Betrayal is the Highest Form of Flattery
By Deep Roller
A/N: Well, it took me awhile to unearth the next bit of this fic, but I have found it for you, so enjoy with relish. I know I do. And maybe a bit of ketchup too....
Disclaimer: *mechanically* I do not own the Phantom of the Opera or any characters held within. Except Perdita Radcliff, who is a trifle. Some day I will own you all. *mechanical laughter* Hah. Hah. Hah.
"And a voice, with the fear of a child, asking..." -from The Lion King on Broadway
The knob twisted easily and the door swung open to reveal the exact room Christine had left two years past. There were a few cobwebs, granted, but everything else seemed to be the same. She entered the dressing room and closed the door softly behind her, blinking as she looked around. What had she expected? Fires? Bandits? .....Erik? She chuckled softly to herself at her foolish fears and sat down on her old bed with mixed emotions. And then, her eye caught it.
A very ordinary envelope, thrust between the hinges of the door and closed with a very simple seal. In a foggy haze, Christine rose and went to the envelope. She opened it with trembling fingers and read in disbelief.
~Dearest Christine,
Surely you know by now child that I am not dead, you have sensed it in some fashion. I overheard you on the cab ride to the Opera House, you see. Yes, that was me, I must admit, and César too. It has been a long two years, Christine. I was torn with grief when you left, but time has dulled the pain to a blunt point, and I wish merely to speak with you. We have much to discuss.
If you want to see me, tap the mirror and call my name three times.
Erik~
She blinked several times, her breath hitching high in her throat. This was unreal! How could he be alive, after all that time, and after the papers proclaimed him dead? "Perhaps I am dreaming." She spoke aloud giddily, grasping for the desk to have something solid to prop up on. "Dreaming, and there is nothing to this. Nothing." Her hand flew to her mouth in her customary nervous gesture, and she nibbled a bit too hard on one glove, a small stab of pain lancing her finger. If that pain was real, then perhaps she wasn't dreaming. Only one way to find out. Holding her chin up high, Christine approached the mirror.
"Erik." She said quietly, as though murmuring to a person in close proximity with her. Shaking her head, she spoke again, with a bit more conviction. "Erik." Still nothing, but he had said to speak three times. "Erik." She spoke solidly again, and waited. The minutes ticked by, and nothing happened. Just as well, she thought, silly dreams are after all just dreams. Then her lip began to quiver, and she began to shake. "Erik, come out." She called, more insistently, as though pleading. "Erik!" She pounded the mirror, and then whirled and flung herself on the bed. He really wasn't coming after all! A bitter sense of guilt washed her throat into spasms of breath, and in her already emotionally strung state, it was just too much. Tears welled and brimmed at her eyes before washing across her cheeks. As she lay there sobbing, a strange glow emanated from the mirror, and soft sounds could be heard issuing from it. Singing!
"I call to my love at dawn's first light, and again when day is done, but my idol does not answer, does not answer..." The words from the opera! Sung so beautifully they seemed to pull the girl from her crouched and coiled state into one of transfixed wonder. And suddenly, there he was. His cape, his mask, it was Erik. Erik! Another bout of sobs shook Christine as thoughts flew through her head. Thoughts she was sure he could sense in her. Erik, alive and well, and here. She could hardly believe it. First, he had been believed dead, but now, now he was alive. Which do you want him? She chided at herself angrily, still in tears on the bed. Distressed, Erik walked close to her and reached out to touch her hair, holding back at the last instant with a short jerk of his hand. "Child, why do you cry?" He asked softly, knowing full well why she cried.
"Erik...Erik, I...." But she couldn't tell him. She couldn't tell him that the instant she looked at his face as he came through the mirror and the instant she felt his presence, she regretted ever fleeing from him for Raoul. And at the same time, she wanted to run, run from everyone and everything, to hide from it all. She couldn't tell him that for all these feelings, she was guilty and angry at herself. And she was still afraid of him. All the regret, all the misunderstandings and betrayals seemed to slap her in the face like a gigantic steel hand, and she gasped and crumpled. Say it! Say you're sorry, say you regret ever leaving this place! You know it's true, you stupid, stupid girl. A caustic part screamed at her, disgusted with her behavior.
"Yes, Christine?" Erik asked, puzzled and concerned. She was having fits! Shaking and clutching spasmodically at her pillow, she wouldn't look at him.
"Erik, I'm sorry. I'm.... I miss..." Looking up, the tears ran down her face in droves. She felt a strong finger lift her chin and bring it to meet a set of eyes filled with tender concern and acerbic, intense focus. "Erik, I'm so sorry. I miss you, and I've had regrets, but I know you'll not have me back, I've been so wicked to you. God help me I've been so wicked! I'm afraid, afraid of you, of him, of everything." She squeezed her eyes shut to prepare for his cold rebuttal, or his insistence that she leave at once. He was stunned, utterly and completely stunned. Here he had prepared for rejection and perhaps anger. Fear, most definitely. And she was afraid. But she was asking his forgiveness through her fear! He shook his head in bemusement and chuckled softly.
"My dear, you are no more wicked than a butterfly. And I do forgive you, but..."
"How could you? How could you forgive? Your heart, the loneliness, the darkness has burrowed in." She interjected.
"Despite your morbid thoughts child, you are not my whole world. There are things outside you. The darkness had already well burrowed in before you came along." Erik intoned with coldness in his voice. It was so strange, still. Like the first break of a bone, it hadn't had time to sink in. He was trying to separate himself from emotion. It was the only way. This could be a trap. But her eyes genuflected before him so demurely, and her hands shook so, that he found it hard to believe. She was not his whole world, but she did make up an incredible part of it. Like removing the stars. The night would still soldier on, but it would not burn.
"I am sorry. I deserve to die. It came to me, when I saw you, it came to me. I was the heartless one, I drove whatever it was in you that fueled your temper to cause your actions. Or if I did not, I still feel it is so. Do not say you are sorry, for I have returned to you in my dreams, and the dead have risen. We must tell Raoul, we must." She spoke quickly, hardly pausing for her breath to leave her throat. She wouldn't let him say no, her heart was speaking now. She had returned.
Erik sat down slowly, lowering himself to sit beside Christine, feeling her hesitate, but remain. She was still looking down, and to him it seemed as though she were trying to make a decision. He had his own to make. Could he....could he really have her with him? Or would she only rend the last shreds of his sanity and heart to ash? "Christine, child. I will be behind you in whatever you do. No matter how the world tilts, I will always be behind you." He was surprising himself, and he certainly surprised her, for her eyes were incredibly wide. Then, in the next instant, her arms were around him, and she pressed her face into his shoulder. Caught off guard once again, Erik had little else to do but to tentatively put his own arms around her. They were shadows at first, but Christine could feel him slowly, slowly strengthen the embrace. She smiled into his shoulder and enjoyed the unexpected security being with him brought.
"We must tell Raoul, we must." A sudden, terrible image flashed into her head. The muzzle of the Derringer, the muzzle of the open grave. "He will not understand." She murmured, her eyes dancing to the desk and the opened letter. "He will not. But I have a plan, Erik." She smiled, her fingers whispering over the back of Erik's neck, causing him to shiver noticeably. Her eyes met his with some unbidden, almost gleeful spark. It was more strength than she had shown that whole night, and more initiative. Sitting together, she rested her head on his shoulder and delineated the course of action.
A/N: Okay, yes, this is an "Erik take me back" story. Like many others. But I am not like everybody else. So I have plans....*grins* Next chapter very soon. Thanks to everyone who has already reviewed, it always thrills me that people will take time enough to voice whatever opinions they have, good, bad, or indifferent. Need I remind you that flaming only burns a chandelier brighter and drops it faster? : )
By Deep Roller
A/N: Well, it took me awhile to unearth the next bit of this fic, but I have found it for you, so enjoy with relish. I know I do. And maybe a bit of ketchup too....
Disclaimer: *mechanically* I do not own the Phantom of the Opera or any characters held within. Except Perdita Radcliff, who is a trifle. Some day I will own you all. *mechanical laughter* Hah. Hah. Hah.
"And a voice, with the fear of a child, asking..." -from The Lion King on Broadway
The knob twisted easily and the door swung open to reveal the exact room Christine had left two years past. There were a few cobwebs, granted, but everything else seemed to be the same. She entered the dressing room and closed the door softly behind her, blinking as she looked around. What had she expected? Fires? Bandits? .....Erik? She chuckled softly to herself at her foolish fears and sat down on her old bed with mixed emotions. And then, her eye caught it.
A very ordinary envelope, thrust between the hinges of the door and closed with a very simple seal. In a foggy haze, Christine rose and went to the envelope. She opened it with trembling fingers and read in disbelief.
~Dearest Christine,
Surely you know by now child that I am not dead, you have sensed it in some fashion. I overheard you on the cab ride to the Opera House, you see. Yes, that was me, I must admit, and César too. It has been a long two years, Christine. I was torn with grief when you left, but time has dulled the pain to a blunt point, and I wish merely to speak with you. We have much to discuss.
If you want to see me, tap the mirror and call my name three times.
Erik~
She blinked several times, her breath hitching high in her throat. This was unreal! How could he be alive, after all that time, and after the papers proclaimed him dead? "Perhaps I am dreaming." She spoke aloud giddily, grasping for the desk to have something solid to prop up on. "Dreaming, and there is nothing to this. Nothing." Her hand flew to her mouth in her customary nervous gesture, and she nibbled a bit too hard on one glove, a small stab of pain lancing her finger. If that pain was real, then perhaps she wasn't dreaming. Only one way to find out. Holding her chin up high, Christine approached the mirror.
"Erik." She said quietly, as though murmuring to a person in close proximity with her. Shaking her head, she spoke again, with a bit more conviction. "Erik." Still nothing, but he had said to speak three times. "Erik." She spoke solidly again, and waited. The minutes ticked by, and nothing happened. Just as well, she thought, silly dreams are after all just dreams. Then her lip began to quiver, and she began to shake. "Erik, come out." She called, more insistently, as though pleading. "Erik!" She pounded the mirror, and then whirled and flung herself on the bed. He really wasn't coming after all! A bitter sense of guilt washed her throat into spasms of breath, and in her already emotionally strung state, it was just too much. Tears welled and brimmed at her eyes before washing across her cheeks. As she lay there sobbing, a strange glow emanated from the mirror, and soft sounds could be heard issuing from it. Singing!
"I call to my love at dawn's first light, and again when day is done, but my idol does not answer, does not answer..." The words from the opera! Sung so beautifully they seemed to pull the girl from her crouched and coiled state into one of transfixed wonder. And suddenly, there he was. His cape, his mask, it was Erik. Erik! Another bout of sobs shook Christine as thoughts flew through her head. Thoughts she was sure he could sense in her. Erik, alive and well, and here. She could hardly believe it. First, he had been believed dead, but now, now he was alive. Which do you want him? She chided at herself angrily, still in tears on the bed. Distressed, Erik walked close to her and reached out to touch her hair, holding back at the last instant with a short jerk of his hand. "Child, why do you cry?" He asked softly, knowing full well why she cried.
"Erik...Erik, I...." But she couldn't tell him. She couldn't tell him that the instant she looked at his face as he came through the mirror and the instant she felt his presence, she regretted ever fleeing from him for Raoul. And at the same time, she wanted to run, run from everyone and everything, to hide from it all. She couldn't tell him that for all these feelings, she was guilty and angry at herself. And she was still afraid of him. All the regret, all the misunderstandings and betrayals seemed to slap her in the face like a gigantic steel hand, and she gasped and crumpled. Say it! Say you're sorry, say you regret ever leaving this place! You know it's true, you stupid, stupid girl. A caustic part screamed at her, disgusted with her behavior.
"Yes, Christine?" Erik asked, puzzled and concerned. She was having fits! Shaking and clutching spasmodically at her pillow, she wouldn't look at him.
"Erik, I'm sorry. I'm.... I miss..." Looking up, the tears ran down her face in droves. She felt a strong finger lift her chin and bring it to meet a set of eyes filled with tender concern and acerbic, intense focus. "Erik, I'm so sorry. I miss you, and I've had regrets, but I know you'll not have me back, I've been so wicked to you. God help me I've been so wicked! I'm afraid, afraid of you, of him, of everything." She squeezed her eyes shut to prepare for his cold rebuttal, or his insistence that she leave at once. He was stunned, utterly and completely stunned. Here he had prepared for rejection and perhaps anger. Fear, most definitely. And she was afraid. But she was asking his forgiveness through her fear! He shook his head in bemusement and chuckled softly.
"My dear, you are no more wicked than a butterfly. And I do forgive you, but..."
"How could you? How could you forgive? Your heart, the loneliness, the darkness has burrowed in." She interjected.
"Despite your morbid thoughts child, you are not my whole world. There are things outside you. The darkness had already well burrowed in before you came along." Erik intoned with coldness in his voice. It was so strange, still. Like the first break of a bone, it hadn't had time to sink in. He was trying to separate himself from emotion. It was the only way. This could be a trap. But her eyes genuflected before him so demurely, and her hands shook so, that he found it hard to believe. She was not his whole world, but she did make up an incredible part of it. Like removing the stars. The night would still soldier on, but it would not burn.
"I am sorry. I deserve to die. It came to me, when I saw you, it came to me. I was the heartless one, I drove whatever it was in you that fueled your temper to cause your actions. Or if I did not, I still feel it is so. Do not say you are sorry, for I have returned to you in my dreams, and the dead have risen. We must tell Raoul, we must." She spoke quickly, hardly pausing for her breath to leave her throat. She wouldn't let him say no, her heart was speaking now. She had returned.
Erik sat down slowly, lowering himself to sit beside Christine, feeling her hesitate, but remain. She was still looking down, and to him it seemed as though she were trying to make a decision. He had his own to make. Could he....could he really have her with him? Or would she only rend the last shreds of his sanity and heart to ash? "Christine, child. I will be behind you in whatever you do. No matter how the world tilts, I will always be behind you." He was surprising himself, and he certainly surprised her, for her eyes were incredibly wide. Then, in the next instant, her arms were around him, and she pressed her face into his shoulder. Caught off guard once again, Erik had little else to do but to tentatively put his own arms around her. They were shadows at first, but Christine could feel him slowly, slowly strengthen the embrace. She smiled into his shoulder and enjoyed the unexpected security being with him brought.
"We must tell Raoul, we must." A sudden, terrible image flashed into her head. The muzzle of the Derringer, the muzzle of the open grave. "He will not understand." She murmured, her eyes dancing to the desk and the opened letter. "He will not. But I have a plan, Erik." She smiled, her fingers whispering over the back of Erik's neck, causing him to shiver noticeably. Her eyes met his with some unbidden, almost gleeful spark. It was more strength than she had shown that whole night, and more initiative. Sitting together, she rested her head on his shoulder and delineated the course of action.
A/N: Okay, yes, this is an "Erik take me back" story. Like many others. But I am not like everybody else. So I have plans....*grins* Next chapter very soon. Thanks to everyone who has already reviewed, it always thrills me that people will take time enough to voice whatever opinions they have, good, bad, or indifferent. Need I remind you that flaming only burns a chandelier brighter and drops it faster? : )