A/N: I was wandering along one day when it suddenly struck me….Life doesn't stop after happily ever after. (ok, Into the Woods might have had something to do with it.) And I got to thinking, what if Raoul actually grew up? What would it take and how would it happen?
Well here's your answer.
Disclaimer: I don't know why I bother, the Phantom of the Opera by Gaston Leroux is in the public domain. And this is all Leroux. No Carlotta. No Piangi. No Reyer. The manager's names are Firmin Richard and Andre Moncharmin. No chummy chummy between the Persian and Erik. Raoul would sooner poke an eye out with a sword than manage to defeat the Rosy Hours of Mazendran's Chief Assassin with it. I should mention, that I occasionally life a quote directly from the novel, so if anything sounds beautiful or has a touch of genius in the phrasing, it ain't me.
"But Mssr. Mifroid! You must listen to me! Christine Daae is in the greatest peril imaginable. She has fallen under the spell of the Opera Ghost and married him!"
M. Mifroid rose and looked at Raoul attentively, "I beg your pardon Monsier, but are you trying to make fun of the police? And if not, what is all this about the Opera ghost?"
Raoul shifted on his feet uncomfortably. He had waited in queue all day to get to speak with Commissioner Mifroid of the Surete. "It's a monster! An animal with a human body, like the minotaur!"
M. Mifroid leaned forward across his desk, "Mssr. Vicomte de Changey, have you been drinking?"
"No Monsieur! You insult me!"
"Indeed." M. Mifroid began pushing little stacks of paper across his desk, "I suggest that you see the Office of the Census and look for a marriage contracted between one, Mssle. Daae, and one Minotaur. Good day to you sir."
Raoul kicked the Commissioner's desk passionately, unfortunately stubbed his toe, and hobbled out.
M. Mifroid watched him leave. "Vive le Revolution!" He sighed wearily.
Christine tripped over an invisible insidious crack in the floor, dropped the pan of eggs, which rather than falling down as they should, fell up to hit the ornately painted egg-tempera ceiling. She watched with a sort of brief fateful curious interest and then cracked her head against the stone floor. Egg dripped onto her from above. Damn cooking.
She watched a little hazily as Erik dashed in from the other room, quickly appraised the situation, stepped over her bruised and wounded body, and expertly wiped the egg off of the ceiling. He dig a grand job of not smearing the painting.
Christine scowled and peevishly contemplated grabbing Erik's ankle and biting it, "We are supposed to be on our honeymoon you know."
"Oh Christine have you any idea! Degas painted that ceiling for me!"
It was a beautiful ceiling. Christine frowned in her stickyness.
Erik soon finished with the ceiling and turned tenderly down to unstick Christine from the floor. "You are a pretty sight! What were you trying to cook this time?"
"Nothing at all." Christine nestled angrily into his arms, even though she knew that she was getting egg all over his suit jacket.
"Perhaps I should cook from now on."
Christine's heart sank. No matter how hard she tried, Erik always did it better, quicker, and without getting egg on the original Degas. "You're right, of course."
"Besides," Erik helped her to her feet, "These beautiful hands shouldn't be working! You must save yourself for your singing, dear!" He chuckled and squeezed her hands.
But I want to work. I want to be a good wife to you. Christine looked pleadingly up into his eyes. She couldn't say it though, Erik was too practical, and too perfect. A lousy Mary Poppins. And what was worse, he was always right too.
His eyes sparkled gently, "Come on, let's get you cleaned up now. You'll be late for the rehearsal."
Christine leaned on him miserably and decided that she would enjoy the spa treatment. Even if the Degas was more important.
"She has married the Ghost?" Madame Giry's chins wobbled incredulously, "Are you sure of what you speak Monsieur?"
"I witnessed it myself!" Raoul paused, "You will see my signature on their marriage license!"
Mame Giry rubbed her hands over her hairy cheeks and smiled with what few teeth she had left, "Oh I am so happy for him!"
She was obviously missing the point. Raoul tried again, "But she has married that monster!"
"Oh and they shall have many many children and the girls can go into the corps de ballet and the boys can sing if they have any talent. Oh but they would have great talent, coming from such parents! This is truly wonderful news Monsieur! I shall be sure to tell all of the appropriate people."
"But he's a murderer!" Raoul protested, "He murdered Joseph Buquet, and he murdered my Brother!"
Madame Giry seemed to contemplate this. "But the police said that Joseph Buquet committed the suicide," she crossed herself. "Is your brother dead Monsieur? I had noticed that La Sorelli has a new lover, but I merely assumed…"
Raoul shook his head. Why couldn't anyone understand? Why couldn't they see that he had to rescue Christine from the monster that had her hypnotized. He had seen the man's face! And he knew that Christine, or any other woman, would die before they consciously consigned themselves to such a horrid fate! Christine was probably trapped in his lair even now, with the hideous Ghost laughing at her terror. It was almost as if the devil had come to claim the girl's soul as the price of her beautiful voice. And if nothing else, Raoul knew he had to put a stop to it."
"Oh I'm sorry Monsieur," Madame Giry squeaked, "I forget that you are the police's chief suspect in the death of the Comte de Chagney."
Raoul knew that his face was turning purple. He didn't care. "You horrid wretched woman! Begone and do not slander my honor again! If you were a man I would challenge you to mortal combat!"
Madame Giry laughed lightly at him and hurried away muttering happily. "I must get some yarn, oh yes and teach Meg to knit. There will be little ghosts around any day! Hurry hurry, I wonder if Miss Daae will have trouble with them?"
She obviously was missing the whole point. Raoul set out to find someone who would listen to him.
Christine wondered if her slip was showing. Never before had she stopped conversations in their tracks just by walking by. Everyone was staring at her.
Maybe she had sat on wet paint or something.
Even Isidore Saak straightened up on his crutches and bowed courteously to her.
Scratch that, maybe she'd won the lottery.
"Ah Miss Daae!" Andre Moncharmin shouted across the stage welcomingly.
"Not Daae!" Richard Firmin elbowed him and hissed.
Andre looked confused, "Er—that is, Mrs. Phantom of the Opera."
Christine raised an eyebrow, "Oh so you heard?"
":Of course, we don't mean Mrs. Phantom of the Opera…er—what is his last name, by the way?" Firmin rubbed his hands together, snapped his fingers a few times, and cracked his knuckles.
This was a good question. Christine made a mental note to ask Erik about that once she got home.
"Well I'd better get on with my rehearsal, have you seen Gabriel? I'm supposed to sing that one aria with a chorus behind me." Christine spun about on one heel and distinctly thought that it was rather strange that the managers hadn't at least offered her a 'congratulations'.
"Oh Miss Daae!" Firmin scuttled along behind her, "I just wanted to discuss certain ah, financial matters, with you. Eh, Mrs. Opera Ghost."
Christine stopped, "Financial matters?"
"Er yes, it's about the Ghost's twenty thousand francs a month."
"And?" Christine said testily.
"Well, as I have calculated, you make easily ten times that, and…"
Christine raised an eyebrow.
"Well we thought that you two lovebirds might be able to live on a diva's salary alone, I've calculated that you will save 70,000 francs in taxes per year, and just think of the easier time you'll have with the bookkeeping and records—"
"Consider it protection money." Christine cut him off with a wave of her hand.
"Against what?" Firmin laughed heartily and Andre kicked him in the shin.
"You fool, he's probably been teaching her how to strangle people." Andre hissed through a pasted-on smile.
Christine pondered this a moment, then she reached out and took Andre's hand, "I think, Monsieur, that we have reached an understanding, you and I. I congratulate you on your excellent logical processes."
"Oh completely, Madame."
"On that note, I want you to clean up box five. There's a wine stain on the carpet, and I would hate for the ghost to have anything less than a perfectly clean box. Do I make myself clear?"
A strange grinding sound began emanating from Firmin's teeth.
"Oh completely, Madame le Fantome." Andre bowed.
Christine lavished a charming smile on the man, "Madame le Fantome, that's kinda catchy. I like it."
"The box will be ready by the next performance." Andre led her gently over to the waiting choirmaster.
Christine felt inordinately pleased with herself. Erik would probably laugh his head off when she told him.
"You idiot!"
"Firmin, not so loud, she's right over there."
"You imbecile! Now we have another Diva Prima Donna on our hands! You remember what the last one did!"
"Yes but at least Christine can sing." Andre pulled the raving musician away from where Christine was running over some scales. "Firmin, you are an excellent composer, but you know nothing of the finer arts of political negotiation."
"And you can't even read music blast you!" Firmin ripped his sleeve out of Andre's grasp. "Do you know what will happen if we give in to her one time just one little time? Do you have any idea how many spurious cases of laryngitis she will catch on opening nights? Have you any conception of the mortal peril we are in!"
Andre thought about this, "Wouldn't it be worse if the ghost decides to drop the chandelier on the audience again because we disobeyed his wife?"
"But he wouldn't, criminal masterminds never perform the same crime twice!"
Andre looked up at the ceiling for any other large heavy crash-able objects. There were some curtains, but they didn't look like they'd kill anyone. "I'm sure he'd think of something."
"Andre," Firmin gripped his shoulders grimly, "We must be strong, domineering, obstinate and unyielding. Do you want to be reduced to groveling at her feet?"
"But she's harmless, she hasn't broken one piece of furniture since she came."
"Well she could start any day. You never know what might push her over the edge."
Andre watched compassionately as sweat started to bead up on Firmin's forehead. The poor man was an exellent musician. He'd actually sat through an entire performance of Meyerbeer's once. That took skill and fortitude, but poor Firmin just didn't understand the fine art of negotiating with married women.
Now that Christine had married, Andre was completely in his element.
Meg Giry was wandering down the endless dark tunnels in the Opera House. It was so mysterious down here, she was sure that something wonderful and exciting would happen to her if she wandered around down here enough. Just look what happened to Christine. Meg decided that dark deserted tunnels were wonderfully romantic.
What did I do wrong? Raoul thought miserably, moaning and holding his head in his hands. Not only had Christine completely missed the fact that Raoul loved her desperately. After all she was the most beautiful woman around for miles, he couldn't help but love her. Raoul reasoned that one would have to be blind not to love her, and even then she had a beautiful voice, so Raoul couldn't think of a reason that anyone in the world would not love her instantly. And that monster, the Phantom of the Opera! Oh he had loved her too, that was foreseeable. But had Christine chosen such a hideous man of her own free will? Impossible! He had to be blackmailing her or holding her prisoner in some way. A fate worse than death!
Raoul dimly wondered just what it was that Christine saw in that Ghost fellow anyways. She had to be terribly immature to love someone just because they lurked around in the dark and were ugly. Raoul himself had never felt the need for inadequate lighting or tortured childhoods in order for a woman to be attractive.
He consigned all the dismal facts of the whole affair to the childishness and innocence of women in general. Christine had been so easily deceived! She had married a man who had lusted after her beauty, while Raoul…well, Raoul decided that lusting after Christine's beauty was a pretty good reason to marry her. He thought some more.
After all, he could always go back to the navy ship that he had run away from in order to be near Christine at the opera. A few months in the Arctic Ocean could do wonders for a man. Give him an irresistible tan at the very least.
Meg ran her hands over the mildewed wall, feeling the cracks in the wall mystically, as if by reading them she could discern the path back to the surface. Her footsteps echoed softly in the moist dank cavern. She ran her hands down the front of her white skirt and clutched at the lace. It was comforting to have some piece of her ordinary life with her when she went exploring this deep in the opera.
She froze as she heard a moaning noise.
It was a man, or a ghost, dressed in evening clothes, and his hands were raised above his neck. But most terrible of all, he had no head!
Meg did what any sensible girl would have done. She screamed and fainted dead away.
Raoul pulled his hands out of his dark hair and looked up sharply as he heard the unearthly piercing scream wilder than the Arctic terns. A dim white object floated across the floor, performed an arabesque en pointe, wafted down to the floor and vanished against the darkness.
Raoul did what any sensible man would have done. He screamed and fainted dead away.
Erik tripped over something lumpy. The strange part about that was Erik could usually see in the dark. It was part of the Opera Ghost job description. He'd been sneaking around dark caverns for years now. The lumpy thing moaned a little.
Usually Erik would have kicked it, laughed like a maniac, and left, but this last week with Christine had put him in a good mood. A really good mood. He peered down through the darkness. It was some drunk man in opera clothes. Erik prodded him a little with his foot. The man started snoring.
Erik suddenly got angry. This wasn't his job, it was the shadow's job. This poor drunk would get eaten by the rats if he laid here long enough. Erik's job was to terrorize people like this. It was the shadow's job to take them back to the habitable portions of the opera.
But oh what a wonderful week he'd had. A really wonderful week.
Besides Christine would probably get mad at him if he just left this guy to his fate. Erik squatted down and gathered the lumpy and rather floppy drunk in his arms and hoisted him over his shoulder.
The drunk started drooling.
Erik carried him upstairs and deposited him in one of the dressing rooms. Then without a second glance he slipped through one of the wall panels and ran into Christine.
"Darling!"
Christine looked a little frazzled.
Erik decided it was time to give her a hug, "What have you been doing all afternoon?"
"Lugging Meg Giry upstairs. She was down in the fourth cellar just about as stoned as anyone can be." Christine tucked a strand of her hair behind her ears and wheezed a little, "I should work out more."
"That funny," Erik laughed at her, "I just pulled a drunk out of the fourth cellar. Maybe Meg was having a little tryst."
"That would probably do her good," Christine smiled, "But I doubt it, she's too shy. And too enamored with the Opera Ghost."
Erik loved the way Christine smiled at him. Even when he wasn't wearing a mask. He made a mental note to really think about the wonderful mystery that she presented. She really loved him. It made him feel very happy that he didn't leave the drunk down in the fourth cellar to die.
"I love you, darling." Erik cradled her in his arms.
"Who is that voice? Who is that in there?"
Christine blinked. "Did you say something Erik?"
"Only that I love you desperately." Erik said dreamily.
There were knocking noises on the wooden panel behind them. Erik awoke from his trance.
"You have a beautiful voice mademoiselle!" a deep but still somewhat prissy tenor said from behind the panel.
Erik turned pale.
Christine sniggered.
"Mon dieu it's Raoul." Erik hissed and started pulling Christine deeper into the passageway. "Don't laugh it's not funny."
"Are you the Spirit of my brother Phillipe? He always said that when he was dead that he would send the Fashion Designer of Fabulous to visit me." Raoul asked.
"Go on, sing to him or something." Christine snorted and clapped her hand over her mouth to stop from bursting into giggles.
"The Fashion Designer of Fabulous?" Erik yelled in the direction of the wall, "Most certainly not!"
"Fashion Designer of Fabulous, speak and I will listen! I am your humble pupil. Teach me everything you know."
And then a thought popped into Erik's head. A rather nasty little vicious thought, but it might do the fop some good. "I the Fashion Designer of Fabulous command you with this first lesson in Fabulous. Never wear a clip-on bowtie!"
"Yes master." Raoul said penitently and a little groggily. "How would you define 'clip-on'?"
Christine buried her face in his shirt and made quiet little hiccupping noises.
Erik decided that this was going to be the best week of his life.
Dear Monsieur Moncharmin,
Andre, you have done excellent work with box 5, and my husband is very pleased. I would like to take this opportunity to extend to you our humble invitation to a dinner party to be held on the 12th of this month at the De Chagney estate in Faubourg St-Germain. My husband wishes to direct your attention to some pressing matters regarding the programme of this upcoming season. He also desires to impart some valuable advice regarding the orchestral accompaniment to, in particular, Lucrezia Borgia, and Vespri Siciliani. I am sure that it will be in the opera's best interests for you to consider his suggestions.
Ever yours,
Madame le Fantome de l'Opera
Firmin slammed the dramatically inked and sealed piece of correspondence down on the desk. That backstabber Andre Moncharmin! Making deals with that cursed lead soprano again! He'd show him! He would invite himself to this exclusive dinner party! He would show that musically challenged Moncharmin that he could not usurp the managerial function of the greatest composer in all of France! Firmin firmly decided that he simply adored the orchestration to Vespri Siciliani.
"You told him that I wanted to what?"
Christine hated feeling like a schoolgirl, "Remember those quarter note-eight note sets in Lucrezia Borgia? I think they should be triplets."
Erik looked about as incredulous as a dedicated lifelong musician could look, "But that was Mozart! Don't you think Mozart would know whether he meant quarter-eight-eights or triplets?"
Christine had prepared for this bit of the speech, but it wasn't going too well. "Mozart was only ten when he wrote it. If he had had a few more years of practice he would have realized that the sinister nature of the Borgias demanded an even low beat."
Erik's face turned bright purple, it couldn't exactly turn red, it was always red anyway. He turned his back on her and stomped off to the kitchen.
Christine flinched, but really she figured it had gone pretty well so far. "And remember how Raoul thought that you were the Fashion Designer of Fabulous?" She walked over to a wall so she could lean against something solid. "I told Moncharmin that you'd speak to him at a dinner party at Raoul's house."
There was a loud clang from the kitchen.
"Well it's not like we could bring him here," Christine raised an eyebrow as a wineglass went rolling along the floor, "He could lead an enraged mob down here if he knew where it was. Besides, I thought you could persuade Raoul fairly easily. You're like a big brother to him now."
Erik's head shot around the doorjamb. "And just how would I manage to persuade that ridiculous teenager that I needed to use his house for a dinner party?"
Christine smiled. As of right now, whether Erik knew it or not, he had been convinced. "Well I do have an idea."
Meg Giry began screeching when the sofa started moving. Then she jumped up and began beating it about the pillows with her hastily removed ballet slipper.
The sofa started screeching too. All the pillows came tumbling off.
"Mademoiselle! If this is how you treat the nobility of France I can only say good day to you!" the Viscount Raoul de Chagny fumbled around for his top hat, tapped it on his head and rose to leave the room.
With difficulty, Meg stopped screeching. "You're Christine's lover aren't you?"
The somewhat rumpled Viscount seemed to melt, "No." he moaned dismally, "She has married the Opera Ghost!"
Meg screeched, just a little. She clapped her hands over her mouth.
"Yes," Raoul nodded dismally and collapsed onto the sofa again, "But luckily, the Fashion Designer of Fabulous has visited me and I will soon be able to regain her love."
Meg's eyes widened, "Does the Fashion Designer of Fabulous haunt the Opera too?"
Raoul shook his head, "He is the spirit of my brother Phillipe Georges Marie Comte de Chagny come to be my fashion consultant. He made me buy these shoes," Raoul looked down at his feet and wiggled his toes, "Do you think they're my color?"
Meg's eyes widened even more. "I wish I'd get some spirit to come and teach me something important. Christine got the Angel of Music to teach her how to sing. You have the Fashion Designer of Fabulous to teach you how to dress." She squinted around the room, "I might like someone to teach me not to be afraid in the opera house."
Raoul unconsciously sat up straighter, "Of course, I could give you some lessons."
"Oh could you?"
Raoul smiled handsomely, "The Fashion Designer of Fabulous has commanded me to hold a fashion show and soiree in my house on Friday. I'd be happy to have you as my honored guest."
Meg turned a very bright unbecoming pink. "Oh yes! I'd like that very much!"
"You won't ever be scared of the opera again!"
"Oh yes!"
"And we can eat those little cream filled pastry things!"
Meg began squealing.
"And I'll introduce you to my sisters, I'm sure they'll like you."
Meg was so happy that she gave him a big sloppy kiss.
Author's Announcement: this will be continued.