Disclaimer: I still own only that which I create. And lately, I'm not even too sure about that as it seems to think it owns itself.
Author's Note: Okay, everyone... I'm posting this anyway, even though I'm not sure it's entirely polished. Rip it up if you need to. We bought this laptop today and struggled with it a couple hours this evening which really cut into my editing time and kept me from my ULTIMATE plan which was to edit this rather quickly and then go write a WHOLE lot of what's supposed to happen next... so, against my better judgment, because I feel the need to keep my commitment to post often... Please make comments and corrections--especially the latter as I'm sure there'll be a lot of those--and I promise to fix all the little typos and things. Also, this probably doesn't sound as polished as I hoped it would... Feel free to make suggestions there, too. I was SO frustrated with this stupid new computer (the one I am not using at the moment because I am angry with it) that I just couldn't even concentrate. Stupid thing... set me back two hours and god only knows how many pages!! Grrr...
Her eyes darted around the room and fell upon the chain on the door. It was hanging loose. She was certain she had latched the chain as well as the lock on the knob. She thought through it again. Yes. She had latched the door, latched the chain. She opened the door, still in her nightclothes and rushed into the hall.
Oh, thank heavens! He was standing at the end of the hallway leaning heavily upon the windowsill and gazing out the window to the east across the city. She glanced up and down the hall. Fortunately, no one was about. Of course, it was not so surprising as it was surely after midnight! She rushed to his side, took him by the shoulder. "Erik, it's not safe here!" she hissed in his ear.
"You win," he responded. His voice had a strange tone of defeat.
"Come," she tugged at him.
"I'm a prisoner then," he said leaning heavily upon her.
"Oh, don't let's be so silly. Come along," she tried to turn him from the window.
"It's not so far, really," he said. She stopped and followed his gaze. Rising above the lower buildings she could see the domed top of the Opera shining by the light of the full moon.
"Homesick, are you?" she kept her voice light. No need to have him think she was angry with him when she was merely trying to accomplish a goal. "Then I'll get you back soon enough. But I think we'd both prefer it if we didn't have to explain to the staff what you're doing here."
He met her eyes. Her eyes were frantic. She was angry again, then? Angry with him? He shut his eyes tight. Prepared for blows.
How could he react so? She let go of him and moved a few paces away. "Erik, please!" she begged. It would have been so much easier to pull him, but she didn't dare touch him now. She twisted her hands together until they ached. She pleaded with her voice and her eyes. Eventually he staggered back to the room and collapsed to his knees just inside the door—which she closed. And locked. And latched. And leaned against.
"I was so sure I could have made it," he murmured. "What's happened to me?"
"Pneumonia, most likely," she said matter-of-factly from her place by the door. "Look at me, Erik. Listen to me. This is a matter of life and death. Are you trying to die?"
The question puzzled him. He hadn't considered it. He was rather certain it was inevitable. Was it necessary to make an effort on his part? He shook his head slightly. No, actually he wasn't. Not this time. This time it was just—happening. With or without his consent. Should he consent? He had wished for death before, yes. A life without Christine, a life without love of any kind—what was the point? But he had lived a life without love before--all his life, actually--and he had not been so fixated on dying then. No, he wouldn't go out of his way to bring about death. He just wasn't willing to put forth the effort to fight it off.
"Then you must try to trust me for now. You can hate me later if you wish. First, live." She left her place by the door and dropped to her knees near him, but still out of arms' reach, and looked into his eyes; they were dark and hazy. Damn codeine, she thought. Would he even remember a word of this? "Please," she insisted. "Lie down."
He looked at her, confused. She pointed. He followed the gesture of her arm to the bed. But it seemed so far away—further than the opera house had looked, actually. It was then that he became aware that he was not at all himself. "What's happened to me?" he asked again.
"Too much of what's in the brown bottle, remember?"
He struggled to his feet. There was no help this time. She remained on her knees on the floor, watching him, aloof. Detached. Why was she doing this to him?
She waited until he reached the bed then dragged the straight-backed chair from the table to his side. He looked at her carefully. Was this the same woman at all? She could be first so gentle, then so cruel? And now so distant?
She peered into his eyes from the distance of the chair. What was he thinking now, she wondered. She longed to tear the mask away but remembered that was one of his many accusations of her. She didn't dare. She was hesitant to even touch him. Could she ever make this right?
"Erik," she said softly. He appeared to be listening. "I'm so sorry," she said. "You're angry with me. I think you have a right to be. I must tell you that things did not happen exactly the way you perceived they did, but it doesn't matter. I will take the blame for leaving it in such a way that it could be perceived that way. Could we start again, please?"
He blinked. That voice. So gentle. Could it be the same woman?
"Erik, do you remember asking me to do something? About Christine?"
"Christine," he murmured. "She would not come for me..."
"So sure are you?" He did not react. "Erik, do you remember when they put her in the asylum?"
"Oh, Christine!" He had almost forgotten.
"So you remember?" He nodded miserably. "You recall what you asked me to do? To do whatever it took to get her out of there?"
More nodding. That was easy. He could do that.
"I went to her home. I convinced her family to remove her and let me talk to her. She is at home. I have seen her every day this week. I want you to know she's fine."
He nodded. It felt like he had been nodding for eternity.
"We need to talk about her, but you should rest first. You're not entirely yourself, I don't think."
"She didn't come," he managed. "It is finished."
"Maybe so. And maybe for the best. You did, after all, release her and tell her to marry the Comte de Chagny, you know."
"Yes..." Immediately afterward he'd done it, he'd thought it was his greatest mistake. Later he concluded it was easier to simply die and let her, at least, be happy if he could not be. Now he realized either way he would not have been. What did that mean for him? "Did she?"
The conversation was entering dark swirling waters. To say yes was to lie. To say no, perhaps to mislead him. To refuse to answer, to lose his trust. "Not yet, for we frightened her terribly that night in the carriage."
What do you think that night in the carriage did to me? But he didn't say it. Instead he just sighed.
"She is fine now. That is the important part. They believed you were dead. She saw you. Naturally, they thought she was hallucinating. As it turns out, she wasn't. Simply solved, you see?"
It wasn't entirely his fault then? But who now knew that he was alive? That boy? Others? This could be very bad.
"She knows you are here."
Here? Why? How?
"And as she is worried, as soon as you are well you and I shall need to determine—"
"Worried?"
"I'm sorry. She followed me here. She opened the door. Lord, was it just earlier tonight? That is why I had to go back out. You remember that I had to go back out?"
"I tried to tell you... not to go."
"I asked if you would mind. You shook your head."
"I tried to hold onto you..." He was now fixated on this, not that. Couldn't seem to handle the transitions in conversation.
"I'm sorry, Erik. What would you have had me do? Leave her in the hallway? Bring her inside?"
Realization dawned on him slowly. "No." But what else had she said? "She saw me... like this?"
Elizabeth lowered her eyes, bowed her head. He noted that she looked rather lovely in a hazy, blurry way; then he rebuked himself internally for such a thought. You do not have the right to think such things he reminded himself. Someone like you does not have the right to look upon such as either of them. It is incredible either of them shows the slightest concern at all for the likes of you.
"She would not worry for me," he said softly. "She loves him..."
She lifted a hand to reach for him, hesitated and returned it to her lap. "Erik, there are so many kinds of love. Just because she doesn't love you the way you wanted her to doesn't mean she doesn't love you at all. She can't help the way she feels...
"She doesn't love me," he said miserably. "If you had seen the way I look, you would understand why."
"I have seen the way you look, Erik."
That's right, he thought. He remembered the sounds from the bathroom. "Then you do understand. It's not her fault, of course... I am so hideous. No one could love… this."
"You never know," she tried to say lightly, but her heart was pounding and her voice quavered. There was a long silence and then, finally she managed to whisper, "Maybe I do." She felt her face flush instantly.
"Don't be foolish," he said. His voice was so distant she wondered if he'd understood at all. Part of her hoped he hadn't. She really hadn't meant to say so aloud at all.
There was what seemed an interminably long silence in which Elizabeth thought back over the conversation and felt far worse than foolish. She ridiculed herself internally. She waited.
She had just begun to think he had fallen asleep when he finally whispered "She worries?"
She sighed gratefully. He had changed the subject. "Terribly. Still worse, I told her I couldn't discuss you with her at all. She's entirely without information, save what she learned by glancing in."
"Ah... She's seen me like this?"
Hadn't she already told him that? She heaved a heavy sigh. "Yes. And she wants to know everything. How you came to be here, how I know you, all of it. It is not her business to know, but it will be terribly difficult to keep her trust if I remain mute. What shall I tell her?"
"Tell her whatever you wish," he replied tiredly, closing his eyes. She looked at him carefully. No. He wasn't even coherent, was he?
"I'll ask you again in the morning," she said. She moved her hand to push back his hair but hesitated. She would not touch him without permission. She must be so careful. "Erik," she said. His eyes opened, flicked to her. Her voice was barely audible. "When did I strike you?"
His eyes were exhausted. "Every... night..." he whispered closing his eyes again.
Her lips were by his ear. "Here?" she breathed placing a hand so lightly upon his back she felt certain he could scarcely feel it at all.
He did not answer but winced as though in pain. She tried to look at his face. His eyes were shut tight but the tears trickled through. "Oh," she began, but she couldn't say a word. She abandoned the distance, pulled him to her, caressed him, rocked him, stroked his hair. He fell asleep there like that with her arms around him. She listened to the sound of his breathing. Was she fooling herself or did it sound a bit clearer? She closed her eyes, but guilt and worry kept her awake. She wrapped body around his as though trying to bandage a wound. She remained there, awake and guilty, all night long. It was only as the curtains were beginning to lighten ever so slightly with the sunrise that she realized—and at first she doubted herself and she ran her hands over him carefully finding a place on the back of his neck where she could put her hand against bare skin—that his temperature felt normal to the touch. Only then did she drift off to sleep and she slept peacefully until he suddenly roused her by pushing her away.
She reached out protectively but he was not frantically thrashing about with nightmares. He was awake and looking at her. She peered into his golden eyes and they were clear. Was he still angry then? Fearful? But his eyes looked more... confused? "Erik, it's all right," she began.
"What—" he began looking around, and he seemed absolutely horrified, "am I doing in your bed?"
Reviews, anyone? Sorry for the errors. As I said, it was a rough night computer-wise. Tough to edit when the computer malfunctions, you know? Please review anyway and I'm QUITE sorry if it's very bad. I was rather stressed...