Greetings, everyone! Here it is, another LND fic from yours truly! Obviously the characters do not belong to me but to their respective creators, Gaston Le Roux and ALW. 'Devil Take the Hindmost' is another favorite of mine, and I do so hope you enjoy this.!
xo
A
He downed the last shot of bourbon and grimaced as it burned his throat. No. Not a burn. It had stopped burning many hours and a countless number of shots ago. Now it was just a dull ache, and quite frankly he was too drunk to care. Shaking his head he tapped the glass on the bar.
"Another," he mumbled to the bar keep, who just sighed and rolled his eyes. "Did you hear me, boy? I said another!"
"You've been here all night, buddy," the bartender replied. "I think you've had enough."
"I'll tell you when I've had enough!" Raoul snapped. "Now fill this glass!"
The young man grumbled under his breath and trudged over, reluctantly fulfilling Raoul's request.
"The morning shift is here," the bar keep stated. "Settle up with him and get out of here. You look like hell."
Raoul glared at him through bleary, blood shot eyes and smirked.
"Thank you," he hissed in response. The younger man rolled his eyes again, patted his replacement on the shoulder and left the bar. The morning tender began polishing a glass and turned his back on the inebriated Vicomte.
The door creaked open and a petite blonde breezed in, hair damp and smelling of sea salt. She quietly requested a coffee from the bar and as she sat down she found herself caught in the Vicomte's drunken stare. After a moment she averted her eyes and began busying herself by drying her hair.
"Miss Giry," he slurred, then cleared his throat. "What brings you here?"
"I could ask you the same, Monsieur le Vicomte," she answered softly, not looking up. "Drowning your sorrows, are you?"
"There isn't enough liquor on this island to drown my sorrows," he snorted. He swallowed the rest of his drink and sucked in a breath through his teeth. He stared pensively into his glass, thought for a moment, and tapped it on the counter. The bar keep handed Meg her coffee and looked pointedly at the vicomte.
"What?!" Raoul spat, which only earned him a chuckle and a head shake from the younger man. He turned his attention back to Meg, who still would not meet his eyes. " I thought he was dead, Miss Giry."
"Guess you thought wrong," she muttered, taking a sip.
"How did he get here? How did he acquire all of…this..?" Raoul swept his hand in the air, indicating the lavish bar and the sideshow outside.
"Why is it important?" she asked. "He's here now and that's all that matters. You, on the other hand," she finally looked up, her eyes hard and cold. "You should never have come. This is no place for people like you and Christine."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Take a look around you, Vicomte!" she stood and spun around, her hands in the air. "Take a good, hard look. Do you see aristocracy around here? Is there any way you could possibly fit in a place like this? We're a sideshow, Monsieur. We're society's outcasts. This is our home, where we belong. Not people like you."
"Are you asking me to leave?" he put a hand on the bar as his head had begun to spin.
"You should go. Take Christine, take your son and just go," her voice broke at the end and she rubbed her eyes against threatening tears.
"We can't," he answered. "We need the money, and your master has promised us a handsome fee."
"To hell with the money!" she shouted desperately. "This isn't about the money! It's about him! If she…if she sings for him…I'll-" she swallowed hard. "You'll lose everything. She'll be his once again and then you'll really have nothing."
Raoul may have been drunk, but he wasn't deaf. He heard the longing in her voice, and caught the slip where she almost declared that she'd lose everything.
"My dear," he said softly. "Are you in love with him?"
"I-" Meg swallowed hard. "That's not the point. You can't let her sing!"
"It's not that simple, Miss Giry-"
"You don't get it! she grabbed his shirt in her fists and shook him. "Think, monsieur! His spell…she'll be lost…" Meg shook her head, and letting him go turned away. She grabbed her damp towel and rushed to the exit.
"Wait-" Raoul took a few steps after her. She paused at the open door. "Miss Giry, please!"
"Leave, Vicomte, while you still can," she didn't look at him. "Or it will all be lost…" With that cryptic message she swept out as quickly as she came in. Raoul gave chase to the door but was unable to catch her.
"Damn!" he muttered with a slap on the bar. "I'm not afraid of him!" he shouted uselessly after her. "I've beaten him once, I can do it again!"
Erik slipped into the bar unnoticed, as he had a habit of doing, and smirked at the Vicomte's final statement.
If only he knew, he chuckled as he made his way to the bar. Raoul was busy futilely calling after the younger Giry, trying to prove his point. His distraction was almost too perfect an opportunity. He laid his hand on the bartender's shoulder and the young man looked up, shocked at the sudden appearance of his boss. Erik placed a finger to his lips, indicating the need for silence. He first nodded at Raoul and then toward the back entrance, silently relaying his plan. The bartender thought for a moment, and then nodded in acquiescence as he handed Erik his towel and left through the back.
Erik removed his coat with a flourish and stashed it under the counter. He stood, his back to the Vicomte, and adjusted his vest. He smiled to himself as the drunken fool slapped the bar.
"Where is that drink, boy?!" Raoul demanded, and nearly jumped out of his skin when Erik turned around.
"You!" he shouted.
"Indeed it is," Erik raised an eyebrow and nodded curtly.
"Why? What…how?" the Vicomte stammered, clearly confused.
"Quite the proficient linguist, aren't you?" the Phantom mocked. "It's so easy to see why Christine chose you."
Raoul's eyes snapped to Erik's at the sound of her name and he glowered at the taller man.
"You do not get to speak her name," he growled. "After what you've done to her, you are lucky I don't kill you where you stand."
"Good sir," Erik laughed. "You are hardly equipped to kill a fly, let alone a man of significantly superior strength and ability."
"Hey!" Raoul frowned, registering the insult the Phantom had just flung at him.
"And such rapier wit!" Erik smirked again. He was having too much fun with this.
"You will not mock me!" Raoul shouted. "You are in no place to be insulting anyone."
"This is my home," he reminded the drunk aristocrat. "If it is someone who is in the wrong place, it is you."
Raoul seethed for a moment, then quickly tried to gather himself. He smoothed out his rumpled shirt and took a deep breath.
"Am I?" the Vicomte sniffed. "Last time we were in your home, you disappeared like a coward. You could not face the insult in losing Christine to me and you left."
Erik had to give him that one. When she left with the other man, he had been beside himself seeing her choose someone else. But he knew better now.
"You lost her. She never was, nor will she ever be yours," Raoul continued. "Give it up. She chose the better man."
"You think so?" Phantom queried. "You really think so?"
"I know so. You may have had her soul once, but we are wed. Her heart and soul are mine, and will always return to me."
It drove Erik nearly to a rage to hear him say that. How dare he stake such a claim? Did Christine know how her husband truly felt? That she was an object to be used or discarded at his whim? This was more cruel than Erik could bear and he had to put a stop to it.
"Care to make a wager on that?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"A wager on what?"
"Alcohol dulls the senses, it must have effected your short term memory," Erik quipped and watched Raoul's face turn red with anger. "On Christine's affections, halfwit."
"Explain yourself," the bleary eyed Vicomte folded his arms. "And insult me again and you'll pay."
"I'll use small words so you can understand," Erik ignored the threat and continued. "It shall be Christine's final choice. You or me."
"Go on."
"It's simple, really. At tonight's gala performance, if she sings my aria, she is mine. You leave us in peace and never return."
Raoul thought for a moment.
"And if she doesn't?"
"You will receive your payment, your debts will be paid, and you may go in peace to live the rest of your lives as you choose."
Raoul stopped to consider a moment longer. It was enticing, he had to admit. But he knew better. Christine would never choose the man who tormented her over the man who loved her.
"Fine," he acquiesced. "I'll take the bet. But you won't win, I can guarantee you that."
"A guarantee, is it?" Erik almost laughed. "What makes you so sure?"
"Easy," Raoul grinned. "She would never break up our family. Our bond is secure. We have a son."
"Again, I ask you. What makes you so sure?" Erik raised an eyebrow.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Raoul snapped, not catching on.
"You're an educated man, Monsieur le Vicomte, think about it," he goaded the smaller man. "Your son. Such a bright, beautiful child. So vibrant. So full of life. And talented."
"What are you getting at?!" the Vicomte yelled.
"He's quite musical, is he not?" he smiled as realization crossed Raoul's face. "Takes after his mother…and father…"
"Liar," Raoul said darkly.
"If I am, then why is there doubt in your eyes?"
"There is no -" he stopped and inhaled through his nose. "That is a vile accusation, and I will hear no more of it!"
"But you won't stop thinking of it, will you?" Erik mocked. "That notion that possibly, maybe, your wife could have loved-"
"She never loved you!" Raoul grabbed him by the shirt collar and in the same instant found himself pinned against the bar, the Phantom's hand clasped tight around his throat.
"You selfish, ignorant bastard! You know nothing of love!" Erik snarled. "Monsieur le Vicomte, I will lay this out for you one last time. Should she choose not to sing, you leave together and shall hear no more from me. However, if she sings, you will leave. Alone. Then, and only then, will we know who Christine truly loves!"
He released Raoul with a violent shove, turned on his heel and disappeared through the door.
"The concert's tonight," Raoul whispered to the air, clutching his throat. "Oh God, what have I done?" He snatched his waistcoat from the floor and fled. He had to find his wife before it was too late.