Definitely not in the same vein as my Outtakes fic (which some of you have noticed was deleted by the Administrators… I've now posted it on my homepage for you to see… and if you have/know a good Phantom fiction website then please e-mail me a link).
Anyway… this takes place in the few days before Christine dies, when a mysterious guest visits her home. Inspired by the rose Raoul sees on Christine's grave at the end of the movie (although there are influences from other versions here too). I hope you enjoy, even though it's not funny.
Disclaimer: I own nothing you see here.
Christine stared into the fire, listening to the soft crackling sound and feeling the gentle warmth against her skin, now pale and slightly withered. Even though her eyes were animated slightly by the fire reflected in them, there was a weariness to the ageing woman who was seated in the easy chair, positioned at a close but safe distance to the huge marble fireplace.
It wouldn't be long now, she told herself.
When she had felt it approaching, she had made no attempts to hide it from Raoul. In spite of how much the idea hurt him, she knew he would need to make preparations… especially those of an emotional nature. When the doctor had first informed them of her sickness, she had done all she could to console her poor husband, who wept bitterly at the thought of being denied a few more years in the company of the woman he had risked everything to keep by his side.
Her health deteriorating, Christine was bound to the mansion they shared. This did not bother her so much. The grounds were extensive, and there was no shortage of company. At the present time they were playing host to their children and grandchildren, whom Raoul had requested to come and see their mother in her final days. If Christine strained her ears, she could hear the sounds of ringing laughter somewhere in the distance as her youngest grandchildren played together in the garden. She turned her head and looked out of the tall French windows that shielded her from the cooling autumn winds. A shape past in a blur by the window, and she smiled to herself.
If only she were healthy enough to go outside and watch them play.
Maybe when Raoul and their son returned from town she would insist that they take her out onto the veranda, even for just a few minutes. It would be worth it.
As if sparked by the mere thought of her going out into the open air, a sudden fit of coughing seized her, and she held a white lace handkerchief to her mouth as her body shook. Almost instantly a servant entered the huge drawing room, fetching Christine a crystal glass of water. Smiling gratefully, she took it from the young girl's fingers. As the maid left the room, Christine wouldn't help feeling a pang of regret for the years she had lost, and the youth she no longer possessed. But the moment of self-pity vanished quickly. She had had a good life… perhaps better than deserved.
She shook her head and sighed. It was becoming a very bad habit of hers now, to reminisce about things she should have left to the past years ago. But still, her mind would not ever forget the past times that had, she realized, shaped her entire future and her whole being.
She wondered what those times had done to him.
What a ridiculous question, she berated herself angrily. She had seen for herself, in those last moments she had spent with him, what had been done to her Angel of Music… to poor Erik.
Yes, even after all these years she still though of him as 'poor Erik'. The quiet sympathy she felt for that unfortunate man had never ceased. It had been one of the hardest things in the world for her to do… to follow him into that dark room, see the faint glimmer of hope on his face… and then turn the remains of his broken heart into powder without ever having to utter a word.
But what other choice did she have? What choice was there really for any of them?
A polite knock at the door interrupted her thoughts, and she called as loudly as she could for the person to enter. It was the butler, Jacob. He smiled warmly and gave her a respectful little bow.
"I beg your pardon, Madame… but there is a gentleman visitor waiting in the hall."
Christine raised her eyebrows. She was not expecting any visitors… but perhaps it was one of Raoul's friends coming to speak with him. Well… she could entertain whoever the guest was until Raoul returned, if that was who they had come to see.
"Show him in here, Jacob," she said finally, instinctively straightening herself in the chair as the butler departed to fetch the visitor. A few moments later the door was once again opened a figure entered. The door was shut silently behind him.
"Good afternoon, monsieur," Christine said politely. She was about to go on with her role as the hostess, but the visitor had just turned to face her, and all her words dried up in her throat.
There he stood. He was recognizable, despite his age, the white mask being just visible under the black hat her wore, and now respectfully removed. His hair was silvery white now, nothing like the thick dark hair that she remembered so well. He was dressed impeccably in black, from head to foot, except for a dark red necktie at his throat. The side of his face that was still visible also showed many signs of age, but there was still a lingering energy there that was familiar. He bent a little at the waist, albeit a little stiffly. She saw he had a silver-topped cane in one black-gloved hand.
"Good afternoon, Countess de Chagny," he said. His voice showed only the barest traces of his age. It was still as soft and beautiful as she remembered, although she did not miss his tone when he addressed her by her title.
"Erik," she whispered finally, as he straightened up and looked at her directly. She wasn't sure why, but although she was surprised to see him standing before her, she was not shocked or horrified in any way. There was no instinct for her to call for assistance or demand that he leave her home. But she was filled with an insatiable curiosity that accompanied a familiar sense of wonder. "What brings you here?" she asked finally, when she trusted her voice to remain steady.
He stood there, tall and still, in a way, imposing. He lowered his head at her question, but she caught the saddened expression… a tell-tale twitch around the mouth that suggested his heightened emotional state.
"News spreads," he replied, his voice remarkably level. He didn't need to go on. Christine knew exactly why he was here, and it made her smile just a little.
"Would you like to sit down?"
There was a pause, a barest hesitation, and then he began to walk towards her. He was a little stiff in his movements, but still incredibly graceful, considering what age he must be by now. Christine could not take her eyes from him as he slowly lowered himself into the high-backed chair on the opposite side of the fire, which cast a warm, yellow glow over the unmasked side of his face. He seemed a little uncomfortable, and given his settings, Christine did not truly blame him.
"Would you like anything?" she asked, hoping to put him at ease.
He shook his head. "No thank you. I do not intend to stay very long."
"Yes," Christine said after a moment, "I think that's probably best."
There was an uncomfortable pause while each mused over the situation. The tension in the room was thick enough to almost be suffocating, until the quiet was pierced by the distant sound of childish laughter. Christine watched as Erik gazed over towards the French windows and the gardens beyond them, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly.
"Yours, I presume," he said quietly.
She felt a slight blush color her cheeks. "My grandchildren," she said.
He nodded slowly. "I see you are doing quite well… as well as can be expected, I mean."
If there was any anger or bitterness in that comment, he certainly hid it well. "Yes… I suppose so," she replied, keeping her voice as neutral as possible.Then, out ofinstinct and her own desperation to keep the conversation going,she risked asking her own question. "And yourself?"
He shoulder made a brief movement as he laughed silently. But he didn't respond to the question aloud, and once again they descended into tense silence. Christine twisted the handkerchief in her fingers nervously. When she chanced a brief glance at Erik, she realized her had been watching her nervousness with a cold, hard look in his eyes.
"You still fear me, Countess de Chagny?" he asked, and this time she could hear the bitterness in his voice.
"No, Erik," she insisted as firmly as she could. It was true… she didn't fear him. But her heart was being tortured by his presence. That could not be denied. Having him there, sitting opposite her, was something she had privately been wishing for in the past weeks as her illness had slowly taken hold of her. But now her wish had become a reality, she could not think of what it was she had wanted to say.
"Have I imposed myself on your idyllic life?" he went on with baleful sarcasm.
"If I thought you were doing such I would have asked you to leave as soon as I saw you," Christine replied sharply, angry and hurt by both Erik's behavior and his words. "Please do not make assumptions… not about my feelings."
"Of course," he said, with a derisive laugh. "We all know how dangerous my 'assumptions' about your feelings are."
"Is that why you've come here today? To dredge up bitter memories? To make me feel more guilty than ever about what happened?"
"Guilt?" he scoffed. He was about to go on, but Christine interrupted him, angry that he appeared to be treating her as though she were still the naive child she had once been.
"Don't you dare assume that I didn't feel utterly miserable at leaving you down there!"
"I certainly don't see much evidence to the contrary."
By now Christine could feel angry tears pricking the corner of her eyes. Her breathing was already coming a little harshly, but when she tried to reply to Erik's bitter words she was attacked by yet another fit of coughing, this one far worse than before. She felt as though something was scratching at the inside of her windpipe, choking her at the same time. The faint, metallic taste of blood rose in the back of her throat, andthe rawness in her throat and lungs burned tremendously as she tried to get her body under her control once again.
She felt the movement in the air, and when her cloudy vision cleared once more she saw that Erik had risen from his chair and was now on both knees before her, an expression of concern tinged with fear on his face. One hand was half stretched towards hers… but it hung hesitantly in the air between them.
"Christine…"
Her eyes filled with tears again as she heard him whisper her name, softly and reverently as though he were praying in a church. But she quickly dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief and motioned silently for the glass of water nearby. He passed it to her wordlessly, and as she took it their fingers brushed. Even through the soft leather gloves she could feel the warmth of his skin and it was difficult for her to suppress the shudder that threatened to take hold of her. She sipped at the cool liquid, aware that he watched her every motion she made.
"I'm fine," she said eventually, although her voice was still quite hoarse.
"God… I'm so sorry, Christine," he whispered, and she could tell he was close to tears.
"It's alright, Erik," she said, smiling weakly to try and reassure him. But his emotions were already ruling his senses, and she could see his control slipping.
"I did not want this… I didn't come here for this…" She heard the angelic voice cracking and finally reflecting the age of the man it belonged to. As she watched, a tear slid down one cheek. She quaked inwardly as she watched it.
"Why did you come?" Her voice was barely audible now… a breathless whisper was all she could muster.
He looked up at her, and she watched as he sighed and his whole body seemed to sag with weariness. In her mind, he looked so much like her had done that night, in the bowels of the Opera Populaire… when she had broken his heart.
"I had to…" Now he was fighting to speak also. "I had to see you… just once more."
Something inside Christine sang when he whispered these words, knowing exactly what they must mean. He still loved her… even after all these years and everything that had happened before. Unable to stop herself now, she reached out one pale and shaking hand and placed it against his cheek. Against her palm, she could feel the wetness left behind by his tears. He closed his eyes, and turned his face ever so slightly against her hand… as if savoring her touch. She smiled at him when he looked at her.
"Christine…"
She shook her head. "It's alright, Erik… you don't have to…"
"No," he said, more firmly now. Her lips parted in confusion as he took her hand away from his cheek. For a moment she thought he was going to pull back and away from her, but he remained… and did not let go of her hand as he spoke again. "I came here… there are things I want to tell you." Here he took a pause, as though readying himself for something… some deep-rooted pain. "I know now… I knew it then, but I didn't know how to express it… but… we could never be: you and I." Christine couldn't help herself. A choking sob escaped her at his words. But he didn't stop. "You were not meant to be kept in the darkness. You are a being of light… an angel I could never have hoped to have by my side. And I wanted to tell you… I understand that. And I don't blame you… for not loving me… for leaving with the boy. I don't blame you for anything."
They were both crying now, quietly and yet passionately. Christine was fighting not to snatch her hand from his and clasp both her arms around his neck… to truly hold him as she had never been able to. It meant more to her than he could possibly fathom… that he could forgive her for what she had done and that he understood why she had left. All these years she had been haunted by the guilt of what she had done… just as he must have been.
Erik was the first to pull himself together. He drew a shuddering breath and then said, in as firm a tone as he could muster, "I must go."
Christine gazed at him through her tears. "Erik…"
"No," he insisted before she could begin to protest. "I daren't stay any longer. I've said what I came to say."
Still, she wanted to protest. But at the same time she understood that he must leave. Raoul might return at any time, and Lord only knew what he might do if he found Erik here. Finally she nodded silently in agreement. He rose stiffly to his feet, not letting go of her two hands until the last moment. With a last, lingering look, he turned, and she watched him return briefly to his chair to retrieve the silver-topped cane before making his way for the door.
"Erik," she called quietly.
He stopped, his hand outstretched for the handle on the door. But he didn't turn around to look back at her.
"I… I don't know if it's worth anything… after so long," she swallowed the lump in her throat. "But I did love you… even though it could never have been."
He remained absolutely still, and Christine could only wonder what he might be thinking right now as she said what she had been keeping a secret for so long.
"And I still love you."
Again there was no movement… nothing to give her even the faintest clue as to his feelings. She felt a twisted feeling in her gut as she wondered whether she had hurt him with this revelation. But even if she had… she knew it had to be known, even just between them.
Softly… almost too faint for her aging senses to hear, a tender voice whispered into the air.
"Thank you."
And then, silently, he departed, leaving her in the room that was filled with warmth not just from the fire but from the feelings that had been allowed to be expressed at last. Even as Christine turned back to the flames, wiping her fingers across her flushed, wet cheeks, she could feel a wonderful sense of peace and contentment… something she had been waiting years to feel as completely and wholly as she now did.
It could only have been a few minutes later when the door was once again opened, and a man in his middle-thirties entered, wheeling a much older man inside with him. They approached Christine in her chair with warm smiles, although she could easily see that they were hiding their inner-pain.
The younger man came around in front of her, and bent down to kiss her cheek softly. She smiled up at her precious son, and then leaned over the arm of her chair to give her loving husband a kiss.
"How are you feeling, mother?"
She gazed up at the young man… her precious and only child, then to the husband that she loved so dearly, and whom she knew loved her with all his heart.
"Better," she said. "I feel much better now."
FIN