Let Me Be Your Hero
Disclaimer: Don't own POTO… but I do own Dom and Cyrus.
A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed the first chapter of this story. I'm glad some people liked it. Tell me what you think of this chapter and I'll hopefully be done with the next one soon. Tiochfaidh ár Lá, for those of you who read it, will be updated this week, I think. Hope you like it…
Please read and review…
Chapter 2: Proud… Flawed.
Christine Daaé was a proud young woman. Beautiful and jaded, she wore her scars on the inside, bar two ambiguous, indistinct outward clues to her hardship. The first, an almost unnoticeable glint in her eye… an imperfection – a small irregularity – something one could distinguish only after studying it for several long, confusion-wrought moments. The sort of fluke one at first does not allow oneself to believe… something akin to rubbing a photograph to try to remove a possible fleck marring its surface or rubbing one's own eyes to remove the blur before it becomes apparent that the obscurity's existence is outward. A scar. A line of faded tissue that did not belong upon the gentle blue of her right eye… something that set it aside from the other… something that provoked continuous questions…
The second, the regal figure of a dog – the Alsatian which never left her side… the fluorescent yellow of his harness clearly visible upon his statuesque shoulders as he strode along beside her, pausing when she did, sitting obediently at her feet as she picked a particularly delicious-looking mango from the stall outside a fruit and vegetable shop and then following her in as she took it inside to pay for.
"No dogs allowed," the owner announced as she made her way to the counter at the front of the shop, and she prepared herself for yet another rendition of this same conversation. It was a multiple daily occurrence.
"He's a support dog."
"But you're not blind," the man said obviously as he studied her eyes to make sure. Then he saw the scar and was no longer certain… but she stared back at him with such clarity – right into his eyes – that he could not imagine her sight having left her.
"No, I'm not blind. He's a support dog, not a guide dog. Can I pay for this, or what?" she asked, exasperated. One more question and she was set to leave. Yes, Christine Daaé had her pride – she resented her Alsatian's harness, for it flaunted what she saw as her weakness to the rest of the world. Why would she need a support dog after all unless she could not function as others do?
The grocer took her mango reluctantly, weighing it and pricing it monotonously as he strived to try not to pry any further. Momentarily, the young woman left anyway and he contented himself with looking after her as she went, shaking his head before turning to the next customer.
Outside, Christine sighed and tried to slow her agitated pace – she knew she really shouldn't let people bother her this much… and all for the sake of a piece of fruit which did not look quite so appealing anymore.
Closing her eyes briefly, she shook her head to clear it and decided to head towards the park to sit in the fresh air for a few minutes before going back to work. Besides, it was time Cyrus had a bit of a break. It was a lovely day and they could sit together in the sun, on the grass, until she composed herself. It had been interesting seeing her new boyfriend's flatmate at the restaurant today… when she'd first met him, she'd not known what to think of him – of course, she'd wondered about the mask… but she wouldn't ask – she would never ask – the poor dear had too much to deal with already. She felt sort of sorry for him, in fact, as his stutter clearly made life difficult for him, and she knew what that was like…
Momentarily, a laughing child ran up to her to retrieve his Frisbee from the ground near her where it had fallen and he looked longingly towards Cyrus, his smile replaced with the sort of look a small boy gets when he has his fickle heart set on something. A moment later, the boy's mother appeared behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders, an apologetic smile on her face. "I'm sorry," she laughed, "boys will be boys."
"Mum," her son interrupted, still gazing at Cyrus, who had sat up rigid beside Christine when the boy came running over. "I want that dog."
"Don't be silly, Liam, you can't have that dog – he belongs to the lady."
"But I want it!"
In the compromising instincts found only in a parent who has had to deal with ever such ridiculous demands from their young child, she turned to Christine, a complete stranger, and pleaded with her eyes that she oblige her this little request so that the rest of the day would not be filled with such demands. "Do you think he could just pet him for a moment?"
Immediately, Christine became guarded and struggled quickly to her feet. "Sorry. We have to go."
Walking around the confused mother and her son, she pulled Cyrus along beside her by his lead and tried to ignore his little mewls. "Don't touch him," she cried out suddenly, pulling the dog behind her, as the boy ran over to them and reached out to Cyrus.
"Look, I'm sorry," his mother apologised, noticing for the first time upon seeing Cyrus from behind that he was wearing a harness, and also noticing for the first time upon seeing the young woman facing the sunlight that she had an odd little mark upon one eye. "I didn't realise you were blind."
"I didn't either," Christine mumbled, finally turning and leading Cyrus away, his warning mewls deep in his throat.
Yes, she had her pride… but she tried so hard too, to be – or seem – happy. She still did ordinary, daily things – she went to work, she attended the opera, she attempted to socialise… in fact, she'd somehow managed to convince the resident composer at the Royal Opera House that she was a regular, happy-go-lucky sort of girl enough that he had asked her out without too much hesitation or too many unanswered questions about Cyrus – and she'd even managed to convince his father and flatmate. It was beyond her how they could have missed the quiet grief in her eyes or the resigned smile shadowing an altogether less attractive expression.
And when she'd seen Erik again at the restaurant she worked in, finding herself presented with the opportunity of helping him, she could not stop herself. Perhaps she liked helping other people because it detracted from her own feelings of helplessness… perhaps not… but she did not stop to think of such things. There were some things better left well enough alone.
"Hey, Chris," Raoul greeted, walking into Laurent's break room just behind her. "I thought I'd stop by and see you…"
"That's sweet, Raoul," she tried to smile, opening her locker to get ready, "but I'm working…"
"I know…" Unaffected, he sat himself down upon the bench, watching while she went about juggling her dog's lead from arm to arm as she got her coat off and hung it up and tied her apron around her waist. "Last night was fun," he announced, though he had thought the opera was boring, not understandable and the worst music he had ever heard. Still, she had been worth it, he thought.
"Yes," she agreed, a smile appearing on her face at the thought of the opera. She'd loved it, being in that sort of environment, feeling the beauty of the opera all around her. She had completely blanked out everything else to focus solely on the wonder of the performance. There had been a little trouble over Cyrus, as usual, of course… like they suddenly couldn't see his jacket because they were in an opera house and nobody, God forbid, would ever bring a canine there, would they?
"No dogs allowed in the theatre, madam," an usher informed her as Raoul had stepped away for a moment to tell the front-of-house manager that they'd arrived. She felt frustrated, wanting to just leave… to run away and hide as usual – and she would have done so had Raoul not approached her then, taking a hold of her arm.
The usher looked expectantly between them and Raoul introduced himself, explaining that they were to be shown to the directors' box. "Yes, sir, once the dog is removed."
"No, the dog stays," Christine argued, hating to feel so riled up on an evening when she was supposed to be having a good time. "The dog is a support dog."
"But I'm afraid that we do not allow dogs in our theatre," he continued, sure that he was in the right.
"He's a support dog," she repeated.
They stared at each other and, after a moment, the usher seemed to concede when a large group had formed in wait behind the young couple. "Oh. Well, can I interest you in the Braille programme for tonight's performance?"
"No, thank you, I cannot read Braille." Seeing the confusion cross the usher's eyes, she smiled falsely and wished she knew how to keep her manners in check when she was angry. "What, can you?"
"No… I… No, I'm not blind."
"Well, that makes two of us on both counts then, doesn't it?" And she walked right passed him, though she did not know where she was headed, bumping his shoulder roughly to make herself feel better. And fortunately, somewhere along the way, Raoul caught up to her and redirected her towards the correct box.
Surprisingly, she had somehow managed to put the scene behind her and enjoy the night for what it was. She'd even had a little fun when an attendant had asked at the intermission if she wouldn't care for a drink, and she'd told him that a drink was alright but she'd really rather he cut up a large steak into small, chewable chunks. He'd thought she was joking until he noticed the dog looking up at him peculiarly from the side of the young woman's knee.
Another highlight to the night had been the conductor – it was clearly Erik, who she'd only met earlier that very day. His conducting had been energetic and lively. She couldn't help herself thinking that he had been pretty bloody good, so active and exaggerated – it was attractive… He had been so beautiful then, doing what came naturally, it seemed. She couldn't imagine why Raoul thought he needed to be taught anything… it didn't make sense. But it had been nice seeing him anyway, especially looking back on it now that he'd been in to the restaurant and she'd found out about his problem.
"How is your flatmate?" she asked suddenly, unable to quash her curiosity as she closed her locker soundly in front of her.
"You mean my dad?" Raoul asked, confused.
"No… your other flatmate – your father's friend."
"Why do you care?" Raoul asked curiously.
Shrugging nonchalantly, she checked briefly the rota for the next week and simultaneously checked, by touch alone, the pocket of her apron for her order pad. "He had lunch in here today and I was just wondering how he was doing now…"
"Why should I know?"
Turning shortly to look at him, slightly puzzled, she wrinkled her nose and tried not to show that she was really very interested indeed. "You work with him, don't you…?"
He'd forgotten himself – had almost given the game away as well – by such a simple mistake too, forgetting what he said he worked as. He'd have to be more careful or he'd end up having to explain everything. "Oh, yes… of course."
"Well?"
Satisfied that he'd saved himself, her question caught him a bit off guard as he'd forgotten the original focus of their conversation. "What?"
"How is he today?"
"He's… he's fine, I guess."
"Tell him I was asking after him," she said offhandedly, taking a hair band out of her pocket to put her hair up and out of the way.
"Of course."
Seeing her struggling to both adjust her hair and keep from strangling her dog with the lead, he reached forward to take it from her but found her abruptly twirling around to face him and tugging the dog behind her.
"Don't touch Cyrus, Raoul," she warned, not for the first time, quickly finishing with her hair as she watched him warily.
"I'm sorry, I was only trying to help… You haven't told me yet why I can't."
"I'd rather you didn't ask that of me," she sighed, wishing they could have gone more than two days together without him bringing up such a conversation. It was always the same… people would ask in the beginning and she would cut off all contact with them before the day was through. But she didn't want to do that with Raoul… truly, she liked him, and she had resolved to give herself a chance to get to like him a lot more.
"Would you answer me if I did?"
"No. I've got to get out there now before Laurent's niece decides to tell him I spent half my shift in the break room."
"I understand," Raoul conceded, though he didn't. "Would you like to do something tonight?"
Determined to try to be more social, she forced back the immediate sickening sensation and plastered a smile across her face, turning to him one last time just as she left the room. "I'd like that."
"Erik?"
"What?" he replied tiredly, rolling his eyes out of view, as Raoul came up behind him in the kitchen that evening.
"Dad told me what you said…"
Putting the large knife down he had been using to skilfully slice some vegetables, so that he wouldn't get tempted, he prepared himself to listen to whatever self-concerned speech the irritating boy was about to give. "Really? About gutting you…? I would not have thought that'd come up often in polite conversation…"
"Uh, no… that you don't mind if I bring Christine around here… so, I thought I'd let you know that she'll be coming over when she's finished her shift."
"She's coming here?" he asked sharply, turning around.
"Yes… you did say that was alright, didn't you?" While Raoul knew that he and Erik didn't exactly have the best relationship to speak of, he certainly didn't hold anything against the man. He knew he could be grumpy and that he was temperamental, but generally Raoul chalked all of the comments he made up to that part of his character. He knew that Erik probably resented him for encroaching upon his space while at university, but it was never his intention to make him uncomfortable in his own home.
"Of course I did. I meant, you are making her come all the way over here by herself? You are supposed to be her boyfriend, aren't you? And what have you been doing all afternoon, hmm? Because you've certainly not been working like she has… One would think you'd pick her up, take her home so that she can change… do something. I mean, it's not like you've been over here making her tea or anything, is it?"
"Well, I do have to go back to university in a couple of weeks… and then I'm going to be studying too much to have a job. And I didn't think about giving her a lift – I just didn't realise – I'll apologise."
"Make sure that you do."
"But speaking of food… I don't suppose she could have some of what you're making?" he asked.
Erik sighed and leaned against the worktop heavily. It was not like he could refuse on principal – it would only be the lovely Christine who would suffer as a result. She'd end up with nothing but fast food and a cheap evening. Raoul was a charmer – but he was more used to charming the sort of girls who thought fast food at his flat was the very image of a high-class evening. Christine deserved finer things… and Erik wanted to give them to her. "She can have anything she wants."
Satisfied, Raoul nodded and closed that topic off. "So do me a favour and not blow it for me, hmm? Don't tell her I'm not a conductor. I will tell her the truth when we've been going out for a bit longer."
Erik snorted derisively and started chopping again now that he had a young lady to cook for besides himself. "Perhaps I should just hand you my CV now – give you something to boast about while she eats the food I've cooked her."
"I'm grateful," Raoul said honestly. Truly, he hadn't meant to lie to her and also to put Erik in a difficult situation like that, but he had seen her and one look told him that she would want someone of more substance than him – someone like Erik… and he'd wanted her to give him a chance, so he'd said the first thing that came into his head. He swore he would put it right eventually.
"You're gratified… or, at least, you expect to be – but I wouldn't be so sure."
"Oh, come on, Erik… I'm in love. I want to impress her."
As if you're capable of actually being in love, Erik thought, though it was not because of the brevity of the time Raoul had known the girl… after all, he could not mention that he too was feeling things for her that he should not, considering he'd met her a grand total of twice. And while Erik also wanted to impress her, honestly, he did not think himself capable… he could barely string a coherent sentence together around her. "If she is not impressed by the truth, that is her choice," he said, trying to ignore the implication that that brought on himself. "You cannot make it for her."
"But when she's gotten to know me properly, I'll tell her and we'll work it out…"
"You mean when she's gotten to know the illusion…?" he said pointedly. "It is not sustainable. You will slip up." And actually, Erik thought briefly about telling Raoul something stupid that he would repeat to Christine – something that she would know was illogical and wrong but that he would not be able to detect… but then he was threatened with the idea of her never coming back to the flat even to see Raoul and that meant that he had to keep his information true and his help forthcoming. The alternative was far too awful.
"I just want to make her happy… Help me do that properly."
He wanted that so much too, Erik did – to make her happy… but by himself, and completely apart from Raoul's deception. Though, with all his stuttering, he'd never manage it. "You've been alone with her before."
"But that was at an opera and she was so into it that she didn't really notice what I was saying… now we'll be alone practically with no other distractions and I need to know what to say to her that won't bore her to death."
"Have you tried asking about her?" Erik suggested.
"She doesn't like talking about herself… I've asked… about her parents… her friends… Cyrus…"
"Cyrus?"
"The dog," he explained, leaning back against the side cupboard.
"You asked about her dog?" Erik asked incredulously. "What is wrong with you?"
"What? What's wrong with asking about him? He is always with her!" Raoul argued.
Erik sighed and shook his head, thinking quickly. "We don't have time for this… forget the dog for the minute. You haven't found the right part of her to talk about. Show her you're interested in her… in what she likes to do… you already know that she loves music and literature… that she has a great love of the classical disposition."
"I don't know anything about that sort of thing…"
"Then what exactly do you have in common with this girl… if you have to pretend to be me just to get her to go out with you?" he snapped.
Offended, Raoul completely blew up. "And why am I taking advice from a man who's never even had a girlfriend?" he shouted, storming out of the kitchen just as the doorbell rang. "Oh… hey, Chris," he greeted her tiredly, inviting her in.
She looked at him, confused at his apparent frustration, and she hesitated in stepping inside. "I'm not too early, am I?" she asked nervously, looking at her watch. "I could come back…"
"No, you're right on time… I was just cooking dinner for us… got a bit caught up," he offered, thinking as quickly as he could, given his annoyed state of mind. Great, Raoul… another lie, he berated himself, you bloody idiot.
"I bet you're a wonderful cook."
"Mmm," he replied ambiguously, offering her a seat, which she accepted politely, though she sat on the same chair again, her dog by her side, rather than on the sofa with him. After a moment of awkward silence, which Christine spent scratching behind Cyrus' ears, Raoul stood up and excused himself to the kitchen, ready to beg Erik for help.
"Erik?"
"What?" he repeated from earlier, this time stirring something Raoul couldn't so much see, but smell the wonderful aroma of, on the stove.
"She's here."
"So?"
"I don't know what to say to her…" Raoul tried desperately, starting to worry as she was just sitting out there probably thinking he was the worst host ever.
"Well, that's not my fault."
"No… but… Erik, please. Look at her. Erik, look at her."
Ordinarily, Erik would have told Raoul to stick it, that he wasn't about to do anything the boy told him to, but then he couldn't justify denying himself the chance of seeing her again just to enforce a point. He turned stiffly and peered out the door at the young woman he would forever know as a goddess. She had her head bowed towards Cyrus, a smile appearing on her face as she looked at him, and Erik couldn't help but wonder if perhaps she found herself more in tune to animals than people. He had often found himself in much the same situation.
"Christine was asking after you, you know…" Raoul started, hoping to convince him.
"Why?" He looked at Raoul like he was crazy… after all, why would a girl like her ever care what was going on with him?
"She said you ate at Laurent's today…"
"What else did she say?" he asked more curiously than he had intended, unable to draw his eyes away from her quiet elegance. She was sitting in his chair again, he noticed… he liked that. It was like they had another thing in common, he thought, if they both preferred the same chair, the same operas… and so many other things he hoped he'd find out about her. But he would only find them out if he helped Raoul to keep her interested, so he turned back to the stove and continued making her something she would enjoy eating.
Raoul shrugged, happy that he'd gotten Erik back on track. "I don't know… that she was thinking about you, maybe. She is a very kind person," he added.
Erik sighed without realising it and Raoul took that to mean that he'd conceded. "Great! So what should I say?"
"Until I've had a chance to teach you something about music, stick to what you know or what she doesn't… has she travelled much?"
"I don't know…"
"Well, ask her. And if she has, ask her about it – if she hasn't, tell her where you've been without boasting, if you can manage that for one moment. Tell her of the beauty of the places you've been… the culture."
"Oh. I get the idea," he said enthusiastically, walking back out to her without waiting to hear any more.
Shaking his head, Erik wiped his hands with a dishtowel and replaced it on his shoulder, trying to ignore the feeling of having been used. Momentarily, he turned back to the door to see how the conversation was going and found he hated the boy even more. He is playing with her hair, a nagging inner-voice teased. He is touching that gorgeous hair, with her consent, and you are not even allowed to think of such a privilege. Jealousy was eating at him as he watched his friend's son stroke the hair of a girl he had found himself thinking of as his somewhere along the way.
So when the boy halted the conversation to leave the room for a moment, no doubt to preen again, Erik thought spitefully, he decided to seize the opportunity to talk to her again. "Ch – Chr – Chr – Christine." Oh, my God… not in your own home, Erik! Not again!
"Hello," she smiled sincerely, finding herself happy to see him there. "I didn't know you were here… Raoul didn't mention we'd have company. I'm glad," she said honestly. "You must tell me all about your work! Raoul doesn't talk much about his… perhaps you are less reserved?"
He could barely say her name… how was he going to tell her anything worthwhile? And yet, she had smiled when he'd spoken to her! She'd been genuine, he thought, and she'd not even looked slightly frustrated by his lack of fluency. Perhaps she really did want to know… How he hoped that was the case. So, he did start telling her and she listened, sitting there through all his stuttering and bumbling, and she seemed truly interested, and she was the most wonderful, beautiful creature he'd ever been around. He just wished his conversation could be a bit more polished for her. He had even, somewhere along the way, just about forgotten the stark white mask across his face and his very real fear of her rejecting him for it.
Then he listened to her talk about working at Laurent's, her childhood dream of being an opera singer, her love for music… and he could turn his mind to nothing but what she was saying. He had even forgotten that Raoul existed, let alone that he was her boyfriend and in the next room. "Do you want children, Christine?" he asked suddenly, surprising himself both with what he'd said and that he had not stuttered once. What the hell sort of question was that? What are you doing, asking her that? Why do you even want to know?
She didn't seem to notice and continued as though there had been absolutely no change in the flow of their conversation. "I'm not sure that I would…" she started, licking that delightful lower lip of hers. "Of course, like most little girls, I did want to get married and have children one day. And I suppose I still might, but I'd have to meet the right person first…and then there'd be a whole load of other things to work out too. I have enough trouble looking after myself," she joked. "I don't know how I'd handle a child."
"You have an immense capacity for love, Christine," Erik stated, sure, though he had little proof and he could not claim to know her very well at all anyway. He had surprised himself again, saying that, and not stuttering once more. But he brushed it off and continued to look at her. She had distracted him enough in that moment that his nervousness had evaporated, if just for that second. He also would not allow himself to acknowledge the fact that she'd said in not quite so many words that Raoul wasn't the right man for her because she had implied that she hadn't found the right one yet… but, unfortunately, that could apply to him too since she had obviously already met him.
Smiling genuinely, she leaned over to him and lightly touched his knee in gratitude. He couldn't believe she was touching him like that and he tensed up, watching her out of habit for any signs that she wanted to cause him pain. But she didn't seem very well capable of causing harm to anything, so he tried to relax. And then he noticed that she had had her hand on his knee for a very long time, and she was not moving, staring straight through him.
"Ch – Christine?" he asked worriedly. What had he done? Had he frightened her? Had he said something completely inappropriate? She had not seemed to think so at the time… and she was still smiling at him, too. She appeared perfectly fine, in fact, except for the grip he felt on his knee.
Next to her, Cyrus cocked his head to the side and pressed his nose into her thigh solidly. Watching the dog try to get her attention too, Erik noticed Christine's hand tightening on his knee, not painfully, but hard enough that he gripped her wrist worriedly to see if her hand would loosen.
"Christ – tine?" he tried again, pulling on her.
And then she screamed.
© Copyright of CrawfordsBiscuits, July 2006
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