Et Velle Et Perficere
Disclaimer: Don't own POTO… but I do own Croft Manor and Jeremy Harper-Matthews.
Chapter 4: Someone Who Understands…
Michael, Sarah and Jeremy looked between Erik and Christine, fascinated at their total lack of response. Jeremy was the first to break the silence as he placed his hands on Christine's shoulders and gently moved her out of the living room doorway, saying, "I'll just get my bag from the car. If you're conscious by then, Blue Eyes, you can show me up, hmm?"
His words knocked her out of her apparent trance and she drew her eyes up to his, finally aware that they had everyone's attention. "Yes, of course," she said, moving to stand by the doors so that she could lock them when he returned, completely unaware of the effect her voice had had on Erik.
Michael, however, seemed much more alert to the change in him and, walking over to him, placed a hand on his shoulder, applying a gentle pressure to coax him up the stairs. "Come on, Erik, why don't you show me that sonata you were working on earlier?" The two of them then headed slowly up the stairs and into the music room, closing the door behind them.
As soon as he heard the door click shut, Erik collapsed, deflated, into the rocking chair by the window. He had hoped that her voice would be passable, that, with a little training, it would be beautiful, even – what he had not expected, however, was the musical quality already there, the perfection of the lilt and tone and, most especially, the effect it had had on him.
Michael looked on as Erik wretchedly went over things in his head, neither of them quite sure what was upsetting him. "Are you alright, Erik?"
"Why shouldn't I be?" Erik snapped.
"It wasn't a threat…"
For a time, neither man said a word until Michael decided that there was no way he would be able to get through to Erik while he was like this – he decided, instead, to see how everyone else was doing, and so, excused himself.
Elsewhere in the house, after Christine had shown Mr. Harper-Matthews to his room, she had gone to her own to get changed into her pyjamas. It was wonderful for her, being back home again and able to sleep in her own bed, with her parents just a few rooms away. She wouldn't swap it for anything in the world.
Erik, however, had confused her immensely – what exactly had happened between them downstairs? Not wanting to think about it any more and being completely exhausted she slipped into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. She knew she would have to have some sort of interaction with him at some point but she was just too tired at the moment.
For his own part, Erik was also confused. Nobody had ever had this effect on him before and he had never thought anybody would – certainly not a complete stranger he had not said a single word to and who, herself, had not said more than three words in his presence. She provoked feelings he had not felt before and was perhaps a little wary of feeling, at all.
Having decided he had spent enough time on his own just thinking, he resolved to try to get some sleep, and so, left the music room to go upstairs to his bedroom. Or, he would have, rather, had he not walked straight into Christine as she had intended to enter the music room, and ended up sprawled in a dazed heap on the floor on top of her.
He pulled back immediately and lifted himself off of her to stand and for a moment he saw her – truly saw her – lying ungracefully in front of him in her pyjamas and a brilliant white robe, her hair ruffled about her and her expression that of shock – she was even more beautiful now, if that were possible. Truly breathtaking…
"I am so sorry, have I hurt you? Tell me, Angel, are you well?" he asked, perhaps too concernedly for a complete stranger, holding a hand out to help her up.
Momentarily stunned at the beauty of his voice, she shook her head gently sending her curls tumbling about her shoulders and drawing a quiet sigh from Erik. "Angel?" she asked.
"Excuse me?"
"You called me 'Angel,'" she said as she accepted his help up.
"Quite. Well, I'd better be heading up to bed – it's late – and I suggest you do the same, Miss Daaé."
"I tried but I couldn't sleep, that's why I came downstairs. I spend time in the music room when that happens – it's something I couldn't do if I were at school so I make the most of it while I'm here."
"Well, I bid you goodnight, then," Erik said as he again turned to the stairs to leave.
"Oh, and I preferred it when you called me 'Angel,'" were her last words before disappearing into the music room, the door shutting soundly behind her. Erik was dumbfounded – one Freudian slip and she had preferred it? It was beyond reason… He hastily made his way up to his bedroom to avoid any further such exchanges.
It wouldn't be until a couple of hours later, however, that he would be able to sleep, having heard her finally return to her room.
Next morning, four bleary-eyed people sat at the table in the breakfast room on the ground floor. All of them were in their respective housecoats, none of them having wanted to dress properly before eating and they entertained light and undemanding conversation.
Michael was sitting at the head of the table with Sarah to his left and Christine to her left. Jeremy was sitting opposite Christine – he had been asked to stay for breakfast with them and his stomach had wholeheartedly agreed on his behalf. Already he felt quite comfortable around his Blue Eyes' family, comfortable enough to sit in his bathrobe with them; though, perhaps, that was due to the amount of non-public hours he spent with his charges. It was hard to be taken seriously when telling off a disruptive teenager in one's fluffy slippers and pyjamas, but it was an art he had learned to master over the years. And while he was used to dining with a room fool of teenagers every morning, he felt this was a quiet reprieve to be enjoyed. That was not to say he didn't love his job, but he was currently with a group of people he had much more in common with and who did not speak all at once – it was heaven.
Erik was not present…
"Where is he?" Christine asked, "Surely he must be hungry…"
"Erik does not often eat with us, Christine," Michael said, "he'll come down when he's ready."
Christine set her knife and fork down on her plate and pushed her chair back. "I'll be back in a minute."
Erik was playing the piano in the music room when Christine found him. He was wrapped up in a new score she had unwittingly inspired and was agitated at being disturbed.
"Haven't you ever heard of knocking?" he snapped.
"One does not often have to knock to get into one's own room – my father gave me this room when I was a child. But, I did knock; you didn't hear me."
She moved over to the piano and stood beside him, smiling genuinely. "So, not a morning person, then? Look, I just came up to see if you wanted to have breakfast with us…"
"I'm afraid, Miss Daaé, that I'll have to decline."
"But I don't know anything about you… come down and have breakfast with us; we can get to know each other… please… for me…"
That got Erik's attention – the very idea that she would want to get to know him. "I'm sorry, I can't…"
Christine looked around, briefly, "What's stopping you?"
He contemplated that very thought, himself, and could not come up with a valid answer.
"Alright then, I'll see you downstairs. Don't be long; your breakfast will get cold." She left without another word and headed to the kitchen to get him a plate.
When she entered the breakfast room again, Michael and Jeremy stood until she placed the plate to her left and sat down. "So?" Michael asked.
"He's coming down," she said. Lifting her glass to take a sip, she watched her father quirk his eyebrow at her. "He'll be down. Trust me…"
And, sure enough, five minutes later, Erik silently made his way down the stairs and into the breakfast room to join the four of them. He happily noticed that the extra plate had been placed next to Christine and away from all the others. Sitting down, entirely aware that everyone was looking at him, he kept his eyes on his food and began to eat.
"Good morning, Erik," Michael began, "it's nice to have you join us for a change."
"Yes, good morning, Erik," Sarah agreed and Christine decided she had better introduce her teacher.
"Erik, this is Mr. Harper-Matthews, my form master. He also teaches me Music and he'll teach you too, next year. You'll like him, I'm sure, and, apparently," she said, winking at Jeremy, "you can call him 'Jez' until term starts."
"Ignore Blue Eyes," he said, stretching his hand across the table to Erik, "I'm Jeremy,"
Erik looked at his hand and only briefly touched his fingertips. He also wondered at the nickname he had given Christine. He agreed, she did have beautiful eyes…
"Angel," he said, calmly, as though it were nothing unusual, "would you pass me the butter, please?"
Needless to say, Michael was amazed.
The rest of breakfast had been as it had before Erik had joined them – full of little more than light conversation, the task of eating and some silent contemplation. For his part, Michael wondered at the ease with which Christine had managed to get Erik to come down – he usually got an outright 'no' from him – and the way they interacted as though they dined together every morning. He thought about the nickname Erik had given his daughter and the nonchalance with which it had been accepted by her. He also thought about the way Erik treated her – not that he was ever impolite or improper to him or Sarah – but he was utterly attentive to Christine… he would listen to every word she said as though it were her last, he constantly made sure she did not seem upset and he provided her with all he thought she would need – even if it were only the orange juice. Christine, herself, seemed not to notice the special attention she was receiving…
After everyone had finished, they all excused themselves to get dressed – all except Christine and Erik…
"How long have you been playing for?" Christine asked.
"All my life… True music is not something one can choose…"
"My parents tell me that the care home you were in did not have a piano to speak of, so how did you keep it up?" As she waited for his answer, she turned herself more fully towards him, sitting on the chair sideways, her arm over the back.
"I have a violin. Besides, only the utterly untalented can forget how to play." He wouldn't tell her about the church that had been nearby and the times he had sneaked off to play the old organ. Or the fact that people thought there was a ghost there who played at night and disappeared only so long as Erik was being fostered by someone.
"Perhaps you'll play for me sometime…"
"Of course, Angel."
Little did she know he already did…
"Thank you so much for having me," Jeremy said as he put his bags in the boot of his car, "I'll never forget it."
They were all gathered out on the driveway as they said their goodbyes and he prepared to leave. He shook Erik and Michael's hands and gave Sarah and Christine a light kiss on the cheek. "I'll see you in September, Blue Eyes. Enjoy your holiday for me."
"I'll be in touch about that show," Michael called as Jeremy got in his car and waved. They had been discussing a musical to be held at the school next year, run by the seniors and, much to Jeremy's delight, Michael had offered to help out.
As they saw Jeremy's car disappear through the gates at the end of the driveway, they all headed inside. Michael and Sarah went into the living room leaving Christine and Erik alone to wonder what to do.
"I have a small spinet in the attic that needs to be restored…" she suggested.
"Let's go," Erik said before following her up the stairs.
"You're joking," Christine laughed, "he thought Rigoletto was a female stripper."
She and Erik had been discussing his many previous foster parents – especially a man whose entire knowledge of opera had stretched to the fact that it existed and other people went to see it occasionally.
"Oh, finally," he sighed, stroking her hair behind her ear softly, "someone who understands." Realising what he was doing, he withdrew it suddenly.
"So, what do you think of Old Dusty, here?" Christine asked, referring to the spinet, as she tried to ease the tension.
Erik thought for a moment and sighed. "She's certainly in need of repair but I think, with a little extra effort, I'll be able to fix her, if you'll let me… Now, tell me, how did you come by her?"
"She was left to me. Unfortunately, she had already acquired the basis for that name when I received her. But you really think you can fix her?"
"I would not lie to you, Angel."
Christine smiled serenely while Erik hoped fervently he would never do anything to break that promise or deprive the world of that smile.
"Come, I expect your parents will be wondering where we've gotten to. Perhaps tomorrow you can help me bring her down to my room so I can have a proper look at her."
That night, in bed, Erik contemplated the girl he had come to… what? Like? – No, it was stronger than that. Care for? – No, it was more than that too. Well, whatever he had come to feel for her, he knew it was extraordinary. She had more than lived up to his many expectations – she was not only the most beautiful creature he had ever seen but she was also the kindest – truly her father's daughter. He wanted to know everything about her and that scared him – he felt overly protective over a girl he'd only that day had a proper conversation with. But she was worth everything he had to offer her and more – he knew that instinctively.
No doubt, one day, if he told her of his feelings for her, she would break his already shattered heart and what was left of him would die inside. But he would not think of that now – he would think only of making her happy. And tomorrow he would hopefully start fixing her spinet and maybe they could spend some time in the music room later playing the piano.
Yes, tomorrow would be a good day…
© Copyright of CrawfordsBiscuits, October 2005
It's when people say stupid things like that that you just know that tomorrow isn't going to be a good day… and how is it that Erik can be morbid even when he's being happy?