Author's Notes(feel free to skip!): Hi! It's been a while, I know! Work demanded my energy to the point that I could no longer write anything, or do anything I enjoyed. Also, other stuff: to Nutshell, deaths(An Uncle and 7yr Guinea Pig.) A week across the country (I was in California; I live in Virginia) turned into two weeks because happy things became tragic. To top it off, I had 5 weeks with a new puppy, Emerik, aka housebreaking and teething…

Don't look at my hands, they ain't pretty. I'm the main chew toy here.

Every time I sat down to write, that little 'Piranha' Pup wanted to eat something like power cords, so it killed the flow. It's not a "Grand" Chapter. While it seems straightforward, it wasn't. Dialogue and plot threads made it more challenging to navigate into coherent storytelling. I hope future updates won't take so long for me to get out.

Lastly - Rekindled Symphony is posted, and tied in Erik's Past - the lead-up to the "Beneath a Moonless Sky" references.

Reviewer Responses(Since FFN doesn't like sending messages.)

Sbrollin93: Once More's first fan! The brothers are a special kind of delight to play around with, and I will keep the updates coming as fast as I can. Sorry about the long wait!

MarilynKC: Brothers reuniting and meeting Christine? I am so looking forward to it!

Sarah Osbourne: Thank you so much! I have to credit my Beta for nudging me to bring out the brothers. When I mentioned that I had them(Well one) in my headcanon, she wanted more. Hehe. Glad you enjoy and I am happy to produce something people like reading.

Moonybloom: Can you define what a 'Chandelier-like line' is for you? I would like to try and clear up anything that might seem unclear, be it in the story itself or explaining something to you. I strive for clarity in my writing and I always want to improve it. I am glad that my story has been worth the effort for your reading time, and I hope the update is satisfying!

Teen545: Hehe, I love a little irony when it involves Raoul/this Raoul. Oh, the backfire is so fun. I wonder what he will do if he gets to learn of the relation between the Investigators and the Competition!

Methodology

"We can't seek him out," Liam said.

"What? You're kidding," Valen protested. "This is the closest we've been to finding him in years."

The small group sat around the dinner table with the marginal remains of a decent stew before them as Valen finished explaining his encounter with the Vicomte de Chagny. Natalie contented herself to watch the discussion unfold between the brothers, not because she was without opinion, but rather that the matter hit them harder than she could imagine. Her foremost concerns lingered on her husband. Although Liam often presented himself as the embodiment of self-control and stoicism, she knew those carefully controlled emotions ran deeper than most anyone knew.

This matter of their wayward sibling pulled at her husband's mind in unfamiliar ways, which she struggled to read.

"Yes, it is," Liam agreed without enthusiasm. "But it occurs to me that he has not approached us either. In fact, the only time he ever comes around that we know of is by some fortuitous timing when our lives have come under threat. Which means he does watch us enough to know where we are."

"He needs a nudge," Valen protested. "To know that we do want to know him."

"Which has been given. I don't know about you, but I have yet to witness any extra shadows lingering outside my window," Liam added, a tightness growing in his voice as he gestured towards the glass panes separating their dining room from the outside world. "Nor has there been a knock on my door."

"He probably thought we were just being polite," the younger pressed. "That the invitation was empty, out of propriety rather than sincerity."

"I am not in the habit of extending such frivolous invitations."

"How is he to know the difference?"

"Who is to say he does not?"

"It has only been two days," Natalie interjected. "If he has other engagements or is as sweet on this Christine as the Vicomte thinks, he might be preoccupied and has not had the chance to come by."

Valen looked at her as though her comment was a slight betrayal. "You too?"

"All I am saying is that patience might be best. There are many reasons why someone in his position would show some hesitance, especially if he's anything like the two of you," she glanced between them.

"You mean like him?" Valen nodded to his brother. "You realize it took him the better part of two years to ask you to dinner."

A minuscule flush rose to her cheeks as she rested her hand over Liam's, "I know," she replied with a warm smile.

Liam's lips twitched in that small bit of bashfulness that always endeared her to him.

"I am not saying to wait that long. But it might be worth looking into the Vicomte's line of thought."

Liam raised a brow, "Christine?"

Natalie smiled with a nod. "As you know, Kian often goes to the opera with either his family or as the on-call physician. Well, he has mentioned that Danyal is smitten with this new singer, whose name happens to be Christine. When they went to meet her backstage, they came upon her declining invitations from a very persistent Vicomte, the same Vicomte whom he had to examine after his chair crumbled with him in it."

The brothers shifted in their seats with straightening backs and all attention on her. "Did he mention the name of this Vicomte?" asked Liam.

"He did not. It wouldn't bode well if he mentioned the names of those he treats at the Opera."

Valen's fingers gave a single, thoughtful ripple on the table before the brothers shared a glance that was indicative of their minds racing through the numerous possibilities of newfound information.

"Yes, he will be in the office tomorrow," she answered before they could ask. "I'm sure he could delight you in the many rumors that are murmured in the shadows of that place. Some of them can be quite interesting."

~x ~x ~X~ x~ x~

The next day, rehearsals went as Erik expected; disjointed and chaotic, with little in the way of improvement. It mattered little when he saw the light in his beloved's eyes and the brightness of her smile. Every little stolen glance Christine took in his direction made his soul leap with an electric charge that tingled through him.

She did not offer a smile in those moments, for the same reason he did not acknowledge her glances. It pained him to remain restrained. It became a rare moment that he was thankful for the mask, as he would surely betray his affection for her otherwise. Though it was inevitable that their relationship would become known, Erik wanted her career pushed further along than its present state. Christine deserved to be known for her talent rather than being attached to her tutor.

While Erik did not give a damn about his reputation, he cared about hers.

Yet, therein laid a conundrum. If he managed to marry her and a child came along despite efforts to the contrary, what would she decide? Would she act as most mothers do and remain with the child? Would she want to continue working? Although Erik would be content with whatever she wanted, a part of him dreaded the idea of Christine leaving her career.

He knew he was selfish for her time and attention to a maddening degree that he struggled to manage while not stifling his songbird. However, to keep her away from the limelight was as aggravating as it was a contradiction. Erik wanted to keep her all to himself where only he could enjoy her wonderful voice, but he also wanted to…show her off. Show off the work and attention he put into training that voice.

They would have little need of the income she would generate, though the world would not see it that way. A working wife and a hideous man without employment? What a horrible selection of husbands if she is forced to work and he cannot.

Erik grimaced at the notion, which wounded his pride.

It did not bother him in the conventional sense. He knew the truth of the matter after all. The troubling thought came with the fact that if Christine wanted her career, he would be alone with any progeny. The Gustave he knew would have been simple to handle. The boy was old enough to relate to and self-sufficient in the fundamentals of life. But an infant? A toddler? Helpless and wholly dependent on a parent? What was he to do with a little human who did not know how to talk and often soiled whatever garment they wore on a thoughtless whim?

God…

The idle mental wanderings, a byproduct of dull rehearsals, made his head start to ache with vicious little jabs in his temples.

Perhaps… it was best to never exceed what they were already doing. If his hands and mouth could bring her pleasure and her caress brought him his, why would they need to do more? Why risk a child when they could just fondle each other? It might not be swimming in her warmth but it could suffice.

…Hardly.

Where he had the memory of an unforgettable night to carry with him, this Christine did not. It would be cruel of him to deny his beloved such an experience.

The stabbing in his temple settled into a persistent ache that pulsed with Carlotta singing a line in the most shrill way possible.

Grimacing, Erik shut his eyes tight and slid the tips of his fingers beneath the edges of the mask to press into the small hollows of his temples. While it did little to ease the pain, it was better than nothing. At least the afternoon break was drawing closer.

"I see the rehearsal is grating you again."

Erik froze a moment before dropping his hands and shifting his prudent gaze over to the more fashionable manager. Even though Firmin always presented himself as tidy, it appeared that he ran a hand through salt-pepper hair too many times that day, and his maroon jacket had abnormal creases in odd places.

"I believe we have already established that it is better not to ask for my opinion, Monsieur," Erik replied in a guarded tone, chilly like the spring air.

Firmin bowed his head in brief conceit. "Monsieur Murphy and Mademoiselle Weaver are in… better voice."

Erik eyed him from the corner of his mask, in no mood to pander. "Your point?"

Firmin's jaw clamped shut. "I know you gave them a lesson, after everything."

"At Mademoiselle Daaé's behest."

"I wasn't aware Mademoiselle Daae had such a... discerning ability to root out talent. That on top of her lovely voice...well, she's a veritable spring of surprises, isn't she?"

Erik turned to Firmin now, brow rising, although the latter could not see it beyond a slight lift of the mask.

It did not take much for the older man to squirm under his unyielding gaze. "I jest…" Firmin stammered.

Erik clasped his hands behind the small of his back.

"Surely you can appreciate a bit of humor."

"I do…when it is humorous," came the dry reply.

Firmin appeared to shrink back as he swallowed hard and brushed a hand over his face. "Fair enough," he managed to utter after clearing his throat. "Poor humor aside… Monsieur Andre and I wanted to speak with you in our office."

Tilting his head, Erik felt his hands curl into fists. "The office," he repeated with a low lilt in his tone.

"Yes. It would be better to speak with you privately, beyond the more prying ears," Firmin pressed, with a glance to the rest of the theater.

Nearby stood a gaggle of Petit Rats and other cast members who were more occupied with fleeting glances their way, as though expecting another showdown between Vocal Instructor and Manager. Never fond of drawing such attention, Erik offered a slow nod and motioned Firmin to lead the way. However, as he soon began following the other man from the wings, Erik glanced back toward Christine to see her knitted brow creasing her features.

Not daring to risk an insinuation, he dipped his chin and looked ahead as he followed Firmin.

Within minutes, they stepped into the opulent office where the sunlight shone in from tall windows and the walls were lined with portraits of famed performers who sang on the stage. But Erik paid the décor no mind beyond a cursory glance. He had seen the room more times than he cared to count, and these two had yet to make any stimulating changes.

Andre was already seated at his desk while Firmin strode over to a neighboring bureau and the glass decanter. "Brandy, Monsieur?"

"No," Erik replied.

Firmin gave a slow nod and a glance at Andre as he poured two glasses instead.

"Please, make yourself comfortable," Andre offered after a moment, gesturing to a chair.

Erik eyed the chair but made no move towards it. "I prefer to stand."

"Suit yourself…" Andre mumbled.

Firmin came to his cohort's side and passed off the brandy while sipping his tumbler as he remained standing as well.

Erik's gaze darted between the two imbeciles, jaw flexing while he snapped his hands behind his back again, hiding his newly formed fists. "What is this matter you wanted to discuss, Messieurs?"

Unphased by the sharpness of his tone this time, Firmin offered a tight smile before sipping the brown liquid again. "Are you sure you don't want something, Monsieur?" he offered again, lifting his tumbler glass a bit.

Erik studied them, eyes narrowing and the tickle of paranoia trickling up his spine. Of course, this was amplified by the fact that he suffered many poisoning attempts in the past that he became disinclined to accept a beverage. There were exceptions to this, of course; however, this was not a venue for one such pass to be given so easily. "I am certain."

"Very well," Firmin said and took another drink before setting the emptied glass down on the mahogany desk. "Curious minds want to know, Monsieur Chantseur, where did you train? Better yet, who trained you?"

It took several moments for his mind to process the question. Perhaps the expectation of being asked to never tend to Christine's vocal needs within their theatre again put him on edge.

…as though that would work…

"Pardon?" Erik found himself almost stammering the question.

"Who taught you?"

The memory of large calloused hands came to the forefront of his mind.

Rough fingers pressed his smaller ones down on the keys in the sequence of the descending melody, a rich voice muttering the notes in tune with the simple little ditty mentioned for instructing a child new to music. "C B A leads the way…" his father sang the little song comprised of those three simple notes.

Erik could not remember the rest of the song's lyrics, but the notes remained locked in his mind. Bottom hand: thumb, index, middle, playing from middle C. The song was only thirteen notes in total, and his fingers flexed the old notes against his palms, finishing the rest of the melody.

"I was unaware that my credentials would become such a concern to you."

"Curiosity, Monsieur," Firmin repeated. "Now, I know that I am not as knowledgeable about music and the arts as you or even my colleague," he motioned to Andre, "but even I know talent when I hear it. That lesson you gave Murphy and Weaver, well, that was something special. I have not heard a voice quite like yours, and their voices have improved enough for me to notice since."

Odd. While it was complimentary, Erik was far from flattered. "Your point, Firmin?"

"My point? Well, I suppose my point is that I—we —would like to know more about your training so that we might consider offering you a job."

Air left him with ease as Erik's hands fell back to his sides.

"You see, in deliberating over what you and, later, Reyer said the other night, it has become clear that you are right about how some of the things are done around here. Things that will need changing so that we don't lose out on our reputations and investment."

Erik dipped his chin forward and cocked his head to the side.

"Knowing your training would bring me some piece of mind to Richard's asinine idea on this matter," grumbled Andre.

His tongue drier than a desert in a drought, Erik pursed his lips a moment as he weighed his options and ran through various mental scenarios. How does one answer this when what they wanted did not exist? "I learned the fundamentals as any child does; at home. Apart from that, my training comes from the score of every great composer and the singers who sing that music."

"You have no training?" gasped a stunned Andre, halfway out of his chair now.

"Not in the formal sense. I will consume music in all its forms like it is air and study it like da Vinci embracing the sciences and arts. Theatre and music, while technical, it is also subjective. What suits the ear of one does not always appeal to the ear of another."

"One does not sing or teach Bel Canto without being instructed in it first," Andre contended.

"Yet the practice itself exists," Erik snapped his rebuttal. "Which means at some point, someone had to create it without the guidance of a teacher, as all techniques are. A method is often defined and created by the music itself and what the composer demands of performance for his piece. How a singer reaches that goal can vary immensely, so long as the foundation is understood," he strode closer to them until the desks were the only thing between them. "That understanding comes easily when you know what to read and how to apply that knowledge. Technique and form are often nothing more than a culmination of teachings that best serve each singer."

"Book learning does not negate actual practice," came a weak counter from Andre.

"Yet, Mademoiselle Daaé charms an audience because of my instruction. Furthermore, you forget that it is you who ponders whether you want to offer a job. I have little need to pacify your concerns when I am not the one seeking employment. I have little need to prove myself to either of you," Erik snapped.

Andre's face turned crimson while Firmin offered a small smirk as the pair shared a glance.

~x ~x ~X~ x~ x~

Christine moved through the corridors of the Garnier at a hastened pace the moment she was free of the rehearsals. While she was planning a lunch with Meg, the thought of the Managers banning Erik from the premises was enough to ignite a flame within her. Why else would Firmin whisk him away like that?

That luncheon would have to wait another day, as she would only fret throughout its duration and not enjoy anything.

It was strange to feel her temper inwardly bursting at the notion of such an injustice. Erik could take care of himself, but that did nothing to quell the scenarios of what she would do or say on his behalf. What she did know with certainty, was that she would not sing without him. That little rebellion might mean nothing since she was far from becoming 'La Daaé,' but the sentiment remained.

They would just replace her.

In that instance, that would be more a blessing than anxiety-inducing madness.

…At least that was what she was telling herself.

When Christine turned the corner to the office, a cluster of dancers and a few chorus members lingered outside, including Meg, Allison, and Norris. However, when some of them spotted her, they scattered back from the doorframe like children caught with their hands in a candy jar. Her friends were not so embarrassed.

How long had they been in there?

"What is going on?" Christine asked in a harsh whisper.

"No idea," Meg muttered, ear pressed to the door. "They are far too quiet to make out what's being said."

"It must be a slow day with the rumor mills if everyone wants to know what is transpiring between my Tutor and the Managers."

"Not everyone is as interesting as your Tutor," Alison smirked.

"Or eccentric," Norris added with a little smile.

Christine shot them each a look.

Norris raised his hands, palms open. "In the best of ways of course."

"You all best not be adding to the mill," Christine snipped out her warning.

"Just because we like to hear the gossip doesn't mean we spread the manure," he explained.

"It's more to compare notes anyway," Alison added.

"I just like swimming in all the juicy details," Meg grinned, earning a glare from her. "What? Carlotta and Piangi are still all butt-hurt about the other day and not providing me with suitable entertainment of bursting egos."

"Meg," Christine chided, cupping her hand over her mouth to suppress her snicker.

"What? Without Carlotta making mountains out of ant hills, it gets rather dull around here. Short of talking about you, we are at a loss here," Meg teased.

"I admit, that one is hard to resist," Alison smiled with a wink, and Norris grinned beside her.

Feeling heat rise to her cheeks, Christine offered up the only riposte that sprang to mind. "Ah, so you two wouldn't mind if I got in on the one about you?"

Norris shrugged, "Not the most interesting bit of storytelling, but don't let me stop you," he chuckled. "Please, you can spread it as much as you like."

Alison said nothing but offered a pinched grin as she hooked her arm with Norris.

Meg sprang back from the door, "Scatter!" she declared in a hushed whisper.

While everyone scattered in various directions and made themselves look busy doing non-existent things, Christine planted herself in front of the office door as its knob turned.