Okay, so yeah. Brining Raoul back was a little cheesy, but come on. We need some conflict, right? And besides, I enjoy writing crazy Raoul. :)
Enjoy!
-Nico
"Papa!" Madeline ran into Erik's music room, jumping into his awaiting arms.
"Maddy, my love," Erik said, swinging the little girl to his chest. Madeline pressed her small lips to her father's cheek.
"Papa," Madeline whispered into his ear. "I saw the dancing ladies."
Erik chuckled. "You did?"
Christine moved over to her husband and daughter, kissing Erik lightly. "Yes, she did...and thank you so much for teaching her that particular phrase."
Madeline stroked the mask on her father's cheek. "Mama was crying again," she informed him.
Erik looked at Christine, concern filling his face. Christine lowered her eyes.
Erik placed Madeline onto her feet. "Dearest, the rose bushes are beginning to bloom," he told her gently. "Why don't you go pick a few for your mother?"
Madeline smiled, running from the room, her black tresses streaming out from behind her.
Erik gathered his wife into his arms. "Christine," he breathed into her ear. "What has happened?"
Christine allowed her tears to fall freely onto Erik's dark jacket. Erik cooed words of support into her ear, humming gently until her sobs subsided.
"Erik," she said, her voice shaky. "There is something you need to know."
Erik nodded, knowing by his wife's tone that something was terribly wrong.
Guilt struck a chord in his soul, wishing that he had accompanied Christine to the Opera Populaire.
When she had gotten the letter from Madame Giry asking her to pay a visit, she had been happy; excited at the prospect of seeing her beloved friends after so long. Erik had known Christine had missed the bonds she had made within the walls of the Opera Populaire. He knew that she wanted to present Madeline to the Giry women.
And while something within the depths of his mind warned him that the visit would not be altogether pleasant, he had obliged her wishes to go.
Simply because he loved her.
Christine licked her dry lips, taking in a deep breath. Better to come out with it all at once, she told herself.
"Erik, Raoul is alive."
She could feel his body tense. His arms, which had been running up and down her back as a means of comfort suddenly stopped.
She looked up at his face, at the darkness that had crept into his eyes.
"Are you certain?" Erik asked, his voice deep and cool.
Christine nodded, recounting her visit to the Opera Populaire. Erik listened, moving over to the large stained glass windows that allowed the sunlight to stream into the elaborate, beautifully decorated music room.
When she had finished, Christine sat on the velvet chaise lounge, exhausted.
Erik turned to face her.
"I cannot help but feel this is my fault," Christine said quietly. "Had I not been so cold to him...had I just tried to speak with him before things went so far..."
Erik moved next to her, allowing her to lean against him. "This is not your fault, my love," Erik said softly. "And whatever happens, we shall not allow this man to interfere with the life we have so carefully constructed."
"I'm frightened, Erik," Christine whispered. "I could not live if something happened to Madeline...to you."
"That is not even a remote possibility," Erik interjected. "We have survived worse, we shall survive this."
Christine looked up at him, a weak smile on her lips. He kissed her, allowing his tongue to sweep over hers, reveling in the desire she enticed within him, even after all this time.
"Ew," came a small voice from the music room's entrance. Erik pulled away from Christine, regarding his daughter who covered in mud and carrying a few long stemmed roses in her hand. "You are always kissing," she accused them.
Erik motioned for Madeline to join them on the chaise. The small child obliged, climbing between them, her small legs sticking straight out in front of her. She sighed, handing the roses to her mother.
The small family sat for several moments in quiet appreciation for each other.
"Mama?" Madeline addressed Christine after some time.
"Yes, dearest?"
"May I go back outside?"
Christine looked up at the large glass ceiling, observing the pinks and purples that were sweeping across the sky.
"It's getting late, darling," she replied, brushing a wayward lock of hair from her daughter's face. "Perhaps it is best you wait until tomorrow."
Madeline slid from the chaise, standing before her parents, her hands on her hips. "But I have to go back outside," she protested, her eyes taking on the same darkness as her father's when he was angry.
"Whatever for?" Christine asked, unable to suppress a smile at her precocious child.
Madeline's eyes darted around the room. "It's...it's a secret," she said quietly.
Erik and Christine exchanged glances. "A secret?" Erik questioned. "What secret would you keep from us?"
Madeline bit her lip. "You can't tell anyone if I tell you," she bartered. Erik placed a hand over his heart.
"On my honor," he promised her.
Madeline leaned in towards them, placing one chubby hand on her father's knee and the other on her mother's. "The man with the white horse promised to bring me chocolate," she confided in a whisper, excitement to her tone.
Alarm flared within Christine's mind. "What man?" She asked her daughter.
Madeline rolled her eyes, non-plussed by details. "The man with no name, Mama. He rides up to our gates...I've seen him before...he looks so sad!"
Erik tensed. "Madeline, what have we told you about talking with strangers?" He asked, a scolding tone to his voice.
"He isn't a stranger," she insisted. "He's my friend and he's going to bring me chocolates!"
"Madeline," Christine said, pulling the girl towards her with a bit more urgency than she could control. "What does your 'friend' look like?"
Madeline considered the question. "He's tall. And his horse is big. And he has a boo-boo."
Christine's hands went to her mouth.
"What kind of boo-boo, Maddy?" Erik asked. Madeline placed her hand on her father's mask, a loving gesture.
"It's like yours, Papa, but he doesn't wear a mask. I told him that he should, that my Papa wears one and that I like it," she explained. "It's a bad boo-boo, Papa. It goes all the way down his face. It must have hurt badly."
Tears were streaming down Christine's pale face; she felt as if she might pass out. Madeline took notice.
"You're always crying," Madeline observed. "Are you sad like the man with no name?"
Erik drew his only child into his arms, looking over her small head to his wife.
They exchanged a knowing, dreadful glance.
It appeared Raoul was closer than they thought.
