Author's Note:

1. I don't own Phantom of the Opera

2. I'm sorry for burdening you all with an author who just can't handle her fricking deadlines

3. I'm going to address one of the primary reasons for my lateness, but I'll do that in the last author's note, because it's going to require a rant.

43

Kayla blinked.

Red and orange flickered off the rough stone ceiling, reflecting from the candles scattered around the room. She slowly tilted her head, gazing with quiet curiosity at the rest of the room. A wardrobe so dark it nearly blended into the wall, doors firmly shut. Gleaming armoires and dark tables, covered with tiered candles dripping cream wax. She could not see any other visible objects, save for a coil of black silk ribbon. There were no mirrors, at least none that she could see. Perhaps there was one in the inner door of the wardrobe, as she could not see a man as put together as the Opera Ghost not taking care with his appearance. The only conclusion she could draw was that she was in Erik's room. The owner in question was nowhere in view.

She side-eyed the bed she was lying on top of. Yep. Red velvet. Shaking her head in resigned disbelief, she very, very carefully sat up.

A few minutes of struggle resulted in a very groggy Kayla Abbots shuffling out of the Phantom of the Opera's bedroom with a velvet coverlet wrapped around her shoulders like a cape. She had tied a second blanket under her arms like a dress, due to the fact that she was only wearing a bra and black shorts, having felt obligated to forgo the bloodstained camisole.

Treading lightly down a dark and twisted hallway, she followed the torchlight and watery shimmers to the lake. Pausing on the landing, she stared at the Opera Ghost's dark form leaning over the organ. Unmoving and silent, he merely stared at the ivory keys. Poor baby, he doesn't know what to do with himself without his opera, she thought sympathetically. She hopped childishly down the steps, padding closer to her unaware host. A glint of white alerted her to the fact that the porcelain mask was resting on the edge of the organ. Kayla turned and shuffled backwards, one hand stretched out behind her. She caught the mask in her fingertips and swiveled her hand out to hold it out to Erik. "Hey. Here you go. I honestly don't care if you wear it but I didn't really want to take a chance on getting thrown into the lake."

She heard Erik start slightly, followed by the shifting of fabric as he pulled the mask gingerly from her grip. "Merci, mademoiselle."

"Let's be perfectly clear, I don't give two shits if you wear that thing or not. I know what I'm getting into in that department, and I'm not going to scream or faint or anything. Whenever you wanna ditch that thing, go ahead."

Erik snorted. "I will spare you looking at a monster."

"Bro, I watch Supernatural. However horrifying you may think you are is kittens compared to some of that."

"… Supernatural?"

"Oh. Right. Remember that little moving picture I showed you on my phone – the little black rectangle? Supernatural is a TV show, which means I watch two guys killing monsters and driving a… m'kay, let's forgo the Impala for a moment… Let's try again: I watch two guys hunting monsters and other supernatural entities on a bigger version of that black rectangle. I watch other shows too. It's kind of like theatre, except I'm basically watching moving photos."

Erik's brow furrowed, and his head tilted back, studying the ceiling as he tried to process her subpar explanation. Kayla laughed. "I did a terrible job explaining that, sorry. The point was I look at monsters in my free time, and you definitely aren't one."

"I appreciate the sentiment."

"Damn right you appreciate the sentiment. It's straight up fact."

Erik sighed and shook his head. "I see no purpose in arguing with you over differing opinions."

"No. I think we're both pretty evenly matched in the stubbornness department. Scootch over." She prodded at his muscled shoulder with her index finger until he confusedly moved over on the bench. Immediately she plopped down next to him. They sat in silence for a moment. "What time is it? Or what day, for that matter?"

"I do not tend to concern myself with time during rehearsal periods," Erik replied nonchalantly. "But it is the 3rd of January."

"What?! How long was I out?"

"You slept for almost a day after I dealt with your stiches, and almost another after our talk. It must have been from all your excitement."

"That's one word for it. I'm more excited about kicking the precious Vicomte in the balls when I get back upstairs. Has my crew been notified where I am?"

"I did leave a note for Monsieur Blanchard. Whether or not he shared it with the others I do not know."

"Crap. I'm not fired, am I?"

"No. The managers know you are needed."

"Cool. I should probably go back upstairs, shouldn't I? My crew's probably freaking out, and I think Avère still has the set book, and they kind of need me for… everything, basically. Sets and costumes and blocking… dammit, Erik, did you maybe think this through before putting me in charge of the entire freaking opera?"

"I trust your judgement. And you need not concern yourself with the music."

"Ha."

"Come, you should return…"

"…Your managers of the theatre will be missing me?"

"I was going to say that I will walk you to your dormitory. And I doubt the managers will be missing you, they have the attention span of rats and quite a number of problems to worry about."

"Ugh. Fine, no fanservice for me."

Erik vetoed her use of the velvet sheets as clothes, though whether or not his concerns lay with her fashion or with the concrete evidence of his existence she could not tell. He did not walk with her so much as carry her back through the narrow passageways, despite her unenthusiastic protests that she could walk on her own.

"I would advise against lifting anything heavy until I or another doctor approve. The cut was not deep enough for muscle damage, but you could tear the stiches or cause more scarring."

"So I can't do catwalk?"

"You may be on the catwalk, but you should not be climbing or dealing with the ropes. You have enough crew members to take your place."

"That feels like cheating."

"I trust you will be busy enough without moving sets. Besides, you should be providing direction most of the time. I doubt there will be another performance until mine."

"Shit, we're actually going to have to build all the sets! I can still paint and do woodworking, can't I?"

"As long as you aren't lifting anything heavy. I will notify you when I am able to remove the stiches."

"Eh, I'll probably visit every day anyway. You can check 'em whenever, I don't care."

Erik turned a corner and strode into the darkness. A pale light appeared at the end of the tunnel. Kayla tugged on his cape. "No, Erik, don't go into the light! You have so much to live for!"

Erik raised his eyebrows at her. "Here we are," he announced, peering through what Kayla now saw was two-way glass before he opened the panel and stepped into the deserted ballet dormitory.

"Oh, you little shit…" Kayla muttered, silently smacking herself for not suspecting it in the first place.

"Did you say something, Kayla?"

"No."

"Good." He maneuvered through the maze of cots to Kayla's bed, setting her down gently. "Rest. And remember my instructions."

"Hey, wait, wait, wait, before you go, did you throw out my masquerade dress?"

"It is covered in blood, Kayla, you will not be able to wear it again. But I have this for you…" He held out a handkerchief sized square of fabric. Kayla grabbed it and examined it. Black tulle, blue silk, embroidery… a piece of every different fabric in her dress had been included. "And we could not forget your mask," he added, holding out the black domino.

"That is the sweetest thing ever, thanks."

Erik nodded patiently. He took her ring of keys from under her pillow and placed the mask and fabric patches in her trunk. "Rest."

After Erik left, Kayla spent a while staring up at the ceiling before the dormitory door flew open with a bang, and she heard scurrying feet.

"MON DIEU!" Lena's voice screamed. The door banged again and she heard the little girl careening back down the hall. She could hear echoes of shouts and shrieks, and then a thunder of feet on the stairs.

"No, no, no, boys, I'll handle this, Madame Giry will kill all of us if we all went in there, but she might excuse two!" Kayla smirked at the wild concern in Jamie's distant tone. The door slammed against the wall as Jamie, Avère, Meg, and the ballet rats raced into the room.

"Amelia, go find Madame Giry. She will want to alert the managers," Meg ordered faintly, and the tiny red head bolted out of the room like a bat out of hell.

"We thought you were dead!" Lena sobbed. Half of the ballet rats started to cry, the others dissolved into shrieks of worry.

"Leonardo, could I get some back-up please?" Avère requested weakly.

The dark haired cavalier swanned into the room and gathered up the little girls, consoling them with promises of a visit later before shepherding them out of the dorm.

Jamie strode forward and scooped Kayla up in his arms, squeezing her tightly. "I swear, if you ever pull a stunt like that again…" Kayla shrieked in pain. He immediately let go. "Oh god, I am so sorry, are you hurt?"

"Argh, sorry Jamie, I'm happy to see you too, I'm sorry, I'm not doing that again… I've got stiches under my ribs because la Vicomte was being a bit too generous with his rapier."

"I'm going to kill him."

"I second that. If this issue is democratic I think we'd have all the cavaliers and crew behind us, come on Jamie, let's go stab some fop…"

"Avère!"

"What?"

"You can't kill de Chagny!"

"He stabbed you!"

"Sliced me, if we're being technical."

"I'm definitely going to kill him."

"Jamie!"

The brown haired stagehand sank next to her on the bed, shaking his head angrily. "We all thought you were dead, Abbots. You've been missing three days."

"How's everyone else?"

"They'll be fine now that they know you're alive. Everything's kind of been in an uproar, we haven't even started preparations for the Phantom's opera…"

"So we're performing it, then?"

"Yes. I read the script, it's going to be incredibly fun to build sets for, but the cast doesn't seem as keen."

"Hey! As a member of the cast, I think it's going to be amazing to dance, what do you think, Giry?"

Meg pursed her lips. "I'm not sure. Maman has not planned any of the choreography…"

"About that…" Kayla interjected shamefacedly. "I don't think she'll be planning it."

Meg nodded. "I suppose the Phantom will be giving all the directions now."

Jamie snickered. "The Unholy Trinity's going to adore that idea, I'm sure..."

"And that would be…?"

"The managers, Raoul, and Carlotta and Piangi. Technically it's a quintet, but trinity sounded better."

Kayla shut her eyes. "How're our sopranos holding up?"

"Christine has not been here much, I think she's been staying with Raoul, and Carlotta has been here every single day to check if you've been found."

Kayla's heart swelled. "Aw. That's cute. Well, Carlotta being worried about me is, not the underage premarital sex that's potentially going on with explanation one."

Meg choked.

"Kidding, Meg. Sorry, keep forgetting you're a lot younger than me…"

Avère cocked his blonde head at her curiously. "You're checking up on all the sectors of the opera house. You sound an awful lot like a manager."

Kayla squinted at the cavalier. "I have this feeling that I kind of am."

"Well, it'll be a damn sight better than Firmin and Andre. Not that they're going to complain about relinquishing some responsibility. I think they're out of their depth. I'd vote for you."

"Thanks, Jamie."

Author's Note: Hopefully that was okay? More humor and fluff than last chapter, to be sure, and never fear, I will bring Kayla out into the opera house next chapter and preparations for Don Juan will begin. To all who have followed, reviewed, favourited, E-man-dy-S who guest reviewed, etc, thank you very much.

On the note of last chapter...

I'm about to rant. Are you ready?

Okay... *takes deep breath* Here we go, be warned.

Last chapter I received a guest review from "Sorry" that was a potent mix of politeness and disparagement. It was actually really quite hurtful, and that was one of the reasons that I took so long to post this, because it was so scathing that it drained my inspiration for a while. It upset me to the point that I actually ended up just deleting it from reviews page. The reviewer accused me of writing an angst based Mary Sue, and making up "an underlying issue to connect with someone". They then proceeded to say they were "done with this", and that the chapter ended the story for them, etc. Whoever this is, they are perfectly entitled to their own opinion, but instead of having constructive critiques it was basically just an attack. And since it was anonymous, I can't PM this individual and have a mature chat about this, and am instead forced to rant to everyone else. So I apologize for that.

Kayla is not a Mary Sue, and if she displays any of those characteristics, please someone tell me, because I never, ever wanted to write anything remotely close to a Mary Sue. She is not angst based, this is a piece of her past that a lot of people struggle with, but it does not define her as a character. Furthermore, it is not a "quality" that exists solely to connect her to Erik; the emotional turmoil of pressure and failure connects a lot of people to Erik. Hell, it's one of the reasons I wanted to write this story in the first place, because I felt that connection to the character. The struggle with self-harm doesn't set Kayla apart from anyone else in the world, if anything it was intended to act as a connection point to any readers who are struggling with this issue, because with this big of a community, some of you probably are. And I am here to support you if you are struggling with anything. Lastly, I took a big risk with the last chapter. I made it quite a bit more personal than I had in the past, and I wasn't sure how it would be received. But the idea that one chapter out of 43 that contains serious content is enough to make a person take the time to write a pissy passive-aggressive review is kind of ridiculous. Anyway, to "Sorry" or whoever it is you are: this story isn't going to go to angst just because a character has had struggles in the past. So next time you want to attack me over anon, don't. Sign in and PM me about your concerns if it means that much to you.

For everyone else who read that rant, please don't hate me. I apologize for the long tirade, but that freaking review been biting at me for a week and I needed to get it off my chest.

Thank you to everyone who has read this far, and I am committed to getting the next chapter out sooner! All of my doctor's appointments and things are done for the moment, all my tests came back normal, but they're sending me to a specialist, so we'll see how that goes. But at least I don't have that distracting me from writing for the time being!

Hugs to all of you beautiful people!

Tierney

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