DISCLAIMER: You know this part, don't you?

Thanks to Aubrey Daniels, kristinekat13, and Phantomsangel1 for reviewing, and sorry for the delay on this chapter.

Madame Giry was heading back to her quarters late one evening, nearly two weeks after Gabrielle had begun ignoring the Phantom's letters. She had just finished supervising the ballet classes and was ready to call it an evening when what seemed to be a wisp of wind blew behind her…She knew all too well what that meant.

"Giry," said a gruff, slightly raspy voice behind her, whispering dangerously close to her ear. She didn't need more than one guess to know who it was.

"I'm listening," she said, acknowledging his presence.

He grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around to face him. "I've been finding these," he said in mild disgust, brandishing a pile of letters addressed to Gabrielle. "Unopened." For a moment, the two stared one another down, the woman's gaze flicking back and forth between Erik and the letters.

"Perhaps you've just neglected to send them," Giry said dismissively. He glared at her.

"I know that you're behind this somehow, Giry," he hissed, giving the letters another threatening flick in the older woman's face. "I demand you tell me how."

"I only told her the truth of what you want from her," Giry said, turning her head up.

"Oh?" he chuckled in grim disdain. "And what, pray tell, do I want from the girl?"

"No one in this place is blind," Giry reasoned. "We all know. You're only after that girl because she is the closest you can have to Christine now. Don't make this girl the victim of your shortcomings, Erik—"

He shuddered at being called by his first time, an informality that he was quite unaccustomed to. "I came for her before I knew who she was, Giry. Consider that."

Once again, he was gone.

Meanwhile, Gabrielle was walking back towards the bedchambers, and to her own door after a long day of attempting to learn to dance. She had refrained from singing for what seemed to be the longest time, not wanting to attract any undesired attention. She practically pranced over the carpeted hallway, wanting only to get those blasted toe-shoes off of her aching pieds and throw herself onto the bed.

"This is most definitely not my calling," she whined, walking gingerly upon her sore feet. "Honestly, I don't see how you do it." She put her hand on the door to her own room.

"Where are you going?" Meg asked. She had grown accustomed to, and really quite fond of, having Gabrielle as a guest in her room, sleeping on Meg's daybed.

"I think I'll stay in my own room tonight," she sighed. "I haven't gotten a single letter in more than a week. I think he's gotten the blasted point."

"Well," Meg said hesitantly, biting her lower lip in contemplation. She had grown rather close to Gabrielle and wanted to make sure she was safe. "If you're sure that nothing's going to go wrong,"

"I'm completely sure," Gabrielle said confidently. She opened the door and shut it behind her. She got herself into her nightgown and stood in front of her mirror, brushing her hair. Something seemed to move, like a ripple or a shadow, and Gabrielle flinched, blinking harshly. "Odd," she muttered. "I could have sworn—" She let out a shrill squeak when someone grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around. "You!" she snapped, her mind registering immediately upon seeing the white porcelain mask.

She immediately ran for the door, trying to open it, only to find that even from inside it wouldn't give an inch. She began jolting the handle, tugging at it furiously. When she resigned to the fact that she would be going nowhere, she turned around to face her guest, eyes narrowed.

"You will not leave." he said simply.

"I'll be damned if I don't try," she growled, still trying to open the door. Suddenly, she felt something tighten around her wrist, and she was pulled harshly until she was on her knees in front of him. She looked down and saw the bristly rope of his Punjab lasso tightly around her wrist. Unwilling to be lowered to such a servile level, she stood up and glared at him directly in the eye. He loosened the rope and let it fall.

"Why do you run?" he asked as if he was speaking to a misbehaving child.

"I won't have you controlling me, manipulating me into believing that I have a purpose," she said coldly. "God knows that the only purpose I serve to you is to replace a woman that you can never have."

"I would have come for you, regardless," he said stonily, his cold eyes boring into hers. No matter how hard she tried to mask it, her eyes were filled with a certain inextricable warmth. Surely, with those eyes, she couldn't fool anyone into believing that she was the least bit malicious. "I came to claim you before I knew who you were. You will no longer question me, Miss Clairmont, is that clear?" He grabbed her by her upper arm and glared at her even harder.

"I will continue to question you as long as I deem appropriate," she said, the quiver in her voice evident.

"You will not question me." he repeated fiercely.

"What am I to you?" she snapped, trying futilely to pry her arm away. "A new conquest, another trophy?"

"A second chance," he said simply.

"Precisely," Gabrielle growled. "I see your game now. You think that if you can break me this time, you've made up for failing before." She threw her arm hard, finally getting loose from his grip long enough to get away, heading for the door, only to find that he grabbed her other wrist and pulled her back, grasping her by both shoulders and giving her no chance of escape.

"Did I not direct you not to go anywhere?" he said coldly.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?" she hissed. "You despicable—"

He cut her off by pulling her close and kissing her harshly, so hard that his lips nearly drew blood from hers. Gabrielle pulled her face away and looked down at the floor.

"I will own you." he growled, pushing her away so that she fell onto her daybed, and sweeping back into shadow.

Gabrielle put her fingertips up to her sore lips and stared off blankly. She wouldn't be getting any sleep tonight. Instead, the same she would be asking herself the same question over and over…Is this what I wanted?

A million times, she asked herself, interrogated herself about what she really had thought would come of trying to be on her own again. And every time, she gave herself the same answer.

Of course I wanted it at some level…

She recalled the anger and annoyance in Erik's face, and upon remembering, she recognized the pain and fear he had wanted to instill in her with that single action.

…but not like this.

"Gabrielle?" Meg said, knocking on the locked door the next morning. "They want to see all of the performers. It might be another rehearsal."

"I'm not going to sing anymore," Gabrielle said shakily.

"What?" Meg asked. "Gabrielle, but I thought—"

"I want to. I really want to," she said quietly. "But every time I do, he has more and more reasons, more and more chances to watch me."

"Gabrielle," Meg said sympathetically. The door of the room opened, and a very sleepy looking Gabrielle stepped out. The two young ladies began walking silently towards the stage until Gabrielle finally said something.

"If this keeps going," she began. "I don't think I'll be able to stay here anymore."

"That's insane," said a male voice behind them. The two girls turned around and saw a young man, one which neither of them knew. "The Opera Populaire is on its last leg," he continued. "What do you thinks going to happen if the lose to only one keeping it standing?"

"Do I…know you?" Gabrielle asked, raising an eyebrow lightly. True, the boy did look familiar, but she couldn't precisely place it.

"Forgive me," he said with a charming smile. "My name's Anton Fouinard. We met in the town plaza recently…I gave you the flowers?"

Now she remembered…the boy with the case around his neck, the flower vendor. "Oh, you work here now?" she asked politely.

"Ah!" Meg said, "I remember my mother saying something about a new setbuilder."

"That'd be me," he said graciously with a slight bow. He looked at and addressed Gabrielle again. "You know, if you leave, you wouldn't get nearly as many complimentary flowers," he smirked, walking away. Gabrielle smiled back slightly, watching in what she considered and inconspicuous manner as Anton walked away. Thinking that she was being completely inconspicuous, she let out a small sigh.

"You fancy him," Meg whispered knowingly. Gabrielle whirled around to face the older girl and rolled her eyes.

'Don't be so silly," she scoffed, all the while still glancing back over her shoulder. "I'm seventeen, and ha can't be much older. What am I supposed to do? It's not as if I'm sinning. This is an opera house, not a nunnery." Meg just kept that same small smile on her face. "Don't look at me like that," Gabrielle groaned.

"He's handsome," Meg replied simply.

"Oh, hush," Gabrielle laughed, grabbing her friend by the wrist. They then continued hurrying over to the main lobby, where Madame Giry, Firmin, and Andre at a table. "Madame, Messieurs," Gabrielle nodded gracefully. "What are we going to be performing next?"

"We haven't clue," Andre replied with a harumph.

"You took me out of bed for nothing," Gabrielle laughed, pushing Meg playfully. She scurried out of the room and was heading towards her own chamber when she noticed that the door next to hers was open. She peered inside and saw Anton lying on his stomach on a bed, looking intently at something. "Monsieur Anton," she said.

"Mademoiselle Clairmont, we meet again," he laughed. "It appears as though we're neighbors."

"What's that?" she asked, striding over and looking at the paper he was staring at.

"This?" he said, slightly abashed. "Oh, nothing. Just a bit of schoolwork. It's rather hard, actually."

"May I?" she asked, gesturing to the paper. Anton nodded. She picked it up and began reading, realizing that it was a list of medical terms. "You want to be a doctor." she said in realization. "Why don't you have a schoolbook? You might need one for this."

"I couldn't afford one," he said, sounding even more humbled than before.

"I could help," she suggested, sitting down next to him. "When my father was still sick, I had to learn from the nurses, in case anything had happened."

For about two hours, the two sat there, while Gabrielle recited what she knew of medicine, feeling quite important as she did so. From down the hall, Madame Giry heard their voices speaking, and rushed over, standing rather ominously in the doorway. "Gabrielle, what are you doing in here?" she snapped.

"Helping Anton with his schoolwork," she said dismissively. Helping Anton. Not Monsieur Fouinard, or even Monsieur Anton, she had just referred to him by his first name. "What's wrong with that?"

"You have no time," Madame Giry snapped shortly, making Gabrielle blink. "The prima donna has no time little romantic liaisons"

"Romantic liaisons?" she interrupted. "I was helping him study, madame, why are you"

"Enough." She snapped. "I will not keep you from seeing Monsieur Fouinard." Gabrielle was rather taken aback by the usually strict old woman's submission. "Provided that you don't give him the impression that you care for him."

Gabrielle furrowed her eyebrows. True, she didn't particularly care for Anton in such a way, but for Giry to even suggest that she controlled her… "Perhaps I do," she retorted, crossing her arms. "You're no one to say that I can't."

"You. Do. Not." Madame Giry said. "Do not try to play these games, mademoiselle. You incited his presence here, and it will be you who takes the responsibility." She stared into the younger girl's eyes, but found now recession or remorse. "I wash my hands of this entire affair." She said abruptly and stormed away.

Gabrielle stood there, stunned, for a good ten seconds. Then, as it dawned upon her what Giry had just said, she shook her head and ran, storming furiously up the stairs to the roof. She stood at the edge, overlooking an alleyway where there were no people. She looked up to the sky and began yelling loudly as though she had gone mad, as if she expected someone beyond the clouds to be able to hear her.

"Why!" she cried out. "I just wanted things to be simple now, and I couldn't even have that? What else do you" she let out a shrill cry as, in her fury, she lost her footing, and slipping rather quickly onto the edge, holding on by only her fingertips to the low fencing that surrounded the roof. "Help!" she yelled. She kicked her feet, trying to find a crevice in the side of the wall where she could regain her footing, but found no help. "Someone, help!"

Suddenly, like vines shooting out from nowhere, two leather-gloved hands reached out and grabbed hers. She looked up. "Erik…" she mouthed silently as he began pulling her up. But her hand found little grip in his. "I'm slipping!" she said, her voice shaking and on the verge of tears.

"Perhaps if you didn't panic, perhaps your hands wouldn't be sweating," he growled through gritted teeth, trying still to pull her up to safety. "Stop. Panicking!"

"I'll be done panicking when I'm done falling!" she sobbed openly now. Despite the situation, the masked figure allowed himself a small smile. Her life is in peril, and still that mouth prevails, he thought, the smirk curling at his lips in undue and inappropriate amusement. Finally, he pulled her over the edge, and placed her, more gently than normal, onto the ground of the roof. She wiped furiously at her eyes and breathed heavily.

"Note to self," Erik muttered, shaking out his arms and panting with equal breathlessness. "You must teach that girl to keep her balance." He turned back to Gabrielle. "You're all right, then?"

"why did you save me?" she asked abruptly. Erik stared at her as though she had gone absolutely mad. "You heard me. If I'm just a replacement, why do you go to such pains to watch over me?"

"You will take care to listen when I speak." He said in annoyance. "I've already told you, you are no replacement. I set my sights on you before I knew who you were. In fact, your connection to Miss Daae"He cut himself off there, and a sudden pained expression flashed across his face. "Madame de Chagny—would make you an undesirable candidate for my attention." He paused here, and Gabrielle stared speechlessly. "Unfortunately for you," he continued, "I intend to see this endeavor through until I am satisfied."
"Right…" she muttered, still sitting on the floor. He turned to walk away when he realized that he did not hear any footsteps following him away. "Why aren't you getting up?" he asked, turning back to her.

"I…" Gabrielle scrunched up her face, as though she did not desire to admit what she was going to say. "I can't."

Erik tapped his foot, then began walking over to her. "Must I do everything for you, woman?" he said shortly, picking her up with one arm holding up her knees, the other supporting her back. "We can't have you falling onstage."

"Oh, absolutely not," she snapped, partially in sarcasm and partially in annoyance. He began carrying her down through the hallways as the sun was setting. They heard footsteps coming around a corner nearby, and hid in an alcove in the wall. A boy with rather disheveled hair and a young face passed by.

"Who is that?" Erik snapped in suspicion. Gabrielle craned her neck to look over his shoulder—the position in which they stood left him facing the wall, with her face less than twp inches from his.

"Anton," she whispered. "Yes, that's him. He's the new setbuilder."

"I don't recall requesting a new setbuilder." He said. He was unable to turn his head, knowing that he would hit Gabrielle. That left him with only one possible way to hold his head, his nose nearly brushing her cheek as she continued to peer over his shoulder. "Honestly," he muttered, slightly disconcerted by the near contact. "I can't even control who comes in and out of my opera house."

"Hm." Gabrielle muttered noncommittally. She moved her face slightly, and jumped slightly when she found her eyes meeting his. She pulled her neck back slightly as their noses were slightly brushing.

He's so close…she thought.

Without realizing it was happening, her face slowly filled the small space in between them, her lips chastely brushing against his. He didn't move, out of the utter surprise of the moment. He wasn't sure whether or not to react at all…before he had the opportunity to decide, she pulled away and turned her head carefully, the newly-acquired flush on her cheeks highlighted by the twilight.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. For what seemed an eternity, they stood there in silence. Then, Erik peered back over his shoulder.

"I think we're safe to go now." He said, clearing his throat. Gabrielle nodded mutely. They went at a feverish pace to her chambers, where he practically just dropped her on her bed and ran off into the darkness.

"My god!" Gabrielle groaned, throwing her head back into her pillow in exasperation. "What have I done? This is insane."
she muttered, her eyes glancing around the room. "I should be packing my things and running away. Not harboring some futile infatuation with…with…" She shook her head and forced herself to sleep.

Meanwhile, Erik had found his way to an adjacent hallway, where he seemed to materialize in front of Madame Giry.

"It's something about the girl: Giry said knowingly. "If it is, don't bother. She's no longer my concern."

"And why is that?" he asked, crossing his arms ominously.

"She's nothing but a foolish little girl. You own her, whether she admits or not." Giry said in a pacifying tone. She looked up, and realized that this was not a satisfactory response. "She refuses to acknowledge the fact that her amiability with our new porter boy allows him to harbor ideas which are, in a word, undesirable."

"That's it." Erik muttered. "She thinks she's undesirable…"

"Erik?" she said.

"She kissed me, Giry," he said, unconsciously bringing a gloved hand up to his face. "She kissed me…and she apologized for it." He noticed the odd expression which Giry was giving him and cleared his throat, regaining his normal cool, collected state of being. "We'll not have our Prima Donna so underconfident, is that understood? You will apologize to her, and by the next rehearsal, we will have a confident leading lady. Is that perfectly clear?'

Madame Giry raised her eyebrows, but nodded. "Perfectly." She said. "A confident leading lady is what we shall have."