Author's Note: Hello! Real quick for anyone reading my other fic Ghost Story, that update should either come out later tonight or sometime tomorrow. Details why will be posted there.

Now, on to interruptions…

The Singing Teacher

No one would fault him.

Not one, single, hot-blooded man would ever begrudge him.

Whoever knocked on that God-damned door deserved absolute death!

Alas, with Christine so willingly beneath him wanting a taste of heaven that their bodies teased, Erik knew these riled thoughts stemmed from his aroused state. Not the best frame of mind to be in at any given moment when he would do well to remember his faculties.

As much as he wanted to give her another kiss on her temple, her forehead, her lips, alas time was not in their favor. Even as he sprang off her and grasped her hands to pull her to her feet, time worked against them.

"Just a moment!" Christine called, flustered and red cheeked.

"Water," he mouthed more than whispered, with a quick motion to his face.

Christine nodded after a quick second and darted to her dressing table, dipping her fingers into the neighboring basin and dripped water over her eyes, squinting very tight between droplets.

In turn, Erik grasped his full mask and slid it back into place. As he strode towards the door, he plucked up his jacket and carefully draped it over his arm, covering other traitorous areas.

He glanced at Christine to see her seated at the small mirrored table, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief to simulate being upset. Oh, she caught his meaning so well.

Their illusion only took fifteen seconds to create, but it was still too long for Erik's liking.

Upon his beloved's nod, Erik opened the door to the faces of the two most prominent understudies of Alison and Murphy. The pair stood briefly frozen at the sight of his masked face, swallowing hard before finding their voices.

"Is Christine alright?" asked Alison, shrinking a little under his gaze. "She left in such a state."

"I'm alright Allie, just a bit…" Christine shook her head, "I don't even know. It is all so much, too much."

Erik stepped aside and motioned for them to come in after Christine gave a nod.

"I can only imagine," Alison said as she went Christine's side and embraced her. "The things she said to you, to you both, were awful."

"Even LeFevre would not have tolerated that," Murphy said as he stepped into the room as well. "I did not care for him much, but at least he had standards and wanted success for the company."

Erik closed the door behind the younger man and moved to stand where he had the sofa between him and the others, letting the jacket slide onto the backrest. It helped that the passionate fires within were cooling. "Greed has a way of stifling art, especially by those who fail to appreciate it fully."

"I wonder if our new managers will ever realize that," Murphy sighed, "Otherwise, I will have to start looking elsewhere."

"They will if they want to save themselves from humiliation. However, that would imply they have some measure of intelligence, which is debatable," Erik replied, dryly.

Christine cast him a look that, if he read it correctly, was torn between chastising and humor. Perhaps both.

"Erik," she chided, but drew her lips in to curb a possible smile.

Both.

"I apologize, Mademoiselle. You could say I am still rather wound up from everything," he replied with a slight head tilt when speaking the last word, careful with his candor.

Her cheeks reddened, catching his truer meaning, and she played it off beautifully as her hands smoothed her skirts. "I still cannot believe she spoke to you like that, much less attempt to slap you."

"I could say the same for you, Christine! You did what I've only dreamed of doing for months now," spoke Alison in budding enthusiasm as she clutched Christine's hands in what Erik assumed to be a supportive manner.

"I should not have done that," Christine sighed, "Though, at the same time, I don't regret it for a moment."

No, she should never regret that moment. Not for one instant. It was too glorious and enlightening to be dismissed, apart from the fact that her sudden display of bravado made him want her more. How that was even possible, went beyond comprehension; but Erik was not about to dwell upon it either. No, there were more imminent matters to occupy his mind. "I assume you both are primarily here for the matter of practicing with some measure of guidance?"

"Yes, Monsieur," Alison nodded. "Christine spoke with you about our predicament?"

"She was pleading your case, yes."

"We will pay you," Murphy offered, in effort to tip the decision in their favor.

On any other man or even that other life, it might sway him. There was only thing that Erik wanted in compensation, and it was not money.

Erik crossed his arms over his chest and shifted his gaze to Christine, who had that hopeful look shining in those beautiful eyes. His fingers rippled, weighing his options and just how he wanted to proceed.

~x ~x ~X~ x~ x~

Rehearsals were cancelled for the remainder of the day and Richard Firmin sat slumped in his chair with a glass of warm brandy near empty on his desk, the decanter already half gone. What he thought was going well was proving disastrous, according to one man, who had no stakes in this other than a student.

"Why are you letting this bother you?" asked Giles, from the neighboring desk and his own chair. "He has no name or reputation, just meddling tutor who is probably just trying to get his 'jollies' with that girl."

"That girl is here by her own merits," Richard sighed, as he traced a finger around the rim of the glass. "She has no money, no patron to sway us to her favor, or have you forgotten the fact that you hired her on the spot?"

"I have not, but she is not yet a star either. Not much use to us at this point. People are not coming to the Opera to see her," grumbled Giles, as he nursed his own brandy.

"Not yet…"

"Just as well. You heard Carlotta. Christine's voice is good but does not carry the same weight. L'Chantseur even admitted as much."

"Yes. If he is willing to point out the flaws of his own student, it makes his remarks about our company all the more pertinent. He's right you know; our efforts to elevate our own status is coming at the cost of the company's future. We— You're letting Carlotta and Piangi run about like they own the place and spreading vitriol."

"You're trying to control the rehearsals over Reyer, and you know even less about how things are done than our critic," Giles quipped back.

"Then…we should… re-evaluate. Perhaps it is best if we split our roles." Richard muttered, as he continued sliding his finger around the rim of the liquor glass.

"What do you mean?"

Richard was silent as he assembled and rolled the forming thought around his mind. Then, he sat up straighter, with a snap his fingers, "We are agreed that we don't want this company to come to ruin whilst we are running things, yes?"

"Of course," Giles shrugged. "But we need patron support, and we've not drawn much new patronage to the Foyer de la Danse as of late."

"Which will go smoother when we have something decent to show them."

Giles gave a slow nod, catching on to Richard's point. "One us manages our public, the other runs the company."

"Precisely."

"Then I will manage the internal matters—"

Richard shook his head. "You know more about music and singers— I grant you that, but with Carlotta having you wrapped around her finger, it won't work. Not in the way we need everything to work."

Giles sat back a little, pinching his moustache thoughtfully. "We consult each other on any major decision," he stipulated.

"Of course."

"Hiring and firing, contracts, etcetera."

Richard gave a firm nod.

"Alright…"

Before their conversation could carry into further detail on their budding arrangement, a knock came at their door.

"Yes, come in!" called Giles.

One of the double doors creaked open to reveal Reyer, with his tightly trimmed moustache, peaking into the office. His dark eyes were wider and meeker than usual, "Ah, Messieurs? You should come see this."

"See what?"

"Just come!"

The managers shared a glance before pushing off from their desks and rising to follow. Reyer wove them through the corridors of the Garnier's inner workings, drawing closer to the rehearsal rooms where piano music and voices began trickling through the passages to their ears. When they reached the room where music danced with magical grace, the voices of Weaver and Murphy rose with it in their duet of Queen Ino imploring the Magician, Elphingor, to break up the love of Hellé and Arsame with a false vision of Arsame's infidelity.

When they peaked through the door that was opened just a crack, they saw the form of L'Chantseur at the piano, swaying with the music as his hands danced across the keys, though his attention remained on the pair.

"He might lack a reputation," Reyer began, "but he knows what he's doing. I have never heard them sing like that, and the arrangement he is playing is not even one I know or have seen published anywhere."

"What do you mean, the arrangement?" asked Richard.

Reyer repressed the urge to roll his eyes. "An opera is broken down into parts for a singular instrument, for either home playing, vocals, and rehearsals like this. He is free playing his own chords to make it sound closer to an actual orchestra. Whatever music he has before him, likely their vocals, is only acting as his guide."

The music stopped abruptly and L'Chantseur was half raised from the bench seat as he spoke to the singers. Though the words were too distant to hear, they were sharp and focused to the matter of their voices. He spoke equally with his hands, motioning through the air with a dancer's fluidity, and emphasizing points with gestures for the singers follow.

When L'Chantseur settled back on the bench and began playing again at the beginning of Murphy's line, the music was simplified to the vocal notes, and the voice that sang next was not that of Murphy, but L'Chantseur. The rich, dark timbre of L'Chantseur's voice filled the room and leaked to their ears in emotive candor that colored the resonance of his tone, perfect for a role like Elphingor or even Arsame's true form, Neptune.

That voice held them all in place as they listened to the single line. Even Weaver and Murphy seemed drawn into that sound, leaning close in their fascination. Mademoiselle Daaé watched from a nearby chair with a soft smile, as she clutched her music score to her chest.

When L'Chantseur stopped, he spoke plainly as his fist clutched the air over his stomach and then his hand rose with a splay of fingers, as if explaining how to produce the sound he just created. Murphy gave a nod and followed the given technique when music came from the piano again; this time, his resonance improved with a fuller sound than what came prior. While it carried the desirable depth and clarity of sound, it failed to match L'Chantseur's delivery. Regardless, Murphy improved with that tutelage, and not one silent observer could deny that.

"That is not some hack off the street taking money with minor knowledge of what he is doing. He knows. That man is a musician in every sense of the word," stated Reyer.

"What are you saying, man?" asked Giles in a hushed tone, as their small group stepped away from the doorway.

"He was right in what he said during rehearsals," Reyer admitted. "I have grown fatigued in placating Carlotta and with the constant change of management. Even the thought of new management deciding to sack me and take my retirement because of some disagreement, has become loathsome."

"Oh? I presume you mean our meddling?" asked a perturbed Giles.

Reyer swallowed hard. "Yes…I have been running everything for years now, and I cannot have you both interjecting yourselves into my rehearsals. I do not wish to retire with a circus tarnishing my otherwise solid career."

"And what does this have to do with…that?" asked Richard, as he motioned towards the rehearsal room.

"I've been reminded of why I became a conductor and director to begin with— to bring quality music to the world and not to contort it into a popularity contest," Reyer was resolute and quiet in his words to the pair. "If that means I am to be fired, so be it."