A/N – So I know I should be working on my full length E/M fic, Masked Intrigue, but I'm having some serious motivational problems. Huge apology to anyone waiting on that, but know that eventually, I will get back to it. Go ahead and call me out on it, if you wish; I totally deserve it.

Anyway, so my Itunes was on shuffle mode, and any Grobanite will know that this little ditty was inspired by Josh Groban's song "So She Dances." E/M, with fluff? I don't know what exactly constitutes fluff – I'm new, remember? So yeah, here it is, enjoy.

So She Dances

Erik enjoyed his time out of the cellars. It was like a breath of fresh air, both literally and figuratively. It was a chance for him to make sure LeFevre was running his theatre to his exact specifications. He'd made specific, ahem, requests, and he liked to see them followed.

Today seemed just like any other. He had taken notes on the rehearsal, as he often did, to note what needed to be changed. Carlotta was, as always, annoyingly off key and obnoxiously loud. Erik supposed he should get rid of her sooner rather than later, but he liked having her around, if for no other reason than to torment her. He treasured those moments when Carlotta lost control of her diva attitude, and the rest of the company seemed to enjoy it as well.

The ballet corps fluttered on stage, rehearsing the Ballet of the Moors for Il ritorno d'Ulisse in patria. It was an interesting choice on LeFevre's part. The opera featured the ensemble heavily, and Erik was surprised Carlotta had not thrown a larger fit, knowing the company was cutting into her stage time. Erik, on the other hand, rather liked this piece. It gave him a chance to hear Christine more often.

She was turning out to be quite the obedient student, and her voice had improved leaps and bounds, under his tutelage. She was almost like putty in his hands, and he enjoyed molding her voice into exactly what he wanted, what he needed. He gazed lovingly at her as she glided across the floor below him. And right behind her…

Meg. Now there was a fine dancer. He had to admit, Christine was not the most graceful when it came to movement. No, that honor went to Meg Giry, daughter of his one and only confidant. Her expression was through dance, just as his was through song. Erik could not deny that when she danced, Meg had the same intensity as when Erik furiously scribbled his notes onto a page, inspiration flowing through them like water from a cascade. These were the moments when he resented that promise he had made to Antoinette so many years ago.

Marguerite had been his first choice. When he made that decision, he didn't know. But around her fifteenth birthday, he had wanted her as his student. Yes, he consoled Christine from behind a wall most evenings, but it was Meg that had captured him. Her golden hair, flowing behind her, seeming as if it had been weaved by the gods. Her green eyes, emeralds set in a beautiful ivory frame of a face. And her natural grace when dancing, her inner connection to the music, almost identical to Erik's, enhanced her features tenfold. She was everything he wanted.

Unfortunately, he knew Antoinette would have none of that. He desired Meg, body and soul, it was true. But Erik would not betray her trust, she who had saved him from a life of humiliation and pain. It was the least Erik could do for Antoinette, not to pursue her daughter.

So he had set his sights on Christine after that. She too was beautiful, in the more conventional manner. And her voice was not amazing, but not horrid. In fact, it was probably more developed than Meg's was. Christine was also more compliant with everything he demanded of her. Knowing Meg, she would probably have asked more questions and put up more of a fight in her lessons. All in all, Christine had turned out to be the better student.

Yet, as he watched Meg outshine the rest of the ballet rats just now, he couldn't help recognizing that she had grown more fetching these past few years. Her internal grace had been polished into pure elegance, refinement in every step she took, every move she made. It made those feelings he thought he had buried long ago flare up again, almost violently…

XXX

He thought she couldn't see him. But she knew he was there. The Phantom of the Opera.

Her mother thought she didn't know. But Meg knew how to put two and two together. Her mother was the Opera Ghost's accomplice.

She had long harbored a need to win his approval. His word dictated how the Opera Populaire was run, and who was worthy of what role. She wanted to be worthy. So when she went out on stage, she put as much passion as she had in her soul into her rehearsal. Because it wasn't just a rehearsal. It was an audition for the Phantom.

XXX

Ah, so she did know he was there. Trying to impress him. Clever little Giry. Just like her mother.

After that day's rehearsal, he made his way through the passages he had designed, but not back to his underground. Instead, he made for the passage behind the wall of the ballet dormitories. Meg was always the first one back there. He waited for about three minutes, when he heard a voice singing. It was not a voice he had heard before. She was singing nonsense, but she was singing nonsense well. Erik chanced a peek through a crack in the wall, and to his absolute delight, it was his Meg. She had been working on her technique in secret, for he had not heard her sing in some time. And it was certainly an improvement from the voice he had heard some years ago. Her tone was clearer, her breathing much improved.

Brava, Marguerite. Brava

As she left the room, he opened his secret door just a crack. The rose had been for Christine, but she could go one day without a lesson. Instead, he tied the black ribbon around the rose and placed it on Meg's bed. Then he left to return to his underground. He had a note to write.

XXX

The next day, Erik resumed his position in the small room behind the dome of the Populaire, watching Lefevre call a small meeting before rehearsal.

"Everyone, if I could have your attention for one moment, s'il vous plait," LeFevre began. "It has come to my attention that we have not cast the role of L'humana fragilatá for the prologue yet." An evil grin came across Erik's face as the manager spoke. "As all our main singers have filled supporting roles already, I have decided to award the role to Mademoiselle Giry."

A general sense of contentment milled about the room. Little Giry, on the other hand, was completely taken aback.

"Me, monsieur? Are you certain?"

LeFevre nodded vigorously. "Yes, mademoiselle. I have it on good authority that your voice is perfectly suitable for the role." Meg felt someone squeeze her shoulder, and she turned around to see Christine and her mother beaming at her side. As they walked away, though, Meg brought her eyes up to the dome, and allowed herself to smile.

"Thank you," she whispered, and she knew he was listening.

Erik, on his part, smirked lovingly as he watched Meg turn to begin rehearsing, and noticed her hair was held back by a familiar silky black ribbon.

A/N - Was it at all OOC? Please tell me if it was! I can't learn from my mistakes if no one points them out! Hope you liked it!