A/N: I hate that there's no real way to respond to people in a public way, so I guess I'll do it here.
Ace: Thanks for reviewing, but I feel a little bad about it. The title was a friend's idea, and neither of us had any idea it was a Rolling Stones song. As for the possibility of an E/M fic, I'm afraid that's a negative too. She'll probably show up at some point, but I just don't think of her and Erik working out that way. Thirdly... sorry I took so long. Real life happened suddenly and I had a lot less time than I'm used to having.
The Phantom's cell is on the first floor with other prisoners expecting a short stay in the jail. As Raoul follows the officers, he glances at the passing inmates in various positions: sitting on the floor, standing and looking out from the bars, curled up on the straw pallets. He doesn't have long to stare, for they reach their destination within minutes. The figure in this cell is sitting against the wall, arms resting on his knees, glaring at the opposite wall. He makes no movement to suggest that he is aware of the company outside his cell.
One of the guards opens the door, and Raoul walks in. He places himself deliberately in the line of the Phantom's hard stare and waits. It takes a moment, but the glare finally flicks up from the wall to the vicomte's face, eyes piercing from behind dirty, stringy gray hair. Raoul returns the stare unflinchingly, and takes a breath to say something... before realizing he doesn't know what to call the man. As far as he knows, the Phantom has no name, he is not, nor was he ever, an Angel, and Phantom and Opera Ghost were inappropriate with no opera to haunt. Still, for lack of an alternative-
"O.G." Raoul waits for a response.
"Vicomte." The Phantom's voice is hoarse. He probably hasn't used it much as of late. There's no more after that, so Raoul continues, wondering how much the disfigured man knew about Raoul's bartering over his fate.
"Until another alternative is found, you will be kept in my house-"
"No." The interruption is quiet, but sharp, and it stops Raoul right in his tracks. The glare drops down to the wall again. "Keep your pity."
"This isn't pity. I have no pity for someone like you," Raoul responds icily.
The Phantom snorts derisively. "What do you call this, then?" He gives Raoul a moment to fail to come up with an answer before continuing. "Whatever you decide to call it, I don't want it."
Raoul hadn't considered the possibility that his efforts would go to waste here. Actually, he hadn't really thought much of the moment when he would see the Phantom again. He'd planned for where to put him and how to keep him contained, but Raoul didn't think about what to say to the other man until he was on his way to the jail.
Later, he would be kicking himself for having let this final excuse to let the Phantom die pass him by.
"I don't care what you want. The past couple of days have been nothing but trouble for me, and it's all because of you. You are coming-"
"Why, then?" The Phantom cut in, looking back up to the Vicomte's face. Raoul's expression paired with a poignant silence must have been enough for the other man to draw the obvious conclusion. A flicker of emotion crossed the Phantom's face. Hope? Raoul wasn't sure, but it made his fists clench all the same. "How is Christine?"
"That is none of your business," Raoul snapped. "As far as you will be concerned, my wife will be in another country altogether." The Phantom's lip curls at the emphasis on wife. With an irritated huff, Raoul gestures to the guards to secure the Phantom before he changes his mind and leaves him to hang at the earliest possible convenience. With that, he turns and strides out of the cell and towards the exit, trusting the policemen to bring the prisoner out behind him.
Christine stood waiting outside, watching for Raoul to return with him. Eventually, she spots him atop his horse, and she strains to see if someone is following him... There, that dreary, barred prison van. She watches it rumble along, wondering about the man inside. Has he changed since she last saw him? Was it hard for him, living outside of the opera house? She is so absorbed in her thoughts that she hardly notices Raoul when he gallops up, only acknowledging him when he shouts to her.
"Christine, get inside." He's off his horse in a second and ushering Christine inside before she can even consider arguing about it.
She holds back a little, taking another quick glance back at the approaching van before doing has her husband says and going inside. Once inside, she hurries towards the closest window, straining to see the wagon pull up outside the front doors. As it shudders to a stop, the policemen get down from the drivers seat and move around to the side-
"Vicomtess?" Christine turns, startled, to see Armela, her personal maid. "Your husband has requested that you be kept well away from the prisoner," she continues, offering a hand to lead her to safety.
"In a moment," Christine says quietly, turning back to the window. She needs to see him at least once... Armela sighs and joins her at the window. A second later, Christine sighs as well, but more out of frustration. The door to the wagon is open, and she can see that there is someone in front of it, but a policeman is blocking her view and she can't see him clearly. Then suddenly, the policeman moves, and she can get a good look at who she once called the Angel of Music.
He looks terrible. On the last night she saw him, when he was spitting threats and putting a noose around the man she loved, he was terrible and frightening. Now, he looks nearly as pathetic as when she went back to give him Raoul's ring. His clothes are bedraggled, his stringy gray hair is matted, and Christine doesn't miss the shackles on his wrists. The angry red disfigurement stands out against the rest of his face, and she suddenly wonders if it had ever seen the light of day before he fled the burning opera house. The policemen start leading him inside, and in turn, Armela takes Christine's arm and pulls gently, guiding her away from the window. "Come along, my lady."
As they journey through the house, the thought comes unbidden to Christine's mind: "Poor Angel." It comes with a mixed feeling of pity and guilt; Pity for the poor man who called himself the Opera Ghost, and guilt for still feeling pity for him even after all he's done, especially to Raoul and everyone else he hurt during his reign of terror. She loses herself in thought as Armela takes her away, deeper into the de Chagny estate.