[[Spoilers: How I wish Sega would copy Level 5 and make an anime. Until then, we only have one game to spoil.

Set: Sometime after the end of the game and after the bonus epipsde 'Family Ties'.

This was my Rhythm Thief Secret Santa for octoryan on Tumblr. Thanks to regu-1 and sleepybrainiac for organising everything again this year! There's one Dirty Dancing reference, hence the title.]]

Nobody puts Charlie in a corner

When Charlie's father learned she was joining a ballet class, he actually laughed. Charlie gaped as he clutched his sides and almost fell out of his seat. She hadn't heard him let out so much as a chuckle since her mother died. It was rare for him to even crack a smile unless he was thwarting a criminal.

Was the idea of her dancing really that ludicrous?

Charlie continued to stare until his laughter died down to coughs. "Good one," he said.

"I'm serious."

"What?" He sat up straight, entering Interrogation Mode. "Why?"

"Didn't you want me to take up a new hobby?" Anything to keep her from investigating the Mystère Incident… He had even started attending her football matches.

He pointed out, "And yet, you avoided the school dance like the plague…"

"Would you rather I had accepted Urbain's invitation?" Charlie drawled.

That set off alarm bells in her father's head. "Are you trying to impress someone?"

"As if," Charlie retorted, a tad too quickly. He glared at her. She had to admit, "It's private eye business."

Her sources (one obsessive reporter lady) had informed her that Madame Maxette's Ballet Studio was a regular hang-out for someone who at least resembled Phantom R. Charlie needed to infiltrate the academy herself and see if he was there. It was just for one class. She could survive that.

Her father seemed to agree. After a minute, he raised his eyebrows and snorted, "Do you need to dress like a ballerina?"

"I'd rather die!" Then again, she would need to blend in. Phantom R had better turn up after this.

Thankfully, she didn't have to spend a fortunate on a disguise. Loic lent her a leotard, a tutu and a pair of ballet shoes belonging to his youngest daughter. (All in pastel pink.)

No way on Earth was she catching the metro looking like Angelina Ballerina. Her father was more than happy to drive her to the studio, which was near the Musée d'Orsay.

A young woman with the tightest hairbuns Charlie had ever seen met her at the door.

"Hello..." She looked Charlie up and down. Charlie wondered if she appeared out of place with her trench coat covering her ballet disguise, her Nike sports bag and her complete lack of poise.

"Hiii," Charlie said, trying to make her voice sound light and airy. "I'm here for Madame Maxette's amateur class? I'm new—"

"Ooh, perfect timing— we're just about to start! Please follow me."

Madame Maxette took her name and led her inside, gushing about how they would be using music from The Nutcracker today.

One side of the studio was taken up by a mirror with a metal bar in front of it. There were teenage students stretching, leaning and chatting against the bar. Charlie counted twenty girls and boys, but none of them had tomato-red hair. She did some lunges and a few of the students watched her curiously. Maybe this had been a mistake—

"Showtime, everyone!" Madame Maxette announced, clapping her hands. "We'll start with a warm up. If you're new, just follow along. Raphael, please can you get the music?"

"Sure thing, Madame M!"

Charlie's eyes bulged as a boy sauntered through a door on the other side of the studio. A boy with red hair tied back in a low ponytail. He was wearing a long-sleeve white top, dark blue tights and black ballet shoes. How could he even move when that outfit was so... form-fitting?

Raphael grinned when he caught her ogling.

"Charlie, are you ready?" Madame Maxette prompted. The rest of the class giggled.

Stop staring idiot!She snapped herself out of it and fell into line with the other students.

Raphael went to turn on an old stereo that crackled to life. He took his place at the front of the class with Madame Maxette.

How old was he? Was he another dance instructor or an assistant? Charlie was so busy studying the back of his head that she missed the first step.

A trumpet fanfare burst from the stereo. Following Madame's lead, everyone skipped around the studio. Charlie hurried to keep up with them.

They formed a circle with Madame stood in the middle. She instructed over the sound of a violin, "Girls, inner circle. Boys, outer circle."

Charlie ended up in the outer circle, utterly lost already. Symbols clashed. Someone shoved her into the inner circle.

"Turn to your partners and bow!" Madame said, doing a curtsy of her own.

Charlie turned. Her confusion was instantly replaced with anger. The person who had pushed her was none other than Raphael. There was an odd number of students, so she had ended up with him (completely by accident, apparently).

He gave her an extravagant bow, holding out his hand. She didn't curtsy in return.

Undeterred, he grabbed her hand and dragged her around in a circle with the other couples. It felt like they were doing a demented version of 'Ring a Ring O' Roses'— the old folksong that originated from the Black Plague.

The last thing Charlie wanted was to catch their dance fever. She wiped her palms on her tutu when Raphael released her to do a dance solo.

A flute was producing a series of short notes, answered in kind by some string instruments. There was a fancy word for that type of music but Charlie was too memorised by Raphael to remember it.

While the rest of them split off to the side, he was at the centre, dancing in time with the quick notes. He loped around on his tiptoes, lither than a reindeer.

Only one person in all of Paris could move that fast.

The students and Madame applauded when the song ended, but not Charlie. She was exhausted simply from watching Raphael.

"That... was a warm up?" she panted as Raphael passed her. Sprinting across a soccer field or hang gliding over the city? She could handle either without breaking a sweat. But she'd had no idea ballet could be so strenuous.

"That was March of the Toy Soldiers," Raphael informed her. "If you can't handle the opening number, maybe you should hang up your dance shoes."

Charlie blew a raspberry at him. She ducked her head to adjust her shoes.

Her— give up? Never! Not until she had Phantom R in chains! She was 90% certain 'Raphael' was R. (Could he be more obvious with that name?) His fancy footwork, all that prancing about, the way he held her hand... It had to be him.

She scowled as he sashayed past the adoring students (poor suckers), soaking up their praise. She just needed to prove it was him...

The next song was one she recognised, which made it easier to keep up. They waltzed around the room, switching from partner to partner.

Charlie was ready when Raphael twirled towards her. She karate-chopped him in the face. Raphael vaulted right over her head. It was a beat-for-beat replay of her defeat above the Paris Opéra.

The dancers cleared to reveal Charlie lying flat on the floor. Charlie lifted her head to find Phantom R (she was 100% certain it was him now) crouched beside her.

"Need a hand?"

She slapped his hand away and surged to her feet.

Madame Maxette checked Charlie wasn't injured and decided it was time for a short break. She reminded them, "Make sure you drink plenty of water!"

That gave Charlie an idea. She picked up her water bottle and wandered over to Phantom R, who was heading for the door.

"Gah!" Charlie gasped as they collided. She threw the whole bottle over him. "I'm so sorry!"

"No problem." He just smiled and squeezed his hair out. "I was going to change anyway."

"Yeah, I probably should too..." Charlie followed him out of the studio and into the changing rooms.

He opened a locker and removed some clothes. "I can do this part of my own." Giving her a coy look, he entered one of the cubicles.

The idiot had left his locker open. (Was he even trying at this point?) Quietly, she pulled out his satchel. It contained, among other things, dog treats (ew), a CD, a red tie, a packet of macaroons... and a wallet. Voila!

"Hey!" Phantom R belted out.

Charlie froze like a pickpocket caught in the act. What did it matter, though, when he was already a thief? Her gaze flickered to the cubicle, but the door was still shut.

"Hey! Hey! Hey...!" He was just singing, very badly.

Charlie resumed her snooping. She inspected his wallet. He didn't have any cards— aside from a coffee shop stamp card— just a few of banknotes. (How much did dance assistants get paid?)

Her eyes narrowed when she found a small photo of a woman in a leotard hugging a red-haired toddler…

She heard the cubical door unlock. Charlie shoved the wallet away, shut the locker and turned to the cubicle. As soon as he emerged, she would ambush him and make him confess. (Though, how threatening she looked in a tutu was debatable.) The door opened…

There stood Phantom R, bare-chested aside from a loose blue vest. He looked like a character off Aladdin.

Charlie was flabbergasted. "W-what...?"

"Oh, this?" He stepped out of the cubicle. "This is just for the Arabian Dance part of the show. Aka, Arabian Coffee." He clicked and pointed finger-guns at her. "Are you a coffee fan?"

That day he tracked her down after school, she had been drinking coffee... "No," Charlie blurted out. "I prefer hot chocolate."

He winked a chocolate-brown eye at her. "What a coincidence— me too. Well, I'll let you dry off. You still look wet."

The blood that rushed to her cheeks should have evaporated any leftover water.

When he had left the room, she kicked the lockers in frustration. She was rewarded with a sore foot.

"Ow! Stupid, flimsy ballet shoes! Stupid Phantom..." Rubbing her foot, she contemplated what her next move would be. Phantom R— "Raphael's"— adoring students would maul her if she attempted to arrest him now.

Should she call the Constabulary for backup? Or should she drop out of the class and come back for him when she was feeling fit? Surely Phantom R would attend the next class— same time, same place. He wouldn't miss dancing for the world.

She couldn't count on that, though. The last time he slipped off her radar, he went missing for six months...

Charlie flexed her toes. The pain had dulled to an ache. She could still wipe the floor with him. Then, she would alert the Constabulary.

She towel-dried her hair, hid her phone in the waistband of her tutu and returned to the studio.

"There you are, Charlie," Madame Maxette said. "Raphael is going to give us a demonstration of the Arabian Dance."

"I just need a partner..." Humming, Phantom gazed along the selection of eager students.

Charlie stomped towards him. "I'm his partner."

Madame began, "It might be best to leave this to a more experienced dancer—"

"Don't worry, Madame," Phantom R assured her. "It's a slow dance and I won't let her fall."

He'd better not. Charlie took his hand, squeezing hard enough to crack his knuckles.

"If you're both quite sure..." Madame played the music.

It reminded Charlie of the old Tintin cartoons she used to watch, when the setting was a desert or a pharaoh's tome...

Suddenly, Raphael's hand was on her waist. Charlie was jolted back to reality. Get your head in the game. Focus on him.

"Lift your leg," Raphael instructed, for the whole class to hear. Charlie stuck her leg out with all the dignity of a peeing dog. (Speak of the devil, where was his dog—?)

Raphael spun her around while she was still on one leg. She wobbled when he let go and he twirled away from her.

"Step towards me, gracefully."

She did so. He took her hand again.

"Now, lift your leg even higher. Straight up."

She was nowhere near that flexible and he knew it. Still, Phantom R bent his knee, pulling her arm and torso down. Charlie gritted her teeth and pretended she was kicking a ball high into the air. She only had to hold the pose for a second before Raphael spun her on the spot.

"Now lean back, lift your leg above my head—"

Her foot narrowly missed his face.

He spun her into his arms so that her back was against his chest. Then he dipped her towards the floor. One of the students whistled.

Phantom raised her up and dipped her on the other side. Hand in hand, they galloped across the floor, doing more leg-lifts and spins. She was actually getting the hang of this!

Phantom R thought so too. "Good... How do you feel about being lifted over my head?"

"You mean— my whole body?" Charlie gasped. Had she taken this too far?

"Or we can stop here if you're scared—"

"Do your worst," Charlie hissed.

"I'll just put my hands round your waist, and one, two, three... Lift! ...Put your arms and legs out like a starfish... Hold that pose!"

"Think Dirty Dancing!" one of the girls hollered.

"I've never seen it!" Charlie's arms windmilled in the air.

"Keep still," Phantom R protested. She was squirming so much that he was forced to put her down. As he lowered her, her feet connected with his chest, knocking him to the floor. Charlie landed on top of him.

Madame Maxette and the students cried out in despair. Charlie rolled aside and they surrounded the groaning Raphael.

"I'll, um, call him an ambulance…" Charlie said. No one paid her any mind. She rushed out of the studio, phone at the ready.

"Hello? This is Charlie Vergier," she told the operator. "I have an emergency…"

Raphael was being led out when Charlie's father arrived.

"What happened?" her father demanded. (Of all the dangerous stunts Charlie had pulled, he never thought ballet dancing would be one of them!)

"I might have given the dance assistant a concussion," Charlie replied.

They were taking Raphael to hospital in an ambulance just to be safe. Not that Charlie was particularly worried; if he could survive a bullet shot, then he could survive this no problem. Her father threw his hands up. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Hey..." Raphael had excused himself from the paramedics to approach the Vergiers.

Her father didn't appear to recognise him. He glanced at Charlie pointedly. "Please accept our apologies for the accident..."

"Sorry," Charlie muttered.

Raphael waved off her concern. "Don't sweat it. Everyone gets knocked down at some point. You just have to get back up again."

Charlie shook her head. "Oh, I won't be coming back after this. But I'll be in the area." She might have let him off the hook for now, but next time she caught him, he was toast.

"Cool, so I might see you around. We can grab that hot chocolate we talked about."

Raphael hopped into the ambulance before Charlie or her father could comment. He waved at them. "See ya!"