Name: Solace in the Catacombs
Characters: Erik and Christine (Of course!)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: By the age of Phantom of the Opera, you can probably guess I don't own it… never have, never will… I can dream though! All characters belong to Leroux, Webber, and anyone else who took up creating the wonderful characters of Phantom.
I haven't uploaded anything in so long! And this is my first one-shot piece! ^_^ The date it's set at is unknown… the timeline is a lil off, but it doesn't really need to fit into the proper story – it's just one of those 'what if' situations that I cooked up in my head before bed, really! Pretty much just sweet, fluffy goodness featuring an adventurous Christine! Thank you very much for reading – enjoy!
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Her hair was unkempt and her breathing rushed and pained, but Christine did not cease her descent into the cellars of the Opera House. The further she went, the darker it became, her little candle relieving her fears to little effect as she caught the sound of rats scurrying about somewhere in a corner of the second level.
He hadn't been there.
Rehearsals had been grueling today, and her voice was hardly at it's best after her even longer practice with Erik the day before. He pushed her too hard, she decided, even though she did very much appreciate all of his work. At rehearsal, Carlotta had muttered and hissed insults at Christine all morning, and although she tried her best to ignore them, some cut deep – especially when the insults were focused on Christine's background – her father, and how it was she came to be able to sing at all. Both sort of insults were an attack on two men she held dear to her heart, and both hurt as much as if they were directed at Christine herself.
She'd had to perform her aria twice in front of the whole company, and been scolded over a dozen times when she didn't hit the right note at the right time. This piece was going to be the death of her, and all she wanted was for Erik to hush her fears and work with her until she was perfect, keep his ever-frustrating teacher-façade on until he had got her sounding just as he wanted, and then smile and praise her after their lesson and fetch her tea in the catacombs, in the warmth of his home.
But that wish was half the reason why Christine was so panicked now. After rehearsals, and after a short but pleasant meeting with Raoul who had come to ask her to a late lunch – (which Christine had politely declined) – she'd rushed off to her dressing room, tugging off the thin gloves she'd worn for the cold morning, expecting to find her Angel waiting for her behind their mirror.
She couldn't have waited long before her impatience kicked in. Usually Erik was already waiting for her, popping open the mirror the first moment she'd gotten the door shut. He was usually so eager to see her, just as she was eager to see him. Today, though, the mirror didn't budge. Minutes ticked by and still Erik did not appear. Christine started to knock lightly against the mirror, called out lightly for her Angel and receiving no reply. She knew he wasn't there – sensed he wasn't there.
But why wasn't he?
It couldn't have been because of her meeting with Raoul, surely? She'd pursed her lips at the thought and shook her head – he had come to her even when she'd known he'd listened in on her conversations with Raoul before – and she was sure that wasn't the reason. And so a million questions buzzed through her mind, a million scenarios on why her teacher, her Angel, hadn't been there to meet her.
In her desire to find out, Christine had lit a candle and headed in the direction of the one place she could think to locate him – his home beneath the Opera House. Only, without knowing how to open the mirror (curse her for not asking Erik sooner how to work the contraption!), her only idea was to head down through the cellars – for down was the only way, right?
And so she had found herself here, in the cellars, keeping quiet at first so as not to attract anyone's attention and suspicion, but finding herself growing louder the further down she went, her feet heavy on the cold stone and her breathing loud and sharp.
"Erik?" She called into the darkness, receiving no answer, "Ange?" Still nothing.
She was climbing down the steps to the third level, the darkness somehow even thicker. Old, tattered boxes piled high against the stone walls, damp in some sections. Unused props littered the floor, neglected for months, years, and probably too worn or broken to ever be used in any other production. In the back of her mind, Christine wondered if they would ever see the light of day again. Her stomach twisted at the thought when she once again wondered what had become of Erik.
Christine moved faster, kicking aside the obstacles in her path. The corridors were hard to define, and twisted in odd ways that made her head spin. How anyone ever navigated their way around down here escaped Christine, and she fumbled her hands against the cold walls to find her way, praying that her candle would stay lit, for if it went out she'd be lost down here forever with the rest of the boxes and props.
"Erik!" She cried once more, her voice shaky and filled with fright.
All that answered her was the silent howling of stale air that wafted through the corridors. Crying out in frustration, Christine spun on her heels in a full circle, her skirt billowing out around her. She wished she'd kept her gloves on. After a moment she pushed on, but her foot snagged on something and sent her toppling over. Her candle was knocked from her grasp as her hands splayed out across the harsh, cold floor, and her knees, although protected through her dress' thick layers, hurt horribly as they collided with the stone. Again a cry escaped Christine's lips, and she only barely managed to keep from hitting her head against the ground as well.
The candle was out, the cellar cast into thick, unassailable darkness.
When she recovered from the shock of the fall, a frightened murmur escaped the little brunette's lips. She couldn't move, could scarcely breath as she thought about the dark that surrounded her. Her sense of direction was completely gone and she had no idea which way to go to get either further down or back up to the safety of the Opera House.
Christine had no idea how much time passed as she argued with herself on what to do next. She could cry out until her lungs hurt and she had no more voice left, but it would do her little good – no one would hear her down here. And she still had no idea where Erik was, and so could hardly rely on him to come and find her.
But even as she thought it, the feather light touch of a gloved hand brushed her cheek. For a moment Christine was engulfed by fear, recalling the tales that the ballet girls would tell each other late at night after their performances – the tales of the Opera Ghost, and what he did to those who found their way down to his sanctuary in the opera's cellars. They would paint the Ghost as the most horrid thing ever imaginable, and it would send shivers down Christine's spine, kept her safe in bed and out of trouble for many years.
Now, though, after the initial shock of his gloved fingers against her skin, Christine felt nothing but relief to have her savior here. He was kneeling before her, one hand resting on his bent knee, the other stretched out to her. Christine could hardly see him in the dark, but she knew he could see her as clear as day, and smiled up into the darkness.
"Silly girl," was his first words, and Christine didn't even think to object to his words as relief flooded her every inch. "Who knows what lurks in these dark corridors, child… one would wonder why you'd venture down here?"
It wasn't the sweet, passionate voice of her Angel. No, it wasn't Erik speaking – it was the Opera Ghost, albeit a slightly curious, almost amused Opera Ghost. Christine didn't care though. No matter who he was at that moment, he was still there…
She didn't know how to explain herself. She opened her mouth to answer, shut it, and then tried again, groaning in frustration when no words formed, "You didn't come to me after rehearsals."
Silence filled the air, and the hand that had been softly tucking a stray curl behind her ear pulled away. Christine almost winced at the loss of contact, a horrible feeling of loss stretching through her insides. She reached up, unsure of what she would find first, and eventually, with a sigh, he permitted her to find his fingers. She pulled them closer and sat up a little straighter, tucking her legs beneath her.
"Shh," her Angel breathed, "Erik's here, Christine… Erik's here…"
"I was so frightened-"
She wanted to explain herself, wanted to apologize for acting so brazenly, and to hear him explain why he hadn't been waiting for her, leaving her with no other option than to venture down into the cellars, putting herself at obvious risk of injury.
"Not now," he breathed. She felt the air shift as he moved above her, bent closer and lifted her into his arms. He felt warm in comparison to the harsh cold of the cellars, and she nuzzled closer, burying her face in the folds of his jacket.
Christine closed her eyes as she let him carry her down a path towards what she assumed was the catacombs. At one stage she heard the obvious sound of sliding rock, and the air grow colder still, and she wondered whether they had disappeared into a hidden passage behind the cellar's walls. If that were the case, then she really would have never found her way to Erik's home on her own. She silently cursed her stupidity, and mumbled something under her breath. The way she was positioned, she could feel the silent chuckle of Erik as he listened to her whispered scolding of herself.
"Where were you?" She asked again, eyes still closed.
"I…" The way he held back told her that he didn't want to say, but she didn't care, "During rehearsals that boy arrived," – Christine needed little explanation as to who Erik meant by 'that boy' – "And I listened as he spoke with one of my managers."
Through a pause, Christine observed, "Oh you were eavesdropping? How very unlike you, Ange."
The grip around her tightened a little, not in rage or annoyance, but protection, "Very funny," he answered blankly as he continued their journey downwards, "He was discussing his plans for the afternoon."
"Mm," Christine breathed, feeling the effects of her adventure sink in as a wave of tiredness settled on her, "he wanted to escort me to a late lunch."
"I know," there was annoyance in his tone now, but he pushed it aside,
"He said that he would take you to that fine restaurant a block from the Opera House. I've never been there, but the talk of the Opera patrons tells me it is a rather wonderful establishment to enjoy a meal at. The boy said he'd let you have whatever you wanted and afterwards was planning to take you for a walk by the river. It sounded like quite the charming afternoon."
She didn't deny it – that did sound splendid, even though Erik had added his own little hint of sarcasm to the comment. They had reached the boat and he lightly lowered her into it, stepping in himself to begin their journey across the lake to his home. Her earlier fear was almost completely gone now, as she sat in the boat, safe under Erik's guard.
"I thought instead of our lesson," he said eventually, eyes away from his student as he watched the boat create ripples on the dark water, "You may prefer that today." His voice was low and uncertain, and Christine hated the pain that she could hear in it. She pursed her lips, shaking her head in annoyance.
"So, you assume that I'd rather spend my time with Raoul then attend my lesson with you?"
He merely shrugged, pushing the boat's oars back and sending the boat further along the lake.
"And you didn't think to eavesdrop on him actually asking me? To see what my answer would be, Ange?"
Erik looked a little taken back, like the idea was silly, and that he shouldn't have to answer it. "Would you not of preferred that, Christine – to spend the afternoon in daylight, in an expensive restaurant with that… Vicomte? Preferred it, at least, then returning to this dank place." He raised one hand around him to show that he meant the catacombs.
Christine only sighed, and felt the slight bump of the boat hitting the shore of the other side of the lake. Erik assisted her out of the boat and then stepped away from her, clenching and unclenching his hands. He was trying desperately to remain calm, but she could hear the anger in his voice.
For a moment she thought desperately over the words she could choose to answer with – unwilling to provoke the anger that lurked just under her Angel's surface. After a moment she stepped closer to him, closing the distance he'd made between them, "Erik," she breathed, and she smiled at the way he reacted to her calling him by his name.
Raoul never reacted to anything the way Erik did – she could almost say the Vicomte took her for granted, when she compared their reactions. She knew she shouldn't do that, couldn't do that… but the way the edge of Erik's lips curled up at his name, the way he tensed and looked at her… it was so heartwarming…
"Erik," she said again, just to elicit that horribly sweet reaction again, "You weren't waiting for me when rehearsals finished, and so I took up a candle and raced into the cellars to try and find you on my own. Does that not suggest that I may have preferred spending the rest of the day with you, Ange?"
Erik considered her question, and when he sighed, letting his shoulders droop a little, Christine knew he had no answer for her. Instead she turned around so that she was facing the same way as he was, and roped her arm around his, "Shall we attend my next lesson, then, Ange?"
Conceding to her request, Erik led Christine up the banks to his home to begin their lesson. As she took up her position beside his piano, she smiled at him, and Christine couldn't help but marvel at the smile that her Angel returned to her.
"Erik?" She asked before they began.
"Yes, Love?"
"Don't ever assume that I would rather spend the day away from you again?"
A brief pause, and then a reluctant (and Christine knew, probably untrue) answer of, "No, Christine. I won't assume that again."
She smiled wider nonetheless, and leaned a hand against the piano, nodding her head enthusiastically, "And you will always wait for me, when we have a lesson scheduled after rehearsals?"
"As long as you wish it."
She could sense his desire to change the topic now, and after a moment, Christine bowed her head in defeat, pursing her lips and humming something absently, "Alright. I'm sorry I wondered into the cellars, by the way."
"You need not ever apologize to me, Christine," Erik responded as he sorted through his libretto.
Frustrated, Christine let out a deep breath and came around to take a seat beside her Angel, "Erik," she commanding, and his eyes immediately fell on her, "You'll always wait for me?" She had raised her hands to his own, to stop them from shuffling through his papers, and his breath had caught somewhere between the action and her words.
Swallowing, Erik finally nodded, "Yes, Christine."
A moment's hesitation, and Christine leaned over to brush the lightest of kisses to Erik's masked cheek. The feel of the mask was cold, and hard, and nothing like what a cheek should be, but the action was for Erik just as wonderful as if it had been his other, unmasked cheek she had kissed. For a second he sat gob-smacked in his seat as Christine stood up and retook her spot beside the piano, "We shall begin, then?" She smiled.
Erik nodded, "Yes, Christine."
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Comments/Reviews are very much appreciated! ^_^