Dear lord where have I been all this time! Oh that's right, London. Woo! Ok, I'm back home for the summer, and while I'd like to say that the next chapter will be a lot longer, a lot sooner, I just can't. This beast writes itself at it's own pace. Thanks for sticking with me.

As always, mad props to my Beta/PR Agent/Bodyguard Erik, Musique et Amour. Go read his work, he's brilliant no matter what he says otherwise.


The eyes were still there, at the foot of the bed. Were they between the bed and the window-pane or behind the pane, that is to say, on the balcony? That was what Raoul wanted to know. He also wanted to know if those eyes belonged to a human being. ...He wanted to know everything. Then, patiently, calmly, he seized his revolver and took aim. He aimed a little above the two eyes. Surely, if they were eyes and if above those two eyes there was a forehead and if Raoul was not too clumsy...

The shot made a terrible din amid the silence of the slumbering house. And, while footsteps came hurrying along the passages, Raoul sat up with outstretched arm, ready to fire again, if need be.

This time, the two eyes had disappeared.

-- From "The Phantom of the Opera" by Gaston Leroux


Jules Bucket (pronounce Boo-kay) never pretended that he was anything less than what he was; a successful drug-dealer with a few good connections with The Firm, who played drums once in a while to earn some pussy on the side. For a while he considered himself to be as happy as a man in his station could be. Things began to get complicated when some of the younger gentleman of questionably legal dealings started to smell money from Carver's band and began to get 'ideas'. Bucket (Boo-kay) looked at 'ideas' with the same suspicious caution that he viewed 'opportunities'. They were slippery words used by slippery men who were, more often than not, smarter than he was, but as the weeks moved on these young slippery men kept working on him. Think about it Jules my mate, just think about it! One hit song'll get you more money and women than a life of selling coke will. Steadily, he'd been lured over to the idea by their pretty words about contracts and percentages, but what really sold him, what really made him invest all of his time and energy into the project was the desire, and the 'opportunity', to see that cunt Carver begging him for more charlie like a two-pound whore.

And the plan had been working so well too, so bloody well. It had been such a perfect state of denial that Carver had put himself into, that Bucket had almost begun to smell the money he would earn once he got that contract signed. Then something had changed. He wasn't sure what but the wanker had gone from a full-blown addiction to stubbornly pushing his way through withdrawal, and there seemed to be nothing Jules could do to win him back. The last time he'd tried to sell him some coke, the git had beaten the shit out of him in the alley; he'd walked by the alley again with a pudgy blond chick, and Bucket took note of what could be useful information.

------

Erik smiled to himself as he paid for the two tickets to the Globe's production of Much Ado About Nothing, thinking Christy would like it as their first 'official' date when he asked. Getting to know the girl over the past few weeks, he'd realized they had a lot more in common than just an appreciation of good music. That same night he'd walked her to the flat, keeping a civil distance after his actions in the convenience store, he'd realized that he wanted to actually go out with her when she'd overheard him muttering "Out, damn spot! Out I say!" and promptly poked her head in to reply "And here's the smell of dinner still! Oh all the dishsoaps in London will not sweeten this little plate."

They'd talked for hours from then on, and Erik had taken to walking Christy to the Bow Road Station where she'd take the Hammersmith and City line to King's Cross to catch another train home. Once, he'd gotten on the tube with her, curious why she'd taken a job so far from home.

"Yer a nob, babe, why d'ye spend yer days at Gordeep's?" he had asked.

She shrugged as she watched the blank-faces of the crowd on the opposite platform, "Well...a while ago, I asked my dad for some money ta buy a few books, and for the first time in my life he said 'Why don't you go get a job and earn the money. He was kidding, but I took him seriously and started looking around for a job; randomly I ended up getting off at Bow Road to wander a bit. I found Gordeep's with the help wanted sign in the window, and Mandi seemed real nice." She paused and turned to smile at him, "and I actually worked for my own money." Christy had laughed then, and Erik couldn't help but grin at her. "You know, it's only a little pride, but it's mine, and I don't want to give it up."

That was when he began to really respect her.

Erik tucked the tickets to the theatre into his jacket pocket as he started the short walk back to Victoria Station, enjoying the rare sunlight on the dirty old river. As he walked, he let himself roll over his feelings for Christy; he had to admit that it had been a long time since he'd actually been attracted to a person for more than just a lay. Beyond that, he was surprised at how her features and figure had begun to grow on him; she didn't have the sort of face that stopped traffic, but it grew more and more pretty every time he saw her. He loved how one side of her lips would lift first when she started to grin, and he loved how she would quirk her brow any hundred of ways to convey an emotion. Christy wasn't like the other girls he'd been with, she was real and earthy-- "genuine would be a better word. She didn't play games, she didn't try to tart herself up to impress anyone, she was just...Christy.

Before he knew it, the half-hour trip had passed in his day dream and he was walking back down along those familiar blocks. His pulse sped up in excitement as he approached the store and walked in, thoughtlessly grinning. When he stepped up next to the counter, Christy looked up from her lotto count and gave him a wide grin.

"Well, hey Erik! Gonna walk me to the station again?" She asked with--what was to him--an adorable tilt of her head.

"Yes indeed, I am," he started, then felt strangely nervous. "And I have something for ya, I hope ye like it." Erik pulled the tickets out of his pocket and offered them to her, "I was hopin' ye'd be free this Saturday for a show."

She quirked a brow curiously as she took the tickets and read them over; Erik nearly sighed in relief when she grinned hugely and threw her arms around his neck across the counter, "Erik this is brilliant, thank you! I'd love to go!"

------

"Rahld, have you found a date for Margo's gallery opening?"

Rahld looked from his book and fought the urge to roll his eyes at his mother. "No Mum, I haven't, and I don't intend to. I don't like any of the girls you want me to date, so just lay off alright?"

While his mother huffed at his answer and left the room in a flurry of indignation, his father flicked his newspaper and called from the dining table, "Why don't you invite that Christine Dawson?"

Closing his book firmly, Rahld rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, "Da..she didn't say two words to me during that whole damn dinner; why on Earth would I invite her?"

He watched a smirk play across the older man's lips, "Because your Mother thinks that Christine is not a proper young lady and not worthy of your time."

That made him perk up and he shot a mischievous grin back at his dad. "Oh yeah? Well, then she can't be all bad can she? Think I'll go call her parents..."