Arthur hadn't been under any illusions that tonight's performance would be easy. The brief snatches of uneasy slumber he had managed to get barely prepared him for the hostility coming from Carlotta's and now even Nash's corner. But, still, this wasn't the first time he had been placed in such roles and he had always approached them with the same determination as a lead role, knowing just who would be watching him.

Things couldn't change now that he had gotten a taste of what it would be like to perform to the hilt of his talent. Or, at the very least, he wasn't about to provide anyone who stood against him with the satisfaction of allowing for it to happen.

Even if he had to put up with Carlotta's foot being placed right where it shouldn't, making him stumble over it when they were both supposed to arise as caught lovers when the draps of the faux great bed were pulled back.

Nash, as it turned out, was prepared to be little better, lingering over Arthur for longer than he should while delivering his lines at his entrance onto the stage and all but knocking hips against him when he did leave.

Arthur had to take in a deep breath, letting it out slowly before rising. Such actions would reflect more poorly on their own character than his, he would make sure of it. At the very least, it made him half to bite back a grin at how Carlotta's face screwed up when they had to share a fake kiss behind the guise of her fan.

It would appear she had forgotten that casting Arthur in this role would also mean she would have to have him closer to her than any other cast member would be allowed. No doubt Nash was already green with envy, which only made it all the more amusing.

Carlotta managed to hide her huff, at least, by the time they broke away. Although that might be from the promise of being, yet again, on full display as she strode to the center of the stage.

"Poor fool, he makes me laugh!

Hahahahahaha!

Time I tried to get a better, better half!

Poor fool, he doesn't know!

Hohohohohoho!

If he knew the truth, he'd never, ever go!"

It might not have been so bad, for things to continue. There was a better chance at drowning out Carlotta's voice—or, at least, the deafening pitch of it—when Arthur had to focus on what lines meant what cues for himself.

Except he barely got up from his last move of ducking behind Carlotta when a voice thundered out over the entire theater.

"Did I not instruct for Box Five to be left empty?"

Arthur curled his hands into fists at his sides, eyes already scanning the painted ceiling for even a glimpse of who he was certain had to be there. It wasn't until Ariadne crept up to his side that he even thought to spare a glance at the boxes.

"He's here," Ariadne whispered. "The opera ghost! He's never made a move like this…"

Arthur, however, was listening to her with half an ear, brow already furrowing as he counted the people in Box Five. "Where's Eames?" If Ariadne had been prepared to respond, he wouldn't have known it. Not with the snap of Carlotta's folded up fan coming down hard on his back, right between his shoulder blades.

"Your part is silent , little toad!" she hissed. She was all smiles a heartbeat later for the audience, of course, as she floated off the stage to demand in a rushed whisper for her voice spray. Too quick a move, it would seem, to hear the words that trailed after her.

"A toad, madame? Perhaps it is you who are the toad."

Arthur swallowed, unsure whether he wanted to piece apart the meaning to that. When Carlotta flounced back onto the stage, he simply moved back, falling into his character's default pose for all Ariadne still seemed to want to fuss over him.

(She settled for glaring at the back of Carlotta's towering wig, for which Arthur couldn't blame her. Still, he would rather she manhandle him than Ariadne any day.)

"Serafimo, away with this pretense!

You cannot speak, but kiss me in my husband's…"

Then where the next note should be there is instead a hideous croak.

Arthur stood there, staring along with them all, able to hear the rise of laughter from the audience. It was the back of his neck heating and he's not even the one that made the horrible mistake—one that all singers fear.

Carlotta was already gesturing hurriedly towards the orchestra, but Arthur can tell from where the music picks up, if not the rise of Carlotta's voice yet again, that she's made a mistake. She's trying to continue where she left off rather than starting again to build the strength in her voice.

It seemed inevitable when she only got as far as, "Poor fool, he makes me laugh, haha…" before her voice was reduced to a croak yet again. The ensemble members rushed forward, looking understandably helpless, to hurry her offstage as Carlotta continued to try to summon her voice, only for the croaking to grow worse with each attempt.

The curtains slam shut a moment later, but it does little to shut out the laughter of the crowd. Even Ariadne can't quite manage a smile to greet Arthur with, knowing as well he does that the fallout from this will be nothing good, no matter how worthy Carlotta's ridicule might feel.

In the end, she's nothing more than a puppet of Browning's machinations and it's difficult to imagine him treating her anywhere near as kindly once she outlives her usefulness.

It took a moment for the realization that there are familiar voices echoing on the other side of the curtain to come and, even then, it wasn't until Arthur was pulled through and onto the stage that he realized what was happening.

"The performance will continue," Dom was saying, "in ten minutes time when the role of the Count will be played by Mr. Moss. We thank you for your patience!"

A hasty costume change later found Arthur pressed back onto the stage. For all the uneasiness in his gut, it was difficult still to not feel more at home there since back when his father was alive. And, if he focused on that, he knew he could carry through the performance with ease.

The audience certainly seemed to think so, if the way their soft titterings soon turned into real, uproarious laughter at the scenes before them. And, if Nash was a little rougher than was needed, it only sold him better as the bitter, jealous fool of a husband.

(It was easy to imagine as such, at least.)

Still, Arthur wasn't able to keep his eyes from flickering to Box Five throughout the performance. It meant he received plenty of smiles from Robert—something that let him ignore Browning's glares even easier—but spotting Eames seemed an impossible task.

It wasn't until the final bows, where Arthur felt as though his feet might become buried under the tossed bouquets, that he spotted the man in question.

Eames was on his feet with the rest, applauding hard enough to make up for Browning, who was sitting with his hands clutching the sides of the box, as though too afraid to let go in case he was swept away with the fervor. There was no mistaking what he was mouthing down at Arthur either.

"Well done."

This time Arthur barely even had a fitting excuse to guard off Ariadne and Yusuf. He was only released, at last, by swearing that he had no intention of letting his teacher take him anywhere. There was someone else who he wanted to talk to.

"Robert?" Arthur wasn't quite sure what to make of the pinched expression on Ariadne's face as he sputtered to answer. "Just be careful, Arthur, alright?"

He could only nod in response before darting away, wondering if she would have felt better to know that it wasn't Robert that he intended to find.

Still, he had to duck out from the backstage entirely to search for Eames. At least he knew enough of the back ways to keep out of sight of any audience members. It would be bad enough to stumble across them out of costume, but he could only imagine what it would be like while he was still all dressed up.

By the time he finally caught sight of Eames, however, it was to watch the man be yanked, for lack of a better word, around a corner. His footsteps slowed a little on approach as he heard the sound of raised voices—familiar ones, at that.

"What are you thinking , Eames!" That was Mal, more worked up than Arthur had ever heard her, even when Browning had been at his worst. "Did you even consider the implications of a stunt like that?"

"You're the ones who wanted a ghost." Eames' voice was an easy drawl, as if what he had just said hadn't caused Arthur's heart to leap up into his throat. "A way to shoo Carlotta off the stage is only an added benefit. Now we can figure out what Browning's true intentions are."

"Are you sure you won't be too lost on Arthur to care about that?" There was a heavy sigh from Dom as the silence stretched on. "Of course we noticed! Or do you really think you can abduct one of our performers without us noticing?"

"You don't have to worry about that," Eames said. "Arthur knows what's important, the same as I do. Together we'll ensure that he can outshine whoever Browning throws our way. Just make sure that Ariadne is just as prepared."

It was the exact opposite of what the ghost had sworn, so tenderly, less than a day before. Perhaps if he had only forced himself towards such a realization earlier, it would have wounded less. But, as it was, Arthur was still there, slumped against the wall, when Eames rounded the corner again.

"Arthur?" There was a shake to Eames' smile. And, God, how he had not noticed the familiarity of that mouth? Let alone the sturdy build. "What are you doing here? Here, let's get you up and back to your adoring—"

"It was you." Arthur didn't care to watch his words now, not when he knew that his "teacher" disappearing was no longer the worst thing that could happen to him. "The angel, the ghost...all of it!" Eames' hand froze from where it had been reaching for him and the very sight of it made Arthur grit his teeth, anger swelling until he slapped it away. "You lied to me! About everything!"

Eames' jaw worked for a long moment before he could respond. "You already knew that, and you weren't nearly as upset about it then."

Arthur wanted to insist that was different, but it was difficult to even remember how he had felt at that time. The memories of it now, along with any others, felt filthy, tarnished by the revelation in a way he couldn't repair. "Because I thought you cared about me," he murmured. "But that was just another con, wasn't it?"

Eames' jaw actually went slack at that, as though Arthur had dealt him a blow rather than only speak his mind. "Arthur, that isn't—"

"I know!" Arthur knew he should compose himself, bring his tone back down, even more so when the Cobbs came around the corner themselves, looking shocked. But it was easier to hold onto the anger, much as it hurt. Anything to keep from caving into Eames' hold as a traitorous part of him still longed to. "I know what we are and what we are not. So, thank you for your efforts, but I believe I can stand on my own now."

Tomorrow, no doubt, he would feel ashamed of how he fled the scene, but now it felt like a relief to flee away from Eames' grasping hands and the cries of the Cobbs.

There wasn't a place in the opera house he could think to go, however, where one or the other would still be able to find him. At least, that was, until he ran straight into the chest of none other than Robert Fischer.

"Arthur?" For once, Arthur didn't let himself feel guilty for the comfort of Robert's touch; the hands easing against his back feeling like a balm against everything else. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I…" Arthur swallowed down a breath before nodding. "Yes, it's only...only a bit too much sometimes." There was a soft, crooked smile there to greet him when he raised his head.

"Ah, Little Artie," Robert said, "do you need an escape?"

Arthur heard the sound of rapid footsteps behind them, not having to turn to know who it was. Not in the least from how Robert frowned. It was erased from his face with ease, however, when Arthur pressed his fingers up along his cheekbones.

"Order your fine horses—I'll be with you as soon as I change."