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: More fluff in this chapter. I know that people are probably getting tired of it, but I really didn't want them to fall in love too quickly, as it doesn't seem realistic. Enjoy the happy-fluffy-sap while you can…the angst and drama is going to start soon, so beware! Thanks, and please review!

Chapter 13: New Plans and Actions:

A week after the opening night performance and party, an elderly gentleman by the name of Alain Aubert walked into the Opera House and demanded to see the managers. Had he run into just any ordinary worker at the Populaire, he would have been fussed and fawned over until he became annoyed and left the building. As it so happens, the first person that Monsieur Aubert encountered was Madame Giry, who had been on her way to visit the managers in the first place.

Now, Madame Giry was no fool, and she had seen many sorts of people come and go from the Opera Populaire over the years. Whenever someone she did not know or recognize entered the building and demanded to see the managers, changes or events tended to happen. Usually the visitors were men or women looking for work, and most were hired on with little trouble. Occasionally, a poor, unfortunate, orphaned child would wander in, begging for food and a place to rest for the night, only to end up working in the Populaire until they matured and left on their own.

However, this visitor, Alain Aubert, was well-dressed and obviously very wealthy. Madame Giry knew how to spot aristocrats and wealthy men, so when this particular gentleman demanded to see the managers, she immediately asked his name and business, gave a brisk nod at his reply, and asked him to follow her. After leading him through several hallways, she stopped before the door marked "Manager's Office," gave a quick knock, and entered when summoned inside.

"Monsieur Gregory Craven," she said to the lone man inside the office. "This is Monsieur Alain Aubert, and he claims to have a proposition for you and your brother."

Gregory immediately went into action, seating the older gentleman and pouring him a glass of brandy before anyone could blink twice. Monsieur Aubert was a bit surprised at first, but soon became very comfortable in the presence of a welcoming host. Meanwhile, Madame Giry was sent to fetch Monsieur Roland Craven, a task she was not very happy about; after all, she was the ballet mistress, not an errand boy! But Roland Craven was sent for, and he quickly arrived at the office he shared with his brother, looking rather excited about the whole thing.

As the gentlemen made themselves comfortable with drinks, cigars, and jokes, Antoinette Giry settled herself in one of the hidden corridors behind the walls of their office, her ears open to their conversation. She had learned about the secret passages from her connection to the Opera Ghost, and though he was loath to sharing them, Antoinette made use of them whenever she felt that the topic being discussed might be of some use to her. Today was just such a day.

Looking through the little hole in the wall, Madame Giry watched the men smoked and swirled their drinks in their glasses before rolling her eyes. Why did men always take too long to get to the point? Women took their time as well, but for a proposition such as this, time was of the essence. Just that morning, Madame had woken up to two notes on her dressing table, the wax seals sending chills up her spine. One message had been addressed to her, and the other was for the managers.

Madame's note had been brief instructions on what to do that day. Apparently, Erik was getting impatient about the lack of a patron for the Populaire, and he wanted Antoinette to deliver his note of disappointment to the fools running his Opera House. For once, Madame agreed with him, and was actually happy to deliver this note on behalf of the Ghost. Although the opening performance of The Magic Flute had made a great deal of money, it was just barely enough to reimburse the Craven brothers. It would not do to live from performance to performance; there was always the chance that not enough money could be made to create a whole new opera, and that would be a disaster. People expected opulence and wonder when they went to the theater, and without the money it took to put on an opera to meet expectations, the Populaire would fail.

Since no patron meant no future performances, Madame Giry knew that Meg's future was at stake. All Meg had ever known was the world of dance, and once she was older and no longer able to dance, Madame hoped that Meg would take over as ballet mistress once Madame had retired. If the Populaire failed and everyone lost their positions, what would happen to poor Meg? Perhaps she would go to Russia or another opera house, but Madame Giry couldn't bear the idea of being separated from her daughter. She was too old to travel these days.

Finally, Madame heard one of them begin to speak, and couldn't help smiling at what was being said.

For nearly a week now, Erik had been watching what was happening inside the Opera House. To his frustration and disappointment, no one had come forward with an offer to patron the Populaire, and now he was beginning to get angry. Those two idiots known as the Craven brothers had to have a way to obtain a patron somehow! Since they had managed to regain their fortunes through the success of The Magic Flute, they had to know how to get a fellow aristocrat to finance the Populaire!

Just as the week was out, Erik began to realize that he had been acting out his frustration on Aria; by now, it was evident that the young woman was beginning to become frightened of him, and was possibly hurt at the way he had been treating her. Whenever she had asked him an innocent question, he had snapped at her, demanding that she stop chattering like a fool and leave him be. Sometimes he would push aside his meal and stalk out of the kitchen area for no reason at all, immediately going to his organ to vent his anger. Worst of all was when the look in his eyes sent poor Aria scurrying for her room, the one place in his home he refused to enter, as it was her sanctuary.

'I must stop this,' he realized as he strode up towards the Opera House to meet Madame Giry. 'This is doing no good whatsoever, and it is terrifying and hurting Aria. I can't continue on like this.'

But that would be after he finished his business. Today marked exactly one week after the opening of The Magic Flute, and Erik had decided to commemorate the day with a message to the managers. He had left two carefully composed notes in Madame Giry's bedroom, one addressed to her and the other for his incapable managers. Normally, he avoided her room as a sign of respect and thanks for all that she did for him. However, this was important, as it included the well-being of not only the Opera House, but also all of its employees. Thus, he had slipped into Madame's room and left her instructions to give the managers his message.

His first visit to her rooms had been several hours ago, and now Erik was impatiently watching Madame's hallway, waiting for her to return. It should have taken her no more than ten minutes to deliver the note, and perhaps half an hour more to receive a reply, so what was taking her so long? Then, just as he was about to send a fist flying against a wall, he saw a familiar figure coming towards him. Patiently, he waited until she was only a few feet in front of him before revealing himself.

"Oh, Erik, for goodness sakes!" Madame gasped while she tried to compose herself. She sighed when she saw he was waiting for her. "Oh, very well. I have some news regarding the managers."

A dark eyebrow quirked as his interest was peeked. "Yes?" Erik replied, crossing his arms over his chest as he waited. "It is good news, I hope."

"It is," Madame hastily assured him. "There is now a patron for the Opera House."

For a moment, all Erik could do was stand there and stare at the woman before him. Emotions boiled within him, and he didn't know which one to feel first. Of course, he was thrilled that there would be money flowing into the Opera Populaire once more…but he also felt despair, for he knew that he now had no real reason to keep Aria with him anymore.

'But I can't let her go,' he thought, determined to get his way. 'I can't let Aria return to her family. Not yet, not when I don't know if they really deserve to have her back.' Yes, that was the perfect excuse. Erik had told Aria that he might return her home if/when a patron was found, but he hadn't truly sworn that he would.

The truth was he did not want her to go. So many years alone had left him thirsting and hungering for company in his solitude, and now there it was, sitting in his home in the form of a young woman. How could he return to being alone after he had tasted the sweetness that was companionship?

Madame Giry was still talking, evidently thinking that his silence was a signal for details. "A Monsieur Alain Aubert, who is a wealthy bachelor with no family, has come forward, demanding to be the Populaire's patron," Madame explained in a rush. "Apparently he was away on business and did not find out about the opening night until he returned late yesterday afternoon. As it turns out, Monsieur Aubert has a fondness for music and the arts, and was shocked to learn that no one offered to become a patron to the Opera House."

By now, Erik had grown suspicious of the man. "I don't suppose there is anything specific I should now about the man, is there?" he asked, looking Madame Giry straight in the eye. "That is to say, he isn't going to make things difficult for everyone, just because he's the first and only man to offer his patronage, is he?"

To his relief, Madame shook her head. "Monsieur Aubert is a bachelor with no children to inherit his fortunes," she replied. "He is practically giving his fortune to the Opera House because he does not wish his spoiled, witless nephews to inherit his money. This is why he doesn't really care if you cause damages through your pranks, as he is perfectly willing to pay whatever it costs to fix it."

Erik grinned broadly. "Thank you, Madame," he said, giving her a slight bow. "Now if you will excuse me, I have a great deal of planning to do." He turned away to return home.

"Erik, wait!" He turned his head to face her. Madame Giry stood straighter so that she could confront him. "When will you be returning Mademoiselle Craven to her father and uncle?"

"I will return her when I wish to," he snapped before turning and stalking off, leaving her standing in the shadows as one single thought raced through his head.

'But I do not wish to let her go…ever.'

Erik had been in a dark mood for days, and it was beginning to both scare and annoy me. I knew it was because there was no patron for the Opera House just yet, but there was no need to constantly snap at me and insult me with harsh glares.

As I prepared dinner for this evening, I realized that Erik had been so upset because the Populaire meant so much to him. He had lived here for most of his life, and the thought of losing it probably tore at him. If it were my home that was at risk and in need of money, I would certainly be angry as well, and would probably do anything in order to save it.

A familiar footstep in the doorway caused me to turn my head slightly. Erik stood there, and he had something in his hands. It also appeared that he wanted to speak to me, but was afraid of scaring me. The idea of a timid Erik was rather sweet, so I put down the wooden spoon I was holding and wiped my hands on a towel before turning around to address him. Once I saw what he had, though, I froze.

In his arms was a bouquet of a dozen red and white roses, tied together with gold-and-black ribbon.

Erik nervously cleared his throat. "I brought these for you, to apologize for my behavior these past few days," he murmured, shifting around slightly on his feet.

Inside, his heart was pounding. This was the first time in his life that he had apologized for his behavior, and it was discomforting. He'd never fully expressed regret before, not even to Christine as he released her and her beloved. At that time, his only regret was that he had to watch her sail away into the distance, and that he had not succeeded in making her love him.

This time was different, in more ways than he could possibly imagine. He had acted against the one woman who treated him kindly, and he had spurned her and hurt her emotionally when she did not deserve it. Aria, who was looking at him again with those beautiful deep brown eyes, had given him the warmth of friendship, something he never thought to experience in his life. His acts against that friendship likely hurt her far more than he could ever hope to repay.

Standing there in the doorway, Erik watched as she slowly approached, her hands rising up to accept the flowers from his. It was like watching a beautiful, delicate doe drawing nearer to an outstretched hand. Erik was afraid to move, afraid to breathe should his actions suddenly frighten her away. He waited silently as she took the roses and rested them in the crook of an elbow, her head bending down to give them a delicate sniff.

"Roses," she murmured as her eyes closed in pleasure. "I love roses…" Aria then opened her eyes and looked at him. "No one has ever given me roses like this before. Thank you, Erik."

To his shock, she stepped forward, resting a gentle hand on his arm before pressing a sweet, delicate kiss on the cheek. It was surreal, this feeling rushing through him as Aria drew back, her feet carrying her towards the counter where she found a tall vase in which to put the colorful blossoms. A little bit of water, and the vase soon decorated the dinner table.

"There, isn't that lovely?" she asked while 'fluffing' the roses so that they arranged better.

Inside, Erik wondered how to tell her that she was far lovelier than the flowers ever hoped to be?

'Oh, goodness, I kissed Erik on the cheek!' I thought while I attempted to return to finishing dinner. 'What was I thinking?'

I knew that Erik had silently turned and left the kitchen after I had arranged the flowers on the table, for when I looked back at him, he was gone. I knew that my kiss had surprised him, but he did not seem to mind it at all. Perhaps it was because he hadn't received many kisses in his life, and that is why he had appeared so shocked and obviously very pleased. I had gotten many kisses in my life, all of them from my family members and friends, so I was no stranger to them. And yet, I couldn't help but wonder whether the one I had given Erik was that of a friend…or something else.

'A friend,' I firmly told myself as I finished up the mashed potatoes I had been mixing earlier. 'It was definitely a kiss between friends.'

As I gently moved the vase out of the way so that I could set the plate of roast beef and the bowl of potatoes on the table, I knew I wasn't being truthful. I was attracted to Erik, and I couldn't help myself. I'd never had a suitor back home in England, though that was mostly from lack of trying to find a husband. For so long I had been absorbed in my family that I never thought to get married; in a way, my cousins were like my children, and I did my best to help my aunts and uncles raise them correctly and properly. Papa never pressured me to marry, and though I was an 'old maid,' I had no problem with being this way. After all, I had a fortune of my own to inherit when Papa died (may that not happen for years to come), so I wasn't really obliged to marry.

But the other reason I didn't wed was because no man truly caught my eye. I did not want a rich husband, as I already had money that I could live on for the rest of my life. If I did marry, I wanted it to be for love. I watched my aunts and uncles together, and saw how happy they were as they had all married for love. They were all of the same class, of course, but they still loved one another, and that was what I wanted the most. Even Grandmother and Grandfather had wedded for love, though the fact that they were both of the upper class helped their families approve the match.

'But do I love Erik?' I asked myself as I gazed at the roses.

Well, Erik certainly was a handsome man, and he possessed a fantastic genius that I greatly admired and respected. He was brilliant in art, music, and literature, and while I should have felt insignificant to him, I didn't. While his ability to produce glorious works was something I would always envy, I still felt his joy whenever he finished a painting, a sculpture, or a page of music. Best of all was that he treated me like an equal, something no man outside my family had ever done.

"Is supper ready?"

I whirled around. There stood Erik, once more in a white shirt, black pants and boots, and the green robe that matched his eyes. "Oh, yes, it is," I replied with a smile. "I was just about to call you."

He gave me a timid smile in return before sitting himself down at the table. I took a place beside him, which was unusual for us. Normally I sat across the table from him, but with the roses there, I did not want them creating a wall between us. Instead, I sat beside him and passed him the platters of meat or potatoes whenever he asked for them.

As a habit, most of the meal was silent, so imagine my surprise when Erik decided to ask a question just as I brought out the dishes of berries and sweet whipped cream for dessert.

"When they were here, I overheard your aunts talking about your uncles," he said as he picked up a spoon. "They were talking about their artistic talents, as well as theirs."

I blushed, suddenly feeling a little ashamed that I lacked the abilities that Erik possessed so much of. "Yes, my family is quite involved in the arts," I said while sitting down to my own dish of fruit. "You see, although we are wealthy, my family loves art and music so much that they can't help but try and see if they have any hidden talents themselves."

"That is quite unusual for the upper class. May I ask which talents your family members possess?" Erik asked as his spoon approached his lips, hovering there just before he put it in his mouth.

I swallowed my own mouthful before explaining further. "Well, my grandmother is a painter of murals, and several of my aunts and female cousins are involved in painting." I went though the list inside my head. "I also have uncles who sculpt, play music, and even carve wood and paint it in order to make pieces for me and toys for my cousins. My aunts either play instruments, paint, or dance."

Erik quickly swallowed and scooped up another spoonful. "And what is your talent, if I may ask? I imagine that you hold some sort of talent, given your family's traits in that area."

My eyes lowered. "I'm afraid I don't have any," I softly replied, looking down into my dish. A firm hand slid underneath my chin and made me look up into intense green eyes.

"You do have talent, Aria," Erik whispered. "You have the soul of an artist, and you must have some means to express it. I know it is not drawing or painting, for I have seen you do neither one here in my home, as you have been surrounded by those tools and not shown the desire to use them."

I blushed slightly. "Well, I…I…I write…books…for children…for my cousins, to be exact." I blushed harder, thinking that he would laugh and tell me that what I did was not artistic talent.

To my surprise, Erik gave me a true, genuine smile and not a patronizing one. "Writing is a talent as great and as important as drawing, painting, or sculpture," he said, his thumb gently stroking my chin. "It is one that I admire as much as the others, if not more, for where would we be without the written word of authors like Thomas Moore, Machiavelli, or Ovid?"

My face felt as though it were on fire. "Thank you, Erik," I whispered, lowering my eyes shyly. He released my chin and returned to his dessert, which was half gone while mine was still nearly full. "I do love writing, you know. It makes me feel as though I am sharing something special with others, something that I hope they will love and enjoy reading or looking at." I smiled down into my dish. "I imagine that is the same reason that you write music."

Erik was quiet for a moment. "Yes, in a way, it is," he said, his voice soft.

I looked up at him and saw him smiling at me, as though pleased with my words. "Well, your music is beautiful," I said, timidly returning his smile. "It is unlike anything I have ever heard before; it is so new and different. I enjoy listening to your music very much every evening."

"Then perhaps you would like to hear more of it?" Slowly, Erik stood up and offered me his hand. "If you are finished with your dessert, of course."

He was thrilled when Aria slipped her fingers into his palm. Twice he'd held Christine's delicate hand in his, but he'd been gloved and hadn't really touched her. Besides Don Juan, when he'd greedily run his hands over Christine's body, he had never even caressed a woman's skin.

This, however, was different. As he seated Aria in the music room, he felt more peaceful than he'd ever had before. He was being accepted by a woman who admired his talents for what they were, not because he had frightened her or forced her into doing so. Aria came from a gifted family, and therefore knew true art when she saw it. Setting his hands upon his organ, Erik felt as though he had found something in Aria that he hadn't truly felt before in his life…and that was love.

AN: Aw, he loves her! Now let the angst and drama begin! Dun, dun, DUN! Review!