The Usual stuff: Yeah, I don't own these characters; credit there goes to M. Leroux and in this case Lord Andrew Lloyd Webber. At least I can manipulate them in my own little world. :)
The Jist: E/C romance (it's the way it should be, gall darn it), Musical/Movie up to a point here... you'll see what I mean... or actually I'll tell you now: Essentially, the idea here is what if Christine didn't perform in Don Juan Triumphant, hence why she's playing hooky. Needless to say, it changes the story a bit so I took it and ran with it. It's up to you to see if Imade itto the finish line or I strayed off into the lake by accident.
Without any further blabbering on my part...
Playing Hooky: A what-if? Scenario
"No, no. Don't make me go through this. I can't do it Raoul!"
Raoul stared at his fiancée, disbelieving his ears. Surely she wanted to see justice for the Phantom's crimes; why would she refuse? "Christine, Christine don't think that I don't care, but every hope and every prayer rests on you now." He took her into his arms, entirely unaware of the incredulous look across her face. I beg your pardon? No, this isn't right; he'd risk my life so easily? By the time he untangled his arms, Christine pasted on a smile and he remained unperceptive. He took her hand and led her out of the small chapel.
"Come, you must change. The Phantom will soon be out of your life for good and this will be the last opera you'll ever have to perform. The Phantom's opera and then it's done."
He gave her a light peck on the cheek and grinned like a schoolboy before running out of the room, presumably to double check police placement. Christine realized her mouth was hanging open and she shut it hastily to avoid looking like a gaping cod. Surely she must have misheard. Does he really believe that I want the Phantom at the mercy of the policemen? Is he never going to let me sing again? "Maybe I want to keep singing. Maybe I don't want the Phantom out of my life, Raoul," she spoke quietly to the empty room. "What's going to come of this night?"
There has to be some way out of this. I can't betray the Phantom―Erik―like this. Christine took another moment to analyze her feelings, the confusion more acute now than ever before. This man, known as a ghost to many, had done horrible things and there was no denying it. But Christine had seen the passion in his eyes when he composed his music, when he sang, and when his icy blue depths met her own brown eyes. Erik had given her a gift; he'd released her voice and taught her to sing, nay, to soar on wings of chords and melodies above the human world. He had given her his soul; was she now to throw all he'd done for her back in his face? I just need more time, more time to figure out what to do.
The clock struck ominously in the corridors. There was no time to be had. Madame Giry burst through the door and bustled Christine off to her dressing room, fretting on the lateness of the hour. Once Christine began dressing, Madame Giry went off to see to her legion of ballerinas. Feeling the nausea rise in her stomach, she primped her hair one last time before exploring the small medicine cabinet. She found one concoction to soothe her restless butterflies then her eyes landed on something else: a solution.
Christine nearly laughed with glee. Here was the solution to her problems in this tiny vial. She remembered a time long ago, when she had first come to the opera house with a dreadful, hacking cough; Madame Giry had given her a tiny spoonful of a foul liquid and told her, "Yes, this will make you better but do not take it unless I give it to you. If you drink too much you'll be sick as a dog; you'll live but you'll be so ill you will scant be able to lift your head for three days"
Perfect.
She hesitated momentarily, aware of all those she would be disappointing; Meg who requested emotional support for her solo dance in the second act, her managers, most certainly Erik, but more importantly Raoul and all the policemen waiting to capture the infamous Phantom. Part of her mind questioned her loyalty to Erik but her heart felt it couldn't be wrong. No one could blame me for getting sick… Closing her eyes, she took a long swallow of the vial's contents, praying that she did not take too much. The liquid tasted as vile as she remembered and she sincerely hoped that it would take effect soon. Keeping all pretenses, she finished readying herself for the production. After the first two scenes of Act One, her character made her debut on stage and Christine sang as if the angels were listening. Under the bright lights, she began to sweat and thankfully a scene change gave her a few blessed moments of relief.
Madame Giry saw Christine's distress and noted on her abnormally pale complexion: "What is wrong, my dear?"
"I am not well, Madame Giry." And with that, Christine seized a nearby wastebasket and emptied her stomach. While tending to the girl, Mme Giry barked out her orders, sending a few lowly stagehands toward the manager's box. The crowd murmured in the darkness, curious as to the absurd length of the scene change. Moments later, Messieurs Andre and Firmin were by their star's side. Once brought to understanding, Firmin then dashed to the stage to make an announcement: "Ladies and gentlemen, we apologize for the wait. Mademoiselle Daaé has taken ill. The production will resume shortly with our very own La Carlotta as the lead. Thank you for your patience and patronage." Carlotta was in ecstasy as she scampered off to the dressing room. Christine smiled grimly to herself; if she did not sing, Erik would not come and the police would not arrest him.
A booming voice filled the theater, "No! You dare defy my demands? What sort of trickery is this?" Amidst the confused murmurs, she could hear Raoul shouting his own commands.
Madame Giry looked at Christine, confused by her lack of concern in the matter but said nothing more as Christine heaved. Trusting her only to the most steadfast stagehands, she instructed that Christine be carried to her room. Meg followed the men and saw to Christine's comfort as best she could before returning to the stage.
Some time later, the door burst open and Raoul came in. "Damn him! He got away. Could you not hold out for two more scenes and―" He broke off when he saw how pallid his fiancée was. "Christine, are you truly ill?"
His selfish display was discouraging but she attempted to ignore it; he was after all to be her husband. "Yes, Raoul. And if you please, I'd like to get some rest."
He leaned in and kissed her forehead, "Of course, dearest. Should you need anything… I'll―I'll check up on you later." He slowly walked out of the room, gently closing the door behind him.
Christine couldn't help but sigh with relief. She whispered to the empty room, "Is he truly that obsessed with Erik?" Her ponderings were cut short when she vomited once more into an empty bin.
She was momentarily distracted by the damp cloth held to her brow but the convulsing muscles in her abdomen demanded her attention. Hands gently brushed her chestnut locks from her face and the cool cloth removed the cold sweat from her skin along with the heavy stage makeup. Her breath came ragged after the exertion, but she laid back on the cool pillows once more.
"Yes, Christine. I believe he is."
Christine shot up, shocked at hearing that voice, that voice, in her room. She'd assumed that Madame Giry would find someone to watch over her but this was not who she expected to see in such a wretched state. Erik gently pushed her back down and resumed wiping her face. She tried to speak a few times but he shushed her soothingly.
"That opera was written for you, Christine. It would be a true tragedy to listen to La Carlotta butcher my opus." She couldn't help but chuckle and his deep, resonating tones joined her own.
"Are you still angry with me, Erik?"
His hand stilled on her brow and he didn't speak. The light from the candles in the room reflected off his white mask but she could not read his eyes in the poor light. "I do not know," he finally said in a quiet voice. Part of him still seethed since his eschew that cursed night by Apollo's lyre but he could not leave her like this; her helpless state tugged at his heartstrings. Nor he could not bring himself to tell her as much; obscurity was his ally for the moment.
Christine sank further into the down pillows, lost in the torrent of emotions. She wanted desperately to make amends with Erik, to smooth the rough patches between them, but simultaneously Raoul's warnings confused her. Erik was dangerous but he loved her… or at least had loved her.
The Phantom watched, mesmerized, as she closed her eyes and her brows furrowed. He placed the back of his hand to her forehead, feeling the heat radiating as her fever slowly grew in intensity. Tsking to himself, he continued to gaze sympathetically at her still form and apply the cool cloth to her face. Voices reverberated in the hallway, growing louder as the owners moved closer. Leaning in, Erik whispered urgently, "I'll come back." Christine's eyes shot open but he was already gone, disappearing into the shadows.
The tones in the hallway were piercing to Christine's pounding head; it sounded as they were right outside her door.
"I must object, Monsieur le Vicomte. Let her rest, worry about capturing the Phantom another day."
"May I see her?"
"No, it would not be proper."
"I'm sure she would have no objection. She's my fiancée!"
"Regardless, sir, I must object." Madame Giry's voice left no room for argument. "I will watch over her myself tonight. Perhaps you will see her in the morning." She reached for the doorknob and shut the door before he could reject again. The man nearly pouted, spoiled boy. Huffing and glancing at the ceiling in her annoyance she shook her head before seating herself next to Christine. "That gentleman finds himself easily carried away, Christine. It blinds him, be careful." Christine gave a tiny nod before coughing harshly. "Dearie, what have you gotten yourself into?" Christine couldn't help but ruefully agree; surely a smaller sip would have done the job. Madame Giry took up the cloth that Erik had abandoned and Christine fell into an uneasy sleep.
A/N: More to come once I get editing again. Hope you enjoyed it.
