Author's Note: If it was not already apparent, I do not own Phantom of the Opera. Wow, it's been too long. Sorry guys.

45

After Kayla had made her apologies to the crew, Madame Giry took her to the abandoned Prima Donna room, which everyone, even Carlotta, had avoided like the plague since the reveal of the opera ghost. The ballet mistress left Kayla sitting on a chair, with the slightly ominous claim that he would know to come for her. The statement was correct, of course, and she barely waited five minutes before she heard the creaking of the mirror. As the glass slid away, the masked man himself slid through the crack. When his green eyes finally landed on Kayla, he made a noise like a mouse being trodden on and immediately turned away. "Well that's more of the reaction I would have liked to see from the Vicomte!" Kayla exclaimed sarcastically. "What's that about?"

"You are not dressed, mademoiselle," Erik said in a strangled sort of voice.

Kayla chuckled. "Aw, your modest sensibilities are adorable." She breezed by him and into the tunnel. "Come along my shadowy friend, before I bleed out."

Erik was, as predicted, unamused with having to repair Kayla's stiches, though not as unamused as Kayla was upon the discovery that 1870's France was not a country with readily available painkillers.

"Am I permitted to inquire as to why exactly I am stitching up your stomach for the second time?" Erik asked somewhat crossly.

Kayla clenched her jaw and swore. "Son of a bitch, that hurts. I thought I told you, I overestimated my capabilities."

"And what kind of capabilities would that be?" He tugged at the needle.

"Lucifer and Crowley. Ow. I may or may not have lost my temper with de Chagny."

"That still does not explain the tears."

"I kind of ripped off the top of my nightgown and my bandages and flashed the Vicomte."

"What?!"

"He threatened me, and I wanted to show him that his threats mean jack shit. Sorry, kind of impulsive."

Erik knotted the stitch, set the needle aside, and put his head in his hands. "It is reckless enough to wander the opera house in a nightdress, but it another matter entirely to undress in front of the managers and patrons. Had you not already proven yourself valuable, you would have been sent from the Populaire immediately."

"… Sorry."

"The managers appear to have great faith in your abilities, and they seem to know they need you, so I see no reason why you would face any repercussions. The fop, however, will not have the same response. Avoid him, and avoid being alone when he is in the opera house."

"In short, I won't act like a total idiot, got it."

"This is not a question of your intelligence, this is an issue of what the Vicomte is capable of."

"Aw! My little baby spectre is worried about me!"

"I am not worried, you are more than intelligent enough to follow my instructions – "

"And compliments! My goodness, what have I done in a previous life to deserve this good fortune?"

The look on Erik's face clearly read that she was pushing her luck, so once her stiches were done, she quickly abandoned the lair and its moody inhabitant.

The next day, as she was returning to the dorm to change her shirt before starting an afternoon of set building, she sensed eyes boring into the back of her head. Whipping around, she saw the one person she was least surprised to see: the fop himself. His eyes twinkled triumphantly as she turned. A wide grin was plastered across Raoul's handsome face, his hands were held loosely behind his body. He was obviously relaxed.

Kayla was not.

A snarl curled across her face. "What the hell do you want?"

Raoul stared calmly up at her from the foot of the dorm stairs. "Merely assuring myself that you are not hurt. It would not do for the opera house to lose one of its best employees."

"Ha. Ever consider that that's entirely your fault?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Let's think about this… you sliced me with your damn rapier?!"

"And when was that, mademoiselle?"

"At. The. Masquerade. In. The freaking. Mirror room."

"That is impossible." Raoul looked confused. "You were not there."

"Well, I was dressed to the bloody nines, and in a mask?!" She tapped her temple sarcastically. "Your sight is not as good as it used to be. Only explanation."

Raoul shook his head, his confidence returned. "That was not a rapier wound. You and I were never in contact at the masquerade. It must have been something else."

"And you'd classify my freaking wound because…?!"

"I was a soldier. I know how wounds look."

"You were in the navy!"

"I had bad days."

Kayla's mouth fell open. Throwing her head back, she howled with laughter. Raoul's eyes flickered with worry as he watched her from the bottom of the stairs. She laughed manically, amused by his reaction. "Hahaha, oh good heavens… ah… god bless inadvertent fandom references." Wiping a tear of mirth from her cheek, she turned her back on him and walked across the landing to the dormitory doors.

"Mademoiselle!"

"What?" Kayla snapped, not turning around.

"I also wanted to invite you to dinner."

She turned around and stomped back to the railing. "I would rather have dinner with Satan." Kayla spat out each individual word.

"Why so malicious, mademoiselle?"

"You're engaged you twerp! And even if you weren't, I'd rather start the apocalypse."

"I take it you are refusing my invitation?" Raoul's voice took on a dangerous tone.

She leant out over the railing, her torso hanging in open space and brandishing her index finger at the nobleman. "I will tell your fiancé, I swear to Gabriel."

He smirked. "You would never. You are too kind-hearted to hurt her, and besides, who would believe you? Who would take the word of a simple stage manager over a Vicomte?"

"Did you really just actually take the effort to say that shit out loud?"

"Such vulgar language does not become such a distinguished, beautiful girl."

She twisted her hand and shot an entirely different finger at him. "I don't know what you think I am, but let's just be clear I'm not." She unclenched her hand and waved her outstretched palm. "These are not the mistresses you are looking for."

"Abbots?"

Jamie emerged from the hallway, brown eyes flickering from the dangerously calm nobleman at the bottom of the stairs to the young woman seething at the top. "We were going to start on framework…" his voice trailed off, and he glared at the Vicomte. "Am I interrupting something?"

"Yes, you are, Beverly. Leave us," Raoul growled.

"It's Beaumont, actually," Jamie said, straight-faced.

Kayla tilted her head and smiled manically, channeling all of her inner Harley Quinn into the insane look. "No, you're not interrupting anything, Buchanan sweetie," she simpered. "I'll be right down, I just have to touch up my face. Cause you know, I'm a girl, and couldn't possibly have anything else in my head."

She twirled around and flounced into the dorm, leaving an angry nobleman and a barely-holding-himself-together stagehand standing like rejected suitors on the floorboards below.

Author's Note: That chapter was pretty short, but at least it's a chapter, right? *laughs nervously* My life's been hectic, lots of doctors appointments, family visiting, work, a wedding out of town, family battles... but I swear I'm going to try my best to never leave a chapter waiting this long again. I just have to formulate a path to Don Juan Triumphant, and then I'll be set.

Anyway, thanks to everyone who reviewed/favourited/followed/etc, and to Guest, Guest, Allie, ZoeShields, Lina, Guest, liandra2428, and Guest for their reviews, and to AkatsukiMercy1515 for the fave, and candylandamazon and Blinne for the follows since I can't thank y'all over PM.

Thanks guys, I'll try to make it more exciting next chapter!

Hugs,

Tierney

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