Title: Hope for Love
Summary: One-shot for the 1990 TV Miniseries of Yeston/Kopit's version of Phantom of the Opera, starring Charles Dance and Teri Polo. This is an alternate ending of the (heartbreaking) Picnic scene.
Words: 1,321
Disclaimer: Not mine and never will be, unfortunately :(. All rights belong to Gaston Leroux and Yeston/Kopit
A/N: *huffs* I apologise for any, and all, grammatical errors. This has not been beta'd, but has been proof read by myself several times. I do not have any plans for this to continue, but if enough interest is expressed then maybe I will consider formulating a plot for this. Any and all criticisms are accepted as I believe this will enable me to become a better writer.
Any-who...enjoy! And, review please!
She waited with baited breath for him to reveal his face to her. Her stomach twisting in anticipation and anxiety, and she inwardly prayed that nothing would go wrong and she would look upon his face with love, just as she promised. Her maestro had done so much for her during these past few months, and it would be too cruel of her to dash his hopes. Monsieur Carrier had warned her of her maestro, but she would not let Erik down.
She couldn't.
Erik reached for the silken straps around his head with trembling fingers. It had been a question he had always dreaded coming from her. Ever since he first saw those innocent looking eyes, which scanned every nook and cranny with great curiosity, he knew he would never be able to refuse anything she asked of him. Each time he imagined her asking him such a request, he always managed to changed the subject with such ease she would have forgotten the whole thing altogether. Ah, but things are never as easy as you pan them out to be, and he quickly realised that when her question became a reality.
How could he refuse her when her eyes were filled with such promising adoration and hope, he could burst into tears right there and then?
She held his heart in her dainty little palms, and he knew she could crush it without any hardship on her part at all.
He could only hope - no, pray - that her promise was kept.
It felt like an eternity had passed before Erik slowly took his mask off. He couldn't bear to see the look of horror on her face as she finally saw what a monster her maestro looked like, and so he shut his eyes tightly. Christine was wringing her hands in her lap to stop them from shaking. She couldn't let him know how fretful she was to see his face.
Erik held his breath and prepared for the inevitable scream of horror he would hear escaping from her lips.
Her hand flew to her mouth as she couldn't help the tiny gasp falling from her lips.
It was horrible, she had to admit. She had to stop herself from falling at the sight. Blackened skinned was stretched across his face and red blotches covered the areas which the mask irritated the most. The only parts which resembled a normal face were his striking blue/grey eyes and his unmarred chin and lips. Every fibre of her body wanted to recoil and run from the sight, but the niggling sensation at the back of her head prevented her from doing so. She could see why he kept himself hidden down below from the rest of the world. The world would condemn him, and she felt compassionate for the man who rarely - if ever - saw the light of day. To be able to walk along the street without a worry was a privilege she realised she should be grateful of.
When the first few seconds scraped by as her initial shock wore off, a sense of guilt and pity formed in the pit of her stomach as his face laid bared before her. A tentative hand reached for a marred cheek, curious and hesitant to see if the touch would harm him.
When Erik let out the breath that he had been holding, she felt encouraged to continue. A soft gasp escaped from his lips as she cupped his distorted cheek. He timidly relaxed into her hand as her thumb gently stroked the marred, blotchy skin, feeling the roughness against her skin. She still felt horrified by it, but she was determined that, in time, she could love his face just as much as she loved her maestro.
"Christine..." Erik choked out before convalescing into sobs as his head fell onto her lap. She stroked his hair, comforting him as a mother would do for her child. For awhile, all that could be heard, besides the woods surrounding them, were Erik's soft cries. When he was composed enough to speak, his voice was thick of tears.
"I-I suppose you think less of me now seeing me like this..." he spoke into her skirts.
"No...never, maestro," she replied, hand still softly threading through his hair.
He snorted, sitting up but unable to look at her, "Of course you must be! Look at me! No, don't. Seeing the awfulness of my face must be bad to look at once, but a second time? I would not even allow my worst enemy to endure such horror."
He went to pick up his mask which laid next to him on the blanket.
"No, Erik, wait, don't!" she cried as she grabbed his arm before he put his mask back on. He looked at her in shook, eyes still red raw from crying. "Your face...is something that I will have to get used to seeing, but I am certain, maestro, that I will be able to love it as much as I love the rest of you," she couldn't help blushing at her confession.
"You love me? The ugly, old, terrifying monster that I am? Impossible." He felt his heart leaping into his throat. He could never allow himself to believe that an angel such as Christine could love the hideous monstrosity that he was.
Did she love him? She wasn't entirely certain, but what she felt for her maestro was something entirely different to what she felt for Philippe. With the Count, she was overwhelmed with feelings of nostalgia and the fleeting attraction she felt for him when they were younger. With more and more thought she became aware of the fact that she was more fixated on clinging onto the last semblance of the past she had with her father, than creating a lifelong romance with him. However, with Erik, almost every thought and action had him in mind and she was always unwilling to hurt him. She also felt a strange attraction to him, to his mysterious but kind and gentle ways, pulling her to him in a way she had never experienced with Philippe or anyone else before.
She knew, however, that in time she would be able to truly, deeply love Erik.
Unable to answer, she planted a kiss on his cheek where her hand laid before.
"Oh, Christine," he breathed, "I must be dreaming."
"You are not, Erik. All this is very real." she replied with a warm smile.
Tears began to descend down his face and he was unable to look at her again. He was filled with gut wrenching shame as he couldn't believe such beauty could look upon such horribleness with such ease. How could she be so readily accepting of him and of his face when he can barely look at his own reflection without recoiling in disgust? She must truly be an angel sent from whatever god there was up there to save him.
He had no doubt of it.
He reached for his mask again and she didn't stop him. Lacing the ties back up as swiftly and deftly as he could Christine sat there patiently. Hardly knowing what to do now, Erik stood up and offered a hand to her. She took the hand hesitantly, uncertain of what was going to happen next. She needed to find the right time to ask him to take back up to the Opera, but she could see that now wasn't the appropriate time.
A short awkward moment passed between the two of them before Erik released her hands from his. In truth, he revelled in whatever touch she offered and longed to hold her hand for much longer, but he sensed her discomfort and offered his arm instead.
"Come, you must be exhausted from today's...adventure. Let me escort you back to your room."
Christine complied as they silently strolled through the foliage.