Authors Notes: I know, I know, no excuses for such extreme lateness as I. But hey, My computer was is computer rehab and I couldn't get my files off it. It's the COMPUTER MAN's fault not mine! Anyway, this here it is, you get to meet Gerry and Baz! Both of whom should be making more appearances later in the story. I hope you like it. :D
~White Lily, Blue ribbon~
A week had passed, in the London Opera, and Evie had improved. Each day she would attend rehearsals for the Opera, which were fast becoming a hive of activity; she sometimes found herself singing as her costume was being pinned around her, as ballerinas danced around sets-in-construction.
The maestro now kept a little white handkerchief on his person at all times, for whenever he needed to mop his flushed and sweaty forehead. There was always someone shouting something over the music, always someone fixing something that had come loose, someone arguing about some musical line, and Victoria, cool and aloof, prowled amongst the performers, correcting this and criticising that. Moretti often appeared now, too, 'overseeing the rehearsal' as he put it, 'keeping track of progress', until Victoria irritably shooed him from the building.
Evie tried to stay out of Victoria's way for the most part. When ever she met the older woman's eyes of late they would take on a look that could eat away at metal, her lips would pale and her jaw would clench.
Evie didn't know what the Phantom had done, but only two nights after his first lesson, when Evie had appeared at Victoria's study door, she was greeted with a violent:
"Get out of my sight. And don't let me catch you around here ever again. Don't look so shocked, oh, I know you know why, feral brat."
The door was promptly shut in her face. Evie wandered away from the door in a state of vacant cheerfulness.
Since then, at rehearsals of late, Victoria would often pass right over her. Evie found she could cope quite well with this situation, watching Victoria vent her anger on other people, dancers, musicians, acting as if Evie wasn't even there. And when Evie did do something wrong, he face would strain in frustration, but then she would turn and look around at the rafters above her, with something like fear in her eyes. She would never make a comment. Evie found she quite liked this turn of events.
Then, when night fell, and everyone left the theatre, Evie would don her cloak and go to box five, where she would be met by the Phantom of the London Opera. Then she would be taken to the clock tower across the square, where her real instruction would begin.
The Phantom was actually a wonderful teacher. His points were clear, concise, and he had a vast knowledge of music, singing and techniques, which made Evie wonder once who he had learned from; where he had studied.
He honed her skills, fine tuning her technical work to the sharpest degree, pushing her often to her limit. It was paying off, too, she was fast becoming a soprano more than worthy of the lead she had been given; her range had even widened a tone and a half in one short week.
There was still something he was unsatisfied about, however. Something obscure he pursued with furious perseverance that she didn't understand, but she didn't let it bother her too much.
Over the week they had developed something of an understanding. Not quite a friendship, but a companionship none the less. A partnership of sorts, striving towards a common goal. It grew clear to Evie that he was unused to working, to living so close with another person, so much of the time.
Still, she tolerated his little quirks, outbursts and awkward absurdities, and faithfully showed up in box five each evening without fail.
On one such evening Evie sat waiting on the plush red seats of box five, playing with the sleeve of a new deep scarlet dress, the stitching of which was yet to properly deteriorate to her liking. She liked it better than her other dresses, it had a large bow at the back that reminded her of the ribbon she had lost a while ago. Her favourite ribbon. She regretted casting it away now; when she tilted her head forwards, her hair fell into her eyes.
Evie had almost pulled apart the first stitch when she heard a noise coming from the door.
She stayed very still, hoping it was just a cleaner or someone come to check everything was locked up. Hopefully they would check and be on their way. Without noticing her. She held her breath.
The door creaked open and she turned with wide eyes to see the figures who entered.
"EVIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIE!"
The tiny bundle bolted towards her, wrapped up in a green shirt that was too big for him, his bright amber eyes shining in excitement. She stood and the impact of the boy hitting her stomach bowled her over, and she hugged him tightly, back resting against the chairs, breathing in the smell of his sandy hair.
"Well hello, Gerry," she laughed quietly into it.
"Evening, stranger." floated a pleasant, tenor voice with a cockney accent from the doorway. The voice of Sebastian the stage hand. He leant casually against the door frame watching the little boy and the girl, amusement sparkling in his light green eyes. Evie picked up the six-year-old in her arms and rested him on her hip, turning to face the curly haired youth in the doorway.
"Sebastian.' She greeted him simply, a little smile gracing her lips.
"You look different." he remarked.
"Oh." She looked down at the dress. "Yeah its new."
"No, no, I mean the-" he pointed to his curly brown hair, and it took her a moment to realise he was talking about the lack of her ribbon.
"Oh, right. Yes, I lost it." she said sadly, pushing her hair out of her face with her one free hand. "What are you doing here so late?" she asked him.
"Gerry lost his bear. He can't go to sleep without it. Neither can I, funnily enough, when he's howling in my ear." she laughed at that.
"Eviiiie,' sang the little boy in her arms. "Come play with us!" he tugged on a strand of her hair which she pulled from his grip, a little reluctantly.
"I can't Gerry, what if my mother turns up."
Sebastian frowned in annoyance. "Your mother left hours ago." he said, a little standoffish.
"Yeah Baz, well I thought you'd left hours ago too." Evie snapped, setting Gerry back on his feet again.
"Then what in gods name are you doing up here, if it wasn't waiting for the pleasure of our company?" he asked sarcastically, grinning his crooked grin.
Evie said nothing, but simply glared at him, her lips pressed together tightly as if holding something back. Sebastian grin slid off his face. She had secrets from him now, and he hated that.
There had been a time when he had known more about her than anyone in the world, you might have called them thick as thieves, and then Evie came to him one morning saying that she was forbidden to talk to him from that day. He still didn't understand why, and it had made him more than a little angry. But he pushed it aside now.
"Come on, Evie," he pleaded, his voice persuasive and his eyes tender. "She's not here. For now, you're free." he laughed. "Just come with us, have fun for once."
She wanted so badly to go with them, and would have, had she not known the Phantom was on his way. They had to leave before he arrived.
"You should go, Baz." She said, brutally to the point, her face belying her wish that she could join them. He couldn't know she wanted to stay with him.
He recoiled as if she had struck him. Then he held his hand out to Gerry and the little boy took it, turning away from her.
"What happened to you, Evie?" Baz muttered. His back was to her so he couldn't see the tears stand out in her eyes.
Then he was gone.
A couple of minutes later the Phantom emerged from behind the red velvet seat. He noticed the tracks of a few old tears still shining on her face, and frowned in confusion. She turned away from him so her face was obscured from view.
"You're late."
"I was liberating a piano from one of the old ballet studios. What is the matter?" he asked, ever to the point.
"It's nothing important.' she said quietly; half-heartedly, standing to follow him. He took her hand and smiled kindly at her.
"That dress you are wearing is quite lovely. Is it new?"
She couldn't help but smile back. "Yes."
The Phantom watched the hustle and bustle of the rehearsals from the relative serenity and seclusion of his box.
His whole attention was fixed on his protoge, who stood nervously on the edge of the stage near the music pit. He took in her stance critically. She would need to relax more. He would correct that later.
Moretti and the maestro, however were not listening to her critically, but were immersed in the sound she produced. In their rapture they failed to notice little mistakes she made, due to the magic her lilting voice cast over all the cast and crew that had stopped to listen to her. Over the past week it had gained a rare, sweet quality to it that they hadn't heard before.
The Phantom smirked.
They didn't know where it had come from either. They believed her tuition still came from Victoria. That thought made him frown a little in annoyance. No matter. The time would come when the rest of the Opera House was aware of his role in training their young soprano.
Evie finished and the people around her broke into applause. She blushed a little and smiled bashfully as people called out encouragement and praises.
Then Victoria stalked into the room. Something had really gotten to her today, her usually pale face was flushed in frustration.
"Bar eight. Three, no, four mistakes. Fix them." she said shortly.
Evie said nothing but threw an "I-told-you-so" glance in the direction of box five.
"Oh, come now, Victoria, there's no need to be so short with the girl." Moretti said reproachfully. "You can't deny that she has improved."
"Her improvement is immaterial. She must be perfect."
The Phantom gripped the railing of box five in jaw-clenching anger. "You wear my patience thin, woman." he muttered under his breath and then stormed from the auditorium.
As Opening Night drew nearer and nearer, Evie spent more and more time in the clock tower with the Phantom, and by this time she had made herself quite at home there. To his amusement she had moved her nest from the her secret room in the Opera House to one unoccupied corner of his lair, adding to the pile trinkets and fabrics she had found amongst his debris.
One night her shoes lay forgotten on the pile, and she waltzed absently around the room in circles, her stockinged feet sliding effortlessly on the wooden floorboards as she sang. She wandered over to the rosebushes by the clock face and watered them with a little silver pitcher she liberated from the kitchens, singing as The Phantom played.
"Please concentrate Evie."
She sighed and sat next to him on the stool as he played to introduction to the piece and she copied his finger movements an octave higher on the keyboard. The Phantom stopped playing in exasperation.
"What has gotten into you this evening, Evie?"
She opened her mouth to speak, and then hesitated.
"Um...well..." she stood and paced, twirling when she reached the end of each stride. The Phantom's expression was one of perplexity.
"You know before, when you, um, popped out for a moment?"
She edged over to his large wardrobe, her eyes guilty. "Well, I uh, was sort of curious,"
"What did you hope to achieve by rummaging through my wardrobe?" He inquired, raising an eyebrow.
"I-" she cut herself off and looked at her shoes, a delightful blush creeping across her cheeks. "Well- you- you just always seem to wear exactly the same thing- and I wanted to find out...um..."
By the time she stopped talking his face was in his hands and he made a noise of exasperation in the back of his throat. After a moment, he looked up.
"Well," he began slowly, cautiously. "What did you unearth?" 'What's the damage?'
All her previous guilt was suddenly gone and she grinned proudly.
She opened the wardrobe door, reaching down the very back and withdrew a costume of deep, deep red velvet, gold brocade and the Phantom felt sick to his stomach as images of whirling dancers and masked revellers from his past assaulted him. His expression, however, remained entirely grave-faced and serious.
Evie's grin grew even wider as from behind the costume she withdrew a skull mask, of amazing quality and craftsmanship. All the while she was examining the look on his face, hoping for clues.
"So, naturally," she said, "I'm quite curious."
"Is that so." the Phantom remarked, in complete disinterest. "It's time for practise." he said shortly, turning back to the organ. Evie was left quite miffed.
"I will find out what happened you know. What happened in Paris." She declared stubbornly.
"I wish you the best of luck." he replied, his tone unchanged.
"You know," Evie began angrily, her voice rising. "I find it quite unfair that I tell you absolutely everything about my life, yet you tell me nothing about yourself. Even when I ask."
The Phantom did not reply.
"I don't even know your name." she added quietly. Despairingly.
"You do not tell me 'absolutely everything'." He expertly evaded.
"Oh?" Evie shot, sarcastic and challenging.
"Yes. " The Phantom confirmed, totally assured of himself and with a superior edge to his voice. "Like who those two boys were or what exactly you were arguing with them about."
Evie was caught off guard. She thought he hadn't seen-
"But I do not pry into it, do I?" he added, and she looked down in shame. A silence crept between them.
"I'm sorry, Phantom." Evie murmured quietly. She moved towards the organ and sat down beside it, and began to pick at the stitching of her sleeve. "I'm- just afraid one day you'll be gone all of a sudden." tears stood out in her eyes, and a strange guilt stabbed at the Phantom's heart. Why did this child care so much? "Things will go back to how they used to be and I wont even know your name." she choked.
"Hush," he said quietly, and chuckled. "You can't sing when you're crying, silly girl." He hesitated and then patted her hair, comfortingly.
She nodded and wiped her eyes on her sleeve, but she noticed he hadn't made any promises. It was a fragile thing she realised, this companionship that had grown between them. Like walking on thin ice, it could break at any moment and he would be gone, leaving no trace of himself- as if he had never even been there.
That was why he withheld so much. He was ready to be gone at any moment.
She would give him no reason to go. But there was one last thing...
"I was hoping you might wear it when you come to the ball after Opening Night?"
"Absolutely out of the question."