III. Dark Fate

"Oh, curse it all!" Raoul exclaimed. "I'm just wearing the same black shirt, tear or not."

From his place on Raoul's favourite chair in the corner, the Phantom nodded approvingly. "You're making some progress, kid. With both your swearing and your behaviour."

Raoul rolled his eyes at him. The Phantom's scathing comments got on his nerves, though he readily admitted that they were a lot less scathing than they had been earlier on. Impossible as it seemed, the Phantom was improving – though he might just be getting used to him.

Both of them were at Raoul's room in the Chagny mansion, preparing – or, in the case of the Phantom, having finished preparing – for another day of battle under dark, and there were only the two of them. When he considered it, Raoul found this fact somewhat surprising, yet it could be easily explained by the circumstances. Right now, the girls were getting ready, too, and they were both in a room together, though further along the corridor, and both he and the Phantom had offered to assist them, but instead of appreciation or at least of thanks, the pair of them had been thrown out, and Raoul still could not quite see why. Well, that Meg did not want to get changed with him watching was understandable, yet the problem could have been effortlessly solved by him facing the wall for some time, especially since Meg had certainly been present when he had pulled on the shirt he had just been wearing, the one he was now returning to his cupboard, since he had come to the conclusion that it got crumpled too easily, and moreover, it had been expensive. But that Christine would not have him in the same room… Yes, of course it was improper for a girl to change her clothes with her fiancé watching before marriage, but there really was no reason for false modesty, since Christine had been wearing considerably less in Raoul's company already, and since all four of them knew this exactly. That she did not want the Phantom watching was very reasonable, though, no matter whether he claimed he had seen her in her underwear before or not. But actually, Raoul had to admit, facing the wall would have done the trick here just as well. And it was just the same in the case of the Phantom and Meg – Meg had watched him in a state of being considerably undressed just as well. Oh, alright, it was his own fault when he changed his trousers with the girls watching – and the girls had neither found this upsetting nor especially improper, as it had appeared from their behaviour, those naughty little hypocrites – but all the same, it was hardly fair. They peeped quite shamelessly while he and the Phantom got changed, yet when they wanted to change themselves, the men were simply thrown out. Hardly fair, indeed. So before either of them had known what they were doing, they had exchanged an exasperated glance, agreed upon women being bothersome and complicated in general, and marched out together with their noses in the air. Only when he had been out in the corridor, Raoul had truly realized who was associating against whom here, and it had been a somewhat odd feeling to find himself united with the Phantom in this matter.

Still, with those two girls in the house who were preparing for adventure so very importantly, even Christine strutting around practically as if she owned the world, it was good to have another man at hand who would agree with him, even if the man in question was a complete madman and ought to be locked up, and the key thrown into a deep cistern.

Oh, women… Raoul certainly did not belong to those who were of the opinion that women were vain and stupid creatures by nature; he rather resented this and thought quite the opposite. Yet to his mind, women could definitely be odd at times, and rather troublesome. And currently, both Christine and Meg were having such a phase. Not that he was angry with either of them – he loved Christine dearly, and any friend of hers was a friend of his, apart from the Phantom, of course –, but still, why were they throwing him out? As if he were some kind of lecher! He would certainly not stare at either of them in any lustful and improper way; he had told them so twice, but all they had said was that he would stare nonetheless, and that the pair of them was to leave the room immediately. As if he would have tried to look!

Though there couldn't possibly be anything wrong with a little peeping, could there?

No, he was not supposed to think like that, definitely not.

Putting the neatly folded shirt back into its place in the cupboard, he wondered where the one he had worn on the day before might have gotten to. Where had he put it, after taking it off? The laundry basket, by any chance? No, he had left it in this very room, he was quite sure, he had not taken it to the bathroom.

Had one of the servants perhaps –

"Trouble finding something?" the Phantom inquired from behind him, again in a mocking tone, yet not unpleasantly so.

Raoul sighed. "Yes, my shirt. Another female deed, I suspect."

"Hmm," the Phantom said. "Women certainly have the habit of cleaning up after you, whether it is appreciated or not. Or maybe even especially when you plainly tell them you don't want them to clean up."

"True enough," Raoul agreed. At least the man knew what he was speaking of, it seemed. Who had been trying to tidy up in his wake? Madame Giry? Or maybe even Christine?

"And they won't be stopped."

"True again," Raoul said. "They can have quite thick skulls when they've set their charming little minds to something."

There was a little pause. "I would not want to miss them for anything in the world, though."

"No, me neither. Ah, here it is; one of the serving girls must have put it away, but in the wrong place." And once again, Raoul thought, while pulling on the shirt, surprised that it had not found its way into the laundry basket after all, he was agreeing with the Phantom. Well, as long as the old villain was being reasonable…

Which reminded him. He had been burning to find out more about this ever since the encounter with two of the Lost Ones yesterday, when he had heard those strange things Christine had not fully been able to explain. Now was as good a time as any other. "You know, about this Lost Ones business," he began carefully. "Do you have any idea where the name comes from?"

"No," the Phantom said simply.

"Now how about the Fateless?"

"I told you, kid, I don't know," the Phantom answered impatiently. "Why do you ask?"

Tugging at his shirt, and finding that the tear in the sleeve was not as obvious by far as he had feared it might be, Raoul turned to face him. "Because I've heard the term before."

At once the Phantom was on his feet, and Raoul was amazed at how swiftly he covered the distance between them. "Where?" he demanded sharply. "What do you know?"

Raoul shrugged. "It's not much really, but I thought it might be useful to know."

The Phantom's eyes bored into his. "Why don't you just tell me then, fop boy?"

Raoul chose to ignore this last remark. "Do you know Homer's Iliad?"

"Of course," the Phantom replied with an impatient gesture of his already gloved right hand, as if waving the question away. "What do you have to go asking me stupid things for?"

"The original version?" Raoul insisted.

The Phantom gave him a frown, which was mirrored by the grim look of his white half-mask. "What do you mean, original?"

No, Raoul decided, he could not possibly know any ancient Greek. Where should he have learned? "The word's in there," he explained, not mentioning the question about the Greek version again because the Phantom might take offence, who knew? "The word fateless. King Priam uses it when speaking of Hector, you know, when he comes to the camp at night to ask Achilles to return Hector's body to him –"

"Return?" the Phantom interjected. "Priam never had it in the beginning, since Achilles chose to tie Hector to his chariot straight away and drag him around a bit. Anyway, continue."

"Yes, I'm aware of that," Raoul grumbled. That arrogant bastard! Well, the next time he would pick his words more carefully. "Right, the term occurs there, and it has a specific meaning, too."

"Yes?" the Phantom prompted. So he was interested in this, now was he?

"It means unhappy, unlucky, something like that." Bloody Hell, there had to be a better word, a more appropriate word! "With a bad fate," Raoul tried.

"Ill-fated," the Phantom provided with a lopsided, yet grim little grin, which disappeared again straight away. "Well, I got the message, kid. No need to rub it in." And with this, he turned sharply, heading for the door.

Now what was that about? "Hey, wait a minute," Raoul cried. "Rub in what, precisely?"

Once again, the Phantom turned sharply, but this time to face Raoul, and his eyes were ablaze. "That I'm just a pathetic wretch and will stay one forever!" he snarled. "And now leave me alone, or I might forget all damn promises and hurt you!"

"I never said that!" Raoul protested. "And I never meant to say it!" Really, what did he take him for? "I'm not that kind of man, doing that kind of thing. Maybe you are, but certainly not me."

"Oh, so you think I'm just like everybody else, do you mean that?" The Phantom's teeth were bared in a snarl once again, as so often when he was angry; Raoul knew this expression only too well by now. Surprising, he thought, he actually has perfectly white teeth… I wonder how he does it? "And you think I'm just exaggerating to make myself important?"

Raoul sighed. "Not that, either. As a matter of fact, I was saying absolutely nothing about you. I just recognized that name, and I thought you might like to know." Better if he had held his tongue, probably.

"No, but implying," the Phantom growled, though without much conviction. Was it the strain of the past few days getting to him at last, or was it just his usual foul temper? Whatever it was, it seemed that the flare-up of anger was over now more or less. "Just watch your tongue with me, kid."

"Right," Raoul said with a calming gesture. "Right. Nobody's troubling you." He would tell Christine how bothersome her Phantom friend had been once again! Surely that would earn him an extra cuddling for his remarkable patience before falling asleep tonight.

At least the Phantom was making no more trouble now. He sank back into the armchair he had already sat in in the beginning, brushing a loose strand of hair out of his face, and sighed. "What's it like, Raoul, being normal?" he asked softly.

Raoul froze where he was. Had he just heard correctly? This was the first time the Phantom had ever called him with his name, it seemed. Yes, it must be the first time ever. And how peacefully he was sitting now… Probably he already regretted his earlier attack. Of course he was not going to apologize, but it seemed that he at least felt sorry, unless Raoul was much mistaken. And again there was this sadness in his eyes, that lingering, heavy sadness Raoul had seen before… What was it like? And what would it be like to live behind those eyes? "I couldn't say," he said quietly.

The Phantom rested his head against the back of the armchair, and for a moment his eyelids fluttered. Was he tired, then? Had he not rested enough? He and Meg had arrived together early in the morning already, and expecting to be on their way again soon after, yet Christine had persuaded them to stay for breakfast and to rest for a moment before they went. Well, at least the Phantom had stayed for breakfast, but Raoul doubted he would find any rest. In the same situation, he would probably not have himself. After all, it was Créon they were hoping to confront today…

Créon. That reminded him. "I think Créon knows that meaning of the word," he said. "Because his own name is Greek as well. It means –"

"He who rules," the Phantom interrupted. "That much I know." For a moment he paused, gazing at nothing at all. "Yes, kid, you might be right." Yes, he must indeed feel sorry for his behaviour a little earlier on. "Maybe this really is where he got the name from, because it surely was him who made all that up. Who else would have? Yet he told me he would write out my fate for me, just as if that name means that they – we – have none at all."

"Because he thinks he is their ruler." Raoul nodded. "Makes perfect sense." He swallowed. Should he give it a try now? It might be quite a good time, actually, since the Phantom apparently had a bad conscience already… "What kind of story is that, those things they try to convince you of?" Of course he already knew what it was about; Christine had told him. But he wanted to hear it from the Phantom himself.

"Madness," the Phantom answered fiercely. "And filthy lies."

"Yes," Raoul hastily assured him, "I wouldn't believe them. But why does Créon assume you would?"

For several seconds the Phantom did not say anything, yet his features were grim as he leaned forward and raked both hands through his hair, his elbows resting on his knees. Then he said, very softly, "He's a skilled manipulator. Trust me to that."

Clearly he was avoiding the question. But why? Raoul wondered. The way he had denied those stories' truth so vehemently, but now would not truly answer… did he believe it after all, or at least part of it? Raoul was certain that he would never believe anything like that himself, but what about the Phantom? He had been mad from the very beginning, hadn't he? So was he not more likely to believe in such stories, then?

Had Christine assured him it all was not true? Had Meg, if she had ever spoken about this with him? Somehow Raoul assumed she had, since those two seemed to be very close, from the way they acted. That quiet understanding between them… could it be that they really were lovers? Yes, they probably were, Raoul had suspected so before. But he had not yet asked Christine's opinion on the matter, it occurred to him. He probably should. Christine would certainly know better than he did; after all, she knew those two considerably better than he did. And would she feel the same about it, a little worried for Meg, but glad the Phantom had found somebody else to occupy himself with? He would have to ask.

The door was pushed open, and the girls slipped in, both in men's clothes again, and both with the excitement showing on their faces, their cheeks flushed, their eyes shining. That they still could be as excited about it all, after what they had witnessed, surprised Raoul somewhat, but it was better than the two of them clinging to each other in terror.

Or was it? He would certainly worry less if they stayed behind. Not only were they girls, but also much too young for anything of that kind.

Christine came towards him immediately, wrapping her arms around his waist and beaming up at him, and he held her tight, overcome with love towards her once more. From the corner of his eye he saw how Meg, after a moment of hesitation, climbed the Phantom's lap, but for now, nothing apart from Christine held any interest for him. She made his pulse race and his knees feel wobbly, and the scent of her soft, dark tresses produced the same warm feeling of joy in him that once the smell of the Christmas tree had given him, many years ago.

"My love," Christine murmured to him, brushing a loose strand of hair behind his ear. "You're not sulking now, are you?" And then she let him hear her charming little giggle again.

"Not when you're so close to me," he answered truthfully.

"Oh, that's good. Because Erik must be sulking something dreadfully."

Upon her words, they both turned to the armchair to see the Phantom's expression, yet there was not much to see currently, as he and Meg were quite busy kissing. For a moment Raoul just stared – yes, of course he could have guessed, but that they would show it that openly! – then he turned his head to look at Christine. Their eyes met, and simultaneously they burst into soft, merry laughter at each other's surprised, irritated expression.

"Meg claims she's not in love with him," Christine whispered, "but she's more than a bit crazy about him, if you ask me."

"Looks like it," Raoul agreed in an equally soft voice. "She seems quite smitten. I don't know about him, though."

"Oh, he certainly seems to be enjoying himself." Christine giggled again, then sighed, suddenly serious again. "But he's still in love with me, I'm afraid."

Hearing the hint of sadness in her voice, Raoul briefly kissed her cheek. "I hope he'll come off it, now he's got her to run after."

Again Christine sighed, nuzzling her face against the side of Raoul's neck, but her answer was incomprehensible. Did it bother her, seeing Meg like that? Was she worried about her friend? Or was she jealous maybe?

No, Raoul told himself, it was he who was being jealous, not her. He tried not to suspect her of loving the Phantom, but still he did, whatever he told himself. His doubts, his hated doubts were like maggots, greedily gnawing at his consciousness. And whatever he did, he could not crush them. The harder he tried, the deeper they bored into his flesh.

He wished for this all to be over, in whatever way. Just over. And then, that he would never have to see the Phantom again. Never.

And that the Phantom found his luck somewhere else, far away. After all they had been through together by now, he realized, and after the insight he had gained into what the Phantom felt, however brief and shallow his glimpse might have been, he would not just turn him over to the police, risking him to be executed. He could not. He knew that this was the right thing, the just thing to do, but he could not. It would feel like betraying a companion at arms.

And then, as he stood there with Christine in his arms, but with his mind elsewhere, tormenting himself with his own doubts, he suddenly understood what his fiancée must have felt before the performance of Don Juan, apart from fear, and he hated himself for making her go through this, for making her choose. Maybe he should have stood back. Maybe he should have left her to another man. It would not saved her the fear, but at least that tearing pain in the chest, and the feeling of guilt. Maybe he should have left her to the Phantom.

Pulling Christine as close to him as he could, he bit his trembling lower lip, fighting against the sudden tightness in his chest. Still she was with him, in his arms, but the darkness was there, the darkness from his dreams, the darkness against which there was no barrier, and Christine was turning her head again, turning towards the darkness with a strange longing in her eyes, and he felt she was drifting away from him, towards the gentle darkness into which he could not follow…

He drew a shuddering breath, but his throat felt so constricted that it hardly reached his lungs. Would he have to share the Phantom's dark fate in the end? Would he be fateless, instead of him?

From the corner of his eye, he saw both the Phantom and Meg, embracing each other in the armchair, seemingly oblivious to the world around them. And suddenly he could not bear it any longer to look at them, to see Meg's golden hair. Would he ever be able to settle for second-best?

My God, don't make me say good-bye…