Just a very random idea I had. Can you tell me if you like it? If you do, I'll continue it.
Thanks to NoelleLaBelle (go harass her with reviews for her phics).
The Pact.
Chapter One.
Memories washed over the young man as he stared blankly at the dull grey walls, dappled with mould and cobwebs. He did not turn to the window, his eyes not wanting to look at the star speckled night through the bars. A tremor escaped him, almost like a whimper, as he thought of his inevitable fate which could come tomorrow when he was handed his sentence, but it was immediately cut off as if severed with a knife. He forced himself to remain calm…The evidence of his last outburst remained on the floor in the corner of the small room, the plate of now stone-cold roast lamb lying on the stone floor, the goblet of spilled wine keeping the untouched meal company. He forced himself to fall back on memories – he only had limited time to delve on them anyway…
The gondola came to a halt when it docked at the landing, as the fires that would destroy the Opera Populaire by that dawn, ravaged the levels above them, Christine had been silent as they had made their journey from the Phantom's lair, but after the sound of what seemed to be glass breaking from the distance, she clung to him tighter, sobs wracking her body. He murmured soft words of comfort, but his words had little effect on her. When the gondola stopped she sank to her knees, covering her tear-stained face with her hands, shaking as she wept.
"Raoul," she managed to choke through the tears, "What have I done? He'll die without me, what have I done? Oh, my poor, wretched Angel!"
Without a word he bent down beside her and scooped her into his arms. Then he gently lifted her up and stepped out of the boat, walking away. He made promises of his devotion to her, and slowly her trembling began to subside.
"He will die because of me…" her words held more desolation than her tears had shown, and it frightened him somewhat to hear that empty resignation of imagined guilt.
"You saved him Christine," he murmured in her ear, "I saw that kiss…You broke him. Freed him,"
"No," she shook her head fervently, but stopped when he reprimanded her half-heartedly, and then fell back into weeping again.
He rested his head upon her curls and his own tears silently streamed down his face. And in his mind he thanked the pitiful ghost, who had given his only light away.
"I love you, Lotte…"
How ironic that he owed his whole world to the man who had been so set on destroying it, not even a half hour ago…
…"Nobody will come,"
Raoul's words were encumbered with pain in spite of the pains he took in trying to hide it, as he placed the last of his remaining family's letter of refusal to attend the wedding on his desk. He avoided Christine's eyes as he sat, and covered his face with his hands. The venomous words he had memorised all too well rang in his ears – "Disgusting," "A disgrace," "Soiling the family's good name," were the tamest of the sentiments that had been pelted at him.
And the sordid crime he had committed to warrant such harsh words? Falling in love, it seemed. With a common singer, one who was already covered with scandal – and how the press were having a field day with that!
Her arms gently entwined around his upper torso and her chin rested on his shoulder comfortingly, "It does not matter Raoul…We have each other…And your parents will be there in spirit, as will my Father…Even though you broke one of his violin strings as a boy…"
He smiled slightly as she scattered kisses through his hair, in spite of himself.
"That isn't fair," he replied, "I didn't mean to drop the instrument,"
She giggled, and he moved back as she sat on his lap, pulling him close.
"I only want you Raoul," she murmured as she lightly kissed his mouth, "Not your family, not your title, not your wealth…"
His pulse quickened at her touch and his hands caressed her delicate waist and moved slowly up her back, where he longed to tug open the buttons to the back of her dress. But he sighed as he deepened the kiss and he lifted his hands to her hair instead.
"Yes, you are right," he agreed when he had a moment to spare between their burning kisses, "We don't need anybody else, just us…"
…He held his beloved bride in his arms under the covers while on their honeymoon, her silken skin smooth and glistening with the crystal beads that were evidence of their exertion from those minutes previous. He felt her panting slightly beneath him; her soft brown eyes sparkled with mischief as his lips ghosted her swan-like neck, her delicate shoulders, her perfect breasts…
Her hands wandered deliciously through his hair, playing with it gently with her fingers.
"Again?" he gasped for air, as she moved underneath him encouragingly.
She smiled coyly, and he captured her mouth with his appreciatively as he sheathed himself in her once more.
"Lotte…" his voice slurred as she began to rock underneath him, and all thoughts suddenly evaporated as he again made love to the woman he adored with insatiable heat…
He groaned groggily and tried to pull away, wanting to fall back into the welcoming embrace of slumber, but he could not escape when the little fingers tugged at his hair and he finally resigned himself as his giggling three year old son jumped on the back of him, as he lay in bed.
"Happy birthday Papa!"
"Mmmmph…" Raoul mumbled, and suddenly without warning his arm reached out and snatched his child, tickling him mercilessly which inspired the boy to erupt into peals of laughter.
He looked up as Christine entered holding a tray full of breakfast. She must have woken early, and by the look of the smudge on her cheek which looked suspiciously like flour, she had made him breakfast. A surge of love for her went through him, and when she placed the tray on the bedside table he pulled her close.
"Happy birthday Raoul…I thought you'd like breakfast before you open your gifts," she said after she gave him a morning kiss.
"Perfect…Hey!" Raoul's eyes widened in feigned shock when his little boy leaned over, stealing some berries from the small bowl on the tray, "Laurence, how could you?" he pulled his child into his arms, and then cried out when Christine stole some for herself.
"I'm surrounded by traitors!" he laughed, but then had to stop when Christine popped a blueberry into his open mouth…
Tears streamed down his face as memories scraped over his mind like broken glass. So painful to touch, but he had no choice. They just kept coming, but they were comforting in their own bittersweet way.
He did not turn to the door of the cell as it opened, knowing it was time for the priest who regularly made his visits this time each night.
"…Good evening Father," he said hollowly.
He was answered with silence, but then there was a cold and unmistakable voice replying, which was not the quiet and soothing tone of the Priest…Raoul's blood turned to ice.
"Never in my life did I think this little predicament would occur,"
Raoul froze, not turning to look at the person who had entered. He lowered his head, softly weeping for a moment, which slowly turned to quietly hysterical chuckling.
He balled his fist suddenly, anger pulsing through him and he then growled, "Come to gloat, have you? Proud that you're the free man and I'm the caged murderer?"