The Hidden Man
By: Angel of Iowa
A/N: Hi all! I'm so sorry, I know it's been a while, but I do have an excuse! I've been out of town for two weeks, and I leave Wednesday for a trip to Europe for another two weeks, so I won't be able to post anything until I get back. Until then, enjoy my Charles Dance oneshot. Who knows, if I get enough reviews saying this should become a longer story, I might do so.
"Will you show me your face?" the golden-haired girl asked. The older masked man stared at her in shock. Why would such an angel wish to see his face? His hideous face, that only his mother, god rest her beautiful soul, could look at and love? "She doesn't know what's beneath the mask! If she knew, she'd run away and never come back! She'd marry that womanizing fool of a Comte and never sing onstage again!"
He began to pack up the wine bottle he had removed from the picnic basket a moment before. "I'm afraid, my dear girl, that you have asked me the one favor I cannot grant. Please, don't ask it of me again."
She grabbed his wrist, and he froze. No woman had ever touched him except his mother, and now, the most beautiful angel on god's green earth was holding his arm! Willingly!
"Please." She begged. "Please, just let me see you! If your mother could look at your face and smile, then I can too. I have seen your eyes, and I know your heart. Let me know your face!"
He looked at her again, into her pleading blue eyes that revealed so much, and saw through his shields as if they were no thicker than the gauze used to bind the wounds of the ballerinas when they fell, and his heart caved in. "I-very well. Just please, try not to scream." He said, defeated.
He reached for the strings of his mask, tied behind his head in his light brown hair. He slowly, slowly,-too slowly!-pulled the white mask away from his face. With his hideous visage fully revealed, he kept his eyes downcast. He couldn't bear to see the horror and disgust that were surely taking the place of blind hope in her eyes. A slight gasp emanated from Christine's beautiful lips, and he choked back a sob. God, she must hate him now! Hate him! Now that she had seen his horrible, pathetic excuse for a face, she must now see that he was nothing more than a monster, using a mask to hide what he truly was, in a feeble masquerade of a man.
What Christine saw brought tears to her eyes, tears of sadness, and tears of sympathy for what the poor man sitting before her must have suffered in his short life. Around his eyes, -his beautiful, gorgeous grey-green eyes!-the skin was black and sunken. His nose, what there was of it, was too small, much too small. How could her dear Maestro even breath, let alone sing so beautifully as he had sung to her last night? It didn't make any sense at all! The side of one nostril simply wasn't there, while the other one seemed to fold in on itself, obstructing half the airway. His cheeks were thin, seeming to be no more than a sheet of skin covering the bones of his skull. The left cheek was mottled purple, black and blue, the right one the same color as his perfect mouth and chin, except for a long, bright red scar that traveled along his cheekbone and up into his hairline. In a cruel twist of ironic fate, (for fate is often ironic,) his mouth and chin were beautifully formed, fit for the lover of the goddess Aphrodite herself.
Was this why he had been shunned by the world, and forced to live a lonely life in the dank, cold catacombs under the opera house? Oh, cruel fate! "Oh, Maestro." She choked out, overcome by her emotions. "What kind of life must you have known? My poor, dearest Maestro."
Erik looked up at her in disbelief. Tears were raining down her perfect face, but she wasn't crying in fear. She was crying…for him?
It was all too much for him. He started to sob as well, tears that had been trapped inside since he was a child. Tears had not fallen from his eyes since his sainted mother had died, all those many, lonely years ago. He fell forward, his face landing in her lap. Christine immediately turned her body so that she could hold him better. She cradled his head in her hand, the other arm wrapped about his shoulders as she pressed his head to her chest. Rocking back and forth, she soothed him as best she could, but how does one soothe a grown man probably almost twice one's own age? She began to quietly sing a lullaby that her father had once used to soothe her when she awoke in the dark with nightmares.
"The stars, the moon, they shine above your head. Sleep my dear, in your own warm bed. Nothing you see in your dreams can hurt you, all they can do is make your courage desert you. But don't let go of your courage, child…" She sang quietly, and as she sang, her Maestro's tears began to slow, and eventually stopped altogether. She continued to hold him, however, sensing that he had reverted into a childlike state of mind, and in this moment, needed nothing more than to be held.
Finally, his arms returned from around her waist, and he sat up to face her. "C-Christine. How can you do it? How can you look at my hideous face and smile? How can you cradle me against your heart as if I were a normal man? How?"
She smiled, the tears in her eyes not daring to fall. "I can do so, Maestro, because I know you. I know your heart, and I know that you are a good man. A better man than any I've ever known, except for my father." Her expression suddenly turned from tender compassion to heartrending anguish and sorrow. "You-you deserve the world, Maestro, and you deserve much better than-better than me!" She wailed.
Erik was shocked at her sudden change of mood. The tears in her eyes started to fall, and each drop that fell down her face branded itself in his heart as if it was scorching hot iron. "Christine, my dear, what madness are you speaking of? Better than you? Such a thing does not exist! You are magic, Christine, the very embodiment of perfection! You-" He stopped and swallowed. "You are an angel, Christine, you are perfect. Why do you say such horrible things?" He questioned.
She looked at him in disbelief. "How can you say such things to me? How can you, when I failed you so terribly last night? Maestro, I swear, I don't know what happened. I was nervous, yes, but I sounded as I normally do when I warmed up, but halfway through the first scene, my throat started feeling funny, and then-then I just couldn't do it! The words, the music, it just wouldn't come out!" She sobbed.
Erik saw that she was rapidly becoming hysterical, and did the only thing he could think of that could possibly calm her down and give her some modicum of comfort. He reached out and pulled her gently into his arms, settling her upon his lap like a child. Wrapping one arm around her back, he stroked his other hand down her long, golden locks, trying to soothe her as she did him just a few moments ago. She, in turn, wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her face into his shoulder, inhaling his scent-a heady mix of candle wax, spices, and ink. Her tears soon ceased to fall, and she became calm. She did not move from her position, however, wishing to remain in his arms for as long as he would have her there.
Finally, Erik murmured into her hair, "Please, Christine, do not blame yourself for what happened. It was not your fault, do you understand? It was not your fault. It was that witch, Carlotta's. Christine, why did you take that drink from her? You know she doesn't like you, she never has."
"She said it was something made of herbs, that a lot of opera singers use for their nerves. I asked her if I could have some, because I was shaking in my boots. Was that what stole my voice?" She asked, pulling back just a little bit so that she could look into his face.
He nodded. "That wasn't a nerve tonic, my dear. It was a mild poison. Not enough to cause you harm or permanent damage, but enough to paralyze your vocal cords to the point where you can't sing."
Tears filled her eyes once again, and she buried her face into his shoulder. "Why would she do that?" Christine sobbed. "Why does she despise me so much? I have done nothing to her!"
Rocking her and comforting her once again, Erik replied, "Because, my dear, she recognized your talent. You clearly outshone her at The Bistro, and she was jealous, especially when it has been made clear that she is not meant to perform onstage. She was scared, and did the only thing she could think of: she took away your voice, and with it, your chance to upstage her."
She shook her head against his shoulder. "I-I don't think I can go through that again, Maestro. It was humiliating! Everyone looking at me as if I was common trash, and laughing in my face! I can't do that again, I simply can't! Please don't make me go onstage again, please!" She begged.
Erik held her weeping in his arms, shocked. Not go onstage again? Preposterous! That was what he had trained her to do, that was why he had shaped her voice to be the perfection it was now! But, as he looked down at the angel crying terrified tears in his arms, his heart caved in once again. How could anyone, even the hardest and most jaded hearts, force anything upon this sweet girl? She was a miracle in and of herself, simply for being able to look at his face without the mask-the mask! He looked about frantically for it, suddenly quite aware that his face was still bare and on display. Seeing it lying next to where Christine was sitting before he had pulled her onto his lap, he removed his arm from her back to retrieve it, only for her to beg, "No, please, Erik-don't let me go!"
Shocked, not only at the fact that she desired that he should continue to hold her, but that she knew his name, he replaced his arm on her torso. "Christine, dearest-how in the world do you know my name?" He asked curious.
Christine suddenly tensed up. "Oh, no, I shouldn't have said that. Please don't be angry, I didn't mean any harm!" She pleaded.
"Shh, Christine, calm yourself. I'm not angry, my darling girl, I'm just curious. How did you find out my name?"
She gulped. "Well, this morning, Monsieur Carriere came to see me, and he told me your entire life story, including your name." She looked up at him. "I think it suits you."
Erik smiled at her. "You do, do you? Well, thank you, my dear. You're the first person to think so."
She blushed. "May I address you as Erik? Or would that be too disrespectful?"
Erik laughed. "My dear, it would give me the highest pleasure if you were to address me by my name. And I swear to you, I shan't make you go onstage again if you don't want you. Nobody will ever again make you do anything you don't want to." He promised her.
She looked him in the eye, and asked, "Then, Erik, may I stay with you down here? Your home is so beautiful, so peaceful, and I'd prefer to be here with you than to go back up there with them. Please?"
Her shocked Maestro looked down at her, her pleading eyes, her cheeks still stained with tears. "Of course, Christine, you may stay with me as long as you wish. In fact, you may stay with me forever."
She looked up at him with shock in her eyes, and he cursed himself for scaring her. "Of course she doesn't want to stay here forever, you fool! Why should she be trapped here with you, the angel from heaven trapped with one of hell's demons? She only wishes to stay a few days until the gossip dies down about her debut!"
"May I truly stay here forever?" She asked in a small, meek voice that both activated Erik's protective instincts and-shamefully-aroused him.
"Of course you may, my darling, if you wish to do so, but I don't see how you could ever wish to stay with me here forever. Though, I would be more than overjoyed that you would want to, but I must ask, why? Why would you wish to stay with me here in this cold, wet dungeon of hell?" He questioned her, wondering at the reasoning of such a desire. To stay in such a place, with him, was his truest, fondest wish, but why should she want to stay here in this place, never again to see a sunrise or sunset without asking him to take her above, (which he would, of course, do at her request. It was no hard task to get to the roof, which offered the most spectacular views of Paris in the entire city.) never to enjoy seeing the daylight again, never to have the luxury of looking out her window when she woke up in the morning and seeing the birds fly past as they sang their cheerful tunes.
She looked down and bit her lip. That singular action was enough to make Erik groan inside and hold her just the slightest bit tighter, pulling her closer to him. "I-I'd like to stay with you forever, if you'll allow it, because-because of these feelings inside of me, in my heart."
"Feelings?"
"Yes. They-they have been building in my heart, since the day of our first lesson, but slowly, so slowly, that I myself didn't know what they were until last night, when you brought me down here. You were so gentle with me, so tender, that I couldn't help but feel safe with you, because I knew that you wouldn't judge me for what happened, wouldn't laugh at me for something I couldn't control. Even now, just you holding me is enough to calm my tears and make my world alright again. Maestro-Erik-I think I might love you." She looked up into his shocked face. "I'm not sure yet, but I think I do, for I can't imagine my life without you in it. I can't imagine waking every day, and not seeing you there! In my entire life, I've never felt this way about someone, you're the first. Even when I was with the Comte after the Bistro, and he kissed me, I didn't feel like this. You-we haven't even kissed, and already my feelings for you are stronger than my feelings for him ever were!" She went on.
Erik could hardly hear her. He was still stuck at the moment where she had said "I love you." She loved him. She loved him! Him! "Well, to be fair, she said she thinks she loves you. Don't get your hopes up. Where has hope ever gotten you in the past?" Then another voice spoke up. "She's seen your face, and she knows your entire bloody life story thanks to Gerard. Why not give her a chance? This is your only chance at truly being loved, Erik." He decided to take the risk, and admit how he truly felt about the angel in his arms.
"Christine…" His voice was hoarse and shaky, almost painful.
"Erik? Is something wrong?" She asked, with all the guilelessness of a six year old who had just said her first swear word, and didn't know it was wrong.
"Christine…Christine, my darling, I love you. I've loved you since I first heard you sing that night on the stage. Your voice was so pure, so beautiful, and I knew, I just knew that if you allowed me to train you, you could soar to the heavens with your voice. Then, when we started our lessons, you didn't look at me as if I was a freak for wearing a mask, or pester me with questions as to what was underneath, or constantly wonder why I chose to stay anonymous except for the moniker of "Maestro." And I saw you, that night. You didn't see me, but I saw you, I saw what you did. I saw you help that poor boy, I saw you hide him. Your kindness, your brave spirit and gentle heart, they just made me love you even more. And now, even if someday your feelings should fade and you should leave me once again alone, I shall be happy in the knowledge that I at least was loved, even if it was fated not to last." He told her, his feelings rushing out in a flurry of words so rushed that at the end she struggled to comprehend their meaning.
She looked at him blankly for a moment, and then smiled. Such a smile broke out on her face, as has not been seen in all of the thousands of years of time before. "Oh, Erik!" She choked out. And, for the rest of the afternoon, those were the last words to emerge from her beautiful mouth. She pressed herself to Erik's body once again, and they held each other for a long while, each eventually shedding more tears, this time tears of joy, and not sorrow.
Erik pulled back and looked into Christine's eyes, begging for permission. She nodded, and he slowly lowered his mouth to hers, allowing her plenty of time to change her mind, should she wish. She did not. As his lips met hers, he felt something, something he had never felt before in his life. Not quite an emotion, but a powerful feeling unlike any other.
For the first time in his life, Erik felt like a man.
A/N: Whew! That took me a day and a half to write, you would not believe it. Anyway, anything you recognize doesn't belong to me, but for all of you who have seen the 1990 phantom and don't recognize something, that probably does. Please read and review, and I mean all of you. Review. Seriously. I'm not going to keep writing and posting these stories if I only get three reviews per chapter I write. Also, I've created a community specifically for 1990 phantom stories. Currently, this is the only story on there, but if you have a 1990 phantom story and would like to enter it into my community, please feel free to contact me.