Trapdoor || A Phantom of the Opera/Doctor Who Fanfiction

Chapter Thirteen

A/N:

I apologize for the short length of the chapters recently. It's all buildup to the masquerade, which will take a bit longer to write but hopefully will be the longest chapter yet.

-Han

Chapter Thirteen

"This is certainly an... interesting design, mademoiselle," the seamstress told Amy as she examined the sketch Rose had done of Amy's gown and mask, clearly trying to be polite in the midst of her confusion. "It will suit your figure quite well, but I am not exactly sure who you are meant to be with this costume."

Amy smiled. "Take a closer look, Madame," she suggested.

After a moment of examination, Madame's eyes widened in sudden realization. "I see. Very clever, Miss Pond," she said, but Amy couldn't tell if she was being serious or not. "I'll begin on it right away, and you will be called in for a fitting within the next few days."

"Thank you," Amy said, taking one last glance at the dress design and allowing herself a small smile before leaving.

~O~

It was Christmas Eve, a week away from the night of the ball, when Amy was called back for her fitting. The dress was coming along beautifully, she thought, and Rose was there to approve and give suggestions. Amy was quite sure that Madame didn't like being ordered around by Rose, and Rose was unwavering - the session proved to be very interesting for everyone involved

Not too long afterward, Isabelle appeared, holding a small black box wrapped with a white-and-red ribbon, along with an envelope. "Amy, this was left for you," she said, holding it out to the taller girl.

"What? Um, thank you," Amy said dazedly, recognizing Erik's handwriting on the front of the envelope.

She made her way to an empty corridor, one that was somewhat shadowed, to have a little privacy before opening the envelope. The way the note was written seemed different, somehow - more personal than he had ever written to her before.

Dear Amelia,

I have never had cause to celebrate Christmas before, but I felt I should get you something. I hope you like it.

Merry Christmas, Amelia Pond. I look forward to escorting you to the ball in a week's time.

Yours,

Erik

Yours. Amy folded the note quickly and returned it to the envelope, almost frightened by the intimate word. Why did Erik like to confuse her so?

Turning her attention to the gift, Amy took a moment to admire the way it was wrapped. She untied the lacy ribbon, running the soft fabric through her fingers briefly. Maybe she could use it to tie her hair back?

She opened the box, a little hesitant. Inside was a golden diamond-shaped pendant on a thin chain of the same color. Amy gasped softly, drawing it out of the box and holding it up in front of her. The charm spun on the chain, light dancing along the edges.

"It's beautiful," she said aloud, awestruck. She set the box and envelope on the floor and held the necklace to her throat, fingers struggling to fasten it behind her neck.

Suddenly a pair of hands closed over her own, taking the chain out of her hands. Amy froze, startled, as the figure behind her fastened the necklace and withdrew without a sound, save for a soft sigh that warmed her skin briefly.

Amy turned, but he was gone, leaving no trace behind. She wasn't sure whether to be flattered that he'd helped her or creeped out that he'd followed her, so she decided to just appreciate the beautiful gift and not complain.

~O~

The masked ball was drawing closer, and as it did, Erik grew increasingly more restless and confused. His reconciliation with Amy had brought on a new side of him - gentler, less controlling. He truly cared about her, and it was terrifying.

Although he itched to know what Amy's costume would be, Erik restrained himself from going in the seamstress's office at night. Amy clearly wanted to surprise him, and he wouldn't ruin that surprise.

(See, there he went again - where was this accursed softness coming from? Why did he care so damn much about what she thought?)

He noticed with some satisfaction that Amy wore her necklace every day. Although she was often asked about it, she gave very little hints at all as to where it came from. This often drew even more attention to the little charm.

"Did it come from the Phantom?" one young ballet girl asked her, giggling.

"Now what gave you that idea, Majori?" Erik could tell that Amy's smile was a little forced, but the girl didn't seem to notice.

"Because he's -" Majori began, but Amy quickly covered the blonde's mouth, glancing around. Wary of being seen, Erik shifted backward slightly, but he continued to watch.

"Shhh," Amy whispered. "You never know when he might be listening."

Majori's blue eyes grew round as Amy released her. "Do you really think he's...?" she breathed.

Amy looked around again. "Hurry along now, Majori," she said, patting the younger girl's shoulder lightly. "You shouldn't be late for practice."

Majori scampered off obediently, and Amy sighed, touching her necklace briefly before turning the corner and disappearing from Erik's sight.

What had the little ballet girl wanted to say? Erik scowled, not liking the implications of what she had begun to tell Amy. He had appeared publicly to his student only once, and even then it was rather private; were his affections for her already that clear to the members of the opera house?

~O~

"Miss Pond?" Rory was approaching her, and Amy bit her lip, trying to avoid his gaze. Things between them had been a little strained since opening night and his rejected confession, and she always tried to avoid him when they weren't onstage.

"Yes, Monsieur Williams?" Amy tried to smile at him.

Rory looked on edge as well. "I... was wondering if... at the ball, you would allow me a dance?" he asked quietly, a flush on his cheeks.

Unable to hide her surprise, Amy's brow lifted. "I suppose," she said, then nodded. "Yes, I'll dance with you, monsieur."

He smiled at her, clearly relieved. "Thank you, Miss Pond," he said, ducking his head and hurrying away.

Rose sidled up to her a moment later, wearing a smirk. "I saw that," she teased.

"There was nothing to see," Amy sighed. "He requested I save him a dance at the ball, and I agreed. That's it."

Rose grinned. "Good to see you two finally getting past whatever happened," she said over her shoulder as she left.

Pushing back a strand of hair, Amy rolled her eyes. Her friend was probably off to tell Clara that she and Rory had "made up", and rumors would begin to spread. At this rate she was going to develop a reputation.

Why can't things just be simple?