A/N: Aw, that was rather disappointing. Oh I think your reviews are funny,
I liked the idea of Erik kicking ass too. But --- oh well not your fault!
I had my expectations set too high! Maybe I'm getting too vain for this.
Oh, the song is obviously from a Phantom movie.
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Chapter 23: New Situations
Erik leaned over Fleur as she lay in bed, watching as her chest rose and fell with every sleeping breath that she took. She hadn't been disturbed all that evening, and he was grateful for it. He hadn't wanted her or Marguerite to see his temper flair. They should never be exposed to something has horrendous as his rage. He'd been lucky that night. He'd been able to control himself, although now he wondered why he had. The man had been scum, like Javert . . .
He immediately shook that memory away. It was too horrible to remember now, at a time like this. It wasn't one of his strongest moments. He didn't want to remember the first man who he'd ever killed. Most undoubtedly the must disgusting man he'd ever killed too. Instead, he focused on Fleur's sleeping face, and leaned down to press a kiss to her cheek.
A light scratching at the door caught his attention, and he turned to see Isabelle in her silk nightgown, auburn hair pulled back into a tidy, prim braid. His senses were so acute in that moment; he could smell the remnants of her lilac perfume coming across the room from her. She was freshly bathed; her hair still damp, and Erik assumed he must have been sitting next to Fleur for quite some time now.
"Erik, come to bed." She told him in the most tender of voices. "She's fine. Nothing is going to happen to her while she's safely asleep in bed."
Smiling slowly, he glanced down at Fleur a final time, and then stood up from the chair he'd brought so close to the bedside. With a sigh, he followed her out into the hall, watching as she disappeared into their room. He continued after her, pausing outside of Marguerite's bedroom door. He peered inside, as it had been left ajar, and saw her sitting up in bed, staring at the door handle as though waiting for someone to come in. His smile grew more serene as he realized she was waiting to be tucked in.
He pushed his way into the room, watching her eyes light up as she pulled one of her new dolls close to her side. She would be getting too old for dolls, soon, but Erik loved spoiling her. He'd given it to her, for no particular reason, within the weeks after Isabelle awoke from her coma. Moving to kneel by the bed, he silently put his arms around her in a tender hug, and kissed her hair. She returned the embrace, and rested her head on his shoulder.
"Hear those bells ringing soft and low . . ." He began to sing gently, not laying her down, but letting her stay in his arms. "Bringing peace to the twilight glow. Calling to everyone 'Night has begun!' Turn from your weary toil, days work is done!"
There was a creak in the floorboard behind him. He didn't have to turn around to know Isabelle had returned to the hallways in search of her husband.
"Hear them ring while my love and I . . . drift and dream to a lullaby."
Pulling back from the embrace, he helped Marguerite to settle comfortably against her pillow, kissing her tiny hands, and her little cheeks. He was still humming as he stood up and turned to the door, finding Isabelle staring at him with the most tranquil expression he'd ever seen on any one person. Smiling quietly, he continued humming until he closed the door to Marguerite's bedroom behind him, and then put his arms about his bride.
"No one is going to hurt this family, Erik." She whispered reassuringly to him as they moved into their bedroom, closing and locking the door behind them. "Everyone is all right."
"They will always have the memories there to hurt them." Erik stated blandly, removing most of his clothes and sitting on the edge of the bed. "No one knows better than I the pain that a mere memory can cause."
"What pain could there have been in your life?" Isabelle asked, abruptly concerned. Erik had never spoken to her of his past. How could he? She would never have understood.
"More than you'll ever know." He said simply. "I will do everything to see the memory of that brute wiped cleanly from their memory. I wish I would have been able to do the same for myself."
"Erik, I'm confused." Isabelle confessed, sitting beside him on the mattress. He smiled quietly and turned to her, putting both arms about her waist to draw her closer.
"Don't think about it, ma amour." He whispered soothingly. "They are my own thoughts. I'm thinking aloud to myself. Don't worry yourself with my ramblings."
"Your words come from the deepest recesses of your heart. I must listen and worry." She retorted. Laughing, Erik shook his head.
"You must never worry about a thing I say." He mock-ordered. "Let's get some sleep, ma Cherie. I need to be at the Opera tomorrow."
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"Has my replacement really caused such a raucous?" Erik couldn't help but chuckle as he watched the Managers move anxiously towards the Russian gentleman who had replaced him during his weeklong honeymoon. He looked almost like a male version of Carlotta; a man who obviously gave himself airs, and certainly started to throw a fit worthy of a Prima Donna when the managers told him he could go back to his place in the chorus.
"Oh, Erik, the man can't carry a tune in a bucket!" Christine chuckled as she stood beside him. "He's been throwing me off all week. Thank God we didn't have any performances. I think that's why he's so angry now. The fact that he didn't get to perform and humiliate himself in front of hundreds of people . . ."
Erik laughed, touching her elbow lightly in good humor.
"Christine, you never cease to amaze me with the things you say." He admitted. "So . . . with your first year anniversary coming up in another four moths, you must have something very special planned."
"Well, we did." She admitted with a smile. "We were going to visit England for three weeks. Yet my physician told me to stay close to home. A woman in my condition isn't supposed to be traveling much."
Erik froze. Everything around him seemed to stop dead. For a moment, it seemed that everything had vanished, and that he had suddenly gone deaf. The words struck him immediately as a couple of the harshest words in the world. He'd never imagined such words could possibly hurt him now. Yet they did. That bit of love he still had lingering for Christine made it seem like a burning hot butcher knife had sliced him clean down the middle. Slowly, he turned to face her, and he saw the bright joy shining in her eyes.
"Christine . . ." He whispered, hoping his voice sounded more awe- struck than sorrowing. "Are you and Raoul going to have a baby?"
"Yes!" She almost sounded like she was helping, and she actually took a small leap of excitement. "Isn't it wonderful, Erik? I've already spoken to the management, and they asked me when I would have to leave, and how soon after the baby was born that I could come back to work! It's the most wondrous feeling, Erik! Knowing you started another life that is going to grow up in this beautiful world . . ."
Erik just stared at her. Christine truly had no idea how much he did still love her. He'd never believed that he would stop loving her altogether. Yet upon marrying Isabelle, he'd hoped any sort of shock like this would be dulled knowing he had such a fine woman to go home to. It didn't help much at all. It was as though she were telling him of her pregnancy the day she abandoned him beneath the Opera House. The wounds were suddenly so fresh. So Christine had married Raoul. He'd managed to deal with that, even though he still felt bitterness towards the young man. Yet thinking about Christine with Raoul's child in her womb . . . a child he'd dreamed of having with her from the day he first set eyes on her . . . was more acutely painful than that.
"Well, Erik?" He hadn't realized he'd turned his face downward and closed his eyes until her sweet voice penetrated through his daze. Lifting his eyes quickly, he saw her still smiling. She was still utterly oblivious to his agony.
"Well?" He repeated dumbly, wondering if he had missed something. Christine giggled, slapping his shoulder lightly, as though sharing some private joke with him.
"Don't you have anything to say?" She teased. Erik's eyes widened.
"Oh! Well . . . Yes!" He turned and took her hands in his gently. "Congratulations, Christine." He looked her in the eyes for no longer than five seconds before he had to pull away. "Uh . . . excuse me, please. I need to speak with Monsieur Reyer."
He pulled away as quickly as he could without being impolite, and weaved his way through the cast, all of whom greeted him back with enthusiasm. Those who had been unable to attend his wedding ceremony took the moments to congratulate him, and then he was standing half a foot away from the choral instructor.
"Bonjour, Monsieur Reyer." Erik greeted politely, having managed to shed his melancholy within the half minute it took to get from Christine's side to the front of the stage. "Do you need me to work with anyone this morning?"
"Ah, Monsieur Génie!" Monsieur Reyer smiled at him as though a thousand pounds of weight had just been lifted from his shoulders. "How wonderful to see you this morning! As a matter of fact . . . we're starting rehearsals for 'The Magic Flute' today, and I was wondering if you would help Monsieur Jacques and Madame Christine with their roles. Especially Christine. The Queen of the Night is no easy role to perfect - even for a woman as vocally talented as she is."
"I'd be happy to help Jacques today." Erik replied quietly, trying not to let his entire body go rigid at the thought of being so close to Christine when he still wasn't entirely control of his own emotions over the brand new shock he'd just endured. "I think I should rehearse with Christine on a private basis when it comes to the arias she needs to sing."
Monsieur Reyer looked at Erik as though he'd just sprouted antlers. It was a very rare occasion when Erik didn't adamantly insist on taking Christine into a practice room for extra practice. Yet after a moment, he reflected that it would be wise to have one-on-one time with her, rather than having the practice time split between the two actors. Smiling, he nodded.
"Well then, could you possibly work with Jacques this morning, and then with Christine this afternoon?"
"Let me see how far I get with Jacques before I decide on working with Christine, Monsieur." Erik said quickly, turning away. "I'd be delighted to do whatever I can."
"Thank God." Monsieur Reyer replied. "This week has been Hell."
Erik managed to chuckle before he ducked into the hallway to be alone for a few moments. He would need to have time alone in order to totally recover from this heart-shattering news. He wondered if Isabelle and Marguerite would mind if he simply shut himself away in the parlor after rehearsals for that one afternoon. He could claim to be inspired to start some new composition. It was possible that Isabelle would see right through that, but at least it would give him time to come up with some explanation of his melancholy if she brought it up.
"Monsieur?"
Looking up, he saw Jacques - the second tenor of the cast - standing in the doorway to the stage. He seemed concerned to find Erik leaning wearily against the wall. It was a condition almost no one had seen him in.
"Monsieur Reyer told me I might find you out here." Jacques explained quietly. "He said you might be working with me this morning."
"Yes." Erik agreed, clearing his throat and pulling himself together quickly. "Come this way, Monsieur."
"Don't you think we could settle ourselves into a first-name basis, Erik?" Jacques chuckled. "Don't we know each other well enough yet?"
Erik laughed in return, although he didn't find anything funny about the situation. No one truly knew him, except for Nadir. There were still things that even Nadir didn't know about his life; things that he never would come to know. He was too defensive to let anyone get to know him that well. Especially now that he had so much past to hide, lest he frighten the ones he loved the most.
That entire day, the only thing he was able to think about was Christine's new situation. The practice with Jacques ran smoothly, as far as Erik had been able to pay attention, at least. Lunch came, and Isabelle showed up to bring him something that she and Madeline had made. They sat and ate together, Erik being mostly quiet. Isabelle thought that it was because he was still thinking about what had happened with Frederick the night before. Poor, naïve Isabelle would never be able to understand the truth if he told her.
What was the truth, exactly? He kept asking himself that time and time again. What was he so melancholy about? What made him so sorrowful?
He was jealous that Christine was going to have a baby, and it wasn't his. That was the answer. How could he try and make his beautiful wife understand something like that? How could he make her understand that for however much he adored and loved her, there would always be a part of him that would belong to Christine? He didn't think it would be possible for him to explain it. He certainly didn't want to hurt her, either. He would have to keep this a very well hidden secret for the rest of his days.
Keeping a secret had never seemed so amazingly difficult before.
Oh, the song is obviously from a Phantom movie.
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Chapter 23: New Situations
Erik leaned over Fleur as she lay in bed, watching as her chest rose and fell with every sleeping breath that she took. She hadn't been disturbed all that evening, and he was grateful for it. He hadn't wanted her or Marguerite to see his temper flair. They should never be exposed to something has horrendous as his rage. He'd been lucky that night. He'd been able to control himself, although now he wondered why he had. The man had been scum, like Javert . . .
He immediately shook that memory away. It was too horrible to remember now, at a time like this. It wasn't one of his strongest moments. He didn't want to remember the first man who he'd ever killed. Most undoubtedly the must disgusting man he'd ever killed too. Instead, he focused on Fleur's sleeping face, and leaned down to press a kiss to her cheek.
A light scratching at the door caught his attention, and he turned to see Isabelle in her silk nightgown, auburn hair pulled back into a tidy, prim braid. His senses were so acute in that moment; he could smell the remnants of her lilac perfume coming across the room from her. She was freshly bathed; her hair still damp, and Erik assumed he must have been sitting next to Fleur for quite some time now.
"Erik, come to bed." She told him in the most tender of voices. "She's fine. Nothing is going to happen to her while she's safely asleep in bed."
Smiling slowly, he glanced down at Fleur a final time, and then stood up from the chair he'd brought so close to the bedside. With a sigh, he followed her out into the hall, watching as she disappeared into their room. He continued after her, pausing outside of Marguerite's bedroom door. He peered inside, as it had been left ajar, and saw her sitting up in bed, staring at the door handle as though waiting for someone to come in. His smile grew more serene as he realized she was waiting to be tucked in.
He pushed his way into the room, watching her eyes light up as she pulled one of her new dolls close to her side. She would be getting too old for dolls, soon, but Erik loved spoiling her. He'd given it to her, for no particular reason, within the weeks after Isabelle awoke from her coma. Moving to kneel by the bed, he silently put his arms around her in a tender hug, and kissed her hair. She returned the embrace, and rested her head on his shoulder.
"Hear those bells ringing soft and low . . ." He began to sing gently, not laying her down, but letting her stay in his arms. "Bringing peace to the twilight glow. Calling to everyone 'Night has begun!' Turn from your weary toil, days work is done!"
There was a creak in the floorboard behind him. He didn't have to turn around to know Isabelle had returned to the hallways in search of her husband.
"Hear them ring while my love and I . . . drift and dream to a lullaby."
Pulling back from the embrace, he helped Marguerite to settle comfortably against her pillow, kissing her tiny hands, and her little cheeks. He was still humming as he stood up and turned to the door, finding Isabelle staring at him with the most tranquil expression he'd ever seen on any one person. Smiling quietly, he continued humming until he closed the door to Marguerite's bedroom behind him, and then put his arms about his bride.
"No one is going to hurt this family, Erik." She whispered reassuringly to him as they moved into their bedroom, closing and locking the door behind them. "Everyone is all right."
"They will always have the memories there to hurt them." Erik stated blandly, removing most of his clothes and sitting on the edge of the bed. "No one knows better than I the pain that a mere memory can cause."
"What pain could there have been in your life?" Isabelle asked, abruptly concerned. Erik had never spoken to her of his past. How could he? She would never have understood.
"More than you'll ever know." He said simply. "I will do everything to see the memory of that brute wiped cleanly from their memory. I wish I would have been able to do the same for myself."
"Erik, I'm confused." Isabelle confessed, sitting beside him on the mattress. He smiled quietly and turned to her, putting both arms about her waist to draw her closer.
"Don't think about it, ma amour." He whispered soothingly. "They are my own thoughts. I'm thinking aloud to myself. Don't worry yourself with my ramblings."
"Your words come from the deepest recesses of your heart. I must listen and worry." She retorted. Laughing, Erik shook his head.
"You must never worry about a thing I say." He mock-ordered. "Let's get some sleep, ma Cherie. I need to be at the Opera tomorrow."
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"Has my replacement really caused such a raucous?" Erik couldn't help but chuckle as he watched the Managers move anxiously towards the Russian gentleman who had replaced him during his weeklong honeymoon. He looked almost like a male version of Carlotta; a man who obviously gave himself airs, and certainly started to throw a fit worthy of a Prima Donna when the managers told him he could go back to his place in the chorus.
"Oh, Erik, the man can't carry a tune in a bucket!" Christine chuckled as she stood beside him. "He's been throwing me off all week. Thank God we didn't have any performances. I think that's why he's so angry now. The fact that he didn't get to perform and humiliate himself in front of hundreds of people . . ."
Erik laughed, touching her elbow lightly in good humor.
"Christine, you never cease to amaze me with the things you say." He admitted. "So . . . with your first year anniversary coming up in another four moths, you must have something very special planned."
"Well, we did." She admitted with a smile. "We were going to visit England for three weeks. Yet my physician told me to stay close to home. A woman in my condition isn't supposed to be traveling much."
Erik froze. Everything around him seemed to stop dead. For a moment, it seemed that everything had vanished, and that he had suddenly gone deaf. The words struck him immediately as a couple of the harshest words in the world. He'd never imagined such words could possibly hurt him now. Yet they did. That bit of love he still had lingering for Christine made it seem like a burning hot butcher knife had sliced him clean down the middle. Slowly, he turned to face her, and he saw the bright joy shining in her eyes.
"Christine . . ." He whispered, hoping his voice sounded more awe- struck than sorrowing. "Are you and Raoul going to have a baby?"
"Yes!" She almost sounded like she was helping, and she actually took a small leap of excitement. "Isn't it wonderful, Erik? I've already spoken to the management, and they asked me when I would have to leave, and how soon after the baby was born that I could come back to work! It's the most wondrous feeling, Erik! Knowing you started another life that is going to grow up in this beautiful world . . ."
Erik just stared at her. Christine truly had no idea how much he did still love her. He'd never believed that he would stop loving her altogether. Yet upon marrying Isabelle, he'd hoped any sort of shock like this would be dulled knowing he had such a fine woman to go home to. It didn't help much at all. It was as though she were telling him of her pregnancy the day she abandoned him beneath the Opera House. The wounds were suddenly so fresh. So Christine had married Raoul. He'd managed to deal with that, even though he still felt bitterness towards the young man. Yet thinking about Christine with Raoul's child in her womb . . . a child he'd dreamed of having with her from the day he first set eyes on her . . . was more acutely painful than that.
"Well, Erik?" He hadn't realized he'd turned his face downward and closed his eyes until her sweet voice penetrated through his daze. Lifting his eyes quickly, he saw her still smiling. She was still utterly oblivious to his agony.
"Well?" He repeated dumbly, wondering if he had missed something. Christine giggled, slapping his shoulder lightly, as though sharing some private joke with him.
"Don't you have anything to say?" She teased. Erik's eyes widened.
"Oh! Well . . . Yes!" He turned and took her hands in his gently. "Congratulations, Christine." He looked her in the eyes for no longer than five seconds before he had to pull away. "Uh . . . excuse me, please. I need to speak with Monsieur Reyer."
He pulled away as quickly as he could without being impolite, and weaved his way through the cast, all of whom greeted him back with enthusiasm. Those who had been unable to attend his wedding ceremony took the moments to congratulate him, and then he was standing half a foot away from the choral instructor.
"Bonjour, Monsieur Reyer." Erik greeted politely, having managed to shed his melancholy within the half minute it took to get from Christine's side to the front of the stage. "Do you need me to work with anyone this morning?"
"Ah, Monsieur Génie!" Monsieur Reyer smiled at him as though a thousand pounds of weight had just been lifted from his shoulders. "How wonderful to see you this morning! As a matter of fact . . . we're starting rehearsals for 'The Magic Flute' today, and I was wondering if you would help Monsieur Jacques and Madame Christine with their roles. Especially Christine. The Queen of the Night is no easy role to perfect - even for a woman as vocally talented as she is."
"I'd be happy to help Jacques today." Erik replied quietly, trying not to let his entire body go rigid at the thought of being so close to Christine when he still wasn't entirely control of his own emotions over the brand new shock he'd just endured. "I think I should rehearse with Christine on a private basis when it comes to the arias she needs to sing."
Monsieur Reyer looked at Erik as though he'd just sprouted antlers. It was a very rare occasion when Erik didn't adamantly insist on taking Christine into a practice room for extra practice. Yet after a moment, he reflected that it would be wise to have one-on-one time with her, rather than having the practice time split between the two actors. Smiling, he nodded.
"Well then, could you possibly work with Jacques this morning, and then with Christine this afternoon?"
"Let me see how far I get with Jacques before I decide on working with Christine, Monsieur." Erik said quickly, turning away. "I'd be delighted to do whatever I can."
"Thank God." Monsieur Reyer replied. "This week has been Hell."
Erik managed to chuckle before he ducked into the hallway to be alone for a few moments. He would need to have time alone in order to totally recover from this heart-shattering news. He wondered if Isabelle and Marguerite would mind if he simply shut himself away in the parlor after rehearsals for that one afternoon. He could claim to be inspired to start some new composition. It was possible that Isabelle would see right through that, but at least it would give him time to come up with some explanation of his melancholy if she brought it up.
"Monsieur?"
Looking up, he saw Jacques - the second tenor of the cast - standing in the doorway to the stage. He seemed concerned to find Erik leaning wearily against the wall. It was a condition almost no one had seen him in.
"Monsieur Reyer told me I might find you out here." Jacques explained quietly. "He said you might be working with me this morning."
"Yes." Erik agreed, clearing his throat and pulling himself together quickly. "Come this way, Monsieur."
"Don't you think we could settle ourselves into a first-name basis, Erik?" Jacques chuckled. "Don't we know each other well enough yet?"
Erik laughed in return, although he didn't find anything funny about the situation. No one truly knew him, except for Nadir. There were still things that even Nadir didn't know about his life; things that he never would come to know. He was too defensive to let anyone get to know him that well. Especially now that he had so much past to hide, lest he frighten the ones he loved the most.
That entire day, the only thing he was able to think about was Christine's new situation. The practice with Jacques ran smoothly, as far as Erik had been able to pay attention, at least. Lunch came, and Isabelle showed up to bring him something that she and Madeline had made. They sat and ate together, Erik being mostly quiet. Isabelle thought that it was because he was still thinking about what had happened with Frederick the night before. Poor, naïve Isabelle would never be able to understand the truth if he told her.
What was the truth, exactly? He kept asking himself that time and time again. What was he so melancholy about? What made him so sorrowful?
He was jealous that Christine was going to have a baby, and it wasn't his. That was the answer. How could he try and make his beautiful wife understand something like that? How could he make her understand that for however much he adored and loved her, there would always be a part of him that would belong to Christine? He didn't think it would be possible for him to explain it. He certainly didn't want to hurt her, either. He would have to keep this a very well hidden secret for the rest of his days.
Keeping a secret had never seemed so amazingly difficult before.
