II. All the Sadness of the World
Her hand rested on his upper arm, a spot of warmth amid all the cold encompassing him. His spirit was floating in the void, away from his body, feeling even the slightest reverberations around him. The threads of darkness were still there, everywhere, stopping abruptly before him and curving around him, not touching him. When concentrating, he could feel their source, moving slowly through the upper levels of the Opera House.
Créon had come into the open at last, and he was not entirely sure if this was a good thing.
He was not entirely sure if it was a bad thing, either.
Yet while floating in the void, emotions were far away, just a distant awareness of something not truly important.
Christine had become a dim, distant awareness, too.
But he still loved her. He was sure of that. He madly, obsessively loved her.
The hand shifted slightly on his arm, and he opened his eyes and returned to his body, to reality. Claire Giry was close beside him, clothed in a sleeveless white nightshirt, her long blond hair, normally worn in a long braid pinned up intricately, hanging down over her shoulders now. She looked less stern that way, much less stern. And a lot more attractive.
"You should really try to get some sleep", she insisted. "There's a spare blanket for you, and the carpet is quite soft. But you can also use the sofa if you prefer, only it will probably be a bit too short for you to stretch out on it."
"I'll roll off", he said absent-mindedly. Where was Niobe currently? What was she up to?
She laughed softly, giving his arm a friendly pat. "Oh, we don't want this, now do we? You'll have to stretch out on the carpet, then. It's almost traditional."
"It's been a long time." Covering her hand with his, he remained where he was, close to her. It felt good to have someone near. For a moment his eyes lingered on the full curves of her breasts, before he snapped his gaze back to her face and mentally berated himself for his permanent lusting. But he did not truly get a guilty feeling, he realized. He always got one when fantasizing about spending a night with Christine; Christine was too pure a being to think of in that way. He had felt slightly guilty when considering the same possibilities with Meg, as well, though much less so, and partly because he would be breaching her mother's trust, in a way, if he just took the girl to bed to offer him satisfaction at last. Yet with Claire… No, he did not feel guilty about that idea. Maybe it was because she had been married, which meant that she was not untouched any more. Maybe it was because she was older than the other two and less innocent. And she could certainly say no to him in case he bothered her, something he was not too sure about with both girls; she was not defenceless.
Maybe he just found the permanent risk of having his ears boxed appalling? He grinned to himself at the idea.
Would Claire want a lover, after all those years as a widow? Did she still long for her husband's touch sometimes, and would she accept the same from him?
"I can't see what you are leering at like that", she stated, arching her eyebrows at him. This was not exactly an ear-boxing look, but it might turn into one if he said the wrong thing. That would have to be a very wrong thing, though; there was a merry twinkle in her eyes as well.
"Why, you, of course", he replied teasingly, truly leering at her. How marvellous it would be to just be able to forget Créon and Niobe and all the Lost Ones for some time!
But no, he could not. He could not allow himself to. This was his responsibility, though he had no idea how he should protect all the people at the Opera House at once. He could not think about any kind of physical pleasures now, not when those whose protection was entrusted to him were in danger.
If Créon only had been there this afternoon! That accursed man could have been dead by now. Killing him would be a lot more difficult now.
How he wished he were done with them, done with it all, free of them at last!
He would ask Claire to sleep with him once he was. She had experience, which would be useful for his first time. So if he decided to try it with Meg later on, he would not be entirely clueless anymore. Not that he truly had no idea how to do it; in fact, he had a pretty good idea, but he would just be nervous, he knew it. And he would feel foolish if it did not exactly work as he had expected. Taking Claire first was better. Meg could wait a bit.
And he was being dirty-minded again. They both were friends; it was not right to think of them in such a way.
Oh well… Claire could really take care of herself, and she was not an innocent girl anymore. She could protect herself against him, if she wanted to. And he would certainly not force himself on her.
She rolled her eyes at him. "Get under your blankets, then, and don't be a bother." Blowing out the lone candle on the little table beside her bed, she threw back her own blankets and settled in, pulling them around herself. Her bed looked quite nice and warm, while the carpet… of course, it would be comfortable enough for him on the floor, but he would much prefer the bed.
He sighed. Should he lie down at all? Maybe it was better if he remained awake.
Taking a seat at the edge of her bed, he picked up the only other item on the tiny table apart from the now gently smoking candle: the revolver. He was not used to that kind of weapon, and he was not quite sure if he could really handle it correctly. Raoul had explained, of course, and he had paid attention, yet he had never shot the thing. Not that that would be too difficult; the weapon was loaded and ready to be shot. It was just… he was not used to it.
And it was not really stylish.
"I wish you wouldn't fiddle around with that thing", Claire commented, settling for lying on her back comfortably at last.
He raised his eyebrows at her. "Why? What do you think I'll do with it?"
She stifled a yawn. "Just put it down and try to get some sleep. It is the only sensible thing you can do right now."
"I'm not sure", he objected. "What if Créon tries anything while I'm asleep?"
"You'll feel it if he does something really bad", Claire meant. "I trust you to that."
He nodded slowly, still rather unconvinced. Before he had come here, he had trained again with Christine, and he thought he might really wake, but he wasn't sure. He just wasn't sure.
Hell be cursed, there was too much he could not be sure of currently.
"At least you'll feel it if he comes here", she said, yawning. "I'll fall asleep feeling perfectly safe with you here. Now don't be silly and prepare for bed. Catching some sleep and recovering your strength is the best service you can do your men."
He sighed. She was probably right, though he still had a bad feeling about it. Replacing the revolver on the bedside cabinet and checking his sabre's position beside it, he slowly began undressing. Should he give it a try? There was nothing to do for him at the moment, so he might as well.
Having stripped down to his underpants, he placed his clothes over a chair before he returned to the bed. "Move over a bit", he said.
Sitting half up, she directed a frown at his remaining piece of clothing. It was a special one, actually, of a rich blue and cut off only immediately above the knee because of the lines of green and the gold embroidery along his outer thighs. The sparse light remaining in the room was enough to recognize all that. Indeed, he was just dressed for the occasion.
"Those were Jules's", she said softly. "I remember them only too well. He even slept in them occasionally. I used to be quite fond of them, but he didn't like them much."
"He gave them to me himself", the Phantom said. She probably knew anyway, but it was better to make sure she knew in case she had forgotten.
"I know." Claire sighed softly. She missed her husband still, he knew she did. After all, why else would she still wear black, after all those years? She had loved her Jules dearly, and it had been hard for her to get over the loss. He was not even sure if she had ever managed to entirely.
Suddenly sitting up completely, she climbed out of bed again. "I need to look at the picture again before I fall asleep" she said.
He nodded wordlessly and rose to turn on the gas lights. Yes, she truly missed her husband. Following her over into her little sitting room, he looked over her shoulder at what she had taken from one of her desk drawers and was now holding. It was a pencil drawing, showing a young couple embracing. The young woman was resting her head against a slender, fair-haired youth's shoulder, and he was looking down at her very tenderly. It was still easy enough to recognize who the young woman on the picture was, but the Phantom recalled the other face just as well. He had known Jules, after all. He had seen him every day. "Have you ever shown it to Meg?"
"No. I show it to nobody." She spoke in a whisper, very tonelessly. " It's – I can't explain. You're the only one who knows about it."
He slipped a comforting arm around her shoulders. After that recent night, he owed that much to her. "And I'm the one who drew it."
"I'm grateful you did." One single tear rolled down her cheek and dripped onto her nightshirt. "I would be afraid I might forget him, otherwise."
He gently kissed her temple. "You won't. Not ever." Hell be damned, he was getting good at that!
For a moment she rested her head on his shoulder, then she pulled away and replaced the picture where she had taken it from. "Come on. Time to sleep."
She grumbled a little as he slipped under her blankets beside her after extinguishing the lights, but he only chuckled and curled up comfortably, and she let him. He assumed she was glad to have someone near, when remembering Jules.
"Come here", she muttered, "and take that silly mask off, for goodness's sake." With a bit of hesitation, and a frown at the word "silly", he did so, placing it on the small bedside cabinet, which appeared quite crowded now, and she pulled him towards her, so he could rest his cheek on her shoulder. He winced as his scarred skin touched her smooth one, but she did not pull away. Instead, she held him there, ignoring his accursed ugliness. Just as she had always done. "Now be a good boy and sleep, and woe betide you if you try to wander off at night."
At first he wanted to withdraw, especially since she apparently intended to treat him like a child once again – Hell, he had lain just like that with Meg, only that he was taking Meg's position currently! – but it was so marvellously warm with her under the blanket, and her hand rested on his side gently, right where Adhemar's boot had left a mark, but her touch was so light that it did not hurt him.
Still, he was not wearing very much, and she was too close for him to feel comfortable…
Wasn't that exactly what he had wanted? You damn coward, he told himself. You'll never get to sleep with a woman if you can't even take your clothes off and have her touch you without blushing like a girl!
No, not blushing. Never blushing. But still, he was being a fool. Why was he so shy suddenly?
Giving himself a mental kick, he put an arm around her waist. As if he had ever been shy before! Well, as a boy, maybe. And sometimes, when encountering Christine…
Christine… Something inside him contracted painfully.
Forget her, he told himself crossly, starting to stroke Claire's side. Just forget her. Take what you can get, and banish her from your mind.
But he knew that this was impossible. He would never be able to. He loved her.
You pathetic wretch. You goddamn disgusting pathetic wretch.
"Relax", Claire murmured soothingly. "It's alright. Everything's alright. Sleep now."
It took him some concentration to force the tension out of his body, but her gentle touch helped. He had been a fool, withdrawing from her like that, only for fear that she might recognize his vulnerability. Instead, he had only increased it. Why had he not taken the chance fate had offered him when Jules had died? There would be no second chance. There never was. Not for him to take Jules's place, and not for him to have Christine again.
Why did he always see his loss only after it had unchangeably occurred? Why was he so blind?
In his head, a lone violin sang of sadness and a love forever lost.
He would use it for his requiem.
Lacrimosa dies illa…
Christine, forgive me. Please forgive me. And Claire… you too.
Qua resurget ex favilla
Iudicandus homo reus…
It was too late. Too late for pardon, too late for regret.
Huic ergo parce, Deus…
A fallen angel would not be redeemed.
He only realized he was crying when Claire stroked his hair and murmured soothing words to him, holding him close. What she was saying, he did not quite understand, except for two words, repeated continually: my darling.
One of these days, he thought as he comfortably snuggled into her embrace, enjoying her attention, Claire was surely going to adopt him.
Yes, this was just right. As long as he kept his sarcasm, nothing could really hurt him for long. Nothing at all. He had to be cold and hard inside in this hostile world, never bind himself to anyone, never love…
Which he did all the same, and all he wanted currently was being loved in return, and if not by Christine, then at least by Claire.
He had rejected Claire before, he remembered. Well, not exactly rejected, but he had withdrawn from her. In a way, they had become estranged. He had chosen to hide his thoughts and feelings, to become cold and hard as hammered steel, instead of taking Jules's place. For some time he had hesitated; it had not been an easy decision. There had been that moment when he had almost softened, that moment when Claire had given him her newborn baby to hold…
She rested her head against his shoulder as he experimentally rocked the small bundle in his arms. So light, and so tiny! "Thank God she is alright", Claire whispered, tenderly stroking the baby's rosy cheek with her forefinger. "I could not bear to lose her, too."
"Why do you always thank God?" he asked. How could anyone be that tiny? He must have been such a tiny thing himself once, he guessed.
"Because I need something to believe in", Claire answered patiently. They had had that discussion before. "Especially… in hard times."
Yes, he could see her point, but still… God was illogical, and just a story made up by some desert-dwelling primitives. He could not make himself believe in any such thing.
The baby blinked up at him sleepily – such small eyelids! – and made an odd little gurgling sound, and he hurriedly rocked her some more. "Am I doing this right?" he inquired cautiously.
Claire giggled softly, snaking one arm around his waist. "You're definitely improving."
"What, only improving?" He faked an expression of indignation. "I didn't yet drop her or anything!" He was fooling around with Claire again, he realized, something he had thought he had quit for good. Hell be damned, it was time to show her he was a grown man, not her little brother!
She giggled again, poking him in the ribs with a finger teasingly. "With some practice, you'll be just perfect, darling."
Darling? Now what did she mean by that? Was she playing some silly game again, being childish… or was she thinking of him in other terms perhaps, maybe even as a lover? No, she could not possibly do so; nobody ever would. She was being foolish again, that was all. Nothing more.
Though when he considered it… He might really take the place left vacant by Jules's death. He might have a chance. He could try to step in and pretend to be Claire's husband, as well as her small girl's father. He could – his breath caught at the idea – he could give Claire the second child she and Jules had wanted to have. He could be the father of her son.
That was a thought so stunning that he could hardly harbour it in his mind.
But if Claire bore another child… people would begin to wonder. There would be talk, gossip more probably – especially if the desired son would turn out to be a monster, just like his father.
He swallowed. Someone like him should not have children. Someone like him should not even try it.
And that tiny, innocent creature in his arms, that small girl smiling up at him, deserved better than him as a father. He would never be good enough for any child, not for that of another, and certainly not for one of his own.
He never would.
Whimpering softly against Claire's shoulder, he enjoyed the sympathy she offered him, along with her caresses. He was being a fool, and behaving like a most pathetic creature, but it made her display an affection she would not show him otherwise.
Funny, it briefly occurred to him, how women seemed to like it when you cried in their presence…
It was all his own fault. Had he not withdrawn from her and sought solitude, he could have had it always, all the time. Claire would have accepted him, he knew it. He had seen it in her mind. But he had realized that he could never be what Jules had been to her. He had realized it the moment little Meg had first reached up to take his mask away.
He had positively fled into his dark exile, feeling that even being near that innocent child, while at the same time being such a monster, such a horrid creature from Hell, was a crime in itself.
He had seriously considered killing himself for the first time on that night, he remembered. And how many times he had again done so, later on… But when it came to it, he had never been quite ready to let go. He had always hung on, though he had known all the time that his life was worth nothing.
Now, he had to. There was no choice but to go on. He owed them that much, all of them. Especially Christine, but the others, too. Claire and Meg, and those three who had come to him so trustingly, who had called him Lord, Gaston and Serge and Hulot. Even that silly fop, Raoul de Chagny. Those two men he had failed to save, Claude and Jacques. Those two names would forever be burned into his mind. And all the others who lived and worked here, all the many nameless faces, all the many eyes gazing at him imploringly out of the darkness of his own mind. He had been their nemesis, until he had found that he was their saviour.
Clenching his teeth, he snuggled tighter into Claire's embrace. Créon would fall. Créon would die. And so would Niobe.
They believed in him. They all did. Those three workers, and Claire and Meg, and even that annoying little monkey of a boy, in his own way, and Christine. Christine, most of all. It was Christine who kept him going now. Likely he would have given up at last on that night she had left him, given up and lain down to die, if not for the ring she had gently placed in his palm and closed his fingers around it, a farewell gift he certainly did not deserve after all he had done to her, a token of love. Not the kind of love he had longed to have, perhaps, but still, more than he could ever have asked for.
No, he would not doubt the little love she certainly gave him now. He would not doubt it again.
And he would be the brother she had wished for to her, even if it broke his heart.
Claire was playing with his hair, twirling loose strands around her fingers, just like Meg had done on the previous night. He let her, savouring the sensation of her other hand on his bare skin, caressing his side. Those women could be nothing but trouble, but they had a tendency to find out what one liked rather quickly…
He was starting to feel drowsy, which probably was a good sign; it meant that he was going to sleep all night. All he needed to do now was stretch out and find a suiting position – which he already had, with his head on Claire's shoulder. Yawning, he settled down comfortably beside her. Just as Claire had told him to, he would fall asleep now and rest, forgetting everything around him for a short, blessed time.
But early enough, he would be up again. High time to sleep.
Except maybe… It was worth the try. Very slowly and carefully, he shifted his left hand, resting on the side of her stomach, so it came to lie right beneath the curve of her right breast, experimentally brushing against it with his thumb. So soft, Hell devour him, so marvellously soft… Gently, he let his hand travel a little higher, so that he cupped it with his fingers…
Her own hand emerged from nowhere, gently yet firmly took him around the wrist and moved his hand back to her stomach. "Behave yourself", Claire muttered sleepily, "or I'll kick you out of bed."
Such a sweet temper! He almost laughed. This was his Claire just as he knew her.
Anyway, it had been worth the trouble, he decided, grinning to himself. That softness was truly amazing.
Snuggling into her embrace as tightly as he could, he fell asleep at last.
