Note II: The usual amount of fop-bashing is to be expected, as I am an EC shipper and Raoul and his hair annoy the beejezus out of me. (shudders) those sideburns.
Disclaimer: I do not own POTO or any of the associated actors/music/characters. If I did, you'd be seeing a lot less of Gerard Butler, now wouldn't you? ;)
And My Managers Must Learn
Erik
He ushered her into the passage before him, closing it carefully behind him and locking it. Than, taking her hand, he led her along to the mirror. The dust stirred around their ankles, than he was looking into Christine's conveniently empty dressing room. His nimble fingers flicked open the switch. "You changed the lock." Christine observed. He smiled at her, a novelty that she found she could not get enough of. "A precaution against prying Vicomtes. Now, if anyone asks"She finished his sentence. "I was in my dressing room the entire time. That poor chorus girl won't tell, she could lose her position." Her expression was pitying. "Erik, you won't"
He sighed. "I shall refrain from tormenting the ballet tarts."
"Virtuous of you." She quipped, than her face grew serious. "She couldn't have refused him, you know. She has nowhere to go." He shook his head. "We really should get a more moral patron, you know." His eyes flickered with pronounced distaste. A knock at the door startled them both. "Quickly, go." She whispered. He slid through the mirror and locked it. He did not go far, however, in case the fop came after her again. In which case... he fingered his recovered lasso.
Christine
She opened the door, fixing a startled expression on her face at the worried men before her. The managers Andre and Firmin blinked at her, than the stout Firmin clapped a hand on the Vicomte's shoulder. "Why, Vicomte, she's just where I told you she'd be. Really, I don't know how you missed her"
Christine looked politely puzzled. "Why, Monsieur Firmin, whatever's the matter"
Andre coughed. "Nothing, Miss Daae, merely a miscommunication. We'll give you your privacy now. I expect we shall see you during the gala." He seemed unusually uncomfortable, even given his nervous manner.
Christine smiled reassuringly. "Thank you gentlemen, for your concern. But I'm sure that I'm keeping you from some very important business. I would hate to delay you, the Opera depends so much upon you both."
The managers smiled indulgently. "Thank you for your time, Miss Daae." Firmin said, rather pompously, she thought. They walked briskly down the hall, hauling a very disgruntled Vicomte with them. He sent her a glare full of ill intent. He would find her later that night, during the gala, she knew.
But for now.
She closed the door. The mirror slid open once again as she locked it behind her.
Erik
"Flattery will get you everywhere, hmm Christine?" She laughed, a silvery rippling sound, music in itself. "And the best part is, they both think they're utterly immune to it!"
He caught her hand, a reckless impulsiveness seizing him. "I will be watching you at the opera." She stroked the palm of his hand with her thumb. "Will I see you"
"Do you need to"
She opened her mouth to answer, closed it. "No. He'll try to get me alone tonight. I can't risk him seeing you." Neither of them needed to specify who he was. Erik's mouth tightened, his face seemed suddenly as still as the mask. "If he harms you again, I cannot promise what I will and will not do to him"
Christine looked pained. God, don't let him kill again. "Erik, I can't bear you to kill again. Not again. " Erik was bewildered. "Christine, why do you mourn for them?" Buquet had been nothing but a lech, and if Piagni had said one kind word to Christine, than Erik was a fop."They-"
"They were people, Erik."
Try To Forgive, Teach Me To Live
Erik
His demeanor became chilly, inside, he was cold with fear. What does she think of me? "Are you saying that my words are true, I am a monster to act so?"
"You know that's not what I meant, Erik"
Anger rose in him, so mixed with fear that he wondered if he was sane. "What do you mean, Christine? Why do you-" he stopped when he noticed the tears on her cheeks. "Christine, how is it that I've hurt you?" His sky-colored eyes were bright with turmoil.
Another tear made it's way down her cheek. "You don't understand, do you?" She said wonderingly. "You truly don't understand"
"Christine, what did I do to make you cry"
She shook her head. "It's not what you did to me, Erik, it's what you did to them"
He began to retreat, sensing a violent repudiation. She caught his wrist, he tried to pull away. "Christine-"
She looked directly into his eyes and he felt the breath leave his body at the force of that look. "I still love you, Erik," she said, softly and clearly. "And that's why I have to make you understand"
He relaxed the slightest degree at her reassurance. "I don't understand, Christine. They never treated you with anything but-" Christine put a finger to his lips and he fell silent. "I know that neither of them bore me any great regard. But Erik, they were people. Like Madame Giry, like Meg, like my father. Like you." She faltered, than continued. "Piagni loved Carlotta as you love me. Carlotta is as lost without him as I would be without you. Piagni died and his love was left behind."
He was caught by the first sentence. Piagni loved Carlotta as you love me. The man, Erik had never paid him much regard, suddenly seemed that much more real to Erik, imagining having to leave Christine behind. Put in that light, the man seemed more like Madame Giry or Christine, more alive. Carlotta is as lost without him as I would be without you. With something approaching abhorrence, he realized what he had done. He had destroyed something sacred, the kind of love that came only once. It seemed as though those people at the fairgrounds had been right. He was a monster. He stumbled back from Christine, his feline grace forgotten.
"I am a monster." He whispered, falling back against the mirror. Christine, how could she think of him as anything else? Why did she not call for the police? Why was there no horror in her eyes at being in his presence?She stepped forward, his eyes were pleading on her. God, no. How can she see me as anything but a monster?
"Christine-" How could he even say her name? Surely he would tarnish it.
She hushed him, fingers against his lips. He shivered under her touch.
Why doesn't she run from me?
Christine
My God. She thought. He believes he's a monster, now more than ever. What have I done? She pressed a hand to his cheek, afraid of what would happen if Erik could not control the fear in his eyes. "Erik." She said softly. "Erik, you are not a monster. Don't even think it"
He flinched. "How can you say that?" To him I must seem so unattainable, no matter what he does, Christine thought sadly. She winced. "Erik, believe me. You are not a monster. Would you kill them again, knowing what you do now?" Please, Erik.
Her heart tightened, than, after a long moment, he shook his head. "No." He whispered. "No."
She kissed him softly, stroking his face. "That's how, Erik. That's how I know you're not a monster." His face was damp under her fingers.
But Who Can Name The Face?
Christine
The gala was, surprisingly, another masquerade. Perhaps that was the reason poor Andre had been so twitchy. Not that she blamed him, considering Erik's intimidating appearance at the last such event. Apparently, this had been suggested by Firmin, something about a 'golden opportunity' for publicity. Meg had passed the information on to Christine from the Opera Populaire's secretary, who was currently courting her. Looking around, Christine marveled at the changes in everyone. The actor's voices were shrill with false gaiety, the dancers somewhat stiff. Madame Giry, however, was as unruffled as ever. Carlotta was in black, looking more woebegone than Christine had ever imagined the proud diva would let herself appear. Christine almost missed the notorious pink puffball dress and shrill demands. Mssrs. Reyer and Andre jumped at the least sound. Firmin was in his element, exuberantly greeting the prospective patrons and opera-goers. Gradually, under the effect of wine and normalcy, the people around Christine began to relax. Christine looked around at the sea of masks, apprehensive of seeing Erik or Raoul amidst the crowd.
"Christine. How charming you look"
Speak of the devil. Christine thought. She turned to face Raoul. Luckily, no one else seemed to notice the falseness of his cheer, the claws beneath the velvet. "The play was a great success, don't you think, Vicomte?" She replied lightly, looking for an excuse to escape. Where is Meg when you need her? "How could it be otherwise with such a star?" The other members of the little circle made bland agreements, than Raoul excused them both. "A moment, my friends, I would like to speak with Miss Daae." He led her off by the arm.
"What was it you wished to discuss, Vicomte?" She asked, feigning indifference. "Questions pertaining to a certain masked friend of yours, Christine, questions I'm sure you would rather answer in privacy"
"What makes you think I have any answers to give"
He raised his eyebrows. "Please, Christine, don't make me go to Madame Giry for answers. That could be quite messy"
They stepped out into the brisk air, snow crunching underneath their feet. On the roof, Christine realized, she was uncomfortably vulnerable. "They'll be missing you down at the gala"
The Vicomte's mouth tightened. "They can wait. Christine, have you thought over what happened today"
She arched her brows in false surprise. "Why, of course. And how is Celeste?"
His face darkened. " I was referring to your involvement with that monster, Christine. Do you think you can carry on this affair when we're married"
Christine sighed. God, give me patience."Raoul, have you considered that I may not want to marry you?"
He snorted. "Don't be ridiculous, Christine. You're wearing my ring, after-" He glanced down, froze. His breathing harsh, he snatched up her hand. Her barren fingers shone like snow. "How dare you..." He whispered. "Christine." His eyes were black with fury as they locked on to hers. His fingers tightened. "Christine, what is the meaning of this?" His voice had lowered to a hiss. "We're meant for each other, you and I. Have you forgotten what we promised"
Christine's eyes were clear as rain, her voice crystalline. "What is the meaning of a promise if it is not kept? Tell me, Raoul, why should I keep a false promise"
Raoul threw his hands up in exasperation. "I told you, Christine, she was nothing! Now why don't you come back down to the with me and we can forget this whole incident"
Christine gave him a pitying look. "Raoul, this isn't about the chorus girl. I don't love you, Raoul. And I can't marry a man I don't love"
Raoul's eyes turned the flat, lightless dark of stone. "Don't be a fool, Christine. I'll have you one way or another, wife or not." Her cheeks flushed. "How-" She broke off with a yelp as he grabbed her by the shoulders. Squirming, she pulled out of his grasp only to have him catch her around the waist. A hot whisper in her ear, "Christine, you're being difficult"
"Let me go!" His hold tightened as she twisted, frantic. A sharp crack echoed across the night air and she stumbled forward at the sudden freedom. Whirling around, she saw a masked man make his way toward them, a lasso in hand. The noose was around Raoul's neck, he clawed at it futily. The Phantom's voice snapped like a whip.
"Enough."
Erik
The fop stopped his useless squirming. Erik eased up on the rope.
"You." The Vicomte spat, hands clenching into fists.
"Me." Erik agreed. He glanced at Christine and his heart tightened. She was white, shaking, but her eyes blazed like an inferno. He tightened his hold on the rope, wary of the looks the fop was sending Christine. He turned his attention back to the Vicomte. "If you threaten Christine again, I will find you, and I will not be so forgiving. He tied the end of the rope to a stone foreleg. "Let this be a lesson to you." Circling around the fop, now busy with the noose around his neck, he made his way to Christine. His angel's eyes were effervescent in the moonlight.
"Shall we go?" Her mouth curved up at one corner. "Please." She shivered in the cold. He reached to remove his cloak for her and she slid under his arm. He tensed for a moment. Relax, Erik. He thought. Don't make a fool out of yourself. This is Christine. Sufficiently chastised, he went inside with Christine. He turned to her. "Christine, will you wait a moment? I need to retrieve something. If the Vicomte presents the managers or the police with any evidence that I am here, they may well tear down the Opera to find me."
Christine nodded. "If Raoul stays here as patron, he'll take every opportunity to try and find you anyway."
He left her at the door of the passage. "Than we need a new patron. To protect ballet tarts and phantoms alike." He smiled and went to retrieve his Punjab.