PERSEPHONE
by excessivelyperky
Everything belongs to the nice people who own Beauty and the Beast. Except, of course, the Phantom bits. All quotes from the stage musical Phantom of the Opera are copyrighted in the name of Andrew Lloyd Webber and the Really Useful Music Group. Those who are interested in Phantom of the Opera are referred to the novel by Gaston Leroux and the novel Phantom by Susan Kay.
In her dream, Catherine was singing on stage--not to those on the boards with her, but to her lover in the audience. Raoul was such a handsome young man, and she knew he loved her dearly. She loved him, too. Yet she owed so much to her teacher, her dark angel that had once stood behind a mirror because he feared her catching sight of him. She shuddered, though without missing a note, when thinking of his blazing green eyes. The rest of his face was covered by that dreadful mask, though he'd warned her what lay below was even worse. Yet--did she shudder out of distaste, or out of longing? The Phantom was a powerfully-built man. His flowing black cape only emphasized his wide shoulders and trim hips. When with Raoul, that mild, gentle man with glowing brown eyes, she thought of the Phantom with horror. Raoul's caresses were gentle and kind. Yet when she sang beneath the Opera House as Erik played, another emotion entirely took over.
Suddenly the chandelier fell. Catherine awoke, shaking, just as the Phantom's white-gloved hands seized her from underneath the path of its descent.
She laughed weakly and turned off her alarm. No wonder she had dreams like this lately! Not only had she been playing her Phantom CD every night when she'd finally made it home from the D.A.'s office, but she'd rigged her clock/radio (with a little advice from Mouse) to play "Angel of Music" to wake her up each morning. And tonight was the night!
Catherine dressed, bolted down a cup of coffee and a roll, and went to work. She'd have to get a lot done today to leave the office in time to get Vincent, get changed, and leave for the theater on time. A little thrill of anticipation ran through her as she thought of it. Of course, she felt that way whenever she was with him, too.
She entered the courthouse annex, grasping her purse with a death-grip. Any mugger could have her wallet, her credit cards, and her favorite watch--but if they touched her Phantom of the Opera tickets for tonight, they were toast! She'd paid rather too much for seats that were up so high they intersected with the holding pattern from LaGuardia, just so she could get them for the right night. The one night Vincent could walk the streets with the hood of his cloak down. Both her father and Elliot had offered her box seats for any other time. It didn't matter. This was more important. To be near his warmth and grace was worth any sacrifice, let alone something this minor.
The day dragged, even though Catherine plowed through more work than she'd gotten done in the last two days. Joe commented on it, saying that he would buy her tickets every night, if that was what it took. She just laughed, and threw a rubber bat from the chintzy office decorations at him.
Granted, Halloween was never dull in the prosecutor's office. At least Manhattan didn't have a strong tradition of Devil's Night the evening before, at least not the way Detroit did, but there were still a lot of loonies in costume haunting the hallways. Even Security was getting into the act. One guard she'd known for a long time as a staid family man was dressed today in an antique Pinkerton's outfit he claimed was his grandfather's. She couldn't believe one complaint that some poor fellow brought. Catherine had no idea there were still any outhouses left in the city, let alone in use!
Elliot came by to invite her to lunch, but she had to beg off. She gestured feebly at the towering stacks of manila folders on her desk. When he asked about dinner, she knew she couldn't fob him off any longer with tales of appointments and parties. "I have a date tonight," she told him. "A date with the man I love." It sounded trite, blunt, and rude, but it was the truth. About time she had the nerve to say it. Now if only she could convince Vincent just how much she meant it. Just thinking about it made her shiver. She should have done this a long time ago.
His green eyes lost their brilliance for a moment. Then he sighed. "I wondered what it was," he said. "I knew there was someone else, but I thought as long as you were evasive about it that I still had a chance."
A few years before, she wouldn't have had the courage. In fact, she hadn't had the courage less than two days ago. Catherine knew she'd changed since the vicious assault that had left her nearly dead, changed her life from that of a floating butterfly to the assistant prosecutor she was today, and brought Vincent into her life. But she'd never been so much aware of it as she was right now. "I hope we'll still be friends," she said. Such a hideous cliché, but she truly meant it. She'd always be aware of his brilliant personality, and of his sheer physical presence. Yet the glow in her heart whenever she thought of Vincent made even Elliot's outstanding qualities pale. She'd have to be blind not to notice how handsome Elliot was--but even blinder not to see Vincent for what he truly was as well.
Elliot smiled, and shook her hand. "If that's all I'll get, then I'll settle for that," he said warmly. "Wish I could meet this mystery man, though."
"He's sort of in an underground position," she said. "It might not be safe for him."
"Oh, God, don't tell me he's on drug detail, like that idiot Tony on Night Court!" he said.
Catherine laughed. "No, not quite," she said. She knew what he meant. Night Court was the most popular show around here. Between syndication and videotape, no one missed an episode if they could help it. Elliot left, though not before extracting a promise from her to meet this paragon of virtue that had beaten him out. Catherine's smile faded when she thought of the coincidence. The public defender who'd fallen in love with Tony--her name was Christine. How odd.
At last Joe told her to get out of the place, unless she planned to change in the ladies' room like half the female staff. Catherine removed a medium-sized package from her bottom desk drawer, the one where old files went to die, and fled. She took the subway, which was already mobbed with early partiers, and went to one of the main substations. She wandered down a deserted tunnel past a utility area, ducked into a passage through a closet, went down some old concrete stairs that turned into wooden ones, turned left, and found the first set of markings she was familiar with. After that it was easy to find the center, where Pascal sat in his nest of pipes like a very odd spider. He smiled when she waved at him. A three-note chime she'd never heard before sounded over the network. Pascal winked at her. "Vincent told me to let me know whenever you come down here. Now you have your own signature, like everyone else." Catherine blew him a kiss.
She turned around and asked Mary if she could borrow a private room for a moment. She hadn't had time to change yet. Mary led her to an alcove. Catherine swiftly got out of her prosecutor's costume and into her other one. The long white robes of a Jedi princess went on easily and hid her sensible walking shoes from the eyes of prying commoners. It took her a bit longer to braid and pin her hair into tightly coiled loops around her ears. It was nice that her hair was almost the right color to begin with. One good necklace of her mother's formed a glittering diadem on her head. Fortunately, it was so loud it looked fake.
She pulled an old bandoleer she'd picked up in a pawn shop out of the bottom of the costume bag. This would complete Vincent's costume. Suddenly she knew he was behind her. Catherine turned around and presented it to him formally. "To a brave warrior of the Republic," she intoned. He took it from her, just as formally, and gravely fastened it around his huge, furry chest. They'd both watched Star Wars and all its sequels in one night-long movie fest on her VCR a few months ago. Vincent had been fascinated by Chewbacca, and had quickly learned how to imitate a Wookie. Catherine had gotten the idea for this expedition that night. For tonight was Halloween, the one night Vincent could walk the streets of Manhattan without worrying what he looked like. On impulse, she lifted up her head and kissed him. If she carried out what she planned, this would only be the beginning. Vincent embraced her, returning her kiss with swift ardor, then quickly let her go. Catherine somehow knew he was embarrassed, despite the stoic look on his face. He turned away for a moment. Catherine gently reached up and caressed his shoulder. She couldn't be wrong about what they felt for each other--could she?
They worked their way back up to the subway and headed for the theater. They weren't the only ones in costume passing through the ticket office, and definitely not the only ones up in the cheap seats. Given Vincent's excellent hearing and eyesight, and the power of the sound system, it was just as well they were so far from the stage. He might have had serious problems too close to the amplifiers. Fortunately she'd brought her grandmother's lorgnette, which had undoubtedly been to the opera before. She didn't think she'd get a nosebleed from the height!
Chills ran through her as she listened to the music and the singing. Sarah Brightman didn't seem to ever have any bad nights, and neither did Michael Crawford. Both she and Vincent hissed and booed the evil Carlotta along with the rest of their section. She giggled to herself--if she'd had any tomatoes, she probably would have thrown them. Vincent was entranced. "I read the book a long time ago," he whispered to her, "but I had no idea it would ever look and sound like this." The stage production people had outdone themselves, as was usual on a Webber musical. Catherine remembered the time she'd seen Starlight Express. What Vincent would have made of the roller skaters, she had no idea.
Then the interlude began playing for intermission. Most of her section stayed put. No doubt the ticket prices were all they could manage, and one look at the refreshment prices downstairs would discourage anybody who wasn't independently wealthy. Some of them, in fact, had come prepared with hip flasks, thermoses, and munchies. Strictly against theater policy, of course, but Catherine didn't feel like playing prosecutor tonight. She contented herself with a short lecture regarding the attitude of Wookies toward littering--Vincent showed his teeth once, just for fun, in the middle of it--and left for downstairs. "Hey, princess, where's Han tonight?" somebody called as she and Vincent entered the lobby.
"He's on a solo run," she said, and hugged her companion's arm closely. "And he can stay there for all I care. I prefer his friend, anyway."
Then Elliot walked up to them. He was wearing a long black cape, carrying white gloves, and had a red rose for a boutonniere. Like the Phantom himself, she thought. Catherine was frightened for a moment, and almost ran. Then she decided to stand her ground. Life was too short to spend it fleeing everything she was afraid of. "Elliot, this is my friend Vincent," she said softly. "The one I told you about." She was proud of him.
Vincent looked at her oddly for a moment, then bowed. Elliot offered him his hand, which he took in his large clawed paw. "You don't know how lucky you are," said the architect. "She turned down a box seat with me to sit up in the sky with you."
"Yes, I do know how lucky I am," Vincent replied, in that deep, gentle voice that James Earl Jones would envy.
"I'm lucky, too," Catherine said, and squeezed Vincent's arm. She'd take any excuse to touch him, to feel him next to her. All that strength and gentleness, all for her. Oh, she meant to show him what she had for him!
"Would you mind sitting in my box?" asked Elliot. "I mean, both of you? A royal couple deserve a royal setting."
Catherine was about to refuse when Vincent briefly nodded. He had a gleam in his brown eyes that meant mischief. "Why, yes," she said. Both men escorted her to one of the boxes over at the side of the stage. "Vincent, it's going to be a lot louder down here. Are you going to be all right?"
Vincent nodded then, too, and pulled some of his fur down over his ears. As they sat in the box with the curtains open, someone from the upper balcony cried "Death to the Emperor and Vader! All hail the Republic!" Catherine had hiccups in her program from mirth, and hoped the manager didn't have a coronary.
Down here, the stage was even more imposing, while the sound just from the orchestra tuning up for the second half was overwhelming. Tears ran down her face as the tragedy unfolded. Catherine fingered the one large scar that still remained from the vicious attack she'd barely survived with Vincent's help. If it'd happened a century ago she'd be wearing a mask herself. Only modern surgery had given her back her face. Vincent gently brushed the moisture from her cheeks. She couldn't live without him. It was time, far past time, to have the courage to ask for what they both really wanted of each other. Vincent would never ask for himself. It was up to her to lead the way.
Ah, if all these characters had been real, and one believed in reincarnation, it almost made sense. Christine had never looked below the mask of the Phantom's ruined face to see the loving man beneath, or the mask of Raoul's handsomeness to truly know what he was like, either. But in her dream, the Phantom had had green eyes. That didn't make sense. Unless--unless somehow the Phantom had been allowed a life above ground to make up for his anger and terror below? A life to spending building, rather than destroying? After all, she remembered from the old novel that the Phantom, as well as being a musician, had also been a master architect.
But what of Vincent? What had Raoul done but love Christine? Then again, he hadn't treated the Phantom as human. As the horrible end of the musical unfolded, it was clear he was more than willing to let the Phantom be torn apart by the mob as he escaped to a life of bliss with Christine. Had Christine ever taxed him with it? Had she ever longed for her Phantom? Did she regret the loss of a singing career?
Perhaps all three of them had learned their lessons. Vincent knew what it was like to be shunned for looks he could not help, knew what it was like to cower underground. Elliot had learned, perhaps, to control his anger and possessiveness by learning he could never command love--only give it. She--why, she had learned that looks were too easy to lose to be counted important. She had learned to look for love, rather than for ease or glory. She'd also learned the discipline to make something of her life on her own, rather than leaning whichever way a current protector led her. Perhaps that was the most important of all.
Catherine saw both Vincent and Elliot wipe away tears of their own as the curtain closed and the actors took their bows. All three of them went out to the lobby again. "Elliot, it was nice seeing you. I'm glad you and Vincent met each other." Then she and her love left together. She looked back, just once. Elliot looked so hopeless and sad, then put on the white mask to complete his own costume. Catherine felt sorry for him, but not enough to go back. Someday he'd find someone of his own--someone who wouldn't always be dreaming of someone else.
Vincent looked distracted as he led her by her apartment. The streets were thronged with other people in costumes. Catherine shook her head as he stopped by the entrance to her apartment complex. "I'd rather go Down with you," she said. "I've got some vacation time coming, as Joe is constantly reminding me. I'm almost caught up for a change. Besides, I left my other clothes down there. I know you could bring them back up, but I'd rather go with you tonight." Yes. This was right. Her heart beat faster as they walked away towards Vincent's territory. Some women might be turned away after having seen Vincent as the Beast, even when it was in their own defense. Tonight it excited her. She knew he was both the kind poetry lover and the avenging angel with teeth she'd seen when she or some other innocent was in peril. She wanted them both. Catherine lifted his paw in both hands and pressed it to her breast. Oh, she was shameless, and she didn't care!
They followed a twisting route to the tunnels in silence. Was Vincent angry at her? She'd been going down there to that secret sanctuary more often than usual. Was she putting them in danger? As she walked through the central area again, she saw that Father looked worried and Mouse looked cheerful. Then again, she ought to be used to seeing that combination. Mouse had probably found a way to steal power from Con Ed again ("Totally foolproof! They'll never catch us!" was the usual phrase, she recalled). Vincent gently guided her past Mary's room to a tunnel that went nearly straight down. She'd never been here before. He took her to the right and opened a hidden door.
Catherine gasped in awe. The room inside was totally covered in mirrors. Light glittered brilliantly from the candles dangling from the ceiling. Some device of wires and wrought metal held the gleaming wax, with little catchers underneath for drips. Perhaps that was the project that had Mouse smiling and Father worried. "I've known about this room for years," Vincent said sadly. "I always loved it till I read the book by Leroux, and learned how the Phantom created such a room to kill his enemies." Then he smiled. "But it doesn't bother me any more. Sometimes I wonder if fictional characters are more real than we think. Tonight, though, I realized that even if that story was real, it was over a long time ago. We have our own lives to live now." Somehow the room was warm, unlike the chill she usually expected from the tunnels. Then again, Vincent's presence was more than enough anywhere they were to keep her from the cold.
She looked at the floor. That wasn't glass at all, but covered with bolts of rich fabric. The reflected light of the candles picked out gleaming blue velvet, shining red satin, plush velveteens and flowing silk. Yes. This was the night when anything could happen. This was the night when a Jedi Princess and her Wookie could walk freely. This was the one night when Vincent was truly free.
And so was she. She knew now that she loved Vincent more than anyone, or anything, including her work, though she'd never give that up. He'd never ask that of her. In fact, he never asked anything of her. It was time to give freely.
Catherine pulled the pins from her hair and undid a few clasps. The necklace slid down to the floor, and so did her white robes. Vincent was the speechless one now. She kicked off her shoes, then took the cloak and bandoleer from her love's shoulders. She ran her hands down his fur. Her hands tingled from the sensation. She moved closer.
"Are you sure this is what you want?" he gasped.
"Yes," she said. "You've given so much, and waited so long. It's my turn. I want this as much as you do." She did. Normally she was half chilled most of the time when she was in the tunnels, but not tonight. Just thinking about Vincent's strong body next to hers kept her warm. "You do--you do want to love me, don't you?"
His answer was a muffled groan as he swept her up in his arms and took her to a higher heap of soft cloth. Catherine tingled at the touch of his fur on her naked skin. Vincent laid her gently down on the material, then took off the rest of his clothes. He laid down next to her and softly stroked her skin. His paw trembled. Catherine kissed the leathery pads and ran her hands down his chest and stomach. She almost laughed when she found out just how human he really was. She wondered what was taking him so long. Then she realized that he was probably less experienced than she was. "I love you, Vincent. When I met Elliot earlier today, what I told him was that I was going on a date with the man I loved." Beautiful creature of darkness...what kind of life have you known? God grant me courage to show you...you are not alone...she sang to herself.
He gasped for breath as her hands touched his groin. She opened herself to him as he thrust forward. He slid in perfectly, resting his weight on his strong arms so as not to lean on her. He fit perfectly, too. Catherine grasped a handful of fur on each side of him to brace herself, to bring him closer to her. The silky fur above and the rich velvet below made her glow inside. Then he licked her neck. His tongue was more like a cat's. It made her shiver inside, as if a small lightning storm was going on in her body.
Then she cried out as joy overwhelmed her. She hadn't been able to give herself like this since that attack. She'd always been too afraid. Now she'd never be afraid of anything again. Vincent shuddered then, and let out a loud cry. He slowly collapsed onto the floor next to Catherine. His fur was damp with sweat. "Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you."
"No," she said. "Thank you." They cuddled close together. Her hair was almost the same color as his pelt in this light.
"All the time I read of love, I knew it wasn't for me," Vincent said softly. "I tried to talk about it to Father once, but he almost wept. I didn't say anything after that. I knew what the answer was. Most of the girls here--they learn to like me after a while, but most of them are frightened to love anyone. Especially too frightened to love me. Then I met you. I thought you'd be too frightened after you saw me fighting. I hoped a little bit sometimes, but I didn't dare say or do anything. I'd do without forever if it meant keeping you."
"I would have died without you," Catherine said, stroking his face. "But that's not why I'm here. It took me a long time, but I love you the way a woman loves a man. I guessed how you felt, and that's why I was so bold. It's not just being rescued. It's you. I love you."
Vincent's eyes glowed with incredulous joy. He bent down and softly sucked at her breasts. Catherine arched her back and wished she could purr. Then she pulled him to her again. Anything worth doing was worth doing again!