Of Fruit Trees and Fidelity

by Angel of Harmony

Raoul knows he loves Christine because she is delicate and beautiful and young noblemen are supposed to love women who are delicate and beautiful. Slash, ErikxRaoul, with some other pairings mentioned. ALW movie canon.

Title: Of Fruit Trees and Fidelity
Feedback: Any and all constructive criticism would be lovely, whether e-mailed or left in a review.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. 'Tis rather unfortunate.
Canon: ALW, specifically the movie.
Pairing: Mostly Erik/Raoul, with some mention of Erik/Christine and Raoul/Christine

Of Fruit Trees and Fidelity
By Angel of Harmony/Harmony/Jen

In the evenings Christine takes long walks through the city and Raoul tries to pretend that walking is all that she's doing. He knows that a lady, an aristocrat's wife, should not be alone on the streets of Paris after dark, but he knows that to question her actions would be to reveal his well-hidden suspicions, and so he keeps silent.

But even love and aristocratic bearing cannot stem curiosity, and one night in late April when the fruit trees are just beginning to drop their flowers he follows her, one hundred paces behind, sharp blue eyes taking in her purposeful stride. He hates to admit that he is not at all surprised to find himself, one hour later, inspecting an iron grate that's hidden beneath a clever blanket of grass and pink petals a few yards east of the charred Opera House, into which his wife has just slipped.

When Christine comes home the Vicomte says nothing of his discovery, and his silence continues in the long days and weeks that follow. Raoul has always loved the status quo and does not wish to disrupt the delicate balance in which they have lived in the months since their wedding, a ceremony of triumph that took place mere days after the Phantom's disappearance. The only perceptible change in their relationship is in bed, because Raoul cannot manage to give himself wholly to a woman he knows to be unfaithful. But Christine has no reaction to this sudden chastity and Raoul begins to wonder just how frosty their relationship must have been before the revelation.

Raoul knows he loves Christine because she is delicate and beautiful and young noblemen are supposed to love women who are delicate and beautiful. They are supposed to protect these delicate and beautiful women from the horrors of the world and through their chivalry and bravery achieve greatness. Raoul has followed this rule to a degree his peers could only dream of, white horse beneath him and sword held high, and it is simply inconceivable that he could be unhappy with his lot. He is Don Juan Triumphant.

But their bed is cold, and after a few weeks Raoul begins to believe that it has always been this way. The jealousy is forever at the surface, a shimmering bubble of tension forces that could spill over with the power of a single breath, but it's all confused and sometimes Raoul can't understand why he's jealous at all. It almost feels as if he's jealous, not about Christine, but of her, which doesn't make any sense at all. Maybe, he thinks, he just needs confirmation of the infidelity to set his mind straight and stop his doubts.

And so in late May, when the trees are all pale green with new buds and the last petals are curling brown on the streets, Raoul takes advantage of Christine's weekend call to Madame Giry in the countryside to follow her route once more, this time without her footsteps to guide him, and lift the iron grate. Inside there is a vertical tunnel with a ladder on one side, followed by a long dark path of cobblestones and cobwebs. When the tunnel ends Raoul finds himself in a familiar place of velvet decadence and golden music, and in the center stands the Phantom himself, ivory mask glowing in the candlelight.

It suddenly occurs to Raoul that he does not know what to say to this man, but the Phantom seems to have ideas of his own. Stepping forward, he murmurs, in his low, melodious voice, "I've been waiting for you, dear Vicomte." Raoul has only a second to puzzle out the statement before the Phantom is upon him and he finds himself pushed to the wall of the cave, lips pressed against lips, cool ivory on his cheek, and suddenly Raoul knows why he was jealous.

Christine appears a few days later, slipping into the room through the same dusty tunnel, but she merely watches them from her darkened corner, a feeling of accomplishment on her upturned lips, and seconds later she is gone. Weeks pass, and in late June, when the tree branches hang low with broad waxy leaves and the merest hints of fruit, the Paris police force closes its search for the missing Vicomte de Chagny.