Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera, etc.

Summary: One shot 'after the movie' story, featuring Firmin, Andre, and Madame Giry. I may add chapters later, if it's well received.

Relationship: Possibly Firmin/Giry.

Dedicated to the regulars of the Erik/Giry forum here on You're ALL wonderful!

Special dedications go to twinlady, for just being her, and Sands-agent, for encouraging me to post this!

A Shift in Significance.

Richard Firmin jolted awake as the carriage knocked against something hard. A stone, he assumed; or a dead bird. Not that it mattered. He deemed it insignificant. He massaged the back of his neck wearily, and grimaced as the previous nights' disastrous events came flooding back into his tired mind. So the Opera Populaire had been destroyed after all, and he had lost a hell of a lot of money. Wonderful.

Luckily, Firmin had more than one source of income. He'd made sure of that before he had invested in the Opera Populaire. Andre had not been so careful. He glanced over at his business partner and friend with a sigh. It seemed that he'd be looking after Andre for quite some time. They had been partners from the very start of their careers. He couldn't leave him to suffer on the streets.

A soft sigh interrupted his thoughts, and he remembered his other guest. Another person that had lost everything. He regarded her sleeping form curiously. She was quite an attractive woman; obviously not as attractive as his various mistresses, but attractive nonetheless. It struck him odd that he had never noticed that before. Simply because before now, Antoinette Giry had been insignificant, just like the stone or the abandoned corpse that the carriage had driven over. Antoinette Giry had lost much more than Andre, and much much more than Firmin himself had lost. They had only lost money. Money could be re-earned, regained; in time of course. But a daughter could not be.

"Poor woman," came to voice of Firmin's partner.

Firmin looked from Giry to Andre with an empty smile. Andre shook his head sadly and resumed staring aimlessly out of the carriage window, silently cursing the… thing that had caused all of this suffering. The thing that probably still lived. Him. The Phantom of the Opera. O.G. It didn't matter what you called him, he was still a monster.

Firmin's gaze floated back to the sleeping ballet mistress, and thought of the relationship between her and her young daughter. Even he, a man who had never taken an interest in the lives of the people working for him, could see that Madame Giry and Meg had been extremely close. Giry would mourn, and Firmin would let her; screaming, crying, throwing priceless antiques and all.

Hell, he'd even join her.

Later into the journey, Firmin found that try as he might, he could not get back to sleep. Andre had long since fallen back into a slumber and Madame Giry had not awoken since they had left Paris. They were both lucky in that regard. His mind was full of images of terror, and panic, and that falling chandelier, destroying everything in its path. He thought of all the people that had lost their lives because of a Phantom's stupid little obsession. Richard lifted his finger to the misty window and softly traced 'R.I.P.' into the condensation that had formed upon it.

"Who? Your friends? Colleagues? Your bank account?"

The voice was bitter; hateful. Antoinette Giry stared at him icily, her anger clearly shining through her steel blue eyes. Firmin let out a heavy sigh, gazing at her sympathetically.

"I couldn't let you stay in Paris. You were homeless."

Giry scoffed, crossing her legs impatiently, tugging on her thick braid. "When did you start caring about your employees?" she questioned. "Yesterday, if I'd been hanging by a thread on the edge of a cliff, you would never have lifted a single finger to help me."

Firmin protested. "That is a lie-"

"The hell it is," she spat. "I am insignificant, Monsieur. Just like all your little mistresses. I am no use to you anymore. You should have left me in Paris to die on the streets."

He rolled his eyes in annoyance. He was starting to get angry with the cold woman in front of him. "You'd have liked that, wouldn't you? To die in Paris, just like your daughter did?"

She stared at him incredulously. "You bast-"

"Why?" he interrupted. "Because I gave you a home?"

"I never wanted your help. I can take care of myself!"

They were silent for a moment, regarding the other wearily. Both were already tired of fighting. Richard extended his hand, intending to place it upon her shoulder comfortingly. It froze in mid-air, and quickly dropped back to his side.

"Please, Madame," he sighed, his voice adopting a pleading tone. "Let me help you."

Giry gazed at him briefly, considering his request, and then turned to look out of the window. After a moment of tense silence, she turned back to look at him. "Alright. On one condition."

He nodded. "Name it."

"You never ask me about him," Firmin didn't have to ask; he knew who she meant. "If I want you to know, I'll tell you. But that is highly unlikely Monsieur."

Firmin nodded in agreement, quelling his curiosity. At least for now. He held out his hand. Antoinette regarded it briefly, and grudgingly accepted it. They shook hands. Firmin turned back to the misty window, and looked at the text he had scrawled under five minutes ago. Underneath, he added the name 'Meg Giry'.

A tear slipped down Giry's cheek, soon accompanied by several more, and she carefully leaned over Firmin, and using her own finger, added several kisses to the make-shift epitaph. She looked at Richard, almost like a child looking for a parent's approval. Firmin smiled and nodded at her encouragingly. She finally circled the writing with a love heart, and quickly retreated back to her side of the carriage, curling up uncomfortably.

Firmin, noticing Giry's uncomfortable position quickly removed his jacket and folded it into a make-shift pillow, offering it the ballet mistress without a moment's hesitation. Madame regarded him curiously.

"Aren't you uncomfortable yourself?"

Firmin smiled. "Yes. But I'd much rather prefer to be uncomfortable than to see you curled into an awkward position over there. You are, after all, my guest."

Giry accepted the jacket, gratefully, albeit reluctantly. She had always been a proud, independent woman, and Firmin could not imagine the courage it had taken for her to accept his jacket.

She fixed her best stern look upon him, which Firmin and Andre liked to refer to as her 'death glare' "This still does not mean I'm happy about leaving Paris, but… thank you. Just… thank you."

Richard smiled at her, nodding in response to her thank you. Antoinette regarded him silently for a moment, before her mouth curled into a warm smile.

He would never let anything hurt Antoinette Giry again.