Author's Note: DarlingPhantom, 3x and I had tears streaming down my face for much of it. Nothing like watching those 'wiggle fingers' live, and he went pretty deep into some Leroux Vibes in this Version, which was complimentary to his past works in the role. Voice has aged like fine wine too. I want them to record an album, hopefully with that cast.

Contracts

Any other time, Erik would be livid. In truth, he was rather angry about this turn now. If a bit of discomfort made Christine a star in a proper manner, then discomfort he shall suffer for her. A maiden of light such as his Christine, needed someone who dared walk in its garish rays with her. It was not something he could avoid again.

There was little choice but to create a publicly acceptable persona. Erik L'Chantseur was eccentric, elusive, and valued his privacy. Fame and fortune were not things he coveted. A legion of students was unwanted. If anything, he was highly selective of his students, and a mask was needed to ensure no one would know who he truly was and harass him for a lesson whilst strolling down the avenue like any other man without a mask.

As if he would willingly go maskless, Erik could laugh at the thought. It was necessary to have and act as though half his face was not that of flesh melting off a corpse baking in the sun for the better part of a fortnight.

To keep his privacy outside of singing lessons secret, L'Chantseur gave private lessons in the student's own parlor rather than a rented space or the parlor of his home.

Each of these fabricating thoughts nearly sent a vexed chuckle of irony through him. Yes, yes, students would just demand their lessons to take place beneath the Palais Garnier in the realm of its Opera Ghost. With only himself for humor as the world currently stood, Erik had little choice but to allow the dark self-deprecating jokes to run through his mind. Otherwise, madness via boredom would surely claim him.

Erik donned a special leather mask that was colored to match his skin tone. With the shadow of the fedora tilted over it, the mask allowed him to move about the city during the day with greater ease. Normally, there were arrangements made for him to pick up ordered items at night, but he lacked the luxury of time for the matter at hand.

The errands went quickly enough, Erik already possessed most of the supplies he needed for crafting a new mask by morning. The most time-consuming endeavor was visiting his tailor, Monsieur Brossard, for a new jacket, vest, and even a cravat. Being entirely clad in black and a mask was too relatable to his Opera Ghost persona. A persona that needed to have some level of activity going on while he was in that office with management and Christine.

For the mask he would wear, Erik spent hours working on it. While he kept several full and half masks on hand, they were only foundations that often needed work to be wearable. Usually, it was to cut out eye holes, or the mouth if he chose to reveal it. Sometimes, paint and decoration were needed, depending on the occasion. This time, the mask would need all that work done for this meeting, as it would be the feature of his presentation of Monsieur Erik L'Chantseur.

~x ~x ~X~ x~ x~

Come morning, Christine found herself stunned by the presentation. Granted, she had only known Erik as Erik for nearly a week now, but she did not expect him to wear anything other than his black suit with a white dress shirt and tie. Yet, there he stood with a leather mask that did not draw the eye so readily and a charcoal gray jacket with black velvet at the cuffs and collar, then a high-cut maroon vest was patterned with bits of black and flecks of gold. The ensemble was finished with a light gray silk cravat that was something between ivory and silver, then a golden tie pin with a ruby, which the cut of it, reminded her of a rose.

It was a shame his jacket was merely long and not cut with coattails.

"You have outdone yourself," she smiled.

Those mismatched eyes sparkled with a flash of a smile. "You have not seen the mask yet," he spoke as he extended a hand and helped her down the pale brick steps.

"Oh?"

"Would have been more difficult to hail a cab with it on."

Christine glanced towards the driver of their carriage, who looked ahead with such focus and stiff shoulders that it was hard to dismiss the fact that he was intentionally avoiding acknowledgment.

"Shall we?" Erik asked with a hand sweeping towards the open door.

"Yes," she answered and was led towards the curb.

"Is your hair darker?" instead of the dark brown and slicked-back locks that she was accustomed to, his hair was black and technically short with a few curly waves and errant strands that crested his forehead.

"Hmm, yes." A hand briefly and awkwardly touched it self-consciously. "It is… new," he explained with a slight twitch in his cheek.

Christine grasped her skirts and gripped his stable hand as she climbed the wobbly steps to enter the carriage. "New? You wear a wig?"

Erik cleared his throat as she settled into the cabin before climbing in behind her to sit on the opposite side. "Yes… Growing hair has always been a bit challenging. However, the highlight of that is little need to shave."

Taking a moment to process, she commented, "I can't imagine what it's like to have to shave every day; or go to a barber. I think that's why my father grew a beard. No shaving or barbers, just a trim every few days.

"I would not trust a barber. No matter the steadiness of his hand."

"I… imagine not," she uttered, remembering just to whom she was speaking.

In a shift of conversation, which Erik seemed to be good at regardless of topic whenever it got uncomfortable, he held up the new mask. "What do you think?"

Christine looked up towards the full-faced piece where only the eyes and mouth would be visible. In a hesitant raise of her hand toward it, "May I?"

Erik handed it over with equal pause.

The base color was black, with crimson ribbons of paint as wide as two of her fingers together, running from the mask's left side down. The first painted ribbon of red spanned from the forehead down to a golden brow. The second one swept from the temple and across the cheekbone, down to stop at the upper mouth opening. The third ribbon largely followed the jawline and ended at the side of the mouth. Each ribbon was framed in thin lines of gold paint, as were the eyes and brows. On the opposite side, the gold swirled in decorative patterns against the black, almost in a mirroring pattern until Christine realized it was musical staves with notes playing across them.

"You made this?" she asked while tracing the patterns.

"Yes. I keep a few blank slates on hand as it were, where they only need a bit of painting to complete."

"It's almost Venetian," Christine commented as she handed it back.

"A full Venetian takes many more hours than I had available, and more textures. Traditionally a full-face mask would cover the mouth as well."

Christine glanced to his mouth and where his lower lip began to have a gnarly twist in it and swell as it vanished beneath the mask. How did she not notice before? When she met him, or when she nearly unmasked him, or when she briefly wanted his kiss on the roof?

Erik did not seem to notice her wandering eye as he put the new mask on over the leather one. "Masks do well in attracting the eye," he said as if he read her mind.

She had thought him scarred before, but now pondered a deformity as she looked out the window as the opera grew larger. How bad was it if he was so adamant about hiding whatever lay beneath those masks? Then, his mismatched eyes — how much of a fool was she?

They arrived at the covered entrance meant for the prestigious during performances, and staff when the Palais Garnier was not open to the public. Erik exited the cab before the concierge could reach them, and made it a point to help her down. Between the extendable steps that needed tightening and skirts that were always a bit of a hazard, Christine found her balance fleeting as she gripped his hand tight with her left hand darting from the doorframe to Erik's shoulder.

Erik caught her as she nearly tumbled to kiss brick pavers with her face. Her hands were now at his biceps and his resting at her waist, closer than proper even if he did spare her a fall. It took a moment to realize her feet were planted neatly beneath her.

"Thank you."

Those strange eyes met hers.

"You are welcome," he replied, his accent differing from what she was used to hearing from him.

Erik withdrew from her once assured of her stability, stepping towards the driver to pay as he made some scathing remark about the step.

Christine pursed her lips and clasped her hands neatly before her and soon at Erik's gesture, led the way into the opera. It was rather strange to be leading the Phantom through the very edifice he haunted, to seek out the manager's office. But it was not the Opera Ghost she led forth; it was her tutor, Monsieur L'Chantseur, who needed guidance as he followed close behind.

In truth, Christine was not worried about herself giving something away in the meeting that lay ahead. A man dressed in black with a white half-mask would surely be telling, they could easily, eventually, pin him as the infamous Opera Ghost who wanted his yet unpaid monthly stipend. That was until Erik arrived at the Girys looking as normal as anyone, balancing his appearance somewhere between common and a member of the upper class. Apart from the mask, he almost presented as handsome.

The knowledge of Erik's present identity made Christine fraught with nerves. There was no longer concern that anyone would see through the charade, Erik was managing that with ease despite apparent handicaps. Christine worried that she would be one to give away such secrets.

When they came to the final junction of corridors in reaching the office, Erik's finger grazed her arm as he stopped walking. "Mademoiselle Daaé," the changed accent sounded foreign to her ears in its more northern inflection.

"Monsieur?" she asked, stopping as well. Erik's eyes met hers again as he raised his left index finger to her chin, and lifted it higher although no physical contact was made. "Chin up, shoulders back, breathe…"

Christine obeyed, feeling herself calm as her chest swelled with a deep inhale.

"Good," he praised softly. "Project confidence, even if you feel uncertain. You did well yesterday. You will do well today."

"I wish I had your confidence."

Erik dropped his hand and shifted his weight back to his heels, those eyes sparkling as if he knew some great secret. "You will."

"What if—?"

He shook his head. "Focus on the moment. No 'ifs.'"

Christine swallowed hard and nodded.

"Confidence," he repeated.

Soon with a knock rendered and entry granted, Christine stepped inside with Erik remaining close behind. There, the managers rose from their seats behind mahogany desks which sat caddy-corner to each other, straightening their suits until they caught sight of Erik and his mask.

"Messieurs Firmin, Andre, this is my tutor, Monsieur L'Chantseur," Christine introduced with a motion to each of them.

The managers were slow to blink out of their shameless staring, "Mademoiselle, Monsieur…"

Christine settled into one of the chairs across from the managers while Erik came to stand to her right, just behind her. Whether conscious or not, it seemed Erik always aimed to present her with his 'better half,' even if it were covered today.

"Is that…" Andre began in a stutter, then motioned to his own face.

"It is," came Erik's smooth answer. "I have no wish to take on more students, and my time in the Foreign Legion has left me quite recognizable."

"I– I see," Andre nodded and settled back into his chair.

Firmin handed over the leather padfolio to Erik. "The contract you were so adamant on seeing, Monsieur."

Erik took it and opened it without reading it over. "I assume this is quite different from the one you tried to have her sign last night."

"We have no reason—" Firmin stammered.

"It is my experience that managers are so eager to sign new talent, that they often like to overwork voices until they are ruined," Erik's tone was light but harnessed an edge to the statement. "Then, there are matters of fair payment or appeasement of patrons."

"I daresay, your implication is insulting, Monsieur," balked Andre.

"Valid implication given the fact that I am here by your demand. Scare tactics, really, gentlemen?"

"We merely wanted to ensure that everything was in order," spoke Firmin in a vain attempt to mollify him. "This is the first contract we've had made up."

"I'm sure."

"And to see if you had any more ingénues in need of work," came the futile appeasement.

"Ingénues," he repeated with a bit of ice as though the word itself merited ire. "You already have my best one. No one else is near close to being ready for performances."

"Surely there is another suitable for the chorus?"

"There is not."

Christine found the patterns of her skirt readily fascinating as she debated adding to Erik's argument. Though, he seemed to be handling himself very well.

Erik handed her the contract. "Mademoiselle Daaé will sing no less than two solos per week, and a maximum of five soprano arias per week at the top of her range for performances. You will pay her three hundred francs for each night she sings, and that will be doubled every time she has to perform the lead. Then, whatever else Mademoiselle Daaé finds agreeable."

"Six hundred francs!" gasped an incredulous Andre.

"A small pittance compared to what you are likely paying Madame Guidicelli."

The offer they had inked in the contract was a flat rate of two hundred thirty francs a night. "In truth, if she performs any of Guidicelli's roles, the pay should be significantly closer to what she is paid. However, I digress. Such can be renegotiated in six months."

Christine had little doubt that Erik knew the exact amount they were paying Carlotta.

"She is untested, not one performance to her name," protested Firmin.

"Which is why we ask for so little."

"Indeed," Christine agreed with Erik. "One further addendum I would have, is the means for my dressing room to have new wallpaper. I find the pink florals to be rather nauseating, and would prefer something more neutral."

"And should we rescind our offer…?" Andre strained.

"Then I shall take my talents elsewhere," Christine announced in defense of her worth. "If you cannot recognize the effort it takes to sing Olympia's Aria, I am certain another opera house will. You speak of wanting another soprano who can perform as a lead, but shy from such simple commitments. I am beginning to wonder if I would ever be appreciated here," Christine leaned forward to set the padfolio on the desk as she rose.

Erik neatly clasped his hands behind his back, watching her with a smile in his eyes and a flash of it across his lips.

"I'm sorry to have wasted your time in bringing you here, Maestro. I thought they would have been more willing to speak more openly after their insistence on meeting you. It seems I was merely to be an exploitation and little more," she said, the sparkle in Erik's eyes growing with the surge of confidence within her.

"Better to have learned now. I shall write my contact in Vienna—" Erik replied.

"Wait, please! Let us not be too hasty!" cried Firmin. "Certainly, we can come to an arrangement!"

Christine spun on him. "Hasty, Monsieur? You are both rather hasty in trying to have me sign my life away without so much as a glance at the contract on my part, both last night and this morning! It is insulting. Worse yet, you did try to frighten me by dangling my future on a string because you detest the notion of my wish to have Monsieur L'Chantseur look over everything on my behalf."

"Mademoiselle, in case you have forgotten, you are new and unknown. You could perhaps faint the moment the limelight hits you," spoke Andre. "Worse yet, come down with a terrible case of stage fright, which would ruin us if you had to cover Carlotta."

"You will be ruined if she falls ill and no one replaces her as you have said yourself. It is not as though we ask for much, Messieurs. Since you think so little of me, I will spare you the trouble of re-writing the contract," Christine turned to leave again with purposeful steps towards the door, wondering where all this nerve suddenly came from. Was it to do with the fact that projecting confidence was making her feel confident? Or was it just that Erik's presence instilled it within her?

Erik sidestepped with her, parting his hands to grasp the knob to open the door for her.

"Wait!" both managers begged. Christine stopped her retreat, looking to Erik, wide-eyed and questioning where only he could see her.

His eyes narrowed. Not in anger but in mirroring uncertainty for reasoning that she did not know. Regardless, he did incline his head whenever he seemed to settle on whatever rampant question ran in his mind.

"If this is another attempt to keep me here to ensure your fame of my discovery, I have a further addendum," Christine began and turned back to them. "I will only take vocal coaching from Monsieur L'Chantseur. Should he choose to present here, those under the employ of the opera will respect his wish for privacy regarding his masks. It's the least we can do for a veteran."

When she glanced over to Erik, she found his eyes wide and jaw slack in unbridled astonishment. All of which vanished as he turned back to the management as well.

"Very well…" Andre relented and Firmin gestured them back to the chairs.

Author's Note: I do not plan scenes, or even chapters. I get a general idea of what I want to do, and the Characters tell me what they want said. Christine was...quiet in the office, content to let Erik do everything, and after a couple of 'Come on girl, gimme something here,' and there she was.

Erik and I were stunned to say the least, in the most pleasant way. I hope you liked it.

I was so proud of her and how well Erik and her just played off each other in their negotiations. But that is also a credit to the specific actors that inspire how I write them.