A/N: Finally got to the plot point I came up with three chapters into it... been a long time sitting on it. However, I'm gone till the end of the month, so this is the last update for a while. Also, anyone who can tell me what else Erik likes with his Scotch gets... well, a big hug, or something.
Chapter Twenty-Five: A Fine Bright Mess
For some moments they stood still, so immobile that she wasn't sure if she was breathing at all. Perhaps she wasn't. She wasn't aware of any movement, any sound, any sight other than the wideness of his eyes that showed he was surprised, his lower lip caught between his teeth, so still he looked frozen. Suddenly there was a great roaring in her ears as she realized exactly how rash her action had been. Her heart began to beat again, and with it came a flood of shame.
The flask had thrown an arc of liquid across the floor and onto the coverlet over the bed; it hit the edge of the bed and slid down to land on the floor with a hollow, solid thunk, creating a small but gradually-growing puddle around it. Her eyes drew to it, unknowingly, seeking solace from the frozen anger of his gaze.
She whispered, "I'm sorry!" and bent over the mess, dabbing at it with the hem of her traveling cloak ineffectively, unsure of what to do but aware of a deep need to make up for what she'd done, to erase that look from his face. She'd surprised him; she could tell he wasn't exactly fond of being surprised, in this or any other manner.
"Why did you do that?" he said. She twitched at the sound of his voice, an involuntary movement quite close to a wince, as though she expected to be hit. She didn't think he would— dangerous he might be, but did she really think he was capable of killing her for no reason at all?
She forced her mind away from that question before she came up with an answer for it.
He didn't sound angry, and this surprised her; surprised her and worried her. What was going on in that mind? Was he— could he be— nothing but honestly curious?
Her eyes crept up to meet his; she wanted to know.
Erik wanted to know, too. Though his was the sort of personality that found it hard to focus on anything but his own purpose, he was also perceptive when he wanted to be; he regarded Maggie— his wife, after all— with a sort of self-aware confusion, unsure of why she was there, unsure of how he was supposed to react to her continued presence. It was easy with Christine— he knew where he was with her— obsession gave him clean edges, definite purposes, sharp contrasts: here was Christine, and here was Erik, and here was the rest of the world. It was that third category that baffled him, and Maggie fell under that label, marked merely as Unknown. Still, he'd noticed hints of something deep beneath the surface, couldn't help but see the way she held back from touching everyone but her brother. He'd seen her flinch merely under the weight of his gaze; he'd seen her shy away from being brushed against in crowds; he wondered, now and then, if she too had sought out an opera house to hide under, sometime in the past.
Everything was relative, related to his own experiences and his own knowledge of the world; he couldn't fathom why she had kept him from drinking from the flask, and he wanted to know. New knowledge was acceptable, now and then.
"Why did you do that?" he repeated, and her eyes fell from his. She stood and moved to the washstand in one corner, gathering up the tattered towel and returning to dab at the puddle of liquid on the floor. The question was repeated once more, and she still just shook her head. Erik sighed and sat down in the hard-backed, uncomfortable chair against the wall.
"You are content to keep secrets," he stated. "That is fine with me. I would not ask you to reveal something you would rather keep to yourself; after all, I expect you to have the same courtesy for me."
A brusque nod from Maggie, and he didn't see that she dashed wayward tears away from her eyes. He merely continued, slouched in the chair quite unlike his natural poise, half-closed eyes focused on the floor in front of him.
"After all," he said, "after all, there is much which you must not know about me, Margaret. Which no one must know. I see no need to frighten you away from me, when you are being so very useful." He gave a dusty chuckle and Maggie took a deep, sudden breath. "It is lucky you came along," he added further, sounding thoughtful, as though he hadn't quite realized it till just now. "It is lucky for me, indeed."
She swallowed, and it hurt her. "How so?"
"To give me some extra cover from the world that enables me to follow Christine—" he said. "Yes, I confess myself grateful, Margaret, that you do this thing for me."
Maggie nearly laughed. It was bitter to have his thanks in this way, and she sought to change the subject. "I doubt you could frighten me from your side, Erik— not that I am so loyal that nothing would deter me, but I don't believe that you have done anything so horrible."
His head came up then and his eyes pierced hers as she finally gave him her attention, her face now carefully placid.
"You think I have done nothing horrible?" he repeated. "You are a foolish and misguided girl."
"No such thing. I was told some of your escapades, the things which you were responsible for." She shrugged, mopping up the last of the liquid and rising agilely to her feet once more to toss the scotch-soaked towel into the basin. "I admit it is not what many would have done; perhaps the general populace would have more control over themselves." He stiffened and she hid a smile, seeing clearly that she had annoyed and insulted him.
"I have frightened many and made a legend of myself," he hissed between his teeth, his eyes narrowed at her in a ferocious glare. "The fact that you have heard of me, you impudent child, is veritable proof of what I am, of how people think of me."
"I'm well aware of that," she offered, and shrugged. "I simply have a different view of things, I suppose."
"Is that so?" said Erik lowly. "Perhaps you would care to tell me why?"
She sank onto the bed. "You keep asking me why. Perhaps I should ask you the same thing, monsieur."
Another breath taken in, hissed out between his teeth, the glare turning thoughtful.
"You're clever, I suppose," he said, "but not quite as clever as you should be, if you think I have done nothing so horrible. Nothing so horrible, madame— were I to tell you, I daresay you would run from me. Race out that door. It is not merely the tales you have been told about my actions in the Opera Populaire; I am older than you may realize, Margaret, and my life has not been without stain, my honor without compromise."
"I believe you," she said quietly; she seemed to be thinking. But Erik went on, drawn into his memories by the sound of his own voice.
"I have traveled before," he said, "to many countries— not for a long time, I confess. I made many acquaintances, not one of which was happy or fortunate. I searched for those that could further my own purpose in the world, taught at an early age that I would never find someone to accept me, that my only hope was to take what I could. I was trained from watching petty criminals, sideshow villains; no one wished to get close enough to teach me on their own. But I was as quick then as I am now— there were no secrets to getting ahead that I could not ferret out."
She looked up at him and saw that his gaze, fixed on her, was now drawn inward.
"I don't believe you would be like that," she said quietly, "if things were different."
He returned to her at once.
"What of it? It is how I am. There's no changing that now."
"I don't believe that you have such wickedness in your blood, in your heart," she said, almost desperately, "that, had you been born as plain as me, you would have pursued the same course. I don't believe that there is such badness in you as to cancel out the good entirely."
He spread his arms, looking angry and almost baffled at her denial of his complicity in his own actions. "You've seen the results— or heard of them, at any rate."
She shook her head, and the tears escaped her fingers this time and slid down her cheeks. "There must have been a turning point," she said helplessly. "When you were headed for the right path, and someone came from behind and turned you a sharp left."
His bafflement was obvious now, his anger growing. He didn't like to be told what or how or why he was. Maggie was beyond noticing.
"Someone changed you," she said. "Or several someones— I am not saying it was not your fault at all, merely that things— oh, things could have been so very different—"
You confuse me, Erik mouthed, but his voice was lost from his lips as he stared at her, watching
as she grew more agitated.
"Perhaps you could help it to some degree, but it was more than you— more than your fault! More than your doing." She closed her eyes. "I know how it is."
Anger won out over interest, and Erik rose from his chair, eyes narrowing once more, voice deliberate.
"You compare yourself to me, woman? Of all the foolish things to do— you compare yourself with a man such as I? A monster such as I?" He crept closer to her, eyes aglow. "If you knew the things that I have done— if you knew the things I have wanted to do!"
"You are human," she said, "nothing more, nothing less."
"I am hunted," he said, feverishly, "hunted like an animal— and I seek out what holes I can, to hide myself away in. I've been denied every right you can think of, which any human man would have access to at birth. There is nothing proper or correct about me— my thoughts, my works, all are twisted beyond recognition. I've frightened, I've threatened, I've harried, I've destroyed— you compare yourself with me, madame? An act of outright stupidity. I've murdered, Margaret— taken lives, ruined hearts and minds."
He stopped at last, coming back to the situation, half-expecting her to be flinched from him, hands up to ward him off; half-expecting her to be out the door already, gone, not likely to return. He did not expect to find that she had stopped her tears and was regarding him with a cool practicality that he had never seen from anyone.
"So have I," she said, with infinite calm.