Title: Help Me Say Goodbye

Rating: M

Word count: ~86k

Characters: Erik, Christine, Meg, Madame Giry, Raoul, André, Firmin, Reyer, Piangi, and sundry members of the opera company, some of which belong to me and some don't.

Disclaimer: Anything you recognise from 'Phantom of the Opera' does not belong to me.


Christine slept well and deeply, and woke up with a hum of anticipation running through her veins. She lay in bed, kept her eyes closed and smiled to herself.

Tonight.

There were many hours yet to get through – it could not be quite six o'clock yet, for Meg was still asleep and there were no noises coming from the surrounding rooms. More than eighteen hours, then, a long day of rehearsals and pretence. Perhaps Raoul would come back, perhaps he would try to talk to her again. Perhaps she would see Carlotta today and be subject to the diva's petty remarks.

Perhaps.

But eighteen hours, or a very little longer. Then she would go up to the roof, would go to find him. And he would be there; she was sure he would be there.

He might not believe she would return to him, but he would not be able to resist the hope. Of that she was certain.

And what then? There was so much still unknown, so much she was unsure about. What would he expect of her? What would she want from him in turn? She could not bear the idea of not being with him now, but she could not conceive of living with him unwed. She was not Carlotta, whose reputation was such that nobody cared if she was not wed to her lover Piangi. She was Christine Daaé, and her reputation was not solid enough for that.

She was Christine Daaé, and she could not disappoint the memory of her father in that way. No, she could not go down to live with Erik unless…

But how could she expect that from him? From Erik, who hid from the world and had declared to her that he did not believe in God? He would not stand in a church and repeat vows, she was sure.

She could not possibly ask it of him, must not think of it. What was it he had said? That God had done nothing but curse him. She supposed she could understand why he might feel that way – or at least, she could try to understand it. Could try to comprehend the kind of life that had made him turn so utterly from any kind of faith.

The hurts he had known, the hatred that had been given to him in place of kindness.

And yet she could not live with him unless they were married. She knew herself well enough to know that.

What would happen? She loved him – did not want to be without him – but even for him, she did not think she could compromise her ideals, her integrity.

She sighed, reminded herself that she really had no idea what Erik thought, what he would want. She could not, would not try to make any decisions without him. She must wait, and talk to him, and together they must decide.

Together. Christine stifled a giggle, pressed her face into her pillow to keep silent. How wonderful it felt to think of it, of being together. How strange when she was still so afraid of him, when she shivered to think of his anger. And yet when she thought of his hands…his mouth…

Strange. That was the only word for it, she decided. Two days ago she had woken in his home, in the bed he had provided for her, and had been terrified. And yet even through her terror there had been a longing. Even when she had hated him for taking her freedom from her, she had cared for him. She hadn't wanted to hurt him, had been pained to see his tears.

So many feelings, such conflict. Such a complicated man.

But she loved him; oh, how she loved him. It was not simple, could never be simple, but she thought that perhaps life was like that. She thought perhaps that was what growing up involved, a realisation that only a child could see the world as simple. The world was complex, contained so much of both good and evil, and Christine was no longer a child. She could not continue to blind herself to the shades of grey in the world.

In Erik.

Those hands, the hands she wanted to touch her – in ways that made her blush, even in her current solitude – those hands had killed. Erik had placed a noose around Buquet's neck and sent him dangling to his death. How could she resolve that? How could she want a man who had done something like that?

She'd told Madame Giry that it made her sick to think of that action, and it did. But that did not stop her wanting the perpetrator, did not stop her wanting him so very much.

He was Erik; he was her Angel. He had been her friend and teacher for so long, made his desire for her so plain. He was, she knew now, everything that Raoul could never be for her. For six months she had unconsciously measured Raoul against Erik and found him wanting. She cared for Raoul, but Raoul could never be what Erik was.

Hers, so utterly and completely. And she in turn would be his, wholeheartedly.

She would never have been able to give Raoul her whole heart.

The clock in the hallway chimed the hour, and in the other bed Meg yawned. Christine rolled over, watched as Meg crawled into consciousness, stretched her arms above her head and then yelped at the cold.

"Good morning," Christine said, and laughed at what she could see of Meg's expression in the gloomy pre-dawn light. Meg hated mornings, often had to be dragged out of bed, and now she pulled her blanket over her head and mumbled something inaudible. Christine laughed again, sat up, shivered a little at the cold now she was no longer cocooned in blankets. The dormitory rooms were unheated, but usually the general warmth of the opera house kept the bedrooms reasonably warm.

It must be particularly cold today, she thought, wondered if it had snowed overnight. It had certainly seemed cold enough for it yesterday, but the sky had been clear last night on their walk.

She shivered again, made a face and hurried from the bed. To the dresser first, to light a candle, and then to the washstand in the corner of the room. She poured icy water into the bowl, and Christine's teeth chattered as she washed – more a lick and a promise, given the cold. She scrambled towards the dresser and found clean clothes, changed as quickly as she could.

She wore the pink dress again; Erik's pink dress. Hours yet until she saw him, but perhaps he would be watching during the day, perhaps he would see. It was silly, she knew, but it was something to hold on to, during the long hours that lay ahead.

At any rate, she told herself, it was serviceable enough to wear to rehearsals, and there would be no dancing today. She rather thought the whole day would be devoted to that duet – or not, she remembered, because Reyer had said they would go through act one in the afternoon. Her character appeared in only the final two scenes , so she would have to wait in the rehearsal room and watch the others.

She wasn't sure whether she was pleased that her day would be so busy. It would keep her occupied, and in the morning at least she would have little time to think of Erik. That might be a good thing – and certainly it would keep Raoul from speaking to her, or at least she hoped it would.

Christine grimaced, sat on her bed to brush her hair. Raoul. She hoped that he had understood, last night, that she was serious. But Meg was right – she couldn't expect Raoul to understand quickly, to simply step aside without trying to persuade her to change her mind. To stay with him.

There was no chance that he could, nothing he could say that would make her believe she could be happy with him – nothing to turn her from Erik. But Raoul would not know that, and she was determined to keep him in ignorance about Erik, about her love for him. Raoul was suspicious enough already, had such loathing for Erik. He would perceive it, she was sure, as losing her to his rival.

The truth, of course, was far more complicated than that. But Raoul saw things quite simply, and Christine would not allow him to know that she loved Erik, would keep that knowledge from him as much as she possibly could. She did not love him enough to marry him, but she had no wish to injure him further.

The clock in the hall chimed once, marking quarter past six, and Christine threw her hairbrush at the lump of bedding that Meg was huddling under.

"Up," she said, and laughed at the groan that Meg emitted. "You'll be late for breakfast," she said. "It's not so bad once you're up."

"Why," mumbled Meg, poking her head out from the blanket, "do you have to be so cheerful in the mornings? It's just not natural."

Christine laughed again, reached under her bed for her shoes and winced at how cold they were when she put them on. "Natural or not," she said, "you've got to get up. It's not going to get any warmer, you know."

Meg grumbled and muttered, but flung her blankets back, lay for a moment shivering, and then rolled out of bed. She threw the hairbrush back and Christine caught it, went to put it back on top of the dresser.

"Oh it's so cold," Meg moaned. "Do you think it snowed? Ugh, you're alright, wearing that dress. I've got to wear my tutu."

"Stop complaining," said Christine with a smile. "You know you'll warm up once you're dancing." She tied her hair back, checked her appearance in the mirror. "Do you want me to wait for you?" she asked Meg.

"No, no," said Meg, shivering as she washed. "Go on, I won't be long."

"I'll try to get the table closest to the fire," promised Christine, picking up her thick libretto. Meg nodded, and Christine waited a moment – waited for Meg to pull on her skirt and bodice – before opening the door and slipping out into the corridor.

Other doors were open; some of the dancers were already dressed and prepared for the day, were heading down to the canteen as Christine was, and they greeted her cheerfully. None of them asked her questions, although she was sure they still had them – although Meg would have told them the story she had concocted, and perhaps she had also tried to deter them from questioning her.

Whatever the reason, nobody stopped her with questions, nobody made sly comments. Nobody objected when she joined them on their way down through the opera house. Little Jammes even slipped her arm through Christine's and began to chatter about something that had happened while Christine was away.

The day had begun; and it would end when she was reunited with Erik. Joy and hope filled her heart, and Christine couldn't help smiling as she followed the other girls to breakfast. Couldn't help counting the hours once again until she would see him again.

Her Erik.