A/N Thankyou so much for the reviews...I'm taking soaking it up like a sponge! Re the flowers in Meg's room in ch 3 - I may have confused things by saying they were there for her debut which was of course during Hannibal...however as she had only stepped in for Carlotta, Don Juan would have been her first where she was the advertised lead? I love it that you're all so attentive to the details. Ch 4 has been slightly rewritten and is the better for it I hope!

Chapter 4

Down in the cellars, Erik had finally pulled himself together enough to change into the fresh clothes Meg had left out. His heart thawed a tiny little bit with that kindness from his new friend. She would be upstairs arguing with her mother by now. Maybe he should check on her to make sure had made it back safely to her mother even though he knew he had disarmed any traps she might come across. He needed to see Madame Giry about lightening his bank account anyway. Adjusting his mask, a new wig he had stashed in one of the chests and grabbing a fresh cloak, he left the tiny room to retrace his steps of the previous evening. He came the longer way up, rarely used, only just remembering to disable long forgotten traps along the way; it would not do to become a victim of his own misadventure. This way avoided the lake entirely; he had no wish to wade its depths as no doubt his little gondola was now on the other side, having delivered its last passengers to their freedom. He moved like the shadow he was through well remembered passages in the silent way of a panther stalking its prey. He watched from various eyeholes along the route, observing the daily grind of the Opera Populaire; underway once more but in an altogether more subdued manner. Everyone possessed the glazed look of disbelief and uncertainty on their faces. He had done this to them. Almost 750 people relied on this place for their livelihood. They raised families here, lived and died here. Did he think of them when he started this madness last night? No, he did not. As had been the case for months now, he had thought only of Christine. And it would weigh on his soul for as long as he drew breath. These people were innocent; they were a part of this place just as he was. They all made their contribution to the wonder of the Opera just as he did; everyone with their own role to play. What had been a dream, a mirage, an assault of filmy images and sounds until now, became the reality of what he had done. These people were real. Their anguish was real. The suffering that lay ahead for all of them was real and the struggle they would all face to survive until the Opera was back on its feet was very real indeed. He never noticed any of this before, never considered them. They were just there. But they were as vital to the Opera as the notes, the stage and opening night. He did not know what to do with this new realisation so he filed it away inside his crowded brain to process later; when he did not have the immediate and pressing matter of finding Antoinette Giry to deal with.

Madame Giry, Directrice of the Opera Ballet moved about the costume department like she owned it. The wardrobe mistress Madame Fleury was still in her quarters and since there was no production to stage tonight, she was not likely to disturb her. She found some plain dresses in a current enough style in colours that should not draw attention; no nonsense navies and dependable browns. They may not exactly fit her daughter but they would have to do and they would suit her purpose. She also found a pair of sensible walking boots in her size which would be a shock to Meg as she had spent most of her life in soft practice pumps or toe shoes. Practicality was what was called for now. The white apron and over sleeves of a nursemaids costume were added to her pile. Moving to the practice studio at the rear of the theatre, rolls of bandages, normally used by her dancers to bind and strengthen their feet were pilfered without remorse. Turning to leave, her bundle gathered in a laundry sack, a thought crossed her mind. She grabbed a jar of ointment and a pair of brand new toe shoes; pink satin together with their neatly folded ribbons as yet unattached. She could at least give Meg the tools to continue her dancing if she was able. She knew her precious daughter needed to dance to express herself, needed to work out the worries in her heart with movement just as she had as a young girl. It had been Meg's outlet for pain, joy and frustration her entire life just as she suspected Erik's was his music. Perhaps they were not such an odd pair after all.

Coming back along the corridors satisfied she had done what was needed, and eager to see to Meg's food, she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Erik! She knew it as she always had. He was somewhere along here, lurking with intent, watching her. She paused as she reached her own door, her hand hovering on the handle as she waited for him to make his move. Weary of his theatrics, she opened the door and was almost flung to the floor when her omnipresent friend swept in behind her in a swish of capes, the door seeming to close of its own volition.

"Oh for goodness sake Erik, are you incapable of being subtle? This cloak and dagger nonsense is getting old and quite beyond my nerves in the current circumstances."

"I do apologise Antoinette; it was necessary to avoid detection. Now more than ever." He felt it important she see nothing untoward in his appearance. She would only worry about her daughter and perhaps a little about him. He had dressed just the same as he had for every trip "upstairs" but was struggling to maintain the façade of the Phantom. He just wanted to slump to the floor, curl up and die but that was not part of the Opera Ghost.

Erik looked apologetic in the extreme for once as he stared fixedly at the floor, but still his vast height and powerful aura made the room shrink to the spot he stood on. Antoinette noted the exhaustion and stress in his face, the sagging of his broad shoulders, the slight stoop and the general malaise in his demeanour. No one else who had ever encountered the Opera Ghost would have noticed the differences but she did. He was broken. Meg was right about that much.

"To what do I owe this pleasure? Have you come for Meg? Because if you have you shall have to sit and wait for once. She is having a well deserved bath and needs to eat before I let her out of my sight again. And do not even start me on this ridiculous scheme you two have cooked up." Antoinette meant to have her say before this man took her daughter away from her for God knows how long and damn it she would make him listen. She too straightened her spine and tilted her head back to give him the impression she was actually looking down at him. Disapprovingly.

"Actually, that is partly why I am here and I do not cook up schemes as you put it; you know perfectly well that I plan meticulously. Your daughter's fantastic notion of aiding my escape was all her own. More pressing though is the fact that I need to obtain substantial funds from my bank and it needs to be done today before they close." Erik prayed his old friend would not fail him now and could put aside her feelings regarding her daughter until this bit of business was concluded.

"Ah, you need me. It had crossed my mind such a trip would be necessary once I had spoken with Meg. Yes she has told me what happened and that she means to go with you. It may surprise you to know that I have acquiesced. Meg has more of me than I had imagined and I know that were I in her place, I would not be dissuaded. She is stubborn a-"

"You might say that but I could not possibly comment" Erik interrupted, surprised to find laughter bubbling in his throat which he quickly masked with a grunt.

"As I was saying, she is stubborn as mule. But she is also unfailingly loyal, fiercely protective of that which she holds dear and has a good heart. Do not dare break it or I will haunt you Erik, so help me God. You are not the only one with special powers. I am a mother and that means I will travel the length and breadth of this Earth to find you if I discover my only child has suffered in any way at your hands. You do not want that to happen. Do I make myself clear?" Please do not let him take this lightly, she prayed. He has to understand the enormity of what she is doing for him and what I am giving up in allowing it.

Erik paled visibly at his old friend's warning. He knew Meg was more precious to her than anything and something in her tone meant he could not doubt her words or their sincerity. The magnitude of what she and her daughter were doing was not lost on him.

"Madame, you have my word that no harm shall come to Meg as long as I have breath in my body. Not by my hand and not by any other if I can prevent it. You brought me here to sanctuary and now your daughter leads me away from here, again for my protection. I do not take that lightly. She is completely crazy of course, but as you say, will not be dissuaded." Erik hoped he could keep true to his words but only time would tell.

"So, the bank? How much do you think you will need?" Antoinette was eager to get back to business as she knew she did not have much time to get to the bank before it closed. And judging by the trip about to be undertaken, she would need to collect a sizeable amount of cash.

Meg closed her eyes, sinking further into the slipper shaped copper tub in her mother's room and imagined she was an exotic princess lounging in scented water with an army of handmaidens waiting to do her bidding. The chill in her bones began to melt away in the warm water - not quite as steaming as she would have liked but it was still heavenly.

Erik was through with waiting for Meg. He had paced and sat. He read the previous day's newspaper cover to cover and paced some more. It irritated him beyond logic that she was luxuriating in her bath next door while he was being made to wait for her to grace him with her presence. "I wait for no one! Damn women and their primping." He grumbled to himself, spinning violently on his heel after yet another lap of the tiny sitting room. "Meg…" With his face close to the door, he called her name softly so as not to startle her. He could just imagine her flailing about like a baby giraffe, arms and legs akimbo trying to ascend gracefully from what would essentially be a large pot!

Somewhere along the fuzzy edges of her mind Meg heard her name being called. "Probably Maman back from raiding Mme Fleury's chests," she thought absently, sitting up slightly to hear better. "In here…I am still bathing!" she called out in response. She sank back down letting the water touch her ears, luxuriating in the rose oil belonging to her mother that she had been over indulgent with. If this happened to be the last bath she would have for a while she wanted to make sure it was memorable.

A strange sensation crept over her skin giving her gooseflesh in the warm water and sending a shiver straight across the back of her shoulders. As she opened her eyes, still half dreaming about servants and silken robes, she became aware of a presence in the room that was most definitely not her mother. Focusing more clearly and struggling to sit up, her hand slipping from the oil; she shrieked as she recognised the unmistakable figure of the Phantom; appearing to towering over her even from the far side of the room. Her hands grasped frantically under the water for the cloth she had been using, draping it haphazardly across her chest trying unsuccessfully to preserve her modesty. With arms hugged tightly to her, Meg lifted her eyes to his, her lashes fluttering with nervous anticipation.

"He recovered very quickly from the mess I left behind a few hours ago" she thought in the midst of her panic. She had never actually seen him close up like this with the mask and cloak and that air of haughtiness he seemed to carry everywhere. He was all powerful, all seeing, emanating the threat of unleashed violence and dripping with charisma. Mesmerised, she finally saw what Christine might have seen and she lost the power of speech. He was in fact disgustingly handsome which was not something Meg wanted to think about at all but there it was.

"Mademoiselle, should you remain so any longer you shall shrivel up." Erik curled the left side of mouth in a smirk, trapping her in his burning stare for what seemed like hours until finally turning on his heel in an overly dramatic but still undeniably impressive toss of his cape, leaving only thin air where he had stood.

Meg recovered the use of her voice a second too late and instead sent an earthy and entirely unladylike curse at his vanishing back. What in the name of all that is holy just happened? She had just been rendered speechless. By Erik. No, that was not Erik. That was the Opera Ghost, an entirely different animal. Of course it was the same person, she knew that. But it was as if he had transformed into this powerful entity when he put that infernal cape on. His voice changed, his eyes glittered dangerously and he radiated authority. Obviously, he possessed the ability to hypnotise woman while they were bathing too, damn him! Meg smashed her clenched fists down into the water sending the cloth back to the bottom of the tub and waves cascading over the edge making a mess on the floor. Her mother would not be impressed. She had not even had a chance to be mortified that she had been caught without a stitch on save the strategically placed scrap of cloth she was now eternally thankful for. "It would have served him right if he had gotten more than he bargained for and fainted from the shock of it," she thought wickedly, recovering her embarrassment. Erik would pay for that. Dearly.

Erik pulled the door swiftly and silently behind him gripping the knob for dear life. Shaking from head to toe and struggling to breath he moved to sit heavily on the nearest chair beside the modest dining table. What was he thinking going in there like that? Had he totally lost his mind? It served him right that he was now having what he could only assume was the precursor to a heart attack. His hands lying flat on each thigh, he could only stare in the distance; eyes out of focus now as he tried in vain to clear the vision of Meg bathing from his mind and try and concentrate on breathing slowly. It had been indelibly inked into his memory like a tattoo an instant after he had seen it. Baby giraffe! Hah! If only…

Erik had never seen a woman even partially undressed apart from Christine on the night he had brought her to his lair but even she had still worn a robe and under things. Meg was completely and undeniably nude apart from the wash cloth which might as well have been invisible. Her skin which he knew to be quite pale actually glowed gold in the soft candle light, glistening with whatever potions she had been using. The room held the pungent aroma of fat garden roses which he would now forever associate with the little dancer. She had washed her hair and it had been scraped back behind her ears following the contours of her shoulders to snake down her back, a slightly darker blonde than usual that almost matched his own. Meg had lifted her eyes to meet his and he felt as if the ground had shifted slightly. Her beautiful warm eyes were filled with a mixture of fear, embarrassment and anticipation. He had watched as the emotion in them changed to something else; her pupils dilating to the size of peas and he could not speak. The moist air crackled as he realized she was waiting for him to say something. He could not even recall now what he had said, the image of her flushing all else from his mind.

Closing his eyes he breathed deeply to try and calm his racing heartbeat. This was utter madness and he could not make sense of it. He knew exactly what was happening to him physically and knew he had very little control of it. It was what was happening in his head, his thought that he could not comprehend. Meg Giry was an irritant; bossy and far too inquisitive. She had a passable figure if you discounted her rather generous bosom. She did not have the enticing bouncy curls of his Christine, nor did she have the sweet voice of her friend. She could dance well, he supposed; in fact if he were being honest he knew she danced beautifully. Her hair while poker straight, swirled magnificently behind her when she was angry and framed her shoulders like a silken cloak when she was not.

"Stop this Erik; you are treading on extremely dangerous ground." He scolded himself, mentally banging his head against a wall. He was so awfully confused. He had been consumed by Christine, could think of nothing or no one else…could he not?

NO! Meg was caring, unselfish and kind; things he was not. She did not deserve to be thought about in such a manner. He would allow her to help him get as far away from here as possible and then he would have to find a way to send her back. And he would have to forget he ever saw what he did. For his own sanity and hers.