Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera in any way, shape or form. This beautiful tale belongs to an old dead guy... as most classics do these days. Pity. BUT... I do own the main character of this story. Yup. He's mine and I'm pretty proud of that little tidbit.

:WARNING: This story will contain a homosexual relationship as well as two or three heterosexual ones... at least one of those being one sided. Anyway, the point is - if you don't like/agree with the idea of two men loving each other in an emotion as well as physical sense, then do us all a favor and get the 'hey diddle diddle' out of here. Thankies.

Special Thanks To:

Googleeyes - I'm glad you approve! And I promise, Erik will have his fair share in the story, BELIEVE me... though he may not be seen physically, the Opera House is never without his presence. The title of the story is French and translates to : How my heart sings...

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Chapter Two

"Heaven never helps the man

who will not act."

Andrew couldn't help but wince - Carlotta was hitting notes so high and so unbelievably off that he was afraid all the crystal in the building would shatter. It was horrible and his head was pounding. Suddenly, all the stories Christine and Raoul had told him of the phantom and his seemingly unending quest to cast Christine in all of the lead roles made so much sense to him; any sane person that valued their ability to hear would have done that. Any artist listening would be driven to suicide in his opinion...

"Oh good God in Heaven..." He muttered softly to himself, covering his mouth with his hand as he sat comfortably in a chair designed for the higher classes of audiences that would come to watch their performances.

"She does not please you?"

Andrew turned in his seat to find Madame Giry standing behind him, his dark eyes looking straight up into the woman's face. He sighed heavily, hand passing down his face as he gave a moment's thought to the question. "...how do I put this?"

"Simply, if you please, Monsieur."

"Alright. Simply put... no." Andrew looked to the madame once again, shaking his head as Carlotta carried on in the background of their conversation. "No she does not. Not at all. My God why is she even on the stage?"

The madame seemed to chuckle, though the expression came with no sound. "She is our diva."

"She can't sing."

"Non?" The ballet mistress arched a brow. A slow smile crossed her lips as she turned her eyes back to the soprano on the stage. "I suppose I should not be surprised. You never were one to pretend or put on an act to please others."

Andrew gave her a grin, "If it holds no pleasure for myself as well, then why put myself through the struggle? For vain pleasure? Never, madame, you know better..."

"Oui." She nodded, chest heaving just so with a lite sigh, "So? What would you have us do, Monsieur Daae?"

"Hmm?"

"You are the manager, who sings in your productions is entirely up to you." The woman studied his handsome face patiently, awaiting his decision.

"Really? Well, now..." Andrew straightened up in his seat, looking about the dancers and other actors. "What of Belle? Can she sing?"

"Meg's voice... is too rich for the role. Her voice too deep." Madame Giry answer truthfully. "She is already in the role her voice calls for."

Andrew sighed, "Well... something has to be done. Carlotta is far from her prime and does not need to be cast in the roles she is. She may be a diva, but her voice is no good here."

Madame Giry nodded, wrapped in her thoughts for moment as Andrew looked back to the note slashing diva. She sighed again, speaking slowly, "Do you still sing, Monsieur?"

Andrew chuckled, "Oh Madame, if Meg's voice is too deep then mine would never do."

"Yes, but that was not what I asked. I asked whether or not you still sing, not if you could take the role."

The young man considered the woman, taking in the complete sight of her. He couldn't find a reason why she would ask such a thing of him... "Well, yes. I suppose..."

"Do you or don't you, Monsieur. It was a simple question that called for a simple answer..."

"Yes."

Madame Giry nodded, seeming to be satisfied. Her eyes returned to Carlotta, moving on rather swiftly. "So, what would you have me do, Monsieur?"

Andrew frowned, but said nothing of the woman's odd behavior and question. "I... I'm not sure." His face grew serious again and he gestured to the Spanish diva, "But I can't let her go on like that. She's playing Juliet, isn't she?"

"Yes."

"Juliet is delicate and fair with a voice that reflects that gentle nature." Andrew shook his head, brows arching as he watched Carlotta, "I close my eyes to envision a love struck Capulet and it is not Carlotta that I see." The young manager closed his eyes, doing just as he had spoke of himself doing and made a face when he opened his eyes once more. "God, she is nothing like Juliet at all. It's as though we're trying to pass a troll off for a rose."

Madame Giry smiled in amusement, "You are very passionate about this."

"No," Andrew grinned, "I'm just very honest."

"Sinfully so."

Andrew chuckled, nodding as he was forced to agree with the ballet mistress. There was no denying such a thing.

A shrill shriek from some of the dancers and a loud, bellowing cry of shock erupted from Carlotta's lungs as the cloth backdrop crashed to the stage, taking Carlotta down with it, pinning her to the floor and silencing her singing. She cried out, screaming in rage and furious tears fell as she wailed. Andrew hurried along with Madame Giry to the stage as Reyer and a number of others fussed with freeing the diva. Andrew's eyes, ignoring the soprano, shot straight up to the overhangs and knobs overhead that controlled the backdrops and other devices that they required coming down to the stage from above.

"What on earth...?" Andrew's eyes narrowed, a shape catching his gaze in the shadows. He stepped forward as though to go after the odd shift of shadow and light, as though it were a person in need of catching, but was caught himself by the arm by Meg who's eyes had followed his.

"It's him. It's the Opera Ghost." She told him in a hushed tone, "He is with us. Watching and listening always..."

Andrew frowned at the blonde, "Opera Ghost...? Oh Belle, don't tell me you think he's still here."

"Still?" Madame Giry questioned, brow arched at Andrew. "So you believe he was here once, but no longer?"

"The fire obviously killed him, Madame, if he was ever truly here at all."

Meg tried to silence the young man, shaking her head and watching him with brown eyes that implored him not to say such things.

"I assure you, Monsieur Daae, he is very much alive and here." the madame began, opening her mouth to continue but was interrupted by Carlotta's shrieks.

"AGAIN!" The diva shrieked, flinging her arms around wildly as she pulled from the gasp of Monsieur Reyer and the other's fussing over her. "No more! These things happen too much!" She began sobbing again, swatting at one of her ladies in waiting as they attempted to soothe her and offer a handkerchief to mope up her crocodile tears.

"Again? This has happened before?" Andrew directed his question to Meg who nodded with a meek smile.

"Yes. The backdrop has fallen on her a total of four times throughout the years she has been here..." The blonde smiled, trying to hide the amusement in her voice and face from the blubbering diva.

"That is IT!" Carlotta shrieked, stomping away along with her small group of followers without another look to Andrew, crying out and shrieking about how she was leaving and not coming back - much to the dismay of Monsieur Reyer, but the immense amusement of Andrew.

"Well... seems our issue with Carlotta has been resolved." The dark eyed youth chuckled, "She wont be in the production at all."

"But... then who will be Juliet?" Meg asked, a worried look much like Reyer's crossing her face and darkening her eyes. "Carlotta has no understudy and noone else here can fill her place."

"Nonsense." Andrew assured, "We'll find somebody."

"But who?"

"Meg... sing for us." Andrew instructed despite Madame Giry's earlier explanation of why the blonde was not fit for the role.

Meg stared at her old friend for a long moment before finally shaking her head and stepping back from him. "No. No, no, no, I can't."

"I believe you can..." Andrew smiled, ushering her on to sing. "Go on, Belle. Any of Juliet's songs, just a few lines or so."

"No. Andrew, I can't. Juliet's role is soprano, my voice is too deep."

Andrew sighed heavily, scratching the back of his head as he thought, curiosity concerning the phantom or any strange swirl of shadow he had seen earlier leaving his mind as he paced slowly on the stage before the actors and dancers.

"Monsieur, we need Carlotta..." A young chorus girl urged him, stepping up to stand beside Meg.

"No." He held his hand up, barely giving the girl a glance as he shook his finger above his head in refusal. His hands dropped to rest on his hips as he paced, thinking still. "...Carlotta will not sing. My ears can't take it."

"Neither can the phantom's..." Meg commented softly, eyes lifting back up to box five in the audience.

"Appearently not." Andrew snorted softly, much to Madame Giry's obvious displeasure.

"I... I could sing it."

All eyes turned onto a young red haired girl, her green eyes nervous and shining innocently. She was a dancer, dressed in the same lace skirt and rose corset as Meg, even younger then the blonde, it appeared. She was small, and pretty and Andrew found himself looking to Madame Giry for answers rather then the girl. The woman gave a slight shrug, nothing truly notable from the woman that spoke of the young girl's talents.

"Alright. Very well..." Andrew sighed, rubbing his forehead with the pads of his fingers. "Dear... um..."

"Michelle Versielle..."

"Yes. Very well, Michelle." Andrew nodded, offering the nervous girl a patient smile, "Go on then... sing a bit with Monsieur Reyer."

The girl nodded, turning to the gray haired man who looked ready to pass out as he fretted. Andrew, noticing Meg standing silent and staring up into the audience, followed the blonde's gaze to the box over the stage-box. Box five. He frowned... what was so interesting about that box? Madame Giry always seemed to be staring off towards it and now so was Meg.

There was nothing there.

"You know, Monsieur..." Madame Giry stepped towards the frowning man, who's brow was furrowed and eyes searched an 'empty' box. "The Opera House is still without a lead tenor... that could prove a very troublesome problem if you are still intending to show Romeo and Juliet, without a Romeo. Perhaps now would the time to consider filling the place...?" She arched a brow at the young manager, turning her attention back to Michelle who was actually proving herself to be quite the talented young soprano - though she didn't even graze against the same level Christine had been.

Andrew tore his eyes from the box, looking to the ballet mistress with raised brows of his own. He stood with a hand on his hip, looking to her curiously. "Oh really? And what, exactly, would you have me do, Madame Giry?"

She sighed, looking to him slowly. She nodded towards the box the young man had been trying to figure out the secret of not a moment before. "The Opera Ghost..." She pulled a small white envelope out from where she had slipped it through a sash she wore tired around her middle, just as her pupils wore around their own. "He welcomes you, though reluctantly, as you can imagine, to his Opera House... and demands that you leave box five empty for his use." She gestured to the box over the stage-box. "And wishes to inform you that he requires a salary of at least 20,000 francs a month."

Andrew laughed, chuckled, the sound deeper and lifting slowly with less amusement behind it then his usual laughter, as Meg had noticed. He shook his head, all eyes on him as he tucked his hands behind his back and paced a few times, spinning on his heel to face Madame Giry with an empty grin.

So it begins...

"Well... will you kindly inform Monsieur Phantom that I will gladly keep box five empty for him." Andrew's expression remained as it was, much to Meg's apprehension. Madame Giry smiled, looking as though she had won some great victory - the smile fell though as Andrew held up a hand and continued. "BUT... also let him know that I will not be paying him 20,000 francs a month or any salary of any kind at all."

Madame Giry sighed heavily, looking down to the envelope with a tense expression to her face.

"Ah, ah... but isn't that only fair?" Andrew pressed as he saw the expression, "I am allowing him the use of a rather pricey box, all to himself whenever he pleases, and I'm letting him do so without charging him." The curly haired young man pointed to the box in question, smile turning a little on the coy side as he spoke, "If he wants a salary then he should be working, like the rest here who are paid. No work, no pay."

Madame Giry looked the other over, sighing, though finding his point in his words and agreeing though she'd never say so. "Very well, Monsieur. But there is no use in my telling him; you've told him yourself now already."

"Oh?"

"The angel sees and knows. He hears everything." The madame explained, eyes traveling back to box five.

Andrew laughed out loud at this, bracing his hand against his forehead. "Now he is an angel? Funny...I was under the impression that he was a phantom or ghost of some kind. Perhaps an insane man believing himself greater then he truly is even?"

Madame Giry gave him that look of displeasure once more, though the woman held her tongue.

"Anything else? Does our dear Opera Ghost have any other demands for me?"

"Yes. Actually, he has one more." the ballet mistress said calmly, brows raised and tense as she looked down to the white envelope. She looked up to Andrew slowly, green eyes flashing as she smiled in a manner that Andrew found more eerie then comforting. "He wants to hear you sing."

"Does he?" Andrew asked in a high toned voice, looking up to box five then scanning the seats of the audience. His dark eyes flashed back to the box, watching the shadows for that swirl of light and dark he had seen above near the stagehand post when the backdrop fell. He saw nothing.

"Oui, Monsieur." the madame nodded, tucking the envelope away again and watching Andrew to see what he would do.

"Well... then I assume this means if I pass his little test of sorts, then he will also require me to sing lead tenor?"

"Very good, Monsieur. You are brighter then I, admittedly, would have thought."

Meg frowned at her mother, looking to Andrew as the young man chuckled.

"Of course..." He shook his head, looking out to the box once more. "Well, I must regrettably refuse that demand as well."

"Why is that, Monsieur?"

"If Monsieur Phantom wishes for me to sing, then I would think he should ask me himself." Andrew stood still, as did everyone else on the stage, waiting - perhaps for a sign or indication that a phantom did in fact haunt these halls and was listening. The dark eyed man sighed, shrugging and turning to Madame Giry when no movement or sound was made, "No? Well... then I wont be singing."

"He wishes only to hear your voice."

"Until he can ask me himself I wont sing for him." Andrew spoke with firm resolve, earning a scow from the ballet mistress.

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"She would not dislike you so if you didn't provoke her temper."

Andrew chuckled, "Is that so?"

"You know it is, Andrew." Meg shook her head as she walked with the other to the dinner room, "My mother is a very kind, understanding woman until you threaten her."

"I did not threaten your mother. I never have." The young man said indignantly, giving the girl an offended look.

"No, not directly." The blonde sighed, leading the way into the room that was alive with joyful chatter and the warm scent of hot, fresh stew. "But you threatened what she cares for and so threatened her."

"..." Andrew regarded her oddly for a moment as she grabbed two bowls - one for herself and the other for him. "The phantom? Oh Belle..."

"You should respect him if nothing more, Andrew."

"Meg..."

"He's real, Andrew. I've seen his face." The blonde exclaimed quietly as she filled the young man's bowl and handed it to him. "I've heard him sing..."

"And was his song any good?"

"His song was broken. Lonely. It was the saddest thing I've ever heard..." She paused in pouring her own bowl of soup, thinking back with brows furrowed to the sound of the man singing and the heartbreaking plea he had made to Christine just before the chandelier had fallen and caused the fire.

"He murders people. Murderers tend to be alone, Belle."

"Andrew!" Meg hushed him, scowling at her friend. "He isn't so horrible as he has been made out to be. He is terrifying, yes, but he is no threat if you are not one to him."

"What threat is Carlotta to him?"

"She threatens his sanity with her voice." Meg smiled, laughing and forgetting her annoyance with the other instantly as she giggled softly in response to his coy grin.

"Well, on that note I couldn't agree with him more..."

"Then why provoke his anger, Andrew? Why?" She stressed the words, eyes imploring him to answer and answer properly. Her playfulness had evaporated somewhat, leaving her serious once more as they walked away from all the others with their meals in hand. "He doesn't ask for so much..."

"He did not asked, he demanded, that I pay him 20,000 francs a month." Andrew reasoned as the blonde lead them up a set of winding stairs. Stairs that led straight up to the roof of the Opera House. "AND that I give him full access to an entire box all for himself that is worth ticket wise of a sum twice that amount. It's outrageous!"

The wealthy young man was rather great full for the summer time weather that warmed the roof and lit it a blaze with the rays of the slowly setting sun overhead; if it had been winter, snow falling all around and coating the building with a layer of soft, frozen rain, Andrew was sure it would be near about miserable up there what with the constant breeze it always seemed to have. The two made their way to the edge of the building, each taking a seat on it and looking out over the bustling city as they ate their dinners.

"But what of his request to hear you sing?" She pressed, pointing her spoon menacingly at him. "That would not have cost you a single franc. Why refuse him that?"

"It's a matter of pride, Belle."

"Pride..." The blonde scoffed, scowling at her stew as she spooned through it distractedly, "... the things you've done in the name of pride..."

"As if you're one to talk." He scowled in return as she lifted her eyes to look at him, "Belle, you have always been a prideful spirit. You would sooner cut off your own nose to spite your face simply out of pride."

"Oh don't be foolish."

Andrew had to chuckle as he swallowed a bit of stew, the heat of the meal warming his stomach and throat pleasantly, "I'm not..." She scoffed again, looking out into the city in a manner that seemed to him that she was attempting to ignore him now. He shook his head, looking out in the direction she was, "I will not sing for him... because I am a prideful man and I know it. I don't want your mother coming to me with notes and instructions - if he truly wants to hear me sing he should come to me and ask himself, not through another."

"He has reasons for not revealing himself, Andrew."

"What reasons are those? His face?" Andrew shook his head again, "I've already heard all about it from Christine and Raoul. I'm not afraid a few gruesome sights."

"He doesn't trust you."

"Well then there's another common ground between us - I don't trust him either."

"Andrew, think about what happened the last time he revealed himself to others. He was hunted down and his home was destroyed..." The blonde pressed, having forgotten about her meal it seemed, "What reason should he have now to do it all over again? Why take that chance?"

Andrew thought a moment, thinking to himself it appeared. "Any sane person would know that taking such high risks would be ludicrous... but I believe he should take them all the same." The young owner gave a grin at the incredulous look Meg gave him. "Besides, after all the time and money I put into rebuilding this place, why on earth would Ido a thing that might result it its destruction once more?"

Meg stared at him a moment, seeing his point. She shrugged though, turning her attention back to her stew, "Still... I don't see why you can't just appease him a bit and sing for him."

"We've been through this, Belle." Andrew sighed, a bit frustrated by the topic, "I wont him to ask me himself."

"And if he doesn't?"

"Then I wont."

"You're acting like a child." She told him, frowning again.

"I'm being a child? He hides in the shadows and has a women make his demands through a letter." Andrew snapped, feathers a bit ruffled. "At least I voice my own words and stand by them." She sighed heavily, shaking her head slowly and he frowned at her. "And I gave him what he wanted. I indulged him, didn't I? I gave him his box."

"And denied him everything else."

"I gave him what he wanted within reason." He snapped, "If he wants a salary then he should work. If he wants me to sing, he should ask me himself. I'm not going to respond to childish games of note passing and checking 'yes' or 'no'."

"He wont reveal himself to you, Andrew." Meg told him, her voice a bit softer then it had been, "He did that once, for Christine, and look where that got him. Hated and alone."

"Very well then." Andrew nodded his head curtly, looking a bit cross but understanding. "If he wont come to me, then I shall just have to find him myself."

"That's ridiculous..."

"So is his blaming Christine for his solitude when he has only himself to blame." Andrew countered, appearently catching Meg by surprise with this accusation. "If he loved her, he should have told her. Instead he frightened her, killed people, and threatened those around her... what woman in her right mind would go willingly to the side of a man that had done nothing but reveal himself to be a monster? Put yourself in Christine's place, Meg... would you have gone to him?"

The blonde was left silent at this, considering a moment before lifting her eyes to Andrew's slowly. "...no. I would not have."

"And not I, nor would anyone else, blame you for it. So why should he blame Christine?" He arched a brow, "Why should anyone blame her?"

The two remained there, finishing their meals in silence as the sun slowly fell beyond the horizon. Once the sun had left them, the night growing dark and chilled despite the earlier summer warmth, they retired back to the sleepy Opera House, a new sense of understanding falling pleasantly between them as they went... but even in their solitude, neither could have noticed that they were not alone. Their words had not fallen on deaf ears.

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Ok, there's another chapter for you. I'll get my next one out as soon as I can get it typed and such, I promise. Also, once again forgive any mistakes and typos you might have found while reading, I'm doing my best to find them before posting. I swear.

Next chapter will have much more Erik in it. Yay Erik!

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