A/N: Well I had this idea a while back and decided to give it a go. I hope you guys enjoy what I've written so far and please review. I'd love to know what you all think and please don't hesitate to offer suggestions, constructive criticism, etc. Thank you! Enjoy! :)
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Broken Hearts, Mended Lives
Of Carriage Rides and Cab Drivers
"I'll be back."
And with that she left, and he sat there, with nothing but a ring and a promise to keep him afloat in the dark abyss of unending night. Not until she was drifting across the lake, slowly fading out of sight, did he manage to whisper, "I'll be waiting, Mon Ange."
xXx
Christine's vision was becoming blurry as her lungs and eyes were filled with smoke and debris. She could barely see Raoul, only an arm's length in front of her, as he pulled her from the smoldering Opera Populaire. Just as they were nearing the exit, Christine started to feel lightheaded. As Raoul felt her pace slowing behind him, he turned around to see Christine swaying on her feet and her eyes fluttering closed just before she collapsed. "Christine!" Just as Christine expected to meet the hard floor beneath her, she felt herself being scooped up into a pair of strong arms before succumbing to her dreams.
xXx
"Erik!" she cried over and over, only to find her cries muffled by the roaring flames surrounding her and the panicked screams of hundreds of distressed patrons. "Where is he? Why isn't he answering?" Christine refused to entertain the idea that anything bad had happened to her Angel. After what seemed to be hours of trying in vain to push past the wall of people kept getting in her way, she made it to the Prima Donna's dressing room. She immediately ran towards the full-length mirror at the back of the dressing room, not even bothering to close the door behind her, and began frantically searching for a switch of some sort that would open it, but alas, she had no luck. Christine had no choice but to break the mirror. Looking around the room for anything she could use, she came across a hairbrush sitting on the vanity. "This will have to do.", she thought. She sprinted across the room, struck the glass with all her might, and stepped through into the darkness.
Without anything to light her way, she would have to settle for running her hands along the damp walls of the dark tunnels and try her best to remember the route she had taken with Him many months ago. Christine was still wearing her stage costume and the sheer fabric did nothing to protect her from the damp cold. Her legs were aching and her bare feet raw from the trek they continued to make over the rough stones of the secret passageways down to the fifth cellar, but despite all the pain coursing through her body, she could not—would not—give up.
Finally, she saw it: the underground lake…but no boat. Christine took a stabilizing breath, hiked up her skirts and dove into the frigid water. When she finally reached the other side, she began to call him, "Erik?", but no answer. She ran into the Louis-Philippe room, only to find it empty. The same with the library…and the music room…no sign of Erik. Christine headed towards the main room, expecting to find him sitting at his organ, composing.
"An-", before she could call again, her breath caught in her throat. She walked into the main room, only to discover the whole of the large area up in flames. Christine couldn't believe her eyes. "No! Erik!" she cried. "How could've the fire have spread down here?" she thought. The situation seemed impossible. "Wait! No wonder he didn't answer! Surely he must've escaped before the fire could've spread…" but as if to confirm her worst fears, there it laid, a white mask, slowly being devoured by the flames.
xXx
"Erik! Angel!" she screamed as her body jolted upright. She felt a pair of strong arms around her, but was too afraid to even open her eyes and see to whom they belonged. "Shhh, Christine, it's alright. I'm here." she heard a soothing voice softly whisper in her ear. And at that, Christine only cried harder, unable to choke back the sobs that now wracked her small frame.
It was the wrong voice. This was not the rich, velvety, baritone voice she so desperately needed to hear. These arms that held her now, were the wrong arms. These were too thin. These arms were not the thick, strong arms that could bend steel bars and crush through brick walls, if need be, to get to her. The chest she cried into was not the right chest. This was strong, but slender, suggesting the wiry, newly developing muscles of a boy, not the broad, chiseled chest of the one man she needed to cry into until she could cry no more. And now, these eyes looking into her own were the wrong eyes. These were a clear, light blue, like the Parisian skies. These were not the mysterious blue-green orbs that bore into her very soul. These eyes were not the cyan depths that always seemed to calm her, despite all the unspoken anger behind them and the never-healing pain they so desperately tried to hide beneath a sheet of ice.
This man, who held her now, whispering in her ear promises of a life in the light, was not the right man. He was not the right man, because that's exactly what he was: a man.
Christine needed an Angel.
xXx
Raoul felt the carriage slowly come to a halt outside the large de Chagny estate, but made no move to get out of the coach. Christine was a mess. She had cried so hard all the way from the opera house that he thought she must have run out of tears. Although her loud, choked sobs had long since faded into small, soft whimpers, the rapid heaving of her chest continued as her small, drained body struggled to drag in ragged, painful breaths.
Christine had started to hyperventilate a few times on the ride out of Paris to the country estate. Each time this happened, Raoul would tell her to try and take deep breaths, but each time he told her this, she would only respond, "I can't!"
Once Raoul asked her, "Christine, what do you mean you can't?" but he regretted asking the question upon hearing her answer, each word like a knife being driven straight into his heart.
"I can't…breathe…" she answered between sobs, "I…don't…want to…anymore! Not with…out him! I can't…breathe, Raoul! I can't…breathe…without…Erik!"
At this, Raoul felt a trail of hot liquid slowly burn its path down his cheek.
He made sure to wipe each tear before she could look up and notice he was shedding tears of his own.
He took care to control his breathing, making sure it was only her own sobs she was hearing.
Only hers. Not his.
xXx
"Monsieur?" the cabbie called after several minutes parked outside the large estate. He began to worry as the minutes passed and the Vicomte and his lady had not emerged from the coach. Finally, Raoul stepped out with a distraught young lady in his arms, clad in a rather disheveled wedding dress. Victor, however, made no comment.
"Yes, thank you, Victor. See to it that your services are well recompensed, will you?"
"Yes Sir. Thank you. Goodnight Monsieur."
"Thank you, Victor. Goodnight." He called over his shoulder as he made his way up the steps to the magnificent French doors opened upon the couple's arrival.
"Jacqueline, I would like a cup of tea sent up to Miss Daaé's room in five minutes, please." He instructed one of the many house servants before beginning the ascent up the massive staircase to Christine's room. "It's a good thing she's so light…"
Upon making it to Christine's room, he willed himself to make a few more staggering strides to the bed. He did not realize how drained his body had become from the night's events. Raoul gently placed the still sobbing Christine on the bed and briefly wondered if it was best to leave her there with her thoughts. As if to answer his question, Christine clung to the front of his shirt and whispered, "Stay with me?" so softly Raoul could barely hear her above his own breathing.
"Any thing you wish, Lotte." He replied as he eased his tired body onto the empty space beside her.
Upon hitting the lush surface of the mattress, the tea was all but forgotten.
As Raoul lay there, he couldn't help but think about what happened in the carriage, the way she screamed and cried for Him, each shout another crushing blow to his aching heart.
He was brought out of his musings when Christine stirred in her sleep, as if His name, even unspoken, could cause some sort of reaction from her. "It does." Raoul thought bitterly, but he wouldn't ask about it now, not when she was finally resting. He decided it could wait until tomorrow, because after all, Tomorrow is another day.
Yet he couldn't fight the echo of His name on her lips as the nightmares claimed her. She had called for Him, the very man…no, the very thing she should fear, when she was afraid in her sleep.
She would never call for Raoul like that. And he knew it.
It always was Him.
It would always be…Him.
xXx
Christine turned over in her sleep and was startled when she bumped into something solid beside her. She was momentarily disoriented as her tired eyes snapped open and her gaze came to rest on Raoul's sleeping form, but all traces of confusion vanished as the events of last night flooded into her mind, and before she could stop her self, she let out a soft "Oh Erik…" Just then she felt Raoul stir and mentally cursed her lips. She closed her eyes and tried to feign sleep, but apparently to no avail.
"Christine?" he whispered as he gently shook her shoulder. He tried again a bit louder. "Christine, I know you're awake."
"Humph. Morning." She responded, not even bothering to hide her irritation. "Why can't he just let me be?"
"Christine, please, I wish to speak with you."
Reluctantly, she sat up and turned to face him. "Yes, Raoul?"
It was a few moments before he spoke; seemingly not sure of what exactly he was going to say. Then the silence was broken. "Christine, are you…happy? With your choice, I mean?"
Christine didn't like where this was going. "Yes, of course," "No." "Why do you ask?"
"I see. It's just…well…when we were in the carriage, you kept calling for Him. Between your sobs, you were calling His name. And last night, in your sleep, you kept calling for your 'Poor, unhappy Erik'. You would scream that you needed your Angel." "Angel, indeed," he thought cynically.
"That's only because I do need him." "Raoul, I'm…I didn't…Raoul I didn't mean to-" she stammered.
"No, Forgive me. I should've known you would be traumatized after all that…that thing, that monster put you through. No doubt you'd be confused. I just had to ask. To make sure."
Something in Christine snapped.
"How dare you call him such things? My Angel? A MONSTER? He may have done many awful things, but he has done some wonderful things too! Where were you, Raoul? Where were you when you when Papa died? I can tell you where Erik was; he was not off plundering a village or murdering innocents. He was here, with me. It was he who sung me to sleep, he who was my confidante, who took me under his wing. If it weren't for the man you call "monster", you would never have noticed this little chorus girl. I will have you know, Monsieur Le Vicomte, that he is more of a man than you could ever hope to be! You're just like all the rest: You're afraid of the things you don't understand, when you don't even try to understand them at all! His ugliness is on the outside, but yours…yours is in!"
And with that she stormed out of the room without so much as a backward glance to the baffled Vicomte.
xXx
Christine ran down the stairs two at a time, almost tripping and falling once in her haste to get away. She didn't have an idea as to where she was going, but knew she needed to get away. She quickened her pace when she saw what she assumed to be an exit, leaving behind a trail of rather confused house servants.
She ran out the front door and past a blur of scenery until she could run no more. Her heart was pounding, her dancer's legs weak, and her vision blurred from her tears. Christine collapsed, but instead of hitting the hard ground, she found herself laying in something much softer.
She wiped her tears to take a look at what exactly she was now laying in.
It was a pile of hay.
She had run out the door, through the courtyard, several gardens, the riding field, and straight into the estate stables.
After the little fit she pitched in the house, Christine decided it best to wait out in the stables and clear her head before going back inside…and to Raoul. She got up and walked around to the entrance, reflecting on all that had transpired over the past few days.
"Perhaps I shouldn't have yelled at Raoul like that. After all, it is out of his kindness that I had a warm place to stay last night. But how could he? After all Erik has done for me? He gave me everything and how did I repay him? He truly was my Angel…No, Christine. He is no Angel. Nor is he a ghost. He is a man."
"A man I love…"
"What was that, Mademoiselle?" said a voice from the back of the stables.
Christine just about jumped out of her skin. "Oh, excuse me, Monsieur. I did not see you back there."
Just then, a stout little man with cheery eyes and a thick, greased moustache stepped out of the shadows.
"It's quite alright Miss…?"
"Daaé. Christine Daaé."
"Ah, the infamous Mademoiselle Daaé. Well I can assure you it is a pleasure to meet you. I am Victor, the cab driver." He said, gesturing to the horse reigns in hand.
"I'm very pleased to meet you as well Monsieur Victor."
"If you don't mind me asking, what could possibly trouble such a pretty young lady as yourself?"
"It's… It's nothing. Why do you ask?"
"Well, it seems to me as though you've been doin' a bit of crying. And I happened to be on my way in here when I saw you stormin' outta the house with the devil 'imself on yer tail."
"Oh, I see," she blushed, "Please excuse the intrusion, but…Victor, have you ever been in love?"
For one reason of another, this question did not surprise the old cabbie in the least.
"Well, I suppose I have, considerin' I've been married to the same woman for forty-two years now. It'll be forty-three now in March." His weathered face lit up and his stout frame stood a little taller at the statement.
"Congratulations to you both… but…what if you love someone whom you know you shouldn't?"
"Hmmm…well I suppose that does complicate things a bit, now doesn't it? Well, for what it's worth, you can't help who you fall in love with. I think anyone would agree to that, but forbidden or not, it's what you do with that love that counts."
"I'm afraid I'm not following you, Monsieur."
"What I mean to say is this: Don't ever take someone's love for granted. Lord knows love is the best thing you could possibly give a person. Doesn't matter if it's approved of or not, love is love. Plain and simple."
"One would think, but I'm afraid it's a bit more com-"
Victor cut her off as he leaned in closer and dropped his voice down to a whisper, reminding Christine of a child who is letting their companion in on a special secret.
"But just between you and me…any folks who'd be disapprovin' of the love between you and whoever-he-may-be can all go to the Devil because it really isn't any of their personal business, now is it?"
Christine couldn't help but let out a small giggle at the boldness of her new friend's words. "No, I suppose it isn't."
"Now take your young Vicomte, for example." He continued. "His brother's been givin' him the hardest time about wantin' to marry a chorus girl fresh outta-" He stopped mid-sentence at the way he saw the poor girl's face fall at the mention of the Vicomte. "Pardon me, Miss Christine, but something tells me you weren't referring to Monsieur de Chagny at all, now were ya?"
When Christine did not answer, he saw it fit to continue the conversation on his own. "What's this young man's name, Christine?"
Silence.
"Aaw, you know you can tell me. But if it'll set your little heart at ease, I won't tell another livin' soul, cross my heart an' hope to die." He finished with a rather extravagant show of the old gesture she herself would make as a child wanting to be let in on a secret.
After several moments she finally spoke, although so quietly one could mistake it for the wind. "Erik…His name is Erik."
"Ah, I see. And this Erik fellow is from the Opéra as well?"
"I suppose you could say that…" she tried not to giggle at the irony.
"Well, Miss Daaé, it seems to me as though you ought to be reunited with your young man, since I highly doubt he was brought to the estate along with yourself and the Vicomte, hmm?"
"Oh, Victor, I only wish…but how? Surely he must not be at the Opéra anymore, what with the fire?"
"Shush now, Missy. We'll have none of that! You just get yourself to your young man and let Old Victor worry about all the particulars! You'll know where to look, Christine, just follow your feet!"
"But what of Raoul? I cannot just leave him?"
"Listen here, Christine. I have known your Sir Vicomte since he was but a boy going on and on about the little girl in the red scarf, and I know, that love her as he may, he only wants that little girl to be happy as she was in those summers by the sea. You go on and take Aleen over there, she's all saddled up an' ready to go for you, and I'll worry about Monsieur le Vicomte."
And at that Christine couldn't help but throw her arms around her new friend. "Oh! Thank you Victor!"
"Glad to help, my dear. Glad to help. Now, best be on yer way, not a moment to lose!"
Christine rushed off to the appointed horse; a crème colored mare, and was rushing out of the stables when she heard Victor call behind her. "And Christine? The best of luck to you both. I do hope you find your young man."
He was rewarded with a dazzling, genuine smile, her first in what seemed to be a very long time.
A/N: Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!