Amélie Cammelle ran her eyes across the article one last time and hit send. Another job well done. Skype popped open on her dock. "Please, please, please, send me something good," she prayed, clicking Accept. "Amélie Cammelle speaking."

"Amélie? This is James. From Supernatural Bimonthly. Remember me?" A face of soft curves and dark eyebrows was grinning easily at her, blue eyes shining eagerly.

"Oh, yes,of course! You were the one who hired me for the Frankenstein article last year. Ooh, my friends hated me for that one..."

"Well, you do know that it was our highest selling issue that year, right?"

"Yes."

"My fa... boss wants more. He says you're good for us, Amélie."

"Oh, I'm flattered," she replied sarcastically. "No one can ever just call me to say hello, it's always to talk about how much money I can make them."

"If you'd told me that, I'd have called you soon-" At that moment, One Day More started blasting in the other room.

"RAMIN IS BETTER IN LES MISÉRABLES!" Julie Harris screamed.

"RAMIN IS BETTER IN PHANTOM OF THE OPERA!" Alicia Bailey shouted back, turning up the volume on Masquerade.

"WOULD YOU TWO SHUT UP?" yelled Amélie. "One moment, please… "

"James, Amélie. Please call me James."

"James...right...excuse me..." She stood, taking a moment to channel every calm emotion she had in her. "Both of you, out here, now." Alicia stumbled out of her room, her honey blond-highlighted hair mussed, her decolletage almost scandalously revealed by her reproduction of the dressing gown from Phantom of the Opera. Julie poked her head through the top half of her door, her dusty trench coat and patched cap giving away that she'd been in the middle of singing Éponine. "I am in the middle of a phone call with a possible employer, and your damn musicals war is going to ruin that chance! Shut up right now, turn down that racket, or get kicked out!"

"But, Ammy..."

"Butts are for sitting," Amélie interrupted, turning back into her room. James was still on the Skype screen, grinning widely.

"I take it those were the little dynamos who worked with you last time?"

"They've been with me for ages now. I've learned to deal with them."

"Okay, well, listen, why don't we talk in the Coffee Foundry? It'll be much quieter."

"That does sound nice," mused Amélie. "Fifteen minutes from now?"

"I'll be waiting." He winked at her before closing the conversation. Amélie quickly slid her laptop into its carrier so she could take it with her.

"Julie, where's my charger? And for that matter," she paused to touch her bare throat, "where's the locket Papa sent me for my birthday last year?"

"How should I know?" Julie asked, blinking her brown eyes innocently.

"Oh, please! I know you were using it during your Fantine phase last week!"

"Busted!" Alicia trilled gleefully.

"Alicia, don't you dare start with me." Amélie interrupted, striding into Julie's room and rummaging through her jewelry box. "Seeing as you stole one of my Mum's rings for that damned 'lair scene' that makes you bawl like a baby!"

"Wait, noooo! Not my Les Mis charm bracelet!" Julie wailed as Amélie tossed the silver chain out of the box and over her shoulder. "Omigod! Is the flag okay? Cosette! Oh, little Cosette! Speak to me!"

"You are pathetic," Amélie sighed, lifting up the delicate gold chain and cameo pendant she'd been searching for. "I'm going out now."

"Ammy, you've got a date!" Alicia squealed. "No way!"

"A work date, seeing as I can't have a conversation without you two blasting those bloody musicals!"

"Bloody-"

"Oh, you did not just-"

"Au revoir!" Amélie called, slamming the door behind her.

XxXxX

"James, this better be quick, we've got to cover at least five other stories."

"Amélie is brilliant, Dad. I swear-"

"I am through with hiring your girlfriends just so you can coddle them during office hours."

"Bloody hell, Dad, I was here already, you know! Do you really think I jetted out to New York just so I could start a relationship with Amélie Cammelle, journalist extraordinaire?"

"Yes, James, that is exactly what I think. Doesn't this girl have a cell phone?"

"Dad, you've officially gone mental. Amélie's got a strict policy on face-to-face hiring, remember? You're the one who sent me out to AFRICA to track her down last year."

"Last year was last year, and you weren't infatuated with her back then."

"Right, Dad. And would you prefer we send one of those freaky girls who spends every waking moment babbling about Phantom? Amélie's a professional. She can write this without a crush on what's-his-name. Would it kill you to trust me once in a while?" He scanned the cafe and saw Amélie at the door, carrying a box of Krispy Kreme donuts and a black messenger bag. "I've got to go now."

"James Robert Crawley, don't you dare—" James hung up on his father before he could hear the full threat.

"Amélie! Over here!"

"James, hi." She smiled warmly, trying to shift the things in her arms. "Just give me a moment…"

"Oh, no… I can get it." He stood up and pulled out the chair. "Please. Sit."

"I have missed encountering gentlemen," she laughed, sitting down and pushing the box across the table. "Would you like one?"

"No, thank you. I just ate."

"Suit yourself." Amélie bit down on a glazed one. "So, what have you got for me this time?"

"Judging from the background noise of our Skype session, I'm guessing you know about the Phantom—"

"Of the Opera?" Amélie asked warily. "Unfortunately, yes, I do. Too much."

"Should I take that to mean you won't want the job?"

"Perhaps you should tell me more before I make my decision."

"Well, the 23rd this September marks the hundredth anniversary of the original novel—"

"Hundred and third," she interrupted, her cheeks turning bright red. James looked at her in shock. Her original tone had led him to believe she loathed the subject. "My friends… they've… told me the original French novel was published in 1908… and the English translation was in 1911…"

"Well, that's the one we wanted to acknowledge, seeing as the musical turns twenty-five this year."

"Oh, I see. You want me to do a double feature on the two of them."

"Sharp as ever." He smiled at her, and she shrugged, popping the last of her donut into her mouth. "So, we'd be sending you to Paris for about a week, and then to London for interviews with the cast of the concert, and the actual performance. Prime seating."

Amélie's jaw dropped as he pulled out three glossy tickets. "James, you must be mad… there's no way my team will be able to function as well as they normally do under these circumstances…."

"You can control them, can't you?"

"Er…." Amélie chewed her lip. "I suppose…. But I am not responsible for any damage the two of them do to the Paris Opera or the Royal Albert Hall." James laughed at her solemn expression. "I am deadly serious. When Alicia finds out, every man in that company would be in major trouble."

"Should I throw in a ticket for him, too, then?"

"No. I'll just keep Alicia on a leash. Julie'll like that."

"Your team doesn't get along?"

"They have their spats, but they love each other, at the end of the day," Amélie sighed. "I do my best."

"And that's why Mr. Crawley wants you," James said, being careful not to implicate himself as being a Crawley himself.

"All right, I'll take it," Amélie said, after a moment of chewing on her donut. She set it aside and held out her non-sticky right hand. James tried his hardest to ignore the shiver that ran down his spine as their skin made contact in the handshake.

"A pleasure doing business with you, Miss Cammelle." A phone started blaring the opening theme of Les Misérables.

"Dammit," grumbled Amélie, flipping it open. "I have to take this, I'm sorry. Hello?"

"AMMY! ALICIA'S BEING A BITCH!" a girl's voice screamed.

"YOU DESERVE IT!" another girl yelled back. " NOW, BACK OFF BEFORE I BREAK YOUR PRECIOUS BOYFRIEND'S CAMERA!"

"YOU WOULDN'T DARE!"

"JUST TRY ME, JULIE!"

"I've got to go, James, I'm sorry…." Amélie stood, pushing back her chair. "That camera they're fighting about is a loaner, and if I don't get over there, I'll be the one buying a new Nikon whatever-it-is for Alex."

"I get it. I'll see you in London, then?"

"Yes."

September 15, 2011

"Come on, hurry up!" Amélie shoved her bag through the claim counter, looking over her shoulder. "Oh, god, they're coming…"

"Amélie! Amélie!"

"Oh, shit," Alicia cussed as the mob of Amélie's supporters swept over them.

"Amélie! Can I get an autograph?"

"Miss Cammelle, your article on the recent revolutions was positively inspiring! Are you planning to continue with the trend? What's your newest project?"

"Is it true you're dating a corporate scion?"

"No," Amélie laughed, responding to the final question. "Corporate scions aren't my type and I'm not seeing anyone at present. Now, will you let us through? We're going to be late!" Others clamored for her attention until Julie let out a shrill whistle.

"LET US THROUGH, YOU IDIOTS!" she shrieked. The swarm of people parted, allowing the trio to pass. "Honestly, Ammy, you had to be so good at your job, didn't you? You had to become a role model for young journalists?"

"I do what I have to in order to pay the bills, which is more than you do," Amélie snapped, sliding her passport to the security officials.

"Are you talking to me, or Alicia, because I do more than—"

"Ahem, bullshit, ahem," Alicia coughed.

"Alicia's right, you're equally useless once the actual investigations are done. I've half a mind to send you both back to Wales once this one's done!"

"You wouldn't dare! You love us and you know it!" Julie declared triumphantly.

"Yes, well, can we talk about this on the plane?" demanded Amélie, whipping her belt off her waist and cracking it over her friends' heads like a whip. "Go! Go! Go! Allez!"

XxXxXxX

Alex O'Connell grimaced as the phone rang loudly. "Julie, love, why do you always call when I'm working?" he grumbled. After about five rings, it went to voicemail. "Hi, you've reached Alex O'Connell. I can't get the phone right now, so leave a message once the tone sounds. Thank you."

"Alex, it's James," the voice of his former roommate came out with that tinny resonance he despised in phone calls. "Look, I know this is weird, and you're five hours ahead of me, but I need to know? Would Amélie Cammelle really not date someone just because they're a corporate heir? Um… Yeah, stupid. Just like I thought… well, good night."

Amélie, dating? The girl he knew, that sweet plump face that only really cared for her next article… he'd always thought she just was asexual, not into dating at all. In fact, both she and Alicia had never settled down… and Alicia was just too flirty to stay with any guy for long. Julie, on the other hand… he sighed as he readjusted the wires again, longing for his girlfriend.

September 23, 2011

"Alicia Bailey, you give that back!" chided Amélie, plucking the Box Five key from her best friend's hand and passing it back to their guide. "Mes excuses, monsieur. C'est la première foisde mon ami à Paris. Maintenant, vous s'il vous plaît de nous montrer les caves?"

"What did she say?" Alicia asked Julie, who was flipping through her dictionary.

"Um…. My apologies, sir…. It is my friend's… first time in Paris… Now, will you please… show us the cellars?" Julie translated. "Ammy, do we have to? Alicia and I want to have movie night!"

"Fine! Ainsi soit-il. Ils peuvent être indiqués, mais je tiens à voir ce qui est ci-dessous."

"Comme voulez vous, Mam'selle," the guide said.

"Okay, you two, head back to the hotel. I'll meet you later tonight."

"Call us?"

"If there's trouble." Amélie promised, double kissing them on the cheek, the way she'd been taught by her soap opera-starring mother. "Go on now. I expect you'll have gotten to that silent film of yours by the time I'm done."

"Love you, Ammy," they chorused.

"I love you, too. Now, go on. Get out of here!"

XxXxXxX

"I won't go further, mam'selle," the guide said, his hands trembling. "It is dangerous."

"Men," Amélie huffed in frustration, yanking the torch out of his hand. "I will go on alone, then."

"But, mam'selle! There is a storm starting, the cellars might flood."

"I don't care! Let me by!" She shoved against his scrawny frame, and easily pushed him aside. The young man's protests continued to echo, but she ignored them, descending further into the cellars. Overhead, the sound of thunder rumbled loudly. Amélie snapped a few photographs of the walls, the arches, and the water, growing increasingly bored. How could people find any of this Phantom garbage at all interesting? As she took a step forward, the toe of her shoe caught on the hem of her blue jeans and she tumbled headfirst into the lake, hitting the water just as the thunder roared again. Her hands scrambled for the shore, everything was surging around her, and then… blackness.

September 23, 1881

Erik raised his head at the sound of a splash. How could someone have gotten this far into the catacombs without his knowledge? Grabbing his cloak and fedora, he headed for the boat. The splashing was fading… had he imagined it? No…. He saw now.

At the very edge of the lake, a girl lay on the bank, her russet hair thrown across her round face in sopping strands. Her hands had clamped onto the rocky shore, so tightly the knuckles of her hands were turning white, the black strap of a bag clenched beneath her right hand. Then he saw that there was blood trickling down her face, mingling with the threads of her hair. There was a nasty cut on her forehead, one that could easily kill her if it went unchecked. Before he could stop himself, he pulled her up by the arm into the boat. He could just as easily end up killing her later, but he needed answers as to how she had accomplished all she had.

Author's note: Thoughts? Please note, I do NOT plan on this being Erik/OC. With all due respect, the majority of the fics I've read always end up making NO sense as to why Erik would drop everything for another girl.

Translating for Amélie: So be it. They may be shown out, but I wish to see what is below.