A/N: Reviews! Yay! Reviews are good! (Anna skips around.)
Thanks to all the reviewers,
This really, really, REALLY is going to be short. I mean it. I swear it. Anyway…
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Christine blinked blearily at the room around her. Although she seemed to be seeing it through a sort of haze of exhaustion, she could tell that it did look like a bedroom. It wasn't the sort of style she would have associated with Erik. Although she wasn't sure what that would have been, she had vaguely imagined a scenario (yes, I didtooimagine it vaguely, never mind that I spent at least half of every single lunch hour last year picturing it! Wait, wait. Who am I arguing with? Why, I'm the other half of your brain, Christine. Uh... Um… just hold that thought, all right? You'll be hearing more from me later.).
It was furnished in warm woods and earth tones, high backed arm chairs that just begged her to curl up on and warm persian carpet, everything warm and inviting, the dark red velvet on the walls to the mahogany four poster but softened with vases of fresh flowers, understated and soothing. Christine gave a long, immensely satisfying yawn and began to drop down on the couch. Then she remembered about the trousers, and she glared at Erik.
"I haven't forgotten the way you tricked me," she said.
"Miss Daae, I really don't know what you're talking about," said Erik. "I think what you ought to do is try to get a bit of rest. Why don't you simply spend the night on this bed; it ought to be quite comfortable, and I think I've got some sheets and blankets in here—"
"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you, ," said Christine. "There I'd be, fast asleep, utterly defenceless, you'd sneak out into the living room at three in the morning carrying those trousers over one arm, and then—"
A pinkish colour began to rise in Erik's visible cheek. Christine smirked. That was one thing about the way he was so pale; he'd never been able to hide a blush (not that I ever noticed before, and not that I ever kept a list of all the times he blushed at me, and not that it got to be about fifty pages long… I don't think anybody ever noticed blushes but me… oh, is that the other half of my brain again?)
"Look, the fact that you don't exactly hold a high opinion of my moral character hasn't escaped my notice," said Erik coldly. "But no matter what you might think of me, Miss Daae, you'll never find anyone who can say that I've ever forced myself on any girl."
She dropped her eyes to the floor, feeling ashamed of herself. "I didn't say—"
"No, you didn't say, but I know bloody well what you thought," he muttered. "Not that you're really much worse than anyone else in that regard, I suppose." He turned away, still muttering, his voice sinking lower and lower until she could just barely hear it, and she knew that he was no longer talking to her at all. "Do you think I'm not aware of the fact that nobody in the world really cares for me? Do you think I don't know what they're always thinking about me, all of them…"
He broke off, slipped out of his cloak, and reached up to hang them on a hook on the back of a door. Christine sucked in her breath, her eyes glued to the subtle movements of his arms. And the way the muscles in his chest sort of shifted against each other when he stood on tippy-toe…
"It's not the trousers!" she gasped. "It's that shirt, too! The way it's cut—there's something about the stripes in the back! They're moving up and down, back and forth—" She traced a pattern in the air with her forefinger. "They just never stop. , I need to have a better look. I need to know exactly what sort of evil plot—" She gave a sudden lunge forward and grabbed a handful of the material. But she was right; the shirt really was exquisitely cut, and there just wasn't much extra material to grab. She found herself grabbing hard, warm muscle underneath instead. Lots of it. Much more than she would have imagined, considering how thin he looked.
The cloak dropped to the floor in a puddle.
For an instant, Christine could only hear the sound of her own breathing, and his. They were so close that she could smell the spicy scent coming off his skin, like cloves and musk and vanilla, no, chocolate, he really did smell like chocolate. She looked up at him.
"Extra special dark," she said solemnly.
"What?" he asked, looking decidedly dazed.
"That's the sort of chocolate," she said. "Mmmmm." Then she leaned closer, sniffing, inhaling deeply, standing on her toes, angling her face towards his neck because that was where the scent seemed to be strongest, no, it was at his slightly parted pink lips where the lower one was so full and the upper one was a little thinner and sort of folded-over looking and she was sure that he was holding the chocolate in his mouth and if he opened it just a bit more she could get at it with her tongue and—
The delicious scent moved away. She tried to follow it. A large, strong, lanky hand held her back.
"Miss Daae," Erik said in measured tones. "Listen to me."
She shook her head back and forth to clear it a bit, looking up at him.
"Here's what we're going to do. I've got a plan, and, no—" He held up a hand. "It's not an evil plan."
"No trousers involved?" she asked dazedly.
"No trousers whatsoever involved," said Erik, and then looked decidedly green. "Err… scratch that… let's get rid of the trousers entirely, and let's get rid of the shirt while we're at it, and the boxers as well, all of the clothing, in fact… This is getting worse and worse. No puppy-strangling involved. That's safe enough, isn't it? No puppies will be harmed."
"No puppies?" asked Christine.
"The puppies will be perfectly all right. Think of that as you drift off to sleep," said Erik. "Sweet, adorable little puppies, falling all over each other in play." He placed his hand carefully in the small of her back and guided her to the couch. "Rock-a-bye Miss Daae, in the tree-top, when the wind blows, the cradle will rock-"
Christine smothered another enormous yawn. "I am dreadfully tired," she admitted.
"Of course you are," said Erik, opening the closet and handing her a pillow and blankets.
She snuggled into the cushions. "Will you tuck me in?" she asked sleepily.
"Sweet Merlin, what was in that vial?"
"Methylenedioxymethamphetamine" said Christine, lying back on the pillow.
"Sounds wonderful," said Erik, tucking the blankets around Christine's shoulders. "Now if you don't mind, Miss Daae, I'm going to try to get some work done—"
"Will you tell me a story?" asked Christine.
Erik rolled his eyes, but he sat on the edge of the couch. "Once there was a very evil wizard named Erik who lured a sweet, beautiful witch named Christine Daae into his sinister lair. He had perfectly evil designs on her virtue, all of which involved much puppy-strangling. However, what nobody knew was that Christine Daae was clever, resourceful, and more than capable of driving the poor, innocent, misunderstood Erik completely round the bend, which she did. He was last seen running for the safety of the psychiatric ward as she chased him, laughing manically all the way. The End."
Christine sighed happily. "I liked that one. Wait—" She plucked at Erik's sleeve. "One more thing."
"What is it now, Miss Daae?"
"I want a teddy bear."
"Will you finally go to sleep if I get you one?"
She nodded.
Erik gave a long, martyred sigh and turned back to rummage in the closet, throwing aside a spare set of robes, a pair of boots, a pair of leather trousers that made Christine unconsciously lick her lips and imagine him wearing them, straddling a horse with a lock of black hair falling over his eyes and an umbrella.
"I don't know what happened to the bear," he said. "He was here yesterday. So I'm really not sure—"
Christine sat bolt upright in bed with a shriek. Erik fumbled with the umbrella and threw it up in the air. "What in the hell are you screeching about now, Miss Daae? What in Lucifer's name do I have to do to get you to go to sleep?
"Those! That! I knew it, I knew it!" Christine stabbed a finger at something that had fallen on the floor next to the umbrella.
Erik frowned at the scrap of cloth and picked it up between thumb and forefinger. "What? These?"
Christine recoiled from the pair of undershorts embroidered with red and pink hearts.
"Yes!" yelled Christine, leaping off the couch and dragging the blankets with her. "Those!"
Erik gave them another look, snorted, and tossed them aside. "Miss Daae, you've absolutely got to be joking. They where a gift from an adoring fan, sweet girl. Liked the taste of mystery that surrounded me." The blush returned. "I suppose I ought to get rid of them, really, but it was such a nice thought at the time, and really, it's the thought that counts."
"You can't fool me!" screeched Christine. "They're… they're… The Undershorts of Evil!"
Erik laughed in her face.
Christine gave Erik an ominous, smouldering look that would have terrified him if he had ever exposed to it during Christine's growing-up years. Since he had not, however, he was less-than-blissfully ignorant of all that it implied. "I am getting out of here," she said, opening the door, throwing it wide, and marching through it.
Some minutes passed.
"Miss Daae, have you figured out that you're in the hall closet yet?" called Erik.
"I meant to do that," said Christine in a dignified way, marching back into the living room. "I'm going right this instant. Don't try to stop me!"
"Look, I can't let you do this—" Erik began.
" I will be perfectly fine," said Christine icily, "if I can just find the bloody boat."
She could not.
After watching her try to open all the knobs on the stove and step through them, Erik intervened. "Miss Daae, I'm not a complete and utter monster, whatever you may think. I can't let you go out in this state. No…" He gently steered her in the other direction as she attempted to walk into the bath. "The gods only know what would happen to you. I couldn't live with myself if—"
"Don't touch!" she said, glaring at him fixedly. Even Erik stepped back at that glare. He held up his hands.
"Don't worry," he said frigidly. "I won't. But you're not going outside."
"I am," said Christine.
"You're not," said Erik.
They faced each other in the kitchen, two utterly stubborn and matching expressions on their faces.
"There's only one thing to do," said Christine.
"And what would that be?" asked Erik. "Are you going to behave like a rational human being, lie down on that bed, and get a few hours of rest before going anywhere?"
"No," said Christine, starting to rummage in his kitchen cabinets. "I'm going to find an antidote."
"I don't know what you're talking about it. What if I locked myself in my bedroom and gave you the key? Would that be enough for you?"
Christine cast him a scornful glance over one shoulder. "Oh, you're think you're clever, , don't you? I'll bet you've got duplicate keys… loads of duplicate keys, dozens, probably… each one in a separate pocket of another pair of those evil trousers in your closet…" She reached up to the top shelf. "You see, I've finally figured it out."
"Figured what out?" Erik leaned against a kitchen counter and folded his arms. "Miss Daae, you're really starting to scare me, and believe me, that's quite an accomplishment. I've faced down everyone you could ever imagine, stretching all the way from a violent assassin, a circus master with a sadistic obsession with whips, Kings, princes, and even La Carlotta when and if you don't think that's a feat, then you have never truly met Carlotta
You're the one who gave me that potion," said Christine.
"Nobody gave you that potion," Erik said wearily. "You snatched it from Meg and drank it down, over her strenuous objections, I might add."
He was right, and it made Christine more furious than ever. "It was still your fault..Somehow… I'm not sure… Oh! I know! You got me to drink it through some sneaky mind-meld technique!"
Erik grabbed Christine and spun her round to face him. His face was angrier than she had ever seen it. "Yes. You know what I am," he said in a low, intense voice.
"I—I didn't mean—" she stuttered.
"Oh, you did. You've been thinking it all along, and you've finally come out and said it. Well, bully for you, Christine. I manipulate people, I manipulated you for seven years before revealing myself. I kill people Christine." He kept his eyes fixed on hers, pulling a hand to his mask and yanked it up with one vicious motion. "I did everything I could to get rid of this. I tried every form of makeup, every healer… I tried cutting it out more than once, when I was utterly inebriated on whisky, that didn't do any good…, did you know that? No? You can go and tell all your friends that Erik 's stooped to that. Their fearsome Phantom is nothing but a devil in the darkness. Go Christine, tell them!"
"I—I wouldn't—"
"I don't care what anyone says about me anymore. That's a tame titbit compared to some of the gossip, I'm sure," he said bitterly. She did not look at the ugly, twisted scar on his right check just above the bone, for could not stop looking into his eyes. Then he replaced the mask back over it, and as soon as he dropped his eyes from hers, she let the tears fall that she had been holding back.
"You've figured it out, you and everyone else who I've ever cared for, and I hope you're all happy with your brilliant insights," Erik went on. "But nobody stays for too long. Not when they know the things I have done. Of course" he laughed bitterly. "nobody knows why I've had to do the things I've done, and nobody ever will, because I've buried that past, buried it a thousand miles deep, and I keep my secrets. And once and for all, Miss Daae, I never want you to hear one word out of you about any of it, ever again."
Even through the exhaustion and paranoia and seething lust for Erik that Christine was struggling so hopelessly to keep under wraps, she quailed at the awful sound of his melodic voice. I should apologize, she realized. But she couldn't do it. The look on his face was so dreadful that she couldn't even open her mouth. And besides, she was a Daae, and Daaes didn't admit they were wrong until every other avenue had been tried, particularly the ones that involved unbelievably stupid and pointless bravery.
She was holding a small bottle of dark liquid. She looked up at the shelf she had taken from; it was clearly labelled Antidotes, General. She unscrewed the top. Erik's eyes widened in alarm.
"Miss Daae, I really wouldn't do that if I were you—"
It was too late. Christine had already downed the potion in one gulp; she grimaced and threw the little bottle aside. Essence of U. D. was written on the bottom in Eriks neat, flowing script, but neither she nor Erik saw it.
"Now I won't have to stay here at all," she said dully. "Just give me a few moments until it takes effect, , and I'll be out of your hair forever." (And what beautiful hair it is, she thought sadly. I'll never get a chance to run my fingers through it now.)
The minutes ticked by. Erik looked away from her, drumming his fingers on the kitchen counter. Slowly, the room seemed to be coming into sharper focus.
"I think it's starting to work," said Christine.
"Fine," said Erik. "Do you need anything before you go?"
Christine shook her head, but the motion caused her to catch a glance of something out of the corner of her eye. There was a mirror on the opposite wall of the living room in little strips. She saw Erik leaning against the counter, his face a mask of unconcern, gray eyes glittering, perfect features on his left side set into flawless indifference, arms crossed over that gloriously sculpted chest in that evil-ly striped shirt, tucked into the—Christine looked again to be sure—extremely evil tailored trousers. She breathed a sigh of relief. His evil influence over her had clearly been broken, because the trousers looked evil again, but the next strip of mirror- oh, ick. The reflected Christine was a bedraggled mess. Her clothes were rumpled and covered with mud, her face was streaked with dirt, and every hair on her head was standing on end in a different direction.
"I can't possibly go out like this," she said. "I need a bath."
"Feel free to use mine," said Erik. "I'd certainly rather that you didn't leave my flat looking like that. I do have a reputation to keep up with the neighbours, after all, and I can assure you that you're not up to the usual standard of my female visitors."
His tongue in cheek humour caused a small smile to creep back onto Christine's pouting lips . Still, the idea of a long, hot shower sounded very tempting. "What guarantee do I have that you won't sneak in while I'm washing my hair?"
"Oh, gods… Here!" Erik fumbled with something at his belt.
"What are you doing?" demanded Christine suspiciously. "Those trousers are involved, aren't they?"
"I'm not going to dignify that with an answer," said Erik. He pulled out his key to the opera house and handed it to Christine. "Now do you believe that I don't have nefarious designs on your virtue?"
"No."
"Miss Daae, try to be reasonable for a moment, or at least not quite so psychotic as you currently are," said Erik. "You've now got both your key and my own. I clearly can't carry out whatever evil plots were evil-ly brewing in my evil, evil, head. I'm at your mercy, all right?"
The thought of Erik at her mercy was suddenly, shamefully appealing. Christine imagined him in a slave-boy outfit. She licked her lips. That other half of her brain was acting up again.
"Only I'd appreciate it if you'd refrain from scratching me with it, if you don't mind," Erik was saying.
Oh, I won't scratch you. I will just rip your clothes from that body of yours and devour you until-
Christine gulped. She was definitely going to need to have a long, long talk with that other half of her brain.