Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.
Summary: ErikRaoul slash. Post-POTO. A bit of R/C (yeah). General discontent runs through the characters as they are forced to adjust their views of happily ever after. I guess a bit of E/C as well (but that's usually unavoidable)
Warning(s): slash (that's homosexual content for those of you who don't know)
Pairing(s): ErikRaoul
A/N: There's weird jumping back in time and I don't know exactly why I did it like this, but I figured I might as well try it out. Crossing my fingers that it doesn't detract from the story – though honestly, there isn't much plot. I could sum up what happens in this chapter in like one sentence, but at least you'll know their motivations/reactions.
Story note: Raoul's finally back in the picture and he has an embarrassing moment.
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Reluctantly Willing
Chapter 11 - … to permit
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By: Lucifer Rosemaunt
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Raoul opened the back door slowly, wincing as it creaked. Looking around the darkened kitchen, he saw no movement. He didn't actually expect to run into anyone, considering the fact that he had given all of his staff the day off until this afternoon. He was just the slightest bit reluctant to be seen right now.
The whole house was dark though. As he'd walked up to it, that had been the first thing he noticed; no one had lit any candles. That was to be expected. The ghost hadn't needed to use the kitchen or the other rooms.
He knew it had been the right thing to do, telling his servants to leave. More than that, it had been right to tell the ghost to stay. However, now it was unbearably quiet, and he was tempted to lament the fact that he had given the ghost leave to speak with Christine. At least when she had been in the house, it hadn't felt like this. It hadn't felt empty, but Raoul had known this would happen.
He had hoped that things would be different, but after so long, the reality of their situation had forcibly settled in his mind. Technically, it had been the ghost's presence that had been the source of this new sense of reality. His presence only reminded Raoul of what they'd left behind in the opera house. It reminded him of the past that Christine couldn't seem to leave and blamed him for reminding her of. He laughed bitterly to himself. It hadn't been doubt that had gradually eaten away at his dreams to live with Christine, to love her and share everything with her; it had been reality.
And now, she was gone.
After leaving the ghost, he had gone directly to the garden. It had been the perfect place to wait out Christine's and the ghost's impending conversation. She never went to the garden, never bothered to pass by because she believed that the only good flower was one that had been cut and offered to her. So before, when Raoul had reached the point where he was tired of looking for her, he would hide in the gardens. He knew it now to be a small rebellion on his part – make himself inaccessible to her if she did in fact need to find him, but she never searched and Raoul was never found.
He didn't want to admit that he was near enough to the driveway to be able to see when someone arrived or left. He had seen her arrive and subsequently, her leave. In truth, he really hadn't wanted to see them leave. It had simply been his curiosity. Noise caught his attention while he had been sitting against a tree. He'd moved to a position just in time to see her back as she ran by. Raoul didn't even wait to see the ghost follow or where she would go. Seeing her back had been enough for him to know that she had been leaving for good.
Turning away from the sight, he'd run to the back of his estate where the trees grew taller and no set path cut through it. The moonlight was hardly enough to light the way as he fought through the brambles and twigs that caught at his clothes and tangled in his hair. He'd tripped over several roots before finally giving up. He stayed on the floor where he had fallen and muffled his scream with his arms.
She'd chosen.
He'd let out a heaving sob. He should feel relieved, right? After all, hadn't he prepared himself for this? Hadn't he thought that he couldn't keep saying he loved her only to have it rebuked?
The truth was Raoul still loved her. He loved the girl who owned the scarf he saved. He loved the girl who had sung her heart out on stage, loved how she looked at him so guilelessly as they shared memories of their past, loved how she shook in his arms and clung to him in her fear. He loved her even when she had avoided him, when she hadn't been able to look at him. God, despite everything that had happened, he still loved her. And it felt as though someone had reached into his chest and pulled out his heart.
The pain was there even now, hours later. It was almost morning and Raoul had managed to tire himself out. Staying up all night shouldn't have affected him, especially since he'd hardly been able to sleep through a night for a while now, but he was.
Things had changed. He knew they would once she'd chosen. Now he was alone, just barely able to compose himself. He promised himself life would get better, better than when he'd constantly wondered what she thought of him. She hadn't thought much apparently. Now that he knew, he could move on, but right now, he wanted to wallow in his sorrow.
Dragging himself up the stairs, Raoul entered his room and dropped on his bed face first. Sleep would be nice. He relaxed into the familiar comfort and breathed in deeply. He paused before breathing in again. His bed smelled odd. It smelled like… He stopped breathing immediately when he remembered who had been the last person to sleep in his bed. He blushed when he realized what it must look like he was doing. He was only glad that no one around to witness it. He didn't even know why he had been embarrassed in the first place.
Turning his head to the side so that he could breathe without having to breathe in the ghost's scent, he paused once more. Squinting, he noticed that there was light coming from his den. For a moment, he fought with the decision of whether to stand up or not. Standing up seemed to be a good idea right now. That was awfully nice of the ghost to leave candles lit in his empty home; maybe they would melt and then burn his house down. He pushed the door open and stopped in his tracks.
The ghost was seated in his chair, a bandage rather poorly wrapped around his head. His face was partially in shadow and Raoul realized belatedly that it was the ghost's deformed side. He blinked once, wondering if the fatigue had finally caught up to him. Nothing else seemed to explain why the ghost would still be in his house.
Erik had heard the Vicomte walk up the stairs and enter the bedroom. He knew it had only been a matter of time before the boy realized someone was in his study. So, Erik had been prepared when he opened the door. He'd put on his best glare, hoping to dissuade the man from making any unnecessary comments. Surprisingly true to form, the Vicomte didn't react the way that Erik expected him to. He was beginning to think all his expectations of the boy would be proven incorrect. Then again, nothing was going as planned.
He'd woken with blood on his head, prostrate on the floor with a stabbing pain in the back of his head. It had taken him a good while before he'd even begun to consider standing up.
His first thought had been of death, because surely, this was an indication that he should finally die. The wound on his head, the weakness of his limbs, the ache in his chest. He should remain on the floor and simply die. Ha. But he wouldn't die here. He was in the Vicomte's house. The wound on his head probably wasn't even that bad if he had woken up not long after her departure, even if he were still a little dizzy. And, a part of his mind had added, the stupid Vicomte would eventually find him and then nurse him back to perfect health.
Erik had imagined the warm hand and gentle touches. It was almost tempting, almost, but definitely not enough to want to live. He had hoped that his mind would supplement Christine's hands in his fantasy but no. They were definitely Raoul's hands. Christine's hands as he had grabbed hers had been cold. She had come from the outside, and while it wasn't terribly cold outside, it would have given her an excuse. Raoul's hands were unbelievable warm as he remembered them. Erik could just feel them running through his hair, checking his wound.
He had known he should get up before he had to go through that again. He'd tried to pushing himself up several times but only succeeded in falling over again.
Why would he want to live though? The woman he loved with his whole being had left him. She left him no hope that she'd ever be able to see him as anything more than a monster. Her words to the Vicomte hadn't been idle. Erik now believed that she saw him to be a monster. She had called him a murderer. Why couldn't she see that it had been for them, so that they could stay together? Why couldn't she understand that they were meant to be?
His second thought had been to chase her. If he couldn't die, then he didn't want to live his life out without her. He would find her. He wasn't the Vicomte. He wasn't going to give up just because she'd refused him when he'd offered her the world. He wasn't going to let her go away because his obsession could run deeper than any betrayal.
His third thought had been to wait a bit longer. As the pain in his head dulled to an acceptable throb, Erik's mind had raced through everything that had happened. He was tired. Maybe he hadn't recovered from his initial injury and surely, the second injury in possibly the same area hadn't helped. He thought about Christine's life in the opera house. Her promise as a singer. The look of awe and adoration she'd had before she knew who he'd been. Then, it had been fear and pity. He didn't need her pity. He'd wanted her love. Yet, all he'd received in the end was a kiss and a declaration that was all he'd get for his love for her. That was all he'd get for everything he'd ever given her.
Yes, he could wait. He had forced himself to first focus on getting bandages and healing. Then, he'd search of course.
He just didn't know what he'd do when he found her. He couldn't return home to the opera house. The only thing that waited for him there was death. He'd decided shortly after realizing that he wouldn't die in the Vicomte's house that he didn't want to die in his house either. He didn't want to die because Christine had refused him. He was going to live and perhaps find her. Perhaps. But until then, he'd need to get better. He would need to survive.
Given that motivation, Erik had managed to make it up the stairs and into the den where he knew the bandages to be. There was even a wash bin there that he'd used to clean his head from the blood. It had been difficult but he wrapped it himself.
He had placed his head on the desk, telling himself he'd rest before he decided what to do next. He still needed to ask the Vicomte where Christine would probably head to now. He hadn't wanted to give the boy the satisfaction of knowing that he'd failed, but he hadn't wanted to search without having at least some idea of where she'd be. At some point, he'd fallen asleep, but the sound of footsteps had woken him. Now, the Vicomte was before him, not gloating. Not saying anything in fact. This was an interesting turn of events. Quickly scanning his options, Erik realized that he might be able to take advantage of the boy and rather easily too.
Glaring less, he briefly wondered what the Vicomte had been doing in his absence. His clothes were in disarray and a there was a tear near the collar. Was that a twig in his hair? Well, if the Vicomte had gone gallivanting around then maybe he didn't know that Erik had, in fact, spoken with Christine, and if he didn't, then that ignorance might work to his benefit. He would be able to use the Vicomte and his house while he recuperated.
Erik offered no explanation to the new bandages on his head. Said nothing in fact, waiting for the Vicomte to make the first move so that he could gauge how to react.
Raoul stared at the ghost, his thoughts drifting back towards watching Christine run from the house. The ghost would have easily seen her. She hadn't known he was there, so she had to have made it into the house. Even if she didn't, the ghost was waiting; he'd have forced them to have a conversation. He'd have done what Raoul hadn't been able to do. Make her choose.
Somehow, it wasn't terribly surprising that Christine hadn't chosen the ghost either. And he had yet to decide whether that was worse or better than not knowing who she chose in the first place. Not choosing anyone at all? Raoul hadn't even thought of that option. Hadn't thought Christine would do that to them.
Yet, he knew that when he'd seen her leave, it had been final. That thought didn't change. She really left him. No, she had left them.
He didn't know why the man was still here. If anything, he'd expected that the ghost would have gone after her immediately. Unless he hadn't been able to. Those bandages probably weren't for show. The man was injured again and he probably wouldn't have made it very far. He breathed in deeply and could suddenly smell the ghost even across the room. Raoul looked away, trying to focus. What was best?
Leave the man. Let him figure out what to do now that Christine had left him again. Raoul still needed to figure out what he would do next. Staying in Paris seemed too painful, but Christine might have left as well. He might run into her in another city, in another place, and surely then, that city would be ruined as well. It was pointless really. All he could do was stay, but in this empty house? In the house that had so many memories of her? He needed someone else here.
He glanced at the ghost. The man hadn't moved. He had to be really injured if he wasn't moving, if he wasn't leaving. But where would he go? The ghost had no one to make sure he got better. No one.
And Raoul's heart, the one he'd thought Christine had taken with her went out to the ghost. This was not by any means smart, wasn't by any means something he would do if he gave himself time to think about it, but Christine's departure hurt and he could wallow in that pain later. He would. She deserved to be mourned. But for now, it was easier to focus on someone else's pain.
"Let me fix that," he nodded towards the ghost's head, "I don't want any blood on my pillows."
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End Chapter 11
Word count: 2,554
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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!
Chapter review: I thought it was good, but really, that's just me. Not to mention the fact that Raoul just majorly sniffed the ghost (albeit by proxy).