Alright, this is pretty fluffy, with a side-order of mild angst in the end. But mostly fluffkins.
I haven't written a Phantom Phic before, so reviews are kinda really wanted x.x
This is pretty AU, by the way. I know that normally Christine wouldn't hop out of bed to follow Erik around, and that Erik would not be willing to risk his angel become ill just to satisfy his own desire to show her the snow.
But I tried to keep them as In Character as possible, given the plot line, so...
Yeah...
Though human eyes are typically closed during the late hours of the evening, it is also commonplace for Mother Nature to grace her children with spectacles beyond the imagination's border during these times when only the lucky will bear witness.
The chilly winds of December brushed along the desolate Parisian streets, lit by the oil lamps hung high upon perches to escape being plundered by less fortunate members if the community. Nevertheless, in the upper class area one had less worries about riff-raff and other such scoundrels, and even if that were so, no good lady would be caught dead outside without an escort.
The air on this glorious night was playing a peculiar tune that delighted the senses and sent a rare thrill up the spines of the living. Already it had been singing this song for the better part of the night while unbeknownst in the sleeping Opera House, one set of leather bound feet were awake and restless, darting through the passageways with a joyous spring in his step that at any other moment would be lacking.
Erik was decidedly excited. A smile was set upon his lips– rare but inviting– and his golden-yellow eyes twinkled with merriment that could not be forgotten easily. He simply had to alert Christine– it was essential that she know of the event taking place in the streets, even at such an odd hour. Any other time(Or if it were anyone else), Erik would scoff and insist nothing could not possibly wait until morning.
Well, this couldn't.
This needed to be shown while it was at it's finest, while the magic was still possessed by the air.
Without much thought, Erik dared to push open his mirror-door and enter Christine's chambers, listening to her deep breaths for a long moment before crossing the room and gently nudging her shoulder. Never before had he risked to commit such an act, but this couldn't be missed! She had to come quickly. "Christine..." Erik crooned softly as she began to stir, kneeling at the foot of her bed and rocking impatiently on his heels. "Christine..." He sang softly again.
She was still most likely frightened by him– she had already begun fawning over that boy of hers, but that didn't matter now. She had seen his face and she would follow him tonight to witness the splendor of what was just outside the stone walls. He had never shown any other person the glory that would soon be entrusted to his dear student.
At long last her thick lashes fluttered weakly and a set of deep mahogany eyes locked into his own yellow. It was with an endearingly dazed look that Christine blinked one, twice, and finally let out a squeal of terror, scrambling to pull her blankets over her nightgown and hiding her face until all that was left for Erik to view was two wide eyes and a mane of tangled curls.
"E-Erik?" She mumbled. "My Goodness, you scared me half to death."
"I apologize, Mon petite ange," Erik said, swiftly rocking closer to the bed and standing to his full, impressive height. "But we must hurry!" Another airy smile was borne to his face; something so childish and foreign that Christine couldn't resist the urge to reflect it back upon him.
"Hurry where, Angel?" She asked, and his chest almost purred at the endearment. "You know that I will not–"
"Not my home, Christine," He interrupted, unwilling to have her rejection spoil the magic of the evening. "This is something much better! It is surely the most glorious night of the year," Erik's smile seemed to grow and the gesture reached his unnatural gaze, warming it to a state of liquid gold. "I would be honored for you to join me."
Christine felt confusion deep in her chest, and she lowered the blankets slightly. "What is it that's so glorious?" She wondered aloud. "It's so cold outside."
"That's why you will need your warmest clothes, Ange, and a hat... and mittens."
"I haven't bought any new mittens or a hat, Erik!" Christine said in disappointment; she had truly become enwrapped in his joy, and felt the hot burning of shame in her chest that she wasn't prepared for his surprise.
Erik, however, only chuckled(It was such an odd thing, to see him so overjoyed), and retrieved a lovely fur Ushanka from the folds of his winter cloak, a testament to his time passing through Russia. The soft, white fox hide warmed his hand without trouble, and he was confident of Christine's protection. Withdrawing a set of matching fur-lined mittens, a look of shock crossed the woman's face. "How do you find these things?" She asked softly. "I haven't seen a hat like this since Papa and I passed foreigners on the road."
"It will keep you warmer than any Parisian hat you can find," He said at length. "Come! I will await you in the hallway." For the first time since they had begun correspondence, Erik exited her room through the assigned doorway with a final swish of his thick cloak.
Christine's mind was abuzz as she climbed out of bed, rubbing her eyes and even going so far as to pinch herself, just to be assured that Erik had, for lack of a better term flounced throughout her room, insisted that something with regards to a regular, cold night was glorious, given her a set of hat and mittens that she was quite sure costed more than she would ever be able to repay, and was now waiting outside in the hallway.
She smiled to herself while straightening the two thick skirts she had chosen from the bureau. If only Erik was always like this. It was a welcome change to see the man with some confidence in himself– it broke her heart to see him clinging to his obsessions. He looked truly thrilled tonight, and it was worth more than any amount of lost sleep to discover what had made the Phantom so very happy.
Christine buttoned her white winter's coat with more haste than usual and jammed the thick, furry hat upon her head, feeling absolutely, wondrously silly as she pulled the ear-flaps tight about her face, tying the corresponding strings in a haphazard bow as she jogged to the door, hauling it open and pulling on her mittens.
Erik felt a tug at his heartstrings when she emerged, staring down at Christine with affection. She looked nothing short of adorable, with her head bundled in fox fur and clumsy mittens upon her hands. Taking the lead, Erik set off at a brisk pace, keeping a weather eye on the closed doors; it wouldn't do for them to be seen.
"Where are your mittens? And your hat, Erik?" Christine asked, and his chest flooded with adoration– she was so sweet... always thinking of others.
"I'm much more tolerant of the cold than you are, Christine." He explained nonchalantly. "I'll be fine without." The conversation died and Erik returned to simply smiling. That alone fascinated Christine beyond reckoning. It was so rare that he was not scowling or brooding– his sudden joy made her eager to see what was in store. It must be something fantastic! Something extraordinary!
"Look, Christine!" Erik exclaimed jubilantly, throwing open the door of the Opera House. "It's snowing!"
It was with an ounce of guilt that Christine felt an inkling of disappointment well up in her stomach. This wasn't the marvelous wonder that he had made it out to be. There was snow every winter– it was always cold, and it was always white. She pulled her coat tighter and spared a glance at the sky, watching the snowflakes drift down gently.
"Aren't you– aren't you excited, Christine?" Erik suddenly asked with veiled discontentment. He watched her reactions and in the span of a second had begun to feel incredibly childish– stupid, even. Of course she wasn't going to be excited about snow. She didn't see any wonder in the first snowfall of the year, all it was to Christine was white fluff. "I'm sorry, Ange," Erik said miserably. "Come, I'll take you back before you catch cold."
Her heart clenched at his defeated tone, and Christine shook her head frantically. "No, Erik!" She said, stepping onto the street and looking around slowly. "Please..." The look in her eyes was enough to ease Erik's shame. "Please tell me what you see in this that I don't. I want to know."
Erik shifted his gaze in thought and followed her onto the street, looking at the scenery with a feeling of such peace that, for a moment, he couldn't feel the mask upon his face. "It's magic..." He said sheepishly, catching her confused look. "Look around you. All of it is white. No more streets, no more grime, no more marks. It's been wiped clean for a night." He gestured around widely. "The air is cleaner than it ever would be in the summer, and right now," A smile twisted its way back into his visage. "Right now, we are the only people in existence."
Christine looked up at him quizzically, then took another long look at their surroundings.
It was with a whirlwind of thoughts that everything Erik had said suddenly became true. It felt as though he had peeled back her eyelids and forced Christine to look at the picture before her with a different view. A different angle. It was a strange feeling, as though everything had become beautiful in a second.
The streets, clean of dirt and humans alike, no longer seemed forlorn and empty, but possessed by the dancing flakes that skittered across the ground in a thick, even coating. The air stung her nostrils when Christine took a deep breath, but as the cold air rushed into her lungs she laughed in merriment, drawing Erik's attention. "I see now!" She explained. "It's just like you said!" In a gesture unknown to them both, the petite woman took her companion by the elbow. "Let's take a walk as the two only people in the world."
A shocked expression crossed Erik's visage, but it softened hesitantly into a smile and they set off into the quiet night. The snow enwrapped the couple as they walked in content silence; Christine occasionally stepped closer or brushed his shoulder with her head, and Erik frequently glanced down with a benevolent look and led her through the beautiful, snowy streets of Paris.
Their silence was not awkward. It was peaceful, and the pair seemed to share the opinion that to break the velvety blanket of quietude would be nothing short of a sin, and so they maintained a companionable quiet. The snow remained light and feathery as they walked, and the evening air was especially mild for a Parisian winter.
"Do you know this path well?" Christine suddenly asked in a hushed tone.
Erik looked down at her and blinked slowly, pondering her intention before replying. "Yes, I like to think so. It's a short cut to the market street, but I've never thought much of it." With his visible eyebrow quirked, the Opera Ghost felt the comfortable glow in his chest die when Christine tensed. "Why do you ask, Ange?"
"The DeChagny estate is ahead of us, Erik, and I fear Raoul will see me." In a manner that was almost pitiful, she clung to her mentor's arm. "Oh, I don't want our walk to end! Please, make us vanish before–"
"Christine?"
The window of a manor several lengths away had been thrown open and Raoul DeChagny poked his head outside, wearing a striped, ruffled gown and the expression of a man who had very recently been awoken.
Erik's warm, golden gaze was in an instant the cold yellow Christine had come to fear, but as she hid behind his back while they slipped into the shadows of the nearby buildings, she felt strangely safe. Even as Raoul called out in confusion, she felt none of the adoration that normally invaded her heart. In fact, she found the pitiful edge of his voice almost comical.
"Christine? Darling, I saw you! Who is it you're with, Christine? Christine!"
Erik looked down at his petite companion and felt his anger bubbling away at the entertained look in her eyes. She seemed to finally see the silliness of her fop. "Come, fée, I'll show you a new game." He took her hand and with all the stealth of a panther led her to the edge of Raoul's window, hiding deep in the shadows as the fop looked around cluelessly.
"You've learned to play voice games in the Opera House, haven't you?" He asked, already knowing the answer and ignoring her confused nod. "We will have some entertainment at DeChagny's expense, I think."
"I don't want you to hurt him, Erik." Christine warned, and felt an inkling of shame as the Phantom pinned her with a mildly insulted look.
"While that would provide me with a night's worth of laughter, Christine, I intend to give us both some enjoyment." Erik explained as though she hadn't implied that his mind was warped. "Watch closely..."
Cupping his hands to his mouth, Erik smirked momentarily before calling out. "Vicomte Raoul DeChagny!" Christine suppressed a horrified giggled when her childhood friend spun on the spot, having heard Erik's cry from within his chambers.
"Who's there? Who's calling me?"
With an encouraging nudge, Christine smiled up at her escort sheepishly. "Oh, but Erik, it's wrong to laugh at his expense."
"He'll never know, will he?"
The personality of a child who had spent years playing tricks and causing mischief with her peers alit within Christine's eyes and she wasted no time in cupping her own mouth to mimic Erik. It had only been several weeks since she had tossed her voice, having been required to do so in a recent production, and the skill was still fresh in her memory.
She paused thoughtfully, wondering on what to say, for she didn't want to be cruel. A thought struck Christine and, pulling in a deep breath, she let out a verse that left her giggling childishly,
"There was a Young Lady whose chin,
Resembled the point of a pin;
So she had it made sharp,
And purchased a harp,
And played several tunes with her chin."
Erik looked at her with a raised eyebrow as Raoul blankly questioned why Christine was in his room reciting silly poems. "You know limericks?" The Opera Ghost asked with amusement.
Christine watched Raoul call her name helplessly for several long moments before turning back to Erik. "I didn't know they had a name," She admitted sheepishly. "We used to make them up in our spare time– the chorus girls, that is. Meg's were always the best."
Erik nodded and they were contented to throw verses at Raoul from every direction, rendering the young man so confused that he eventually let out a strangled yell and scratched his scalp madly. "I must go to the Opera House, if I'm dreaming I'll surely awaken, and if not..." The Comte shook his head in a way quite similar to a befuddled hound. "Jaques! Ready my carriage!" The window slammed shut and the cobblestones fell wretchedly silent.
His two hidden tormentors reacted in diverse ways; Erik stayed as unruffled as ever, but his eyes narrowed warningly as the sound of a carriage danced across the barren streets; Christine let out a gasp and looked up at her companion in horror. "We'll never get back in time." She moaned.
"Don't think so quickly, Christine. We're still in hearing range of the Opera House." Erik said mysteriously, digging through his outer cloak and withdrawing a sheaf of parchment and a minuscule quill, ignoring Christine's gasp he dug the tip into his arm and withdrew a sliver of blood, scrawling 'Distract him' in messy letters.
"What does it matter if they can hear us at the Opera house, I still don't see how–" Christine squealed in shock when Erik brought two fingers against his lips and emitted a harsh, screaming whistle that echoed through the barren streets. "What was that?"
He raised a hand for silence and, following suit, Christine listened intently. She heard no strange noises... but as the minutes progressed she distinctly heard the sound of hooves beating against cobblestones, and through the light veil of snow a horse she fondly recalled came into view, stomping its feet excitedly as Erik gave it a quick pat.
Christine's shock had scarcely ended when, with several elongated flaps, a pidgeon lighted on Erik's outstretched arm. She looked at it's leg and gaped at the tube that was strapped to it, in which Erik hastily tucked his note before sending it back into the sky. "A pigeon?"
"It will land in Madame Giry's room, who will have already woken when it demanded to be released." Erik explained quickly. "Come, Christine. I'm afraid our walk has ended."
She felt a strange depression as the black steed cantered throughout the beautiful streets, churning the snow beneath it's hooves loudly. To think that only minutes before all the troubles facing Christine had seemed trivial. The man she was meant to fear had become her confidante once more, and it brought a terrible weight into her stomach to realize she would have to spend the rest of her life pretending that, on the first snowfall of winter, Christine Daae had been sound asleep in her bed while The Phantom of the Opera stalked through his caves below the Opera House.
Erik looked down at her, perched prettily before him on the horse, and subconsciously pulled her tight against his chest, taking a deep breath and recording the moment in his mind. It hurt his soul to bring her back... to let go once again.
But he had known that this would be their final evening together as anything similar to companions. It had inspired Erik to make this night a memorable one for Christine, one that he hoped would overpower those that were undoubtedly to come; and when she grew old, it was his only desire that this angel should smile upon remembering him.
All too soon the Opera House loomed before them, and Erik quietly cursed at the sight of the carriage before the doors. He made another sharp whistle and the stallion obediently disappeared behind the building while Erik pulled Christine to the loose window that led into the chapel. He listened for a split second before slipping through. "Come, ange, I'll lift you down." He murmured, glancing around the room before taking the small woman and conveying her to the floor as though she were little more than a stick.
Christine couldn't help but grab Erik's shoulders for stability, and meeting his gaze, she felt overrun with emotion. "I don't want to return." She admitted at last. "I know... I know I must, but I don't want to be told to fear you again." A sob shook her small frame and Erik felt his heart breaking. "That's all they tell me." She explained tearfully. "Only Madame Giry has any understanding, but she's too busy for a ballet rat like me."
"Oh, Christine..." Erik sighed painfully. "My poor Christine..." He stroked her back soothingly and murmured nonsense, comfort words in her ear. "I will always be something to be feared to them. It pains me, but I have only three confidantes in this world." It was an old trick of his– to offer her a glimpse of his life and distract from the rest of the world.
She took the bait and looked up with watery eyes. "Only three?" Christine whimpered. "Poor angel!" She sobbed anew. "Who are they?" She whispered hoarsely, unable to leave her curiosity be, even in such a dismal mood.
Erik tipped Christine's chin up and met her gaze sadly. "Antoinette Giry, an old friend of which I have seen neither hide nor hair of for two years, and you Christine." A shocked sound pressed through his lips with the woman threw herself into his chest emotionally. "Oh, Christine... please don't cry... Il est l'heure d'aller dormir... Le sommeil va bientôt venir." The softly sung lullaby quelled her tears and Erik gently brushed them away with a sad smile. "Antoinette cannot delay him for long, Christine. You must put on a brave face and go to meet him."
"I know..." She said with a gulp of air, meeting his gaze and sighing softly. "I don't know what to say, Erik." Christine admitted pathetically.
The Phantom simply smiled and stroked her hair. "You can keep the hat and mittens, I have no use for them." He said gently, brushing the russet locks away from her visage and leaning closer. Her eyes fluttered shut and Erik felt his pulse race.
"Christine!" From the hallway came Raoul's eager shout, and before Christine had even opened her eyes, Erik was gone; escaped into one of his many hiding places with the ridiculous fear that his rapidly drumming heart might attract attention as the DeChagny brat and Madame Giry burst into the chapel. "Oh Christine! Thank God you're safe!" Raoul exclaimed. "I had the oddest dream, and I had to ensure your safety!"
"Monsieur!" Antoinette slammed her cane against the earth with such force that all three of the room's inhabitants(Erik included) flinched. "This is a holy place, be respectful."
"Yes madame, I'm sorry." The fop took Christine's hand and Erik saw red. "Come, Christine, I'll escort you to your room... tell me, why are you dressed so heavily?"
A false laugh split her face as they walked to the door. "Oh, it gets very cold in the chapel, Raoul." Christine provided quickly, and Erik had an appreciation for her superb acting skills as the door swung shut and Antoinette tapped her cane expectantly.
"What are you doing, Erik?" She demanded hoarsely. "Sending that pigeon... it frightened me halfway to death! I thought you were injured or worse." The older woman already knew where he was and made a wild gesture. "And what were you doing outside on such a horrible night with Christine? Of everyone in this Opera House, I thought you might have the common sense to realize her vulnerability to the elements!"
A loud huff escaped her lips and the elder Giry moved to the door. "I'll find her more blankets to ward off the cold– and so help me, Erik, if she falls ill because of your scheming..."
"Of course, Antoinette." He said patiently, inciting a curious look from the ballet mistress. It wasn't normal that Erik take her criticism without a cutting response of his own. "If Christine takes ill, I'll be by her bedside to keep her healthy."
"You'll have to fight the Vicomte for that position." Antoinette snapped, brushing out of the room and leaving Erik in silence.
He slipped through a hidden door behind the painted visage of an angel and meandered across the dismal corridors. His feet were tracing the path to Christine's room, and already he could hear her warding off the Comte.
"Yes, Raoul, I'll be fine. Goodnight, Raoul. Yes, of course. Goodnight, my friend." The door slid shut and Christine sighed quietly at the sound of retreating footsteps. She surveyed the entrance for several more moments before crossing the room and efficiently swapping her heavy winter clothes for a nightgown. The aching in her bones convinced Christine to forgo tidying the mess she had made, and with a smile she tenderly hung her hat upon the bedpost.
Looking towards her mirror, her smile grew as Erik crossed the room like a ghost. "Good night, Maestro" She said with a trace of the past playfulness, snuggling deeper into her mattress as he returned the gesture with a faintly upturned lip and tucked the heavy blankets around her form.
"Goodnight, Mon Ange, I hope you don't catch cold." Erik said softly, daring to play with one of her curls, spinning it around his finger thoughtfully before letting the lock bounce back into place.
"Don't worry, Erik. I feel warmer than I have in a very long time." She pulled her arms out of the nest of blankets and held them up expectantly, laughing at the flush that invaded the visible portion of his face. "I think I deserve a goodnight hug." Christine explained pleasantly.
"Yes... of-of course." Leaning down, Erik awkwardly embraced her and released a heavy sigh at the feeling, letting the sensation wash over him before pulling away. A thrill of shock drove the man to near collapse when the touch of feather-light lips brushed against his chin. A choked sound broke through Erik's throat as he pulled away in awe, looking down upon Christine with astonishment. "Y-you...you..."
"A goodnight kiss." She said sheepishly. "I'm sorry, it was improper of me."
Erik shook his head frantically. "Am-am I... am I to r-return it?" He asked meekly.
Christine looked down with a blush staining her cheeks. "Not if it makes you uncomfortable– because... it was an improper thing... but you could..." She hesitantly turned her face to offer him one rosy side. "I-if you want to, that is."
Blood rushed to Erik's head until he feared that a fainting spell might come upon him as he approached the bedside, leaning down ever-so-slowly and spending several seconds staring at his target. "You're sure?" He asked hoarsely, feeling slightly heartened at her nod.
It was an odd sensation, to feel his lips upon the flesh of her cheek. It was something he had never even realized that he missed, and now that it had been discovered Erik felt such misery welled up in his chest, knowing there could be no more nights such as this. "Goodnight, Christine." He rasped, fleeing her room wildly and collapsing only when he was safe in his underground home and her confused cries could no longer reach him.
It was then that Erik gently removed his leather mask, letting the cold air lap against the ridged flesh as he ripped the cover from on of the mirrors, soaking in the sight of himself with silent resignation until at last he slid down the wall.
And the Phantom began to sob.
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Translations:
"Mon Petite Ange" -- My Little Angel
"Ushanka" -- A very warm Russian hat
"Fée" -- Fairy
"Il est l'heure d'aller dormir... Le sommeil va bientôt venir." -- It's time to go to sleep... sleep will be here soon(Rough translation)