A/N: This is my fist Phantom of the Opera phic. Please review and tell me what you think. Also a big thanks to my friend blackkittywhiskers, who, even though she likes Raoul, read and edited this during our History class and gave me feedback over lunch. this is dedicated to her.
Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera.
As Raoul led her towards the boat, Christine spared one last look towards the Phantom, he was where she had left him, holding the ring she had returned. Everything about him was defeated now, and his deformed face was full of pain and sadness. I have done this. She thought, he had helped her with her voice, had been there to comfort her after her father's death, and now she was betraying him, leaving him to be killed by a mob!
She turned back around to look at Raoul. He wouldn't have ever noticed her if it wasn't for the Phantom, and now that she was going with Raoul, what would happen to her? Would she remain singing for the opera house? That didn't look likely, Raoul already stated that he couldn't marry an employee of his, that it wasn't professional.
If the Phantom had gone with his original plan, Christine knew her career in singing would have blossomed. Singing, the one thing that kept her close to her father. Looking back once more at the Phantom, it finally dawned on her that he was surrendering to a fate where he would die, and she and Raoul would live. Raoul could live for her, but her Phantom, her Angel could die for her.
A sharp pain ran up Christine's ankle as her foot collided with something, looking down, she saw that she had tripped over the side of the boat, where Raoul was standing in the middle of it, gripping her hand, "Come." He told her.
Christine looked back at the Phantom. Her Angel. He still stood where she had left him, a broken man. For a moment she was torn….
She made up her mind.
"Raoul-"
"We don't have time for this Christine, we have to go now." Raoul interrupted, looking fearfully at the Phantom, "We can talk later." He pulled on her arm, urging her to get in the boat.
"Raoul, no." Christine said, taking a deep breath to steady herself, "You go. I'm staying here."
"What?" Raoul hissed. "Christine, listen to me. That man is a murderer. Or have you forgotten that?"
"No, I haven't" Christine said softly. "But," she continued, mustering up her courage, "I just know I need to do this. Please. Go."
"He is putting you under some sort of trance, like in the graveyard." Raoul said, pulling on her arm once more.
"Raoul, please," Christine said, "I need you to believe me. I do have feelings for you, yes, but it's taken me up until now to realize that those feelings are simply what I would feel for a brother. Let me go."
Realization seemed to dawn on him. Raoul let go of her and stepped into the boat, steering it away without a backward glance.
Quietly Christine walked back to where the Phantom. When she reached him, he looked up slowly, an expression of disbelief written across his face. He breathed in deeply, "why have you returned?" he said bitterly, "Have you come to torture me one last time?"
"I was wrong." Christine said softly, "I let Raoul go without me. I want to be with you."
The Phantom's face darkened. "You should not have done this." He said, "Not now. They are coming." Suddenly shouts and heavy footsteps filled the tunnels. The mob was close. Christine looked across the subterranean lake, half expecting to see the mob splashing their way across, weapons at the ready "Hurry." The Phantom said, jarring Christine from her thoughts, "We need to go, hurry, we don't have much time!" His disfigured face was contorted with panic as he struggled to grab several stacks of music sheets, shoving them all in to a large leather case. He then grabbed his white mask off a table and slipped it onto his face. He turned to Christine and beckoned to her, she followed and the Phantom led her to a large throne, there he reached out a gloved hand and rapped the back of the chair. A trapdoor swung open with stairs leading downward into darkness. He ushered Christine inside before stepping in after her, in his haste, forgetting to close the trapdoor.
The Phantom took Christine's hand and led through the catacombs, the two quickly started off at a sprint, their footsteps echoing in the dark tunnels, and each breath they took in the musty, moldy air seemed to be amplified in sound by ten.
It was not long until they heard the yells; the mob was after them. Christine gasped, and the Phantom grasped her hand even tighter, just about pulling her into the darkness. Their pulses raced as the Phantom led the way through tunnel after tunnel.
Running through the labyrinth, time seemed to blur into one, endless timeframe. Christine did not know how long she was stumbling through the darkness, and feeling along the moss-covered stone walls, she had never run so much in her life, and soon her legs ached. Her breathing grew labored, but she'd dare not stop or slow down; the mob was getting closer. Panic gnawed at her, what if the mob caught them? Her Angel would be killed for sure.
Blind in the dark, Christine stumbled, her ankle twisting beneath her, she cried out and fell to the floor, her ankle biting in pain. She gasped, clutching her ankle, and attempting to stand back up, but to no avail. Her Angel knelt next to her, "No," she said, "Go. It's you they want. Not me."
The Phantom gritted his teeth. Never, in a thousand years would he ever think that he would've ever have won the sopranos' heart. He had tried so hard, and for what? Just to leave her? "No." he said, calmly but with a final note. "I have worked too hard to let you go know." Then he scooped her up in his arms and sprinted on through the tunnels. Christine closed her eyes and tried to keep her mind off her ankle, and the mob chasing after them, and focused instead on the surprising warmth that radiated from the Phantoms body, tingling every nerve in her like she was on fire. His heart was beating quickly, she could both hear and feel it, as her head rested against his strong chest. Christine breathed in deeply, he smelled of parchment and candle wax. She smiled to herself, forgetting about her leg and the mob, and let herself drift off to sleep…
Christine awoke hours later. Slowly, she sat up in the small bed, looking around. She was in a strange place; she didn't remember where she was or how she got there. Slowly the events of the last twenty four hours came back to her, and she looked around for her Angel. "Angel of Music" she sang softly, "hide no longer, come to me Strange Angel." Soft footsteps sounded and soon her Angel stood at her bedside, holding a burning candle. "Christine," He asked, "What is it?"
"Where are we?" she asked softly, not daring to speak above a whisper, in case this was a dream and she woke herself up. By the many candles scattered around the room, she could see they were in a small building, like a shed. "Away from the mob." He said darkly, before adding quickly, "I promise you Christine, this is only temporary. Once everything has died down, we can find someplace else, or even, if you don't mind, back to the opera house." He sighed. "I wish I could do better, but I can never be amongst people, I'm sorry I have brought you to this cursed life."
"I don't mind where we are, as long as I'm with you." Christine said gently, reaching out and touching his shoulder. "Angel, I cannot believe it, but I don't know your name."
"Erik." He said, "Erik Destler"
Erik. Christine thought, That's a nice name.
"Christine" Erik said, "I have answered your questions, now you must answer mine." Christine looked up, attentive. "Tell me," he began, "why did you come to me, a disgusting, horrific monster?" the last part he finished in a whisper, staring off into space.
Christine raised her hand, letting it fall gently on Erik's cheek, slowly she turned his face around to meet her gaze, and then she placed her palm over the right side of his face on the cold porcelain mask. Trailing her hand across the mask, she came to the rounded edge of it and tenderly pried it off his face.
This time she was not met by no angry outbursts, no looks filled with rage or betrayal written across his face; only wonderment that she was not screaming and running with terror, and curiosity. Slowly, Christine raised herself up, and lovingly kissed Erik's scarred cheek. "I cannot see any monster." She whispered, "and to answer your question;" she then tenderly placed a soft kiss on his lips, "I came home."
Erik smiled, then he reached out and gently held Christine's face in his hands and kissed her passionately.
Things were, at last, how they should be.
A/N Love it? Please tell me in your loverly review. Hate it? Go away.