A/N: You're lucky today! I've nothing better to do, and because the site
is down for 9/11, I can't spend the day reading all of YOUR beautiful works
of fiction. So my imagination has been forced to re-inspire itself!
This is probably the longest continuing scene I've ever written for this story!
//////////-----------------//////////////////////////
Chapter 10: Giving In
"Erik . . . your mind is in the clouds today!" Christine laughed softly as she looked at her friend and tutor.
It was a week since Marguerite had asked Erik if she might address him as though he were her father. Since then, he'd been so busy, he often became unforgivably exhausted. When he wasn't at the Opera rehearsing, he was either below trying to continue picking up his house, or with the twins. If he was not doing either of those things, he was out apartment hunting for a reasonably priced residence that would be able to fit a family of four (maybe even five if Madeline ever remarried), haunting the Opera House so that he would not entirely lose his identity as the Opera Ghost, or tutoring Christine and others who asked for his help in their roles. Rarely did he sleep more than three hours a night.
Now, Erik had never been one who needed a great deal of sleep. During the building of the Opera House, he'd often spent eighteen hours at the work site. Yet he'd rarely thought about it back then. He had been almost totally turned off emotionally to the world around him. Yet now there were so many things to do all at once. So many things and people he had to take care of. All sorts of things vied for his attention, and he found it nearly impossible to keep up. Now, as Christine stood there smiling at him, he snapped out of a dazed reverie, and looked up into her beautiful face.
"I'm sorry, Cherie." He offered softly. "My mind is not in the clouds, I assure you. I am just quite tired right now. Perhaps this could wait until after rehearsals?"
"Oh, but you promised Marguerite you'd see her directly afterwards." She protested gently. He had been confiding in her everything he felt as of late. Well . . . almost everything. Not once did he dare to bring up his love for her, and ruin the wonderful friendship they were building. Once, he'd even dared to accept an invitation to dinner she'd given him. It had been at Raoul's home, and had actually been quite pleasant. Erik would have gone so far as to admit he'd enjoyed himself, had it not been for the boring and trivial conversations that Raoul continued to attempt strike up with him. "Erik, it's quite all right if you can't do this today. If ever you don't feel up to it, I'll understand perfectly."
"What?" He asked, smiling at her gently, teasingly. "And lose the perfectly wicked chance to be alone with you? Never, my dear!"
Christine laughed with him, color suffusing her cheeks. He'd found out recently that he liked to watch women blush. It was one of the few things that could mean just about anything. Tears were like blushes. They could appear when one felt sorrow, joy, frustration, anger, and maybe even nothing at all. He watched her until the flush of her cheeks paled a little, and then looked down at the score to 'Don Giovanni'.
"The first performance is in one more week." He said softly, his mind seeming to wander. He really must be tired, he thought to himself. He couldn't even concentrate on his piano playing. "Everyone is doing well. I just don't know what I'm going to do once I am being gawked at once more by crowds of people." He shuddered.
"Oh, Erik." Christine hurried around the piano to sit beside him on the small bench he occupied. Gently, her arms slipped about him. He'd told her about the time in the cage at the gypsy camp. Though he didn't even know, to this moment, why he'd told her his most horrible secrets. The ones he'd wanted to keep hidden and forgotten forever. "They will love you! They will love your voice and your charm just as much as I do! You need not let it make you feel claustrophobic. Everything will turn out all right. It isn't the same, Erik. It isn't the same at all!"
Closing his eyes, he sighed heavily, and nodded. However close they had become being friends, he had rarely ever gotten much closer to her than offering her an arm when they walked about. Ever since the first time he'd taught her after rehearsals, and nearly lost control of all of his senses, he'd not dared to get too close. Time was starting to heal his control once more. Yet he would never be fully able to control himself where Christine was concerned. Never. Feeling her body so close to his was not only a warm comfort, but a quiet torture. Slowly, he put an arm around her waist, hugging her gently.
"Cherie . . . perhaps Monsieur Reyer would not object if I did not attend the first half of rehearsal this morning." He was surprised at his own words. Yet he was simply that exhausted. He'd never been so tired his entire life. Not even as a child, when he had been drugged with laudanum. Not even in his house beneath the lake, after his multiple heart attacks. "I believe I should try and get a bit of rest before I encounter my 'daughters' this evening."
"It *is* difficult dealing with children, isn't it?" She smiled tenderly. "They are so energetic. It is hard to keep up with them all of the time. You've overworked yourself, Erik. Go home and sleep. I will tell Monsieur Reyer that you will come back to rehearsals tomorrow."
"No, I will not be out all day." He protested immediately, his voice stern. "I have to be there for the rehearsal of Giovanni's damnation. It seems to fall apart if I'm not in the middle of it all."
That was quite true. Even Christine had to admit it. The day before, when he had merely gone out for a moment to find a glass of water for himself, so that his throat would not dry up, the men who played the Commendatore and Leporello had seemed totally unable to sing their roles. It seemed that Erik's voice gave the production the strength it had always needed. When he'd leaped back into his role, everything had pulled itself back together. Erik was just as much a keystone to the success of the production as the character he played.
"Go to your dressing room and rest." Christine urged gently, giving him a kiss on the cheek. Erik thought almost irritably that she was acting like a mother to him in that moment. "We cannot have our star dying of exhaustion before his debut!"
He smiled at that finally, and turned to lean his forehead against hers. Despite how torturous her closeness could be, he would never deny how comfortable he felt at the same time. It was as though he belonged so close to her. He was still convinced that he would never, for as long as he lived, meet another woman with whom he could love so ravenously.
"All right, ma Cherie." He whispered. "Go on. I promise to relax."
Christine stood and left the practice room. For a few moments, Erik sat fiddling with the keys, tinkering with the tune she'd been working on. Even his fingers barely wanted to cooperate with him! Erik felt a wall of fury come hurtling into him from behind, taking him off guard. How dare his body do this to him! If he could cope with exhaustion when he was in the demonic body of an old man, he most certainly ought to be able to cope with it now! Slamming the lid shut on the piano, he hissed as his thumb uncharacteristically got in the way, and was momentarily crushed. Erik stood with a grimace of pain, and he swore vilely.
"Merde!" He sighed, whirling in his anger, as he had nowhere to vent it. "Damnation!" Turning, he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him so that the bang of it closing echoed noisily down the hallway. He was sure that anyone on stage the next floor down must have heard him. With his hands clenched into fists, he headed for his dressing room, stalking the hallways as only the Phantom could.
It was a great misfortune on Christine's part that she should chose that moment to come back out of her dressing room to find out what the noise was all about. She stood in the doorway of her room, looking at Erik as he came stalking towards her. She seemed shocked, and perhaps even a little bit afraid. She knew how disastrous his temper could be.
"Erik?" She asked softly in concern. He stopped moving for a long moment, and simply stared at her. His eyes bored into her for a long minute. For once when he looked at her, he let himself feel his attraction to her. He let himself show it in his gaze. He was too angry to hide it. He would rather let her see how he still loved and desired her, than continue on his rampage and possibly do her bodily harm.
"Go back into your room, Christine." He said in a strained voice. It was the first time in many days since he had called her by her name when they were alone. "You might even want to lock your door."
She almost laughed. Perhaps she would have, if the situation had not seemed so dire.
"Would that do any good, Erik?" She asked. "There is still the mirror."
"Don't remind me!" He spat, and turned to enter his own room. Yet Christine was anxious to calm him, and came towards him. He could see her coming from the corner of his eye, and held up a hand to halt her where she stood. Not once in his entire life had he even wanted to hurt a lady. Now, his exhaustion, having formed into this blinding fury, was threatening to make him hurt the first lady he'd ever cared about. "Stay away, Christine! I mean it! Stay away!"
"Erik . . ." She tried to sooth. "Calm down. It's all right. I'll get you some tea, and then you can rest. All right? Just . . . calm down."
He stood there a long moment, his dressing room door standing open before him. He stared into the slightly cramped room that wasn't any better than those the less popular singers had to share. As all the dressing rooms did, it had a divan. Perhaps he would just rest his head there, instead of traveling all the way down to his home. He was too tired to make it that far. He was almost certain of it now, as the fury began to finally dwindle. The rage had only exhausted him more!
"I'm all right, Christine." He finally whispered, closing his eyes. "Go on back to your room now. I'm not the best person to be around right now."
She did not go back to her room as he implored. Every single defense he had was down, and he did not want her to know that. Every single chain of restraint he had on every single one of emotions was broken because of his exhaustion. Yet Christine couldn't have known that. She couldn't possibly have ever guessed. Slowly, she made her way further down the hallway to stand beside him.
"Do you want me to get you that tea?" She offered again gently, putting a hand on his arm. Erik looked down at her hand, and she nearly drew away. Yet then her hand became a bit more firmly. Oh, she had no plan on going away. She was playing a game with the devil himself, and she had no idea. Slowly, Erik turned so that he faced her squarely, and then loosed his fists at his sides. Lifting them, he gently cupped her face between his palms, brushing his thumbs alone the almost invisible lines under her eyes. The lines of smiles and laughter. Lines he had not had until the last two weeks.
"No." He whispered softly, staying still for a long moment. He wasn't certain what his intentions were. All he knew was that he wasn't about to hurt her. He'd never let any harm come to his beloved Christine. Most especially not by his own hand. Slowly, he leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead, and he watched her eyes close gently. That was all he needed. That simple moment of acquiescence. He barely paused from pulling his lips away from her forehead before he lowered them onto her own mouth. Yet just before their lips met, he managed a choked whisper. "Forgive me."
He put his arms tightly around her when he kissed her, pulling her hard against him. He was not going to harm her. He was not going to force her to do anything. He just had to hold onto her. He just had to kiss her. Just this once. Just one more time in his entire lifetime. Even if she hated him afterwards. Things would be so much easier if she hated him. However heartbreaking her rejection would be, he would not feel the same amount of torture he felt at her extreme closeness.
Yet she didn't seem angry. She didn't even protest. Gently, her hands came up to cover his, as he still had her face between his palms. Then, she gently put her arms around his shoulders, and gently held on. The kiss ran deep through both of them, but Christine was obviously not trying to return it as he was trying to give it. She was letting him kiss her. She was letting him vent out all of his anger, frustration, and weariness. Never could he have asked for a greater gift than what she'd given him already. Yet already he was receiving one.
Trembling, he pulled away, falling back against the doorframe of his dressing room. Christine held her hands up a moment longer than needed as she watched him, and then lowered her hands to her sides. She seemed stunned. He was just as stunned. They must have stood their kissing for at least five minutes. The things he'd nearly done . . . and she had allowed him. She hadn't fought, despite her love and engagement to Raoul. Somehow, he knew she would have sacrificed everything but her infidelity, in order to help Erik as she just had. Swallowing thickly, he looked away.
"Erik, I. . ."
"Christine . . ."
He looked back at her when the both spoke at once. Then, Christine managed to laugh softly, to smile at him sincerely. He wanted for all the world to smile at her in return. Maybe then it would seem the tense moment would release itself from him. Yet he could not smile. Not much at least. He attempted to, and he managed it just a little bit. Then, slowly, he turned and walked into his room, closing the door firmly behind him. It was a good thing Christine did not try to follow him this time. After that stunning moment, he did not know what he was capable of doing - or not doing. With a heavy sigh, he collapsed onto the divan in the center of his dressing room, and was fast asleep before his head nestled itself comfortably on the arm of the sofa.
This is probably the longest continuing scene I've ever written for this story!
//////////-----------------//////////////////////////
Chapter 10: Giving In
"Erik . . . your mind is in the clouds today!" Christine laughed softly as she looked at her friend and tutor.
It was a week since Marguerite had asked Erik if she might address him as though he were her father. Since then, he'd been so busy, he often became unforgivably exhausted. When he wasn't at the Opera rehearsing, he was either below trying to continue picking up his house, or with the twins. If he was not doing either of those things, he was out apartment hunting for a reasonably priced residence that would be able to fit a family of four (maybe even five if Madeline ever remarried), haunting the Opera House so that he would not entirely lose his identity as the Opera Ghost, or tutoring Christine and others who asked for his help in their roles. Rarely did he sleep more than three hours a night.
Now, Erik had never been one who needed a great deal of sleep. During the building of the Opera House, he'd often spent eighteen hours at the work site. Yet he'd rarely thought about it back then. He had been almost totally turned off emotionally to the world around him. Yet now there were so many things to do all at once. So many things and people he had to take care of. All sorts of things vied for his attention, and he found it nearly impossible to keep up. Now, as Christine stood there smiling at him, he snapped out of a dazed reverie, and looked up into her beautiful face.
"I'm sorry, Cherie." He offered softly. "My mind is not in the clouds, I assure you. I am just quite tired right now. Perhaps this could wait until after rehearsals?"
"Oh, but you promised Marguerite you'd see her directly afterwards." She protested gently. He had been confiding in her everything he felt as of late. Well . . . almost everything. Not once did he dare to bring up his love for her, and ruin the wonderful friendship they were building. Once, he'd even dared to accept an invitation to dinner she'd given him. It had been at Raoul's home, and had actually been quite pleasant. Erik would have gone so far as to admit he'd enjoyed himself, had it not been for the boring and trivial conversations that Raoul continued to attempt strike up with him. "Erik, it's quite all right if you can't do this today. If ever you don't feel up to it, I'll understand perfectly."
"What?" He asked, smiling at her gently, teasingly. "And lose the perfectly wicked chance to be alone with you? Never, my dear!"
Christine laughed with him, color suffusing her cheeks. He'd found out recently that he liked to watch women blush. It was one of the few things that could mean just about anything. Tears were like blushes. They could appear when one felt sorrow, joy, frustration, anger, and maybe even nothing at all. He watched her until the flush of her cheeks paled a little, and then looked down at the score to 'Don Giovanni'.
"The first performance is in one more week." He said softly, his mind seeming to wander. He really must be tired, he thought to himself. He couldn't even concentrate on his piano playing. "Everyone is doing well. I just don't know what I'm going to do once I am being gawked at once more by crowds of people." He shuddered.
"Oh, Erik." Christine hurried around the piano to sit beside him on the small bench he occupied. Gently, her arms slipped about him. He'd told her about the time in the cage at the gypsy camp. Though he didn't even know, to this moment, why he'd told her his most horrible secrets. The ones he'd wanted to keep hidden and forgotten forever. "They will love you! They will love your voice and your charm just as much as I do! You need not let it make you feel claustrophobic. Everything will turn out all right. It isn't the same, Erik. It isn't the same at all!"
Closing his eyes, he sighed heavily, and nodded. However close they had become being friends, he had rarely ever gotten much closer to her than offering her an arm when they walked about. Ever since the first time he'd taught her after rehearsals, and nearly lost control of all of his senses, he'd not dared to get too close. Time was starting to heal his control once more. Yet he would never be fully able to control himself where Christine was concerned. Never. Feeling her body so close to his was not only a warm comfort, but a quiet torture. Slowly, he put an arm around her waist, hugging her gently.
"Cherie . . . perhaps Monsieur Reyer would not object if I did not attend the first half of rehearsal this morning." He was surprised at his own words. Yet he was simply that exhausted. He'd never been so tired his entire life. Not even as a child, when he had been drugged with laudanum. Not even in his house beneath the lake, after his multiple heart attacks. "I believe I should try and get a bit of rest before I encounter my 'daughters' this evening."
"It *is* difficult dealing with children, isn't it?" She smiled tenderly. "They are so energetic. It is hard to keep up with them all of the time. You've overworked yourself, Erik. Go home and sleep. I will tell Monsieur Reyer that you will come back to rehearsals tomorrow."
"No, I will not be out all day." He protested immediately, his voice stern. "I have to be there for the rehearsal of Giovanni's damnation. It seems to fall apart if I'm not in the middle of it all."
That was quite true. Even Christine had to admit it. The day before, when he had merely gone out for a moment to find a glass of water for himself, so that his throat would not dry up, the men who played the Commendatore and Leporello had seemed totally unable to sing their roles. It seemed that Erik's voice gave the production the strength it had always needed. When he'd leaped back into his role, everything had pulled itself back together. Erik was just as much a keystone to the success of the production as the character he played.
"Go to your dressing room and rest." Christine urged gently, giving him a kiss on the cheek. Erik thought almost irritably that she was acting like a mother to him in that moment. "We cannot have our star dying of exhaustion before his debut!"
He smiled at that finally, and turned to lean his forehead against hers. Despite how torturous her closeness could be, he would never deny how comfortable he felt at the same time. It was as though he belonged so close to her. He was still convinced that he would never, for as long as he lived, meet another woman with whom he could love so ravenously.
"All right, ma Cherie." He whispered. "Go on. I promise to relax."
Christine stood and left the practice room. For a few moments, Erik sat fiddling with the keys, tinkering with the tune she'd been working on. Even his fingers barely wanted to cooperate with him! Erik felt a wall of fury come hurtling into him from behind, taking him off guard. How dare his body do this to him! If he could cope with exhaustion when he was in the demonic body of an old man, he most certainly ought to be able to cope with it now! Slamming the lid shut on the piano, he hissed as his thumb uncharacteristically got in the way, and was momentarily crushed. Erik stood with a grimace of pain, and he swore vilely.
"Merde!" He sighed, whirling in his anger, as he had nowhere to vent it. "Damnation!" Turning, he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him so that the bang of it closing echoed noisily down the hallway. He was sure that anyone on stage the next floor down must have heard him. With his hands clenched into fists, he headed for his dressing room, stalking the hallways as only the Phantom could.
It was a great misfortune on Christine's part that she should chose that moment to come back out of her dressing room to find out what the noise was all about. She stood in the doorway of her room, looking at Erik as he came stalking towards her. She seemed shocked, and perhaps even a little bit afraid. She knew how disastrous his temper could be.
"Erik?" She asked softly in concern. He stopped moving for a long moment, and simply stared at her. His eyes bored into her for a long minute. For once when he looked at her, he let himself feel his attraction to her. He let himself show it in his gaze. He was too angry to hide it. He would rather let her see how he still loved and desired her, than continue on his rampage and possibly do her bodily harm.
"Go back into your room, Christine." He said in a strained voice. It was the first time in many days since he had called her by her name when they were alone. "You might even want to lock your door."
She almost laughed. Perhaps she would have, if the situation had not seemed so dire.
"Would that do any good, Erik?" She asked. "There is still the mirror."
"Don't remind me!" He spat, and turned to enter his own room. Yet Christine was anxious to calm him, and came towards him. He could see her coming from the corner of his eye, and held up a hand to halt her where she stood. Not once in his entire life had he even wanted to hurt a lady. Now, his exhaustion, having formed into this blinding fury, was threatening to make him hurt the first lady he'd ever cared about. "Stay away, Christine! I mean it! Stay away!"
"Erik . . ." She tried to sooth. "Calm down. It's all right. I'll get you some tea, and then you can rest. All right? Just . . . calm down."
He stood there a long moment, his dressing room door standing open before him. He stared into the slightly cramped room that wasn't any better than those the less popular singers had to share. As all the dressing rooms did, it had a divan. Perhaps he would just rest his head there, instead of traveling all the way down to his home. He was too tired to make it that far. He was almost certain of it now, as the fury began to finally dwindle. The rage had only exhausted him more!
"I'm all right, Christine." He finally whispered, closing his eyes. "Go on back to your room now. I'm not the best person to be around right now."
She did not go back to her room as he implored. Every single defense he had was down, and he did not want her to know that. Every single chain of restraint he had on every single one of emotions was broken because of his exhaustion. Yet Christine couldn't have known that. She couldn't possibly have ever guessed. Slowly, she made her way further down the hallway to stand beside him.
"Do you want me to get you that tea?" She offered again gently, putting a hand on his arm. Erik looked down at her hand, and she nearly drew away. Yet then her hand became a bit more firmly. Oh, she had no plan on going away. She was playing a game with the devil himself, and she had no idea. Slowly, Erik turned so that he faced her squarely, and then loosed his fists at his sides. Lifting them, he gently cupped her face between his palms, brushing his thumbs alone the almost invisible lines under her eyes. The lines of smiles and laughter. Lines he had not had until the last two weeks.
"No." He whispered softly, staying still for a long moment. He wasn't certain what his intentions were. All he knew was that he wasn't about to hurt her. He'd never let any harm come to his beloved Christine. Most especially not by his own hand. Slowly, he leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead, and he watched her eyes close gently. That was all he needed. That simple moment of acquiescence. He barely paused from pulling his lips away from her forehead before he lowered them onto her own mouth. Yet just before their lips met, he managed a choked whisper. "Forgive me."
He put his arms tightly around her when he kissed her, pulling her hard against him. He was not going to harm her. He was not going to force her to do anything. He just had to hold onto her. He just had to kiss her. Just this once. Just one more time in his entire lifetime. Even if she hated him afterwards. Things would be so much easier if she hated him. However heartbreaking her rejection would be, he would not feel the same amount of torture he felt at her extreme closeness.
Yet she didn't seem angry. She didn't even protest. Gently, her hands came up to cover his, as he still had her face between his palms. Then, she gently put her arms around his shoulders, and gently held on. The kiss ran deep through both of them, but Christine was obviously not trying to return it as he was trying to give it. She was letting him kiss her. She was letting him vent out all of his anger, frustration, and weariness. Never could he have asked for a greater gift than what she'd given him already. Yet already he was receiving one.
Trembling, he pulled away, falling back against the doorframe of his dressing room. Christine held her hands up a moment longer than needed as she watched him, and then lowered her hands to her sides. She seemed stunned. He was just as stunned. They must have stood their kissing for at least five minutes. The things he'd nearly done . . . and she had allowed him. She hadn't fought, despite her love and engagement to Raoul. Somehow, he knew she would have sacrificed everything but her infidelity, in order to help Erik as she just had. Swallowing thickly, he looked away.
"Erik, I. . ."
"Christine . . ."
He looked back at her when the both spoke at once. Then, Christine managed to laugh softly, to smile at him sincerely. He wanted for all the world to smile at her in return. Maybe then it would seem the tense moment would release itself from him. Yet he could not smile. Not much at least. He attempted to, and he managed it just a little bit. Then, slowly, he turned and walked into his room, closing the door firmly behind him. It was a good thing Christine did not try to follow him this time. After that stunning moment, he did not know what he was capable of doing - or not doing. With a heavy sigh, he collapsed onto the divan in the center of his dressing room, and was fast asleep before his head nestled itself comfortably on the arm of the sofa.
