonely woman? You once told me you would wait until you could find someone who would accept all of you, and I foolishly believed your words."

Momentarily taken aback, Erik sputtered, "I only want her for information. What happened last night will not re-occur, I can promise you that."

So, she had been correct, something had happened between them. Although her knowledge of Mlle. Burnside was limited, it struck her that if they would only confide in each other, together they could stop running from their pasts. Christine had been a terrible mistake. Erik had fallen in love with her sweetness, and thought her fatherly affection for him could sustain a mature relationship.

"Exactly what did happen last night?" she questioned. "She would only tell me she became angry and threw an ink bottle at you. Was that a lie?"

So, she was reticent to tell anyone about last night. He wondered if it was her prudishness or embarrassment that was at work there. "Her lie was one of omission rather than commission. She was about to go into hysterics, and to shut her up I kissed her. It was nothing," he finished, his eyes trained on the empty stage rather than Madame Giry.

Giry bit her tongue to prevent herself from saying, "Not to her. And I know it couldn't have been nothing to you." Instead she asked the question that most concerned her, "Are you going to her again this evening?"

He was relieved she did not ask anything more. He did not want to tell her that the memory of her lips and the texture of her hair against his hands had kept him awake for hours. When he had slept, he dreamed of burying himself between her parted thighs, her moans soft in his ear. She had murmured, "More Erik, I want more," and raked her nails along his back, encouraging him on. God, it made his cock hard at the thought of it. Mentally, he pushed those thoughts aside, and focused on Giry.

"Yes, but first I have some business to attend to. I bid you, adieu."

It was only upon his return to his home that Erik realized he had forgotten his purpose at their short meeting. He had meant to ask Giry about how rehearsals had gone that day. He had slept uncharacteristically late and missed the morning practices. No matter, he would simply have to ask Gianna later. At his desk, he pulled out the familiar black and white stationary and began to write a note addressed to Monsieur Michel Dupoix. It was fortunate indeed he always kept an extra supply of ink on hand.