Summary: A story of one young woman's struggle to grow up…and grow wiser. ExC naturally. HEA guaranteed. Mind the 'M' warning if you please.
Rating: 'M' for a Reason.
Disclaimer: I own it. All Rights Reserved.
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Time & Again
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Part I: A Hell of Heaven
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Christine Daae had made a big mistake.
She had realized it the moment she left through the grate by the Rue Scribe; Raoul holding her tight as the Persian man led them aboveground.
She could hear the tearing, crashing sounds of the mob; the frenzy of their flight below. She tried to slow her pace, dig in her heels; Raoul ushered her onward. "Come on! Christine, Come on. You never know if the monster might have changed his mind."
She was out of breath and very much overwrought. "Raoul. Please, Raoul. We must stop."
The Persian man ushered them onward to the grated entrance and pushed a series of knotches in the stone too small for Christine to see. "Out of the question, Mademoiselle. Come Viscount de Chagny. This way. This will lead us to the Rue Scribe where your carriage awaits. Come the both of you, and never think to come back to this place again." The Persian man gave her a level look, "No matter what he made you promise, Madamoiselle!" And with those parting words, Raoul all but shoved her out the grate.
It closed with a clang of finality.
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Three Weeks Later
Erik is Dead.
She stared at the newspaper emotionlessly, those three small words she refused to believe.
Erik is Dead.
The words rang with a clang of finality in her skull.
Erik is Dead.
"Here, now Christine. What has you looking so glum?" Christine felt the newspaper leave her numb fingers. "The obituaries? A little heavy for Sunday morning reading, don't you think?"
She watched as Raoul folded the paper and placed it beside his morning juice. "Here now. I was thinking you and I could go for a stroll along the Seine. Maybe a picnic in the park? What do you say?"
"I—I really don't…that is to say…" she sighed. "Raoul." Christine took a deep breath, and gathered her courage around her like a cloak to face her fiancé. "I must return to the opera house."
The affable smile slid from his face. "Out of the question, Christine."
She watched as he took a sip of his juice and unfolding the paper once more, proceeded to read.
She tried a different tack, hoping to appeal to his sense of honor. "Please, Raoul. I left everything in such a shambles when I fled. That place was my home for four years. Four years, Raoul! And Madam Giry and Meg were like family to me. I haven't even written to them. Please!"
She watched as he sat the paper down very deliberately, and gave her a level stare. "I don't see why? We have plenty of stationary here at the Chateau that is at your disposal." He turned his attention to the paper and shook it out. "You may invite Madam Giry and her daughter to stay here if you like. They are more than welcome and there is more than enough room."
Christine flattened her buttered croissant with the tines of her fork, losing herself in thought. After a moment, the paper rattled, and a throat cleared. She looked up to see that she had Raoul's complete attention, and for the first time, she noticed how glacially blue his eyes could become. He met her stare as he quietly stated, "For the last time, Christine. You are never going back there. End of discussion."
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"Meg, I'm so glad you and Madam could come! Tell me, how long can you stay?"
Christine watched as her friend unpacked what meager belongings she had in the second best guestroom of the de Chagny Chateau. The blond girl grunted as she fiddled with the stubborn latch on her trunk. "Indefinitely, I suppose." she shrugged. "The dormitories and our apartments above were destroyed during the fire. We were living—squatting really— in the undamaged section of the Populaire until we received your invitation inviting us here."
Christine looked instantly contrite. "Oh, Meg! I'm so sorry!" The blond girl paused in her unpacking and sat beside her. "Don't be. What have you to be sorry for? It wasn't your fault the Populaire burned."
"Oh, but—"
"Hush." Meg put her arms around her, "It's not your fault, Christine. None of it!" She nodded, and Meg sighed. "One day, Christine Daae, you're going to have to hear it and believe it, but obviously today is not that day." Meg rose. "Now come over here and help me with my trunk. Only you could get the blasted thing to open up anyway. I should have given it to you years ago."
Taking off her glove, Christine rose and followed, going over to the ancient trunk and feeling the latch with her fingers. She closed her eyes. "Nonsense. It just requires… a bit …of attention." She bit her lip. "And the right…pressure. There!" The rusty latch gave way with a grate. "See? It opened right up."
She looked up at her friend triumphant, and Meg looked back at her deadpan. "I loosened it for you."
Christine's mouth twitched. "Uh-huh. Sure you did. Come on. Hurry up and unpack. Luncheon will be in an hour."
Meg turned to comply but stopped short, "Wait! Before I forget! This was in your dressing room at the Populair." She watched as Meg took out a well-bundled, if bulky, package. Christine took it from her and was immediately surprised by the weight. Her friend shrugged. "It looked valuable so I took it; I didn't want it to be stolen." She nodded her thanks and saw the weighty object safely to her room, putting it out of her mind upon setting it down.
A thousand other concerns intruding upon her as she wrestled with the most crucial of decisions: what to wear?
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"Is it not enough, Raoul, that I have to put up with It sharing our home and mingling with us at dinner? Is it not enough, Raoul, that I am still freshly immersed in grief over the loss of our dear, departed Phillipe and have to be reminded of his death every time I see you seated at the head of the table sitting opposite It?" Viscountess Joanna de Chagny held the pristine white handkerchief up to her bone-dry, china-blue eyes and sniffed delicately. "And now It has brought It's friends to stay here as well. This cannot be borne!"
Christine watched from her position just outside the door of Raoul's study as the two siblings conversed. It was just after luncheon, and Christine had wanted to see if Raoul would agree to taking them on an afternoon excursion through the was, until she heard the two of them talking.
"For the last time, Joanna, this is my future wife you are talking about, and you will address her with respect!" Christine watched as Raoul put down the mound of papers he was studying and finally looked at his sister.
The death of his older brother had left the normally carefree young man disheartened, and the added weight of titled responsibility lent him a severe and sober personage. His countenance had seemingly matured overnight from the boy she had known to that of the man he was to become.
His sister raised her painted Patrician nose in stubborn defiance. "Oh no I won't! Not until you marry the little tart will I deign to give It the time of day. And even then… only grudgingly."
Christine expected Raoul to come once more to her defense, but to her shocked dismay, his mouth twitched, and a smile formed. "Oh, do come here Kitten."
She watched dumbfounded, as sauntering, his sister made her way over to him and perched delicately on lip of his desk. Christine lost her view of Raoul, but she heard whispering and then quiet laughter from the pair.
Why the two of them..they looked… …it was almost as if—
Holding her breath, Christine backed silently away, but stumbled into the personage of Madam Giry, who had, unbeknownst to her, followed along.
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A/N: The authoress would dearly love to know what you think, dear reader…
DGM