Disclaimer: Hmm. I'm running out of funny things to put here. Obviously, I do not own POTO or any of the associated characters/music or the song "Only When I Sleep" by The Corrs. But I do have a lot of fun playing with them. Thank you for the lovely reviews. I believe the first one was written within moments of my putting it up. o.O I'm not sure whether flattered or stalked. (contemplates) Hmmm... feel flattered. Thanks!
Lee
Only When I Sleep
Christine
Christine was running. Behind her, she heard shouting, maniacal laughter that trailed at her heels. Shadows snatched at her heels, screaming photographs flapping around her feet. She felt a rough hand grab her shoulder.
"Raoul!" Her voice was thin, helpless in the darkness. She jerked free, feeling skin and cloth rip as she tore free from the claws embedded in her flesh. "Raoul!" The cement underneath her turned to quicksand, she felt talons dig into her, dragging her free. Christine stared into the black, beady eyes of the crow on her shoulder. The long, lethal beak dripped with some glutinous liquid. It opened the dark-smeared beak and croaked harshly. She sobbed, retched as the stench of blood swamped her, the coppery taste filling her mouth. Twisting away, she sprinted toward a lone streetlight.
Something caught her hand, bony, sharp and slick. Christine felt claws puncture the skin, ripping through muscle, scraping the bone.
She screamed, whirled.
And then a man stood between her and the monster that chased her. Whatever had been pursuing her dissolved as though it had never been. The air around him shimmered with a hazy luminescence.
She reached out a tentative hand to the figure. "Raoul?"
He glanced back at her, turned. Blue eyes blazed like sunlight, like starlight, in the darkness of the labyrinth around them. A labyrinth so dark that even night was blinded. The white mask contrasted sharply with the living flesh, the uncovered side of the face raw with longing. He reached toward her, she stepped forward-
"Christine..." The rich, deep, sensuous voice murmured in her ear. She looked into the eyes above her and froze. In those eyes, all the sadness of the world. Need, self-loathing, a desire that shivered her like a harpstring. They were like sunlight on water, brighter than the gates of Heaven, but so lonely...
"Christine..."
She opened her eyes slowly. Her body was pounding, every heartbeat hurt. Erik Destler was leaning over her, voice lowered, concerned. "Christine, can you hear me?" Dark hair slipped over his eyes, she tried to lift her hand to brush it back, found that she could not.
"Where am I?" Her voice was a cracked whisper. Dimly, she felt him take her hand. She felt as though she were living in a haze. The hand he held was the only thing that was not part of the numbness around her. It tingled with electricity, sending a shiver through her when he caressed the palm unthinkingly. The hot, fierce eyes were softened, the resonating, angelic voice warm.
"You were nearly beaten to death two days ago. Joseph Buquet is in custody, the paramedics thought that it would be better not to move you. You are in my home"
"Oh." She did not know what to think of that. It seemed enough that she was awake, any more than that, she could not manage. "What is the time"
"It is ten o'clock at night. December nineteenth if you're curious." He pierced her with that unwavering gaze. "How do you feel?"
"Like I've been dragged through Hell." The corners of his mouth shadowed in a smile that was not at all amused. "That's not far off the mark. What happened?" The thing that had not been a smile was gone from his face, replaced by a carefully still expression. Eerily still. Christine's heart beat harder. The cool, collected facade was no more than that. Underneath the poise, she sensed a hot anger, like a brewing fire concealed by peaceful smoke, emanating from him.
"What needed to?" She asked tiredly. "He was drunk, stoned, I don't know. He's less than gentle when he's like that." If he only knew the truth of that statement!
The blue stare did not falter. "Not all of those bruises are recent, Christine." His eyes were uncomfortably direct. She looked away. He took her chin quickly, gently, turned it back toward him. She refused to meet his eyes, kept her gaze behind lowered lashes.
"Christine, look at me." He whispered fiercely. She stared blankly at the wall. "Christine..."
She turned pleading eyes upon him. "Just let me sleep." She felt tears beginning to brim. I don't want to think about this- not now. Please, don't make me...
He sighed. "You need to talk about this, Christine. Perhaps not with me, but with someone."
"Not now." She begged. "I can't- not now." God, I can't do this.
The blue eyes were resigned. "If that's what you want, Christine." Christine caught a fleeting look as it flitted across his face, too brief to discern. He stood to leave.
She caught his sleeve. He turned, raised an eyebrow. The mask seemed to waver in the muted lights.
It took her two tries to speak. "Stay. Please?" She did not dare ask the second thing. She did not dare to ask this strange, beautiful man to hold her. However much she ached for the comfort of it, body and soul. Oh, God, Erik, what is happening to me? Hold me, Erik. For the love of God, hold me close. Her breath caught in her throat, she felt as though she would choke. There was a gaping emptiness inside her, and it was spreading. She felt it reach out, spreading veins of nothingness through her. Erik... hold me.
He sat down again. She lay back against the mattress and closed her eyes, praying that he had not seen the tears.
In the moments before sleep took her, she felt a hand caress her hair. Her heart tightened, crying out.
Perhaps it was only a dream.
Erik
He leaned against the frame of the doorway, watching her sleep. The soft glow of the lights bathed her in radiance. Her face was troubled, she shivered. She looked like a broken goddess, lying there so innocently, sorrowfully. A fallen Astarae, a wounded Persephone. The auburn curls gleamed like firelight, on her face, he saw the sheen of tears. He flinched. Longed to sit beside her and wipe away the tears, feared what might happen if he did.
Goddammit. What are you doing to me, Christine? Her so-called 'boyfriend' had brushed closer to death than Erik wanted to think about.
I was ready to kill him. The thought shook Erik to his core. The knowledge that he had been prepared to end a man's life sickened him. That he would treat life so casually... he shuddered. When he had seen Christine, half-conscious and seemingly unaware of anything around her, broken and bleeding...
He had come so close to the breaking point. So close... He had been prepared... eager, even, to end another human's life, when he saw Meg gasping for air, Christine huddled on the floor. Erik had wanted to kill the man who had hurt them, had wanted to watch the life flee from his body...
What's happening to me? The man had charged him, Erik had intended to deliver a killing blow to the back of his neck.
And then he had looked into her eyes. A world of meaning that he had not had time to decipher had passed between them in that glance. The wave of self-disgust broke him from the bloodlust pounding through his veins. He had not killed. For her sake, he had spared the man's life.
What are you doing to me?
She flinched in her sleep, a muffled cry twisting her face. He was there before he realized that he had moved. Seated on the bed, staring down at her. Stroking the hair back from her face, he shushed her. "It's all right, Christine. You're safe. I'm here. I'm here." He repeated the words, a soothing litany, to lull the young woman beside him.
She moved toward him in sleep, curled up against him. He froze, afraid of waking her. Fearful of what he might see in her eyes if she woke and found them like this. Christine...
"No- Raoul- no!" Her scream sent chills down his spine. It was a sound of pure anguish, heartbroken grief. He knew the keening she felt in her soul. He had made that sound once. A grief that struck the heart like lightning stuck a tree, shattering it into shards of dying wood, blasting it to useless pieces... Where had she learned such sorrow?
"Christine!" He shook her. He could not watch this. He could not watch the tears stream down her face, the eyes open and unseeing, black with despair. "Christine, wake up!"
She went completely still. Her head turned slowly, shaking, toward him. "I'm sorry." Her eyes were reddened, voice thick. "I'm so sorry." She grabbed a fistful of his shirt, body tremoring with gut-wrenching sobs. "I didn't mean to. I didn't mean for it to happen..." Her eyes were half-delirious on him. "Erik?" He wondered whether she knew is she was dreaming or awake. Something in her manner made him believe the former was more likely.
He held the girl closer, feeling her shiver as her body molded to his. "I'm here, Christine."
Her mouth trembled. "I'm so selfish, Erik. He shouldn't have listened to me, I shouldn't have..."
She was rambling, Erik realized. He pressed a hand to her forehead. The skin underneath his fingers was flaming.
"Shit!"
He rose, intending to get cold cloths, something, anything.
She clung to him, nearly bringing them both to the floor. "Please don't leave me, Erik. Don't leave me alone!" Her voice was a tremulous plea, begging for someone, anyone, to hold her, to wipe away the tears and tell her that the night would not last forever. That there would be daylight again.
What happened to you, Christine? He could hear her heart crying out in an effort to get anyone to listen. Anyone...
He leaned against the headboard, she half-crawled into his arms. Her eyes were black pools of despair, he dared not even guess their depth. She was frail, so frail against him, as though a single word would break her. Her face was buried in his neck, hands clenched against his shoulders. Her body was a knot of terror, curled up into a small ball of grief.
He held her closer, stroking the tearstained face. "It's all right, Christine. It's all right."
"No," she sobbed. "it's not all right. They're dead, I killed them! They're dead because of me!" She turned her face up to his imploringly. "Why, Erik? Why am I alive when they're gone? They didn't deserve it. I deserve it, I should have been the one. I should have-"
"Hush." He did not have the faintest idea what she who she was talking about, but he could feel the guilt rolling off of her. The shame that corrupted that virgin gaze. His arms tightened. "Not a word, Christine."
She ignored him, voice unrecognizable, a cry of pure desperation. "It should have been me, Erik. It should have been me! Why aren't I dead? Why can't it all end?" Her voice broke.
"Why?"
He pressed his lips to her forehead. "It would end, Christine, if you'll only let it. Let go, Christine." He said quietly. "Let them rest."
She reached up, mouth brushing his jawline tentatively. He froze, startled by the flurry of emotions she had sent through him. Desire, shock, need. God how he ached for her.
"Erik?" She whispered, almost too soft for him to hear.
"Yes, Christine?"
"Don't let go, Erik. Don't ever let go."
"Never."