Disclaimer: GERRY IS MINE! MINE, I TELL YOU! (pouts) Fine…you win; I don't own POTO…or Gerry.

Mrs. Tom Riddle: Just as I was reading your review for Ch. 16 and contemplating the increasing popularity of my EOC pairing and thinking "here we go", I suddenly hear Gerry and Emmy singing We've passed the point of no return…It felt strangely appropriate. And the stable hands shall be returning…to heck with the Opera House for now…we'll just keep them in Perros for a while.

Aurora: (gasp) You live! I am so pleased to hear from you! Glad you liked the chapters. I look forward to seeing that picture. ; - ) You remind me of my cousin…she draws and always has a critical eye for her own work.

Solecito: Who gets Gerry? That is an interesting question…and only I know the answer (thunder and lightning) BWHAHAHA! I love plot twists…esp. sexy ones.

kristinekat13: Yes, Anna is a lucky little devil. Wish it were I.

Maggie: Don't you just adore love triangles? They make for so much chaos. On the subject of Patrick!Raoul…I don't like him and neither does Brooke actually. She was very surprised to find the "real" Raoul to be much more handsome and dashing than Patrick!Raoul. If he were to show up…well, he wouldn't last long.

Lady Brandybuck of the Shire: (grins wickedly) What does Viggo think?

Phantress: YEAH! Tis you! (squeezes air out of reviewer with death-grip hug) You're in Nicaragua? Amazing how small the world has become, is it not? Wow. It just blows my mind. Hmm, Erik in a full body search…(wanders into phantom dreamland)…what? Oh, yes, back to your message…I'm so honored to find that I am your—and I quote—"beloved, favouritest EVER authoress." I shall try to get the Bag to make more appearances.

Galasriniel: (delivers a bundle of AE fluff) Enjoy!

Tian Sirki: I have to admit the way people are freaking out about the now-questionable outcome of the AE situation is highly amusing…just the response I was looking for. I know…I'm evil (grins evilly).

whatanoddgirl: Thank you for that compliment…that's sooo cool!

jaderose01: And I'm having a blast writing it and getting your reviews! Tisn't it fun? (hooray for phan phics!)

Pleading Eyes: I think cooked jealousy would smell like burnt popcorn.

Simply Elymas: I LOVE "Whose Lair is it Anyway?" I'm one of Random's minions and I rejoice in my minionness. I'll take it as a compliment to be compared to her totally awesome phic.

Anywho. On to Chapter 20!

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ANGST AND FLUFF

Life sucked donkeys.

Erik winced at his mind's choice of words. He'd been in the cousins' corrosive company for far too long. All the same, the vulgar phrase just fit his feelings like a black leather glove. The Phantom of the Opera sat moping in the terribly quiet sitting room of his Perros apartment. Cheery mid-morning sunlight filtered through the lacy curtains of the balcony windows, which were opened to provide the somber ghost with a view of the distant seashore. The nauseating sounds of people thoroughly enjoying themselves assaulted his sensitive ears.

Grumbling something about the uselessness of such persons, he stomped across the room and shut the windows with a loud BANG. It irked him that the world went on its merry, frivolous way, whilst he slouched about, mired in self-pity. It was horribly unfair.

Erik stamped a foot angrily, though much of his anger was directed at himself. Why was he is such a foul mood? Rejection, loneliness and other disagreeable things of that nature were nothing new to his heart. So why did it ache so terribly now?

Christine was off somewhere enjoying the company of her precious Vicomte. Nothing new there, much as he loathed that particular circumstance. No, it was that stupid imposter's fault. Ever since that Gerry fellow had popped out of that infernal Poppins Bag, Erik's life had become positively abysmal. Though he hated to admit it, even to himself, Erik knew exactly why Gerry's presence troubled him so.

He missed the cousins. The poor unhappy Phantom had grown attached to his little companions. It had almost happened without his realizing it. He just grew so accustomed to their comforting, though strange company that he had begun to take it for granted. Now they were out, soaking up the delicious summer sun with Gerry. Erik hissed. He should have just punjabbed him on the spot.

He inwardly cringed each time he recalled the way Anna had kissed the intruder…so passionately. Secretly, he regretted her infatuation with their "guest" the most. Erik shrank away from the strange flutter in his heart. He did not want to think that this handsome fellow, with his muscular frame and chiseled face, was the Phantom that she truly desired…the one that he was not.

NO! This would never do! Brooding over the matter would only make it worse. What did he care if Anna chose to give her heart to that charlatan? He loved Christine! Christine! Erik groaned out loud as an even more wretched notion popped into his dark mind: what if Christine had become fascinated by this new Phantom as well?

Despite the insistence of the girls and the general warmth of the inn's patrons, Erik did not venture out into public very often. Old habit, he guessed, but he had heard, via the reliable Madam de Pouf, that Gerry had become quite a favorite amongst all of the young ladies. Erik blanched at the thought. Naturally, those silly, air-headed chits found Gerry fascinating…he only wore half a mask! The rest of his face was hardly something to complain about. He was tall, aloof, raspy-voiced. Why was he thinking about this?

But Christine? Surely his beloved angel did not simper over the exquisite new comer? Surely she would now abandon her little Vicomte so quickly or easily as that? Erik was certain that she was devoted to her childhood sweetheart. Yes? No? The curiosity burned and ate at him like a hungry dragon. One brave, young suitor was enough to deal with, but two? He had to know! But there were no secret corridors to slink through, no trick mirrors, barely even a shadow. This was not the Opera House.

Erik sank into a chair, brooding darkly. Then he got an idea.

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"Oy, Que! Did ye hear the squealin' frum that Miss Lohan when she found the toad I left in 'er bag for 'er?" Pip asked his friend. Que nodded sleepily, curled up like a barn cay on a prickly hay bale. Frowning, Pip jabbed the dozer in the ribs.

"C'mon, me man! Ye got to tell me wha' ya thought'a the little prank!" Pip was an incurable show off who insisted on being satisfied with no less than a standing ovation. It was thus that Erik found them.

"There you are, you young renegades!" he snarled, imitating the barking voice of the stable master. The lazy grooms leapt to their feet, tripping over each other in their rush to appear to be working diligently. Their shoulders drooped with visible relief when they saw the tall, lithe form standing over them.

"'Tis only you, Mr. L," Que gasped. "Ye gave us a bad turn there."

"You deserve worse than that for sleeping the afternoon away," Erik said sternly, but the boys did not miss the twinkle in his deep-set blue eyes.

"So it was you, Pip, who put that toad in the mademoiselle's bag."

Pip colored, shuffled his feet, mumbling something about not meaning to.

Erik continued, "And I was about to blame my little sisters for it. However, I shall not tell a soul of your hand in that nasty trick if you rendered me a valuable service."

Two pairs of eyes darted to the blank, black mask, newsy-capped heads tilting to one side. Erik chuckled to himself. They reminded him so much of rambunctious, floppy-eared puppies. He wondered briefly how much he would like to trade places with the humble, manure-stained servants.

"What's on yer mind, Mr. L?" Pip asked, adopting the pose of a man on the verge of sealing a shady deal.

"I need information on certain person staying here at the inn."

The boys grinned. "Who exactly?"

"Monsieur Gerard. Whom has he been seen with?"

Que cast a confused look at his compatriot, then glanced back up at Erik, saying, "But shouldn' ye be a-knowin' tha' yerself, Mr. L? The gen'leman is stayin' with ye…isn't he?"

"Yes, but as you are no doubt aware, I do not get out much. I have heard only rumors of his activities outside our apartments."

Pip hacked and made an unpleasant show of spitting out a slimy chunk of chewing tobacco. Beneath the mask, Erik arched a delicate eyebrow in disdain.

"Weel," the blond imp began, hiking up his trousers, "S'far as I know, he's been in the company of yer own sisters. Don' mingle much with no one else, sir."

"He does not interact with any other young ladies from the inn?"

"Nope. Though I know there's a terrible lot of 'em gels wot's been eyeing 'im," Que answered as he began to relocated himself on the nearest hay bale.

"None at all? Not even someone as enchanting as Mademoiselle Daaé?"

The boys stifled some undignified snickers. No doubt they were thinking of tarantulas. Pip recovered first, "Nope, Mr. L, he 'asn't paid 'er no mind. Jus' been with yer sisters."

To his own amazement, Erik found that he was not sure if this news was relieving or not.

"Where are they at the moment?"

Que yawned and stretched with luxurious slothfulness and motioned vaguely in the direction of the English Channel, "Broo—I mean, Miss Leroux said they was off to the beach fer the afternoon."

Erik stood silent and grave, glowering at the floor. Pip shifted slowly to the taller man's side.

"We could…ye know, keep an eye on 'im, Mr. L. If it would ease yer mind at all."

Erik shook himself out of his thoughts, "Yes, yes, that would be greatly appreciated. Merci." He spun on one heel and marched out of the stables. Pip shook his head.

"Batty Frenchmen!" he said but Que was already fast asleep and never heard him.

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It was enough to make a love-starved, mutated, genius recluse lose his breakfast. Erik scowled menacingly at the disgustingly fluffy scene before him. He wanted to smash it to pieces, but his innate love of beauty overcame his innate anger and he simply stood observing in silence.

Beneath the shade of a small oak, twisted out of shape by years of gusty sea winds, a little group of picnickers lounged with hazy, sun-soaked contentment on a red blanket. Their stockings and shoes, presumably cast off in favor of a walk through green-grey waters, lay in a careless heap beside the basket of vittles.

Cushioned by a ragged pillow, Anna leaned her back against a suitable groove in the trunk of the tree, cradling Gerry's head in her lap. Her brown-eyed gaze was fixed on a distant point on the horizon. She absentmindedly ran her delicate fingers through his thick black curls. Stretched out with languid grace, the delicious Phantom held Anna's left hand in his while the other plucked gently at the sleeve of Brooke's blouse.

The brunette was leaning her body against Gerry's for support as she read out loud to her companions:

A girl stood before him in midstream: alone and still, gazing out to sea. She seemed like one whom magic had changed into the likeness of a strange and beautiful seabird. Her long slender bare legs were delicate as a crane's and pure save where an emerald trail of seaweed had fashioned itself as a sign upon the flesh. Her thighs, fuller and softhued as ivory, were bared almost to the hips where the white fringes of her drawers were like feathering of soft white down. Her slate-blue skirts were kilted boldly about her waist and dovetailed behind her. Her bosom was as a bird's, soft and slight, slight and soft as the breast of some dark-plumaged dove. But her long fair hair was girlish: and girlish, and touched with the wonder of mortal beauty, her face.

She was alone and still, gazing out to sea; and when she felt his presence and the worship of his eyes her eyes turned to him in quiet sufferance of his gaze, without shame or wantonness. Long, long she suffered his gaze and then quietly withdrew her eyes from his and bent them towards the stream, gently stirring the water with her foot hither and thither. The first faint noise of gently moving water broke the silence, low and faint and whispering, faint as the bells of sleep; hither and thither, hither and thither: and a faint flame trembled on her cheek…

Some strange stirring in her heart caused Anna to glance up as her cousin read on. Her eyes roamed hither and thither and finally, turning her head she saw Erik standing behind them. She flushed, for she had caught him, staring as intently at her as Stephan at his mysterious Bird Girl.

"Erik," she said and the others saw him too. "What are you doing out?"

Erik's mind fumbled awkwardly for a moment though his mannerisms betrayed none of it.

"I thought I take a nice long ramble through the woods around the village. Why don't you join me, Anna?" He stepped forward, unfurling his hand to her. To his utter horror and disgust, she broke their gaze and turned to Gerry, as if asking for permission. The dark-haired Scot nodded curtly.

"Have fun, my love," he said, lifting himself from her lap. Anna giggled and kissed him lightly on the lips even as Brooke lovingly entwined her arms around his. The cousins were remarkably good about sharing, even when it came to sinfully gorgeous men.

Erik stood in icy silence, waiting for Anna to pull on her stockings and shoes. She flitted to his side, dusting sand from her blue skirts, apparently unaware of his jealousy as they walked toward the lush green forest.

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A/N: Sorry if that last part was a little on the serious side, but if there's one thing I've learned from Charlie Chaplin, it's that comedy and gravity combined make for excellent stories. BTW, that long passage in italics is from James Joyce's A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (which I do not own).