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

50

The next morning, Kayla was greeted with a pounding headache, eyes that steadfastly refused to open, and eardrums grated by the loud chatter of the ballerinas getting ready for a day of rehearsal. She groaned and buried her face under the quilt. Her throat was sore, her head was pounding, and every bone was aching. She must have really let loose last night…

She vaguely remembered being carried by Erik. Maybe that was a dream. Hopefully the meltdown she foggily recalled having was as well.

"Kayla." A hand shook her shoulder. "Full dress rehearsal, you need to get up."

Kayla made a noise of absolute disgust and squirmed deeper beneath her blankets. "This is not like you at all, Kayla; are you feeling all right?"

"Just peachy. It's only Satan using my head as a piñata."

"Pardon?"

"Meg, could you maybe not shout?"

"I'm not shouting."

"Babes, you have to whisper. I'm pretty sure I'm hungover."

"Pretty sure?"

"Don't give me that look, I don't have enough experience with being this drunk to tell."

"La Carlotta threw an excellent wedding, then?"

"It was the freaking best. You should have been there, it was fabulous. Except for drunken Raoul. That was decidedly less fabulous."

"Le Vicomte got drunk?"

"Man, he was wasted," Kayla said, shaking he head as she army rolled out of her bed and onto the floor. "It wasn't pretty. I should probably talk to Christine about that, shouldn't I?"

Meg looked conflicted. "I suppose… I would not want Christine to be hurt in any way."

"Agreed."

"What do you mean, 'Raoul was wasted'? Was he hurt?"

Christine's doe brown eyes were troubled, stage light glinting off her glossy brown curls as she stood with Kayla in the wings. Kayla crossed her arms, eyes narrowed as she tried to sort out the numerous explanations swirling through her head. She sighed. "He was really, really drunk last night, Christine. He tried to fight one of Carlotta's cousins and he actually got kicked out of the reception. I just thought you should know."

"Raoul would never do anything like that, he's so kind."

"Alcohol removes inhibitions, Christine. If that's his behaviour when he's at his least inhibited, what else is he capable of? I don't want you to get hurt."

Christine looked away, staring at the ground. "Why did he fight?"

"He – it doesn't matter, actually. What matters is that he got violent, and I wanted you to know about it."

"But he told me that the reception was lovely. He wouldn't lie to me."

"The reception was lovely, but he was not. It's not technically a lie, but he is omitting certain truths in order to manipulate you."

Christine's shoulders slumped.

"Aw, baby, don't be upset." Kayla looped her arm over the young soprano's shoulders and hugged her. "He's a little boy, and boys at his age are not known for their intelligence."

"But he is over twenty years of age!"

"Honey, I'm twenty, at most he's a year older than me. Trust me, I interacted with a lot of men his age at university, and they are not the epitome of class and sophistication."

Christine cracked a small smile at Kayla's joking tone.

"There, that's it! There's happy Daäe! I wouldn't worry too much about it, but be careful, 'kay? Don't dive into something… rash… without having all the information."

Christine buried into the older girl's side. "Thank you, Kayla."

"No problem. I'd advise talking to him though. Tell me what he says, I can vouch for you if he gives you any sh – I mean, if he tries to deny it."

As the younger woman's head snapped up, Kayla watched as the brunette's eyes zeroed in on the Vicomte as he walked down the aisle of the auditorium. "Hey, asshat! This is private rehearsal, no spectators! Christine, would you take your fiancé outside, please?"

Christine's eyes narrowed determinedly. "Certainly."

She hopped down the ledge of the stage and stomped towards her fiancé, who had the decency to look slightly guilty. Grabbing the man's arm, the little soprano pulled him towards the door, her audibly furious whispers carrying back to the completely silent stage. As the door shut behind the couple, Jamie leaned out over the edge of the catwalk. "Well, that escalated quickly."

"Leetle Daäe es not as much of a leetle mouse as I thought," Carlotta shrugged, tossing her head.

There was an explosion of laughter that only died down at Maestro Reyer's furious insistence that they return to rehearsal. And hidden in Box Five, a spectre smiled.

Kayla woke up a week before the premiere of Don Juan and realized that it was her birthday. She was twenty one. She had reached legal British Columbian drinking age in 1870's France. It was surreal.

The surreal peace was not to last.

Shouting came from downstairs. "We're not supposed to have rehearsal today, shut up, everyone," she muttered. Throwing back her covers, she threw on a cardigan and stormed out of the door, glowering at the sight of the ballet rats rubbing their eyes. Even though the youngest corps members were not performing in the opera, Madame Giry had been working all of the dancers as hard as possible, and everyone was exhausted. They needed sleep, not someone making a racket on one of their few days off.

Kayla threw open the door and strode over to the balcony railing, peering down at the stage. Through gaps in the set pieces, she could see Raoul and the managers walking purposefully through the backstage.

"We have all been blind…"

Oh shit. The final stretch had begun.

"… and yet the answer is staring us in the face; this could be the chance to ensnare our clever friend…"

"We're listening," Andre sang.

"Go on," added Firmin.

"We shall play his game, perform his work, but remember we hold the ace. For, if Miss Daäe sings, he is certain to attend…"

"We make certain the doors are barred…"

"We make certain the police are there…"

"We make certain they are armed."

"The curtain falls, his reign will end!"

"Hey!"

The three men looked up at the girl in white leaning over the railing. "Would you people shut up?! No one cares if you're trying to catch the opera ghost, we all need our sleep! As the three people who are literally doing zero work in this opera, might I suggest that yOU SHUT THE HELL UP?!"

The men stared, open mouthed, at the furious creature as she swept away with a swish of her white nightgown. "Happy birthday to me," she muttered angrily.

And not another disturbance occurred that day.

"So I heard from Meg that you had a birthday yesterday," Jamie remarked as he and Kayla lifted the large gaslights they were using to simulate fire onto the centre of the stage.

"Yeah, I guess I did. It's a little hard focusing on being a year older when you've got a phantom and a fop both breathing down the back of your neck. Goodness, this is heavy."

"And you didn't think about telling your loyal crew about that particular fact?"

"About how this gaslight is freaking heavy? No, I thought you knew."

"I'm talking about your birthday, you idiot."

"And I'm talking about the opera we're supposed to be prepping for, ass. I don't have time for birthdays."

"We'll make time. After this is all over, we'll go to a pub. You haven't been to a proper French pub yet. You, me, the crew, and the best ale in Paris. Deal?"

A twinge pulsed through Kayla's heart, but she merely smiled. "Deal."

Three days before the premiere date, everything was ready. The stage was perfectly set, all pieces built and in place, ready for the performance. The orchestra was thoroughly rehearsed, the choreography stunning, and the cast was pulling out their best work since Hannibal six months before. Even the composer seemed to think that everything was ready.

Everything, except, of course, Christine.

The soprano panicked every single day about one thing or another, and judging by the whispers from the cast and the ballet corps, even La Carlotta herself was easier to deal with than the talented Miss Daäe. She panicked about her costume fittings, she panicked whenever she made the slightest mistake in a song, she panicked during every rehearsal, and she panicked at any allusion at all concerning the Opera Ghost. The feisty determination that had impressed everyone in the weeks before vanished under a mountain of nerves. She did not have the spunk to scold the patron now.

Kayla was almost always called in. The cast and crew alike seemed enthralled with the idea of their young, eccentric stage hand being their shining knight, taking charge and standing against the devilish patron. They seemed to think she was the only one that could be trusted to care completely and utterly about the people working in the Populaire, not the profit or the patrons or the spectators.

Christine trusted Kayla. She and Meg were the only ones who could calm the young primadonna down during a panic, the only ones who could coax her back into a rehearsal, and the only two whom Christine absolutely insisted on being extremely close by at all times. Generally she begged for them to stay in the wings while she was onstage, which the two girls tried to accommodate, switching quickly between their duties and their post, running through the backstage and dressing rooms like they were being chased by wolves. Kayla, sprinting as she tried to make it downstairs by Christine's next scene, almost inadvertently hurled herself off the catwalk on six separate occasions. But as long as it helped Christine keep rehearsing, it seemed worth it.

"I appreciate your attention to Mademoiselle Daäe," Erik commented quietly. Kayla was sitting in Box Five, watching as the chorus rehearsed the finale. Everyone else had already been dismissed, but Maestro Reyer was insistent that the chorus still needed work.

"I appreciate Reyer's perfectionism, my goodness. Aw, look at that, he's yelling at them. He's so cute."

There was a snort from the hollow column in the corner. "You are ignoring me, mademoiselle."

"I'm listening, I'm listening. Chill."

"I truly do appreciate your attention to Ms. Daäe. There would be no opera without her."

Swiveling around in her seat, Kayla shot a glare at the column. "There'd be no opera without any of these people, Erik. Sorry, but this is not just about Christine."

There was a moment of silence. "I understand your position. But you are omniscient, you know what all of this is for."

Huffing, Kayla slumped in the red velvet chair that she had begun this journey in. "I get it, but it's incorrect. This is well beyond a love story from where I'm standing."

Erik was silent for so long that Kayla thought maybe he had left. "Of course this is well beyond anything you have seen. This is my masterpiece. This is my universe."

Kayla massaged her temples with her fingertips. "This is way too meta for me now. Meta, meta, meta."

Erik laughed. "You are echoing, Kayla."

"Oh, shit. Dammit, Erik, I thought that was a dream."

"It was not, which was amusing for me."

"I've had, like, two weeks of blissful ignorance of the fact that I completely embarrassed myself, and you ruined it, Erik. You ruined it."

"I apologize for the inconvenience."

"But I digress. Isn't there anything else in your universe? Anything at all? There's got to be more to your life than opera."

She heard him shift from within the wall. "I have lived nowhere but here, mademoiselle. I have done nothing but as a ghost, created nothing more worthy than my masterpiece. If this is my life and after this I vanish, so it must be."

"I feel like that's a flawed philosophy, my small cinnamon roll."

"I am a man of flaws, Kayla. Why should my philosophy be any different?"

"Because we're all flawed. It's kind of a thing."

Erik chuckled. "There are those without flaw."

Kayla groaned. "I give up. I cannot waste my life explaining this shit to you." She leant out over the edge of the box, grinning as she watched Reyer shriek at an unfortunate tenor. "But Don Juan's coming along, eh?"

"So it would seem."

"Aw, you can't fool me, you think we're doing well."

"There are only certain people who are meeting my standards, but it will have to suffice. You, Ms. Giry, and Ms. Daäe: the only three with whom I have no concerns whatsoever."

"If you're trying to argue 'without flaw' again, I swear I will come in there and fight you."

"You are more than welcome to try."

Things we lost to the flames,

Things we'll never see again…

Kayla stared out over the empty theatre, her gaze flickering periodically up to the still magnificence of the crystal chandelier. The Don Juan theme had been looping over and over in her head the entire day, and she had – inconveniently enough – taken the period just after two 'o'clock in the morning to try to calm her nerves. Thus, the risky presence of her miraculous phone in her back pocket, earbuds looped, incognito, under her shirt, and Bastille crooning in her ears.

All that we have amassed

Sits before us, shattered into ash

These are the things, the thing we lost

The things we lost in the fire, fire, fire…

The final dress rehearsal was the next morning.

Don Juan Triumphant premiered in two days. Well, tomorrow, technically.

The suddenness of it all was unsettling. Had she really been here since the end of September? She'd turned 21 in 1871, found a new best friend, worked in a renowned theatre and headed her own department – she felt accomplished. At the same time she knew that the accomplishment was going to be ripped away in a day, one way or another. It felt too final to be real, and yet all too real to be final. It was paradoxical and it made no sense. Kayla bent over and rested her head on the edge of the second balcony, shutting her eyes. She was too tired for this.

I was the match and you were the rock

Maybe we started this fire

We sat apart and watched

All we had burned on the pyre…

"You need your rest, little magician."

The voice came from the lurking shadows. Kayla turned to face the dark, pulling an earbud out of her ear so as to better hear the ghost.

"You've never called me that before. Why start now?"

Now the voice was right next to her ear. "You come from another world. You know the future. You helped a ghost to realize a dream years upon years in the making."

"I don't know the future anymore." It was only partially true. "I'm not magic, Erik."

Do you understand that we will never be the same again?

Laughter echoed around her. "You move between heaven and hell, comforting the angels and abetting the devil, living in both realms and yet in none."

"Have you been drinking?"

He laughed again.

"That's not an answer."

"I have something for you," he murmured, completely ignoring her. Something nudged her feet, and she jumped. There was a bundle by the toe of her foot. Bending down, she picked it up and unfolded it. It was a vest, black, covered with a shimmering garden of delicate red embroidery and fastened with gold buttons. There was also a shirt, a black button up, silky and far more feminine than the clothes she was used to working in these days.

"Did you do the embroidery yourself?"

"Is that your main concern after I have given you a gift?"

"It's an honest question! Nothing wrong with dudes doing embroidery!"

He snorted.

"Well, thank you… What is it for?"

"You will wear it during the Opera. You will blend in perfectly with the actors, just in case you need to… intervene."

Flames and a shattering chandelier flashed before her eyes. "I hope it doesn't come to that."

"You are working with the devil. Anything is possible. Unless, of course, you are completely on the side of the angels."

"I may be on the side of the angels but don't think for a second that I am one of them."

"Of course not. You are the magician. You shelter both and yet are neither."

"This is paradoxically weird. I'm way too tired for paradoxes."

This time, Erik's laugh seemed more genuine; happier, almost. "You need your rest, Kayla. I will take my leave."

"Wait! Can I hug you? You just gave me a present, and I feel the need to express my affection for my little opera ghostie!"

There was a long moment of silence.

"We seem to be having these awkward silences a lot lately."

He still did not respond.

"I'm sorry, that was stupid, I'll just go to bed…"

"Wait…"

His protestation was uncharacteristically soft. Kayla stopped mid-step, looking back as the tall dark shape melted out of the dark. Their gazes met.

"Is that a yes?"

He nodded, barely noticeable through the dark. Kayla stepped forward, hesitating slightly. "Feel free to… shove me away. Or something." He nodded again.

And then Kayla hugged the Phantom.

He was really tall. That was the most noticeable thing. He was muscular beneath the cloak; he did not appear to be wearing his multiple jackets today. And he was warm. Very warm. His arms moved around her shoulders very gingerly, resting gently on her back. Kayla kept her arms wrapped around his waist for a moment longer, then squeezed and let go, stepping back and trying to keep her face friendly and impassive. "You're a pretty good hugger considering your dislike of physical affection," she joked, keeping her voice light. Erik's lips curled from beneath the mask.

"I appreciate the compliment, Kayla. Now off to bed with you, there is still much work to be done."

She nodded, smiled, and waved before turning and heading off to the dorm. When she snuck a glance back a moment later, the opera ghost was nowhere to be seen. A bubble of glee rose inside of her chest. She tried to quash it, but the steady pulse of joy refused to be quenched. Kayla frowned to herself. "If what I think is happening, is happening: it better not be," she muttered. Pulling open the door to the dormitory, she slipped inside, the final lyrics ringing softly in her ears. Now was not the time to start developing feelings. The whole world she had built up for herself here would be gone in twenty four hours, replaced with whatever it was that came after; home, Calgary, school, or maybe something else entirely. She was too tired to try to consider what it would be like to be back home. Despite her fierce scolding of her own thoughts, she drifted off to sleep with the memory of Erik's arms around her.

Flames – they licked the walls…

Tenderly they turned to dust all that I adore…

Author's Note: We're coming up on the end. I'm trying not to rush it, but to be honest I still want to make the contest deadline. But I'm posting more regularly lately! But 50 chapters... feels like a milestone. Its kind of nice to feel like I'm making a lot of progress on this story despite my crazy schedule... I was up past 1am last night trying to finish up this chapter and a paper for my Greek history class. So that was fun.

Thanks to everyone who read, followed, favourited, reviewed, etc. etc. and to Guest, Liandra2428, and sherlollyshipper for their guest reviews, and to mytumblr2016 for the follows, since I can't PM those readers.

I love you all, thanks for sticking with me for this long. Hugs for you all!

Love, Tierney