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Phoenix	By : LadyMeda Category: M through R > Phantom of the Opera Views: 4487 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera or any variation thereof. I do not make any money from this fiction. Tags include things that will be in future chapters.

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Meg's mind felt a bit like her sewing kit after a long, bumpy carriage ride. Threads of emotion in a hundred different hues were tangled up into a hopeless, indecipherable mess. Trying to free any single string from the turmoil only compounded the knots on the other end.

Head in her hands, she sat on the edge of her bed and tried to make sense of it all. She was ecstatic that he was alive and yet terrified. She'd always known he was a very dangerous man: this was not a new revelation. But the world had taught him cruelty at every turn and yet he reflected back only a fraction of it... along with a genius that had the power to move all of Paris to tears.

He'd cut her free. He'd comforted her. But on the other hand, Meg doubted she would fare so well if she tried her luck again. She was shocked he had let her go at all.

What sounded like the distant click of a lock roused her from her thoughts. She froze, not daring to look up for fear of what she might see. Never had she felt so small, so vulnerable as she did in that moment. Her senses were instantly on edge. She became acutely aware of every tiny breeze tickling across her skin. She chanced a glance at the door, her heart beating wildly in her chest. All was clear. She breathed a sigh of relief; and yet that feeling did not waver. This must be how a gazelle feels, she thought, when it hears a roar in the night.

A rustle from behind nearly shot her out of her skin. With a gasp, she tried to spin around; but slender, leather-clad fingers wrapped over her mouth. An arm snaked across her chest, forcing her back against a strong torso.

“Do. Not. Scream.” The Phantom demanded with a throaty rumble. She could not suppress a whimper when his breath hit her ear. “If you scream, you will force my hand.” He whispered, his tone softer but just as menacing. “You don't want to do that, do you?” A tear spilled over his knuckles as she shook her head. He slowly pulled his hand away from her mouth.

“Please don't kill me, Monsieur.” She choked, not yet daring to look at him. “I-I didn't know. I thought you were gone. Please... don't kill me.”

“If I wanted you dead, your first warning would be when St. Peter greeted you at the pearly gates. That makes it awfully pointless to fear me, don't you think?” Meg wasn't really sure how to react. Never had someone tried to comfort her in such a threatening way. With an audible swallow, she nodded.

“Good.” He praised, releasing her from his grasp. Tentatively, she turned to look into his masked face. There was a moment of silence as she studied his blue-gray eyes. There was no way she could feel even remotely safe in his presence until she knew the answer to one thing.

“Why did you save me yesterday?” Her voice was hardly above a whisper. He rose from the bed to walk about the room. If she hadn't known better, she would have thought he was uncomfortable with the question; and somehow that was comforting in itself. “A minute longer, and I would be out of your hair completely.”

“Because I didn't want to.” He answered tensely, hands folded behind his back. “Now enough small talk.”
Small talk? She wondered. He thinks this is small talk?! Apparent he'd never had the luxury of experiencing that social tedium. It took her a moment to realize he was speaking again.

“As I'm sure you realize, I can't have you telling people I'm here. I am prepared to offer you 20 francs a month to buy your silence. That more than doubles your salary as a dancer.”

Her jaw dropped. “What? No! I--”

“30 francs, then.”

“Monsieur, please-- ”

“60 francs. That is far more than generous.”

“NO! I won't take--”

“How much then? Name your price.”

“Not for 500 francs, Monsieur! I don't want your money! I won't tell anyone, I swear it!”

He was silent for a moment, seeming to be in thought as he stalked around the room. “Then I will arrange for you to be the lead dancer. I've seen you, and you're really quite good. You will have the spotlight in every number.”

“NO!” She was shouting now, and he looked genuinely taken aback.

“I offer you fame. I offer you fortune. And yet you turn me down. Why?” Her feet seemed to move without consent as she came to stand before him. With all the strength she could muster, she matched his gaze.

“I will not take what I haven't earned!” Her hands trembled as, despite her better judgment, they enveloped one of his. It felt a bit like petting a wolf. “You needn't bribe me. My heart resides in this opera house too. I would never jeopardize it.” The look of unsureness in the Phantom's eyes was obvious, and for that fleeting moment, he looked so very human. “Please. Trust me.”

* * * * *

Trust her. He laughed inwardly. Trust her?! When has that ever worked out in the past? Especially when dealing with women. The closest thing he'd felt to trust was with the Persian, and that at times was questionable. In the end, he had been betrayed even by his savior Madam Giry; granted it was for good reasons, and he could not hold it against her. But now her flesh and blood was asking for his trust, and there was not a chance of getting it.

His excursion to Persia after the Paris Opera's close had been very educational. He'd learned quite a few things about power, business, and above all, making sure that people have strong incentive to do what you ask of them. Relying on man's good nature alone was like building a sandcastle too close to the shore; it was only a matter of time before the tide came in. Unfortunately for his Persian friend, he'd learned that lesson a little too late. Now the Persian was exiled from his own country.

He owed that man a lot. And if the opera failed, it would mean robbing him of a proper life for a second time. That could not be allowed to happen. He needed collateral. Everyone wanted something; he just had to get inside Meg's mind and figure out what drove her. And he knew the perfect place to start.

Her eyes watched him intently as he reached inside his cloak. As soon as the corner of his old mask came into view, she put a hand to her mouth and turned away. His leather glove squeaked as he grasped her shoulder, his other hand wrapping around to hold the mask under her nose.

“Y-you found it.” She stammered.

“I did indeed. But why?” His voice was gravely serious. “Why would you risk everything to return this to the catacombs?” Her entire body squirmed under his hold.

“It was never mine to take. I d-didn't want it anymore.” That stung him a little. But there was something she wasn't saying.

“If you were done playing with the monster's porcelain face, why not just throw it out? Why not smash it or throw it in the river?”

“I-- I just thought--” She wouldn't look at him, and it was making him angry. Instead, she continued her useless fidgeting. “It just seemed that...”

“Stop stammering and tell me!”

“I don't know...” Her voice was hardly a whisper.

“LIAR!!” He growled, spinning her around to face him. Her cheeks were as red as his favorite roses. “Tell me why you've kept it all these years!”

“Because I wished I had what you gave Christine!!!” The words exploded out before her hands had the time to cover her mouth. The Phantom wasn't really sure what he'd expected to hear, but that wasn't it. After a moment's contemplation, he tenderly pulled her wrists away from her face. Her eyes were wide and glistening as she finally met his gaze.

“Now would be a very poor time to stop talking.” He urged. Again she tried to look away but he put a finger under her chin and lifted it to face him.

“I w-wanted to learn to show the world what's in my soul. I want to touch people. I want to be loved and cherished for what's in my heart. You saw Christine's potential and taught her how to show it to the world.”

A strange place in his stomach twinged. This was a perfect bargaining chip, but far too familiar to be comfortable. Images of his time spent with Christine danced painfully in his mind, but any other options were grim at best.

“Well then, I have a proposition for you. I will hone your skills as a dancer, and teach you to dance with what you feel inside. In return, you will be the star that ensures the success of the opera.” As he spoke, the emotions in her eyes were utterly indecipherable.

“You... know about dance?” She asked.

“I watched the opera for most of my life. I learned with your mother. I helped her train. With the two of us working together, she nearly became a prima ballerina. That was of course before she... fell ill. Once you were born, she took her place as an instructor. It was a great loss for the company.”

“She never told me any of that.” Meg breathed softly. “And you can teach me to dance like she did?”

“If you'll let me.” The Phantom assured her. “But know this: if you tell anyone, even her, I shall have to flee and you'll get nothing.” Holding hand and chin aloft, he asked, “Shall we strike a deal?”

He thought she might bite through her lip at any moment; and yet she hesitated only a second before shaking his hand.
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Phoenix