Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Phantom of the Opera. (looks around) Erik, get back in the closet before someone finds you! (looks back at readers) Nope, don't own Erik at all…

AN: Here is another chapter! I know I'm probably posting too quickly, but I wanted to make up for the lost time and the fact that the website's been acting funny all week. There is more bonding and a tiny bit of fluff in this chapter, but if this story starts getting too boring or repetitive, please let me know; I'd like to know the fluff-limits of my readers! Thanks, and please review!

Chapter 11: Opening Night:

The day of the opening performance, Roland Craven found himself smoking a cigar and pacing the floor of his private office. There was a public office that he shared with Gregory, but he really did not want to see his brother right now. Since Gregory had a daughter of his own, a person would think that he would understand the emotional turmoil that his brother was going through. Instead, Gregory had decided to act as though the whole kidnapping of Aria hadn't happened.

"It's for the good of the Opera House and for our investment," Gregory had told him. "We must appear to be calm and happy, even when we aren't."

Honestly, the more Gregory talked, the more he sounded like their mother. Mother had always been one to put on a brave face whenever things went wrong, and all of her children had admired that. However, now that things were going wrong in the form of Roland's only daughter being kidnapped, he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep up the charade.

Sighing, he ran a hand over his face and blew a puff of smoke. Aria had hated it when he smoked, and so he had indulged himself in a cigar after she had gone to bed. Now he had gone from smoking one of the things at night to smoking at least three of them in one day. He had always found the smoke comforting, and with Aria being taken and the opening night looming near, cigars were the only thing keeping him sane.

'Aria would be keeping me sane and eating healthily, but she's gone,' he thought, a stray tear escaping his eye. 'She would be doing her best to make me laugh, and to make sure that I had a good night's sleep after each busy day.'

Oh, how he missed her! It would not be so bad if she sent him letters, but after the first note, none had followed. Roland tried to think positively, that Aria was not dead, but that the Ghost merely wanted him to be kept alert until one was delivered. To keep himself occupied, Roland had put all of his efforts and energy into the opening night production, hoping to pass the time. He'd also sent Aria's jewelry to the nearest shop so that the jeweler could assess how much money the gems were worth.

'At least I told him that I wanted to only sell him 20,000 francs worth of jewelry,' he thought while taking another puff from his cigar. 'The least I can do is try to save as much of Aria's precious collection as I can.'

As her father, he knew how much the gems meant to Aria, though not in monetary worth. Each piece had sentimental value, and he had seen how difficult it had been for her to give them up. Even if she didn't like certain gems, Aria wore them in public like a badge of honor; it always made him proud whenever she did that. Oh, she had her favorites, of course, but Aria always took care to wear one particular piece or another to a family gathering, if only to please the giver of that jewelry piece.

'She is always so considerate.' A smile tugged at his lips. 'She always took care of others, never asking for anything unless she needed it.'

The sound of fluttering paper reached Roland's ears, and when he turned around, he spotted an envelope lying there on the floor by his desk. His heart pounded in his chest as he picked it up, the red, skull-shaped wax seal staring up at him with empty eyes. It made his skin crawl, but he tossed aside his half-smoked cigar in order to open the latest message from the Opera Ghost. Hopefully this would not be another demand for money!

Monsieur,

It has come to my attention that I have been neglectful on your behalf. Therefore, I have included in this envelope a short note from your daughter, Aria. I would write you of her safety and health, but I know it would mean nothing coming from my hand. Therefore, here is a message from hers.

Your Obedient Servant,

O.G.

Frantically searching through the envelope, Roland found a small sheet of paper as wide as his wrist and a few inches long. For a moment, he saw was furious at the fact that Aria was only allowed to write such a small message to him, but his angry quickly gave way to surrender. Perhaps he should count himself lucky that he let her write at all. Roland grumbled silently to himself as he shook the paper out and began to read.
Dearest Papa,

I know you must be worried, as I have not written for nearly two weeks, but I assure you that I am well and safe. The Ghost provides me with everything I need, though I am afraid that I must be the one cooking for the both of us as the Ghost does not know how. Every day I silently thank Mrs. Gardner for all of her lessons, as they have certainly become most useful!

Roland chuckled at the mention of their cook left back in England. The old woman was the kind, motherly sort, but she ruled her kitchen with an iron fist. Except for the Cravens, anyone who entered her kitchen or wanted to eat her food was expected to work for it. That's why, when Aria had tried to escape her etiquette lessons by hiding in the kitchens, she had been forced into an entirely different set of learning altogether. However, the new lessons appeared far more useful than the previous ones…
Oh, Papa, I miss you very much, and I hope that the opening night goes well. I hope that you have managed to get the money from the sale of my jewelry and will pay the Ghost soon, as he has become slightly upset about not having received it yet. He expects his payment before the evening performance, so please be sure to get it. I hope to see you and Uncle soon.

All my love,

Aria

P.S: I hope that you have not increased your smoking habits since I have left; it cannot be good for you at all, and it made your clothes smell terrible!

Blushing, Roland put out his cigar and summoned a carriage to take him to the jewelers. Hopefully, they had the money ready for him and he would be able to pay off the Ghost before the evening's performance. With any luck, Aria would be home before midnight. If not, well…let's just say that Aria was the one thing in this world that Roland Craven was willing to walk through Hell for.
On my fourteenth morning in the caves, it had taken a comment from Erik concerning the Opera's opening night to make me realize I hadn't sent a message up to Papa since that first day. Once I had seen my mistake, of course, I had asked Erik if he would be able to deliver the note for me, if only to ease my mind. He refused at first, but eventually gave in to my pleas, saying that I had to remind Papa that his salary was due. After giving my word, I composed the short note on the slip of paper Erik had provided, and watched him write his own, signing and sealing it with the dreadful red wax skull. The wax seal was of his own creation, or so he had told me, and I could easily believe it.

I felt much better after seeing Erik leave with the note in hand. Papa always tended to worry about me, even if I were just outside in the gardens of our home. I suppose it's because he let Mother have my little brother, Paul, when she asked for the separation; although my father had every legal right to have both myself and Paul in his custody, he knew how much Paul meant to my mother, and so he allowed her to take his only son and heir with her to America.

'Besides, Papa truly loved Mother, and he couldn't bear the thought of leaving her penniless and alone,' I thought while preparing lunch for Erik and myself.

That was why my father agreed to give my mother the separation; he had loved her very much, but knew that if she did not love him as she once had, then he would give her anything she wished. However, there were limits to the separation, which my father set in place; my mother was given a comfortable sum of money to live on and a home in America, but she did not have any control over my brother's inheritance. Paul's money was in the hands of a large, well-known bank, which he would receive upon his twentieth birthday. Since Papa did not want wish for me to be left penniless, I had a fortune of my own in the banks in England, which I would inherit upon Papa's death.

'Which hopefully will not happen for quite some time,' I thought grimly. 'Though the purchase and management of this Opera House will certainly do him more harm than good!'

Shaking my head, I began to make a simple meal of sandwiches and soup for when Erik returned.

For Erik, delivering Aria's note to her father was a simple matter to, and slipping in his own message was practically a requirement in these matters. After all, it would look soft-hearted on his part if he were to just send a note from Aria without adding something in his own hand!

From his space behind the wall, Erik watched as Roland Craven scanned through the message and departed from the Opera House, no doubt bound to retrieve the money he thought would bring his daughter back to him. A pity the man didn't know that Erik had no intention of letting Aria leave his cavern home…or, at least, not yet.

Realizing how long it would be until luncheon, he decided to take a brief walk through the Populaire and see how rehearsals were faring. It amused him to see the dancers squirm upon seeing him up in the flies, and the stagehands were even better to get reactions out of, since they were some of the few to get a closer look of the Phantom. He spent a few minutes dropping small, random props from the catwalks and laughing when the people beneath cried out in fright. Madame Giry tried to keep everyone calm, but was unsuccessful, and in her anger she shot a glare up towards him. Satisfied, Erik decided to return to the managers' offices to see what was happening there.

To his delight, there stood the two Craven brothers, the two of them arguing over the sack that sat in the middle of a table by the wall. Conveniently, the table was by a wall Erik had access to, so while the brothers were quarreling, Erik slid behind the hidden doorway and looked through the specially created knothole in the wood, listening in as his hand began undoing a secret latch.

"Be reasonable, Roland!" yelled Gregory Craven. "You don't even know if he will give her back once he has his money!"

Roland merely glared at his brother. "Even if he doesn't give her back, at least I'll know that she's alive!" he snarled. "Either way, the money will be well-spent!"

Gregory shook his head. "You say this because you received a note from what appears to be her," he said, evidently exasperated with his brother. "That note could have been written the day she disappeared, for goodness sakes!" He reached out and grabbed the other man's shoulder. "Listen to me, Roland. At least make the Ghost give you proof that Aria is well! Tell him to let you see her when you give him the money!"

Roland shook his head. "The note was from her, Gregory. This I know because the ink was so fresh it was wet. I could even smell it. Even the wax of the seal was soft enough to push my fingernail into!" He took a deep breath. "I know you mean well, brother, but I will pay the Ghost as he asks. If I do, he is sure to let her go."

"He might not," Gregory warned. "If he gets the money, he will have no incentive to leave her alive."

"If he kills her, then he knows we will leave this place and no one will ever fund the Opera House again," snapped Roland. "And if he doesn't kill her, what would he want with Aria? She would sooner die than let that monster touch or force her in any way; that I do know as well!"

Erik felt icy fingers grip his heart. No, Aria would never let him touch her, not in that way. And even though he had been mad enough to kidnap Christine from the stage, he was not the sort of man to force a woman into his bed. A monster in appearance, and sometimes in heart, he might be, but he would never harm a woman who had been as kind to him as Aria had been. He had experienced more warmth and friendship in those first few days than he had his entire life; he had no reason to harm Aria, especially since she had been feeding him better meals than he could ever hope make.

In front of him, he watched as the men continue to argue. Perhaps it would be best to remove the thing that caused them so much anger. Reaching through the small hidden door, Erik snatched up the pouch of money and pulled it into the stone cavern he himself hid in. Once the money was safely with him, he shut and latched the small door, giving a polite cough that was only heard inside the room. Both men instantly ceased bickering and looked around until both looked at the now empty table.

"The money," Roland gasped.

"Yes, the money," Erik said, using his talent of ventriloquism to make his voice echo throughout the room. "I feel I must thank you, monsieur, for your timely payment. Thanks to this, you will not have to worry about any disaster occurring during opening night."

"Where is Aria?" Roland demanded, looking around the room for him. "Where is my daughter?"

"She is alive, well, and safe," Erik said, keeping his voice neutral. "If you wish her to stay that way, monsieur, I suggest the two of you make this night as glorious as possible. After all, I must have a patron to support my Opera House." He let a bit of haunting laughter echo throughout the room. "I thank you again for my salary. Oh, yes, and I will be studying tonight's performance and party. Be sure to be on your best behavior, my dear managers, for if you give away Mademoiselle Craven's situation or ruin any chances of obtaining a patron…well, consider yourselves warned."

With that, Erik proceeded down towards his lair, smiling as the two brothers began cursing and calling out for the Ghost to come out and show himself.

I had just set lunch out on the table when I sensed someone in the doorway. Turning, I saw Erik standing there, watching me place a large pot of soup in the center of the table. To my amusement, his nose twitched as he inhaled the smells that drifted towards him. Looking him over, I noticed that he'd taken off his formal outfit and was wearing his customary casual outfit of a white shirt, black pants with matching boots, and his green velvet robe.

"You're just in time," I said, smiling. "I hope that tomato soup and roast beef sandwiches are to your liking, as it took me forever to make the soup the way Mrs. Gardener's does."

"It smells wonderful," Erik replied as he approached the table and sat down. "I'm famished."

I merely laughed as I began to ladle the soup into bowls. We ate in silence and once everything was consumed, I began gathering the dishes. I could feel Erik's green eyes focused on my back as he watched me wash, dry, and stack the dishes, storing them in the cupboards and the silverware in their drawers. It was rather unnerving, as I could feel that there was something troubling him. Sighing, I put down my dishrag and turned around to face him.

"Erik, what's wrong?" I said while leaning against the counter.

He looked at me for a moment, obviously debating on whether or not to tell me. Finally, he sat back in his seat and looked me in the eye. "I have retrieved the salary your father and uncle owed me," Erik replied, his eyes never leaving mine. "However, I do not mean to release you, not until I am sure of the success of the opera. I also mean to keep you until your father has secured a patron for my Opera House. Therefore, I will be watching all of tonight's events to see how things progress."

I let my head hang for a moment in disappointment. Then, without warning, I had an idea. My head snapped up and I felt hope rising inside me once again. "Erik, did you say you were going to watch the opera?" I asked. He nodded. "Then would you allow me to go with you? I wish to watch the performance as much as you do, if only to see the hard work that has been put into it!"

Erik immediately began shaking his head. "I cannot risk you being seen," he said, setting his jaw in a determined manner. "I know how to keep to the shadows, as I have lived in them all of my life. You, however, could easily attract attention; your presence would make others realize that your father has been lying to the public for two weeks." I opened my mouth to beg, but Erik held up his hand. "No, Aria, I'm afraid that I cannot let you leave the lair…not for this."

Sighing, I watched as he rose from his chair and left the room. Even though I knew he was right, it still felt like a knife in my heart.

Tying his cravat into place, Erik felt as though something cold and sharp had shot through him. Ever since he had denied Aria the chance to see the opera, she had become quiet and distant. It was wrong of him to take away the chance of her seeing her family, or the chance to see the performance they had worked so hard to build, but he could not risk the chance of her being seen.

Giving the lapels of his coat one last tug, Erik examined himself in the mirror. Normally, he despised mirrors, but when getting ready for an opera or to go aboveground in general, he always tried to look his best. It was bizarrely twisted, a man in a mask trying to appear dignified, but in a way, dressing this way made him forget that he was a man with only half a face.

Shaking his head to clear away his thoughts, Erik stepped out of his room and into the caverns. He did not see Aria, but could tell that she was in the library, probably curled up with a book. Satisfied that she was safely occupied for the night, he walked strait to his gondola and stepped in, picking up the pole and heading out the gate.

Once he was past the impressive metal structure, Erik tripped the underwater trigger and watched it fall into place, effectively imprisoning Aria and cutting her off from the outside world.

The opening night of 'The Magic Flute' was a success. The lead singers, dancers, and chorus girls had taken their bows to tremendous applause, which Erik found quite satisfactory. The lead soprano, however, needed to tone her voice better, and the ballerinas were slightly out of step, but it was not noticeable to most of the audience. Once the performance was over, everyone went out of the theater and into the ballroom, where music and refreshments were being provided for the evening's party.

Looking down from his hiding spot above the ballroom floor, Erik could see everyone and everything. Well, provided that people weren't hiding behind the pillars, he could see them, but the only people doing the hiding were courting couples he had no interest in. The only thing he wanted to know about was whether or not there was a patron coming forward to fund the Populaire.

Thus far, many wealthy men and elderly women had approached the Craven brothers, either to congratulate them on their successful night, or to say how much they enjoyed the opera. However, none of them had stayed long; a few clinked glasses together in celebration of the night, but most immediately left to chat with friends, family, or business acquaintances. Some guests had already left for the night!

Beginning to feel vexed with the whole thing, Erik glanced around at the couples dancing and twirling to the music, which was being provided by a different group of musicians than the Opera House's orchestra. After all, the orchestra could hardly be asked to play at a festivity so soon after an opera! Normally, Erik would have been upset by the use of common musicians, but the music was of good taste, and the performers were actually in tune and playing well, so he pushed his misgivings aside.

Watching women dance by in their glittering jewels and shimmering gowns, Erik understood why Aria would have wanted to attend this. This was her world, one full of parties, wealth, glamour, and amusement, and it was clear that she missed it. As one woman danced by in a beautiful red gown with sparkling gold silk and gauze trimming the ruffles, Erik thought of how the sparkling ruby color flattered the woman currently dwelling with him in his underground home.

He bit his lip in thought. Was it not a habit of women to talk about each other's gowns and sigh over the colors? A few women were doing just that, smiling and giggling behind their fans or gloved hands. Meanwhile, the husbands or suitors of these women rolled their eyes affectionately at the chatter while they watched their ladies talk.

Erik found himself watching the night's attendees, his mind memorizing everything as he thought about one particular woman…and what she might like to hear about the evening.

AN: Too boring, too fluffy, or both? Please let me know in a review! Thanks!