Author's Note: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

44

She spent the remainder of the evening and the entirety of the next morning in bed, dozing and eating whatever the mother-bird-like members of the set crew and cavaliers brought to her. The ballet rats appointed themselves her personal security entourage, relaying messages and instructions to and from the set crew and the cavaliers, bringing her things, and shushing any of the senior dancers who so much as looked in the directions of Kayla's bed. At eleven am on the 4th of January Kayla decided that she had had enough and got out of bed. Meg lent her a dressing gown, and Kayla wandered out into the hallway in nothing but the robe and her nightgown, propriety be damned, with the ballet rats trailing her like uncertain ducklings. As she descended the stairs, she watched the set crew scurrying about the backstage, moving boards, backdrops, and stage pieces into the wings and through the wooden maze to their homes in the darkness. Jamie was standing on the stage, illuminated by the flickering gaslights around the edge, barking orders at his compatriots. "Supreme executive authority suits you, Blanchard," she called, reaching the stage level with a final, childish hop.

Jamie turned, grinning as he watched her approach. "I thought so, though it is nice to have a second opinion."

"You're just packing up all the pieces from Faust?"

"And moving them into their long-term storage. Chances are we won't need them for quite some time."

Kayla nodded briskly. "Do you happen to know where Avère put the set book?"

"Oh yeah, you did hand it off, didn't you… Last I saw Leonardo had it and he put it in the office. Speaking of which you are going to have to have a meeting and tell us what happened. You jumped down a hole and disappeared for basically three days."

"Eh, I'm tame in comparison to Alice."

"Your constant literary references confound and amuse me."

"You read Alice in Wonderland?"

"I'm a stagehand, I don't live under a rock."

"…Alright then. Okay, I promise I'll explain, but let's just get this chaos sorted first. Where are my keys?"

Once Kayla had found said keys, she hurried over to her office and gingerly unlocked the door. The Don Juan Triumphant set book was sitting innocently on her desk. It was giving off a vibe that was about as smug as Erik. She glared at it. "You had better be worth getting shanked, my friend." Picking it up gingerly, she left the office.

When she returned to the stage, all the backgrounds, backdrops, and other accessories were gone, leaving the stage empty and desolate. The ballet rats had disappeared, having scurried off to class or the dorm or heaven knew where. The set crew was sitting in a circle, the seniors standing behind the juniors. "There you are, lassie!" Claude beamed. "You had us worried for quite some time."

"Thanks, glad to know I would have been missed. Okay, so the managers haven't said anything about the new opera? No? The Vicomte? Awesome, glad to know they're doing their jobs. Ugh. Um… has anyone looked at or touched the set book since I left?"

"No one but Leonardo," Clemens interjected. "He took it pretty seriously. He just carried it around like a baby when we were searching for you, and after a couple hours he stole a skeleton key from Madame Giry and locked it in the office."

"God bless his little heart. But you said you've read the script, Jamie?"

"Yeah. It was in Giry's office. It was mostly just stage directions. Reyer's locked up the score in his office."

"Three heads of departments, three offices, all locked… Looks like we have ourselves la fantôme's points of dependence, eh Abbots?"

"Shut up Dennis. Anyway, I'm'a sit myself down here, and we are going to be the first people to look at this set book. I don't care what the managers are doing, we are going to get on top of this craziness and start building this crap, 'kay?"

"All in favour of staging a coup and taking over the staging of the phantom's opera say aye!"

"Aye!"

Kayla laughed and set the bound volume in the centre of the circle. With a careful hand, she flipped open the cover. Don Juan Triumphant was written on the first page in spindly black ink, with "O.G." scrawled in one corner. "Okay, ready to take a dive into the phantom's head? Let's do this…"

Another hour found the crew still on the stage, huddled around the book and energetically discussing what needed to be done. Marius and Claude, the most experienced carpenters among the group, were roughly sketching out dimensions and construction methods for the different sets, muttering angrily about the extra time that would be required to build two sets of spiral staircases. Marius, after crumpling up three different diagrams of the troublesome staircases, threw his pencil across the stage and into the orchestra pit – and was being thoroughly mocked by his peers for his frustration – when Kayla heard an ear-splitting shriek.

"ABBOTS!"

The shrill scream was followed closely by a hurricane of purple silk storming up the red velvet aisle.

"Did… did anyone think… to tell Carlotta that I was alive?" The senior set crew shrugged. The juniors avoided eye contact.

The diva stomped between the rows of seats, screeching all the while. "ABBOTS YOU SILLY LITTLE PUTTANA! WHERE IN DA NAME OF GOD 'AVE YOU BEEN I 'AVE BEEN WORRIED SICK – "

"Hi, Giudicelli…"

Carlotta ignored the stage manager's greeting and continued to scream. "I LEAVE YOU ALONE FOR TWO MINUTES AND YOU VANISH INTO THIN AIR?! I SWEAR TO GOD I CANNOT TAKE YOU ANYWHERE – "

"Um… is there any way to stop her?"

"No, just let her run her course, lassie, she'll lose steam eventually…"

"WE ALL SPENT DAYS LOOKING FOR YOU AND NOW YOU ARE JUST ON DA STAGE LIKE NOTHING WAS EVER WRONG, THE FOP HIMSELF IS MORE CONCERNED DAN YOU ARE, YOU SILLY CHILD!"

Carlotta rushed up the aisle, her voice echoing through the auditorium as she clacked up the stage stairs and into the hallway. Her shrieks sounded more like Italian than anything else now. Bursting through the wings, she marched onto the stage and toward Kayla. The stagehands scattered. "Sto mai lasciando fuori dalla mia vista di nuovo, giuro su Dio, non ho intenzione di lasciare il vostro soggiorno in questa topaia di un teatro d'opera..."

Kayla forced herself to stay put as the diva rushed at her. She stopped short just inches away, her head tilted slightly to look at the taller manager. Suddenly, the diva threw her arms around her and squeezed. Kayla choked. "It would 'ave been very rude of you to die, I don't have anyone to replace you as a bridesmaid," Carlotta sniffed haughtily, her voice only slightly muffled. Kayla chuckled shallowly.

"Can't breathe, Carlotta," she wheezed. The soprano let go reluctantly.

"Where 'ave you been for three days?!" Carlotta brought up her manicured hands and shook Kayla's shoulders. Kayla winced. The diva released her immediately, and glared at her. "I swear to god, Abbots, if you 'ave gone and 'urt yourself – "

"It wasn't so much me going and hurting myself, it was more like circumstances beyond my control, a bit of Vicomte, a bit of ghost, a lot of swords…" She unconsciously ghosted her fingertips along the bottom of her rib cage, feeling the ridges of bandages beneath her shirt. Carlotta immediately grabbed her waist and began to gently prod. Kayla grimaced.

"Dere are bandages all over you!" Carlotta snarled.

"Yep I'm – ouch – well aware – ow, dammit – of that – for the love of all things good Carlotta, stop touching!"

"Who did dis to you?!"

"I told you, circumstances beyond my control, la fantôme, and la Vicomte," Kayla repeated, focusing on her breathing and trying to move slightly out of reach of the diva's concerned fingers.

"De Chagny," Carlotta growled. "He and I are going to be 'aving words, oh yes…"

There was a clattering of shoes across wooden boards as Madame Giry practically sprinted into the wings. "Mademoiselle Abbots!" she gasped, running towards her and grabbing her shoulders concernedly.

"WHY FOR THE LOVE OF SWEET CASTIEL WILL PEOPLE NOT STOP TOUCHING ME?!"

Madame Giry leapt back at Kayla's shriek. Behind her, Kayla could hear the junior set crew stifling laughter. "Are you hurt, Kayla?" the ballet mistress demanded.

"Yes, a hundred times yes," Kayla wheezed, leaning over and clutching her stomach.

"I am so sorry, Kayla. Meg told me you were back, and the managers wish to see you. The Vicomte as well."

"Oh, goodie."

"There is no way in hell that Abbots is going anywhere near the fop," Jamie snapped. His brown eyes were blazing. "Not after what he's done."

"Which would be…?" Madame Giry inquired sharply.

"Hahaha, you're all hilarious, but the fact remains I have work to do. I can talk to the managers later, and I am certainly not talking to de Chagny."

"Is there a specific reason for why you are avoiding the patron, Kayla? Is there something you need to tell me?"

"I'm not talking about this. I'm not going to jump about like a freaking puppy just cause the Vicomte whistles for me. I have a set to build – Dennis, stop laughing, this isn't funny – and I think you know as well as anyone that this particular opera isn't something we can dick around with – Marius, you're as bad as Dennis, shut up – "

"You have been missing for three days, Kayla, the managers need to speak with you."

Kayla stared up at the catwalk and groaned. "Ugh. Fine. You boys keep working, I want to start getting materials together when I get back."

"Yes, ma'am."

"You mean sir."

"Yes, you're right Baptiste, yes sir."

Kayla followed Madame Giry through the halls, the skirt of her nightgown swishing out behind her, her bare feet sinking slightly into the carpets. Carlotta strode beside her, her beautiful face set in a death glare. The diva looked ready to fight, a sentiment which reflected Kayla's internal mood. Turning a corner, Kayla saw the managers' door. Madame Giry sped up slightly as the door opened and Raoul stepped out. Kayla stopped short.

As he spotted her, his hazel eyes widened. He practically ran forward, gazing at her with a emotion that Kayla could only identify as surprised concern. Just as he got closer to her than Kayla wanted, he stopped and looked her up and down, a small smile curling up the corners of his mouth. What the hell?

She took a quick glance down, and remembered that she was still in her nightgown and cardigan, and abruptly realized that her hair was down, blonde locks waving over her shoulders. Well shit.

"Mademoiselle Abbots, I am relieved to see you safe and sound," Raoul greeted, sounding quite relaxed.

"Not really sound, I'm a bit sliced up, if you get my drift," Kayla said pointedly.

Raoul looked quite confused. "I beg your pardon?"

"I'm not prepared to pardon you just yet."

Carlotta snorted.

Madame Giry stuck her head out of the managers' office and beckoned. Kayla smiled sarcastically at Raoul. "If you'll excuse me, my liege."

The managers rose immediately as Kayla entered. "Mademoiselle! You cannot possibly imagine how pleased we are to see you safe!" Andre exclaimed, leaping forward and wringing her hand.

"Probably not as relieved as I was that I was safe," Kayla replied dryly, taking the chair Firmin offered. Carlotta immediately plopped down into the seat next to her, even though Raoul's cloak was draped over the arm. As Raoul marched into the room, Carlotta turned and grinned passive-aggressively at him. The nobleman glared at the diva before walking to stand by the window.

"I understand you may still be recovering from the shock, but we need to discuss the next season," Firmin began cautiously, sitting down across the desk from the diva and the set manager. "What kind of operas we will be performing, what kind of sets will be needed, and the like."

"I don't see what there is to discuss. My crew and I have already started building the new set."

"And which set is this?" Andre asked politely.

"Don Juan Triumphant. We have the building designs pretty much down, and we're going to find materials when we're done here."

"You cannot be serious!" Raoul burst out. "We cannot perform that monster's opera!"

Kayla swiveled around to stare at him. "Sorry, didn't quite catch that, try again?" she hissed.

"Richard, Gilles, you must make her see reason, we cannot perform such a disgrace!"

"Excuse you, have you even seen or heard anything from this guy?"

"I would have, if I was permitted to see the set book, script, and score, as is the right of the patron!"

"Oh, wow, let's just be clear, you have no right to meddle in any of the departments, and you aren't going to see any of the books if I have anything to do with it."

Raoul smiled indulgently, though a muscle in his jaw was twitching slightly. "I will forgive your tone, as you are obviously under a great deal of stress at the moment…"

"Mademoiselle Abbots, you must understand, it is a great risk to put on such a show for the public. We could lose a substantial amount of revenue, and judging by the scant details provided to us by Madame Giry and Monsieur Reyer, the costumes and sets alone may cost a fortune."

Kayla bounded to her feet, swiping a hand through her loose hair angrily. "You don't get it! None of you! You assholes are just worried about money and cost and revenue, when it's the goddamn Phantom's Opera, the freaking masquerade took care of your entire advertisement campaign in about eight seconds!" She paced back and forth across the room, the managers, Vicomte, ballet mistress, and diva watching every step. "Even if people don't like it, it's gonna sell tickets. What you don't freaking get is that if we don't perform, how do you think the opera ghost's gonna feel, huh? Think he's going to listen to reason? No! I am building the sets, no matter what you people do. At least my crew isn't going to be strung up from the rafters because we didn't do our jobs." A small part of her mind felt slightly bad for painting Erik as a bloodthirsty spirit, but then she remembered the years the phantom had spent perpetuating rumors exactly like that, and just kept going. She pointed menacingly at Raoul, blue eyes sparking against hazel ones. "You aren't at all concerned about refusing the opera ghost, cause you have exactly zero to lose! I've got seven men and thirteen boys to look out for, and Madame Giry, if you care at all about your dancers, you'll start chorography now."

Madame Giry's impassive face paled. Carlotta made a vaguely approving noise next to her.

Andre sank into another chair. There was a long silence. "We will have to insist on seeing your plans, and overseeing the builds," he said weakly. "And the costumes as well, as the ghost seemed to be of the opinion that you would be taking over that department…"

Kayla smiled grimly. "No can do, gentlemen, your place is in an office, not the arts."

Raoul stiffened. "Now wait just a moment –"

Carlotta slammed her hand on the arm of the chair. The managers jumped at the loud noise. "You all know dat I 'ave da least respect for authority out of anyone 'ere, but Kayla is right. Dis opera ghost is not to be trifled with. I suggest if you want to end dis season alive, dat you side with da one person whom 'e 'as not threatened yet."

"Richard, Gilles, I insist, as patron –"

Kayla lost it. "HAVE YOU LITERALLY HEARD A SINGLE THING I'VE SAID?" she screamed. "People are going to die, you won't be the patron of anything if we don't go through with this! And let me remind you of the master plan: Carlotta needs to work on her acting, Piangi needs to get fit, the managers need to get their noses out of the operas, and Christine has to lead. You are not even a piece of the puzzle. You don't get a say."

Raoul's eyes darkened dangerously. "I am patron, and Vicomte, mademoiselle. It would be unwise to cross me."

"Ah, yes. Unfortunately I know what happens to people who cross you. Would you like to see?' Ripping off her cardigan, she tossed it at Carlotta, who caught it clumsily. Yanking impatiently at the tiny buttons down the front of her nightgown, she ripped it open, thanking her own sense of preparedness that she was wearing a sports bra. Letting the bodice of the gown hang around her waist, she furiously tore off the white bandages and let them drop to the floor. All eyes in the room went straight to the bright red line stitched with black that crossed over her stomach. Andre turned bone white. Firmin fainted. Madame Giry took in a sharp breath. Carlotta swore. Raoul's stare traced the line, covering each plane of her stomach on the way. Good to know that you've probably completely missed the point, Kayla thought sourly. She leant over, picked up the bandages, and shrugged the sleeves of the night gown back over her shoulders. Fingers deftly doing up the buttons, she raised her chin at Raoul. "Threaten me all you want. I've seen worse," she declared archly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go do the job that I've been commissioned for." Unable to resist the urge to toss her hair over her shoulder as she turned, she strode out of the room. She heard Madame Giry and Carlotta follow her.

Walking as fast as she could down the corridor, she relaxed slightly once she heard the office door click shut. "Abbots!" Carlotta called, aghast, heels clicking on the ground as she ran after Kayla. Kayla shut her eyes and leaned against the wall. "You're bleeding, Abbots."

Kayla glanced down to where drops of red were blossoming through the white fabric. "Eh. Maybe I've torn the stiches. Maybe I've got too high a heart rate. Who cares."

"That was inappropriate, Kayla," Madame Giry said severely, grabbing the bandages out of her hands, slipping off the top of the night gown, and wrapping the strips over her stomach with all the practiced patience of a mother. "Understandable, but inappropriate all the same."

"Especially since they're my bosses, and de Chagny's engaged? Agreed. Not like it mattered to the precious patron though."

"You need a doctor," Carlotta squeaked, looking absolutely horrified.

"Probably."

Madame Giry huffed. "And it will be a very specific doctor who is not going to be very pleased with being disturbed."

"Ah, yes. D'ya know what, maybe we just won't tell him about this…?"

"No, Kayla, come with me, he will want to know."

"Can I at least tell my crew first?"

And that's how Kayla came to be standing on stage in front of her crew, explaining to them why there was blood all over the ribs of her nightgown and why they would have to work without her for a bit, while a certain six of the juniors stared at her in disbelieving horror that the Vicomte had seen their beloved Abbots' stomach before they had.

Author's Note: I know, I got this chapter out so late, I'm sorry, I suck. I had work and a crazy-ass amount of doctors appointments and specialist appointments and procedures and just... ugh. And then I finally got finished this today, and then THE INTERNET DIED. I know it's not really an excuse, but... yeah. Moving on.

Thanks to all of y'all who have favourited, reviewed, followed, read, etc. Thanks to Guest and Allie (thanks btw, that was an encouraging one) for their reviews as well.

For anyone who was wondering, Carlotta's little spiel in Italian translates to "I am never letting you out of my sight again, I swear to god, I'm not going to let you stay in this rat hole of an opera house..."

Anyway, thank you all for reading, and I have given up on trying to predict how long chapters are going to take, but I do promise that I will get one written and posted as quickly as I am able.

Hugs for you all!

Tierney

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