Disclaimer: Adrien & Isabella ROCK! Why? CUZ THEY'RE MINE! Erik should belong to me, and would, but… hey, it's not like I haven't tried.
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Chapter XIII: Hiding the Truth
His Story
A ways down the passage, Erik sat hunched at the organ in his room. He hadn't slept all night. His eyes were bloodshot, his limbs shaking slightly, and there was blood red ink all over his jacket. Shrugging the coat from his shoulders, Erik put his face in his hands.
How long should I wait…?
Should I tell him now?
Should I tell them both?
His long fingers raked the immaculate black hair in frustration.
Erik rose from the bench and began to pace the room, memories of that day flooding his mind…
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Eighteen years ago, Christine had given birth to a son. Erik could still see the gentle smile on her face as she glanced at him across the room. After what felt like the longest time, he had edged to her bedside, curiosity getting the better of him. Erik felt almost ashamed that he was allowed to see this little creation before even the child's own father. Admittedly, Raoul had fallen asleep from guarding the door all night, but Erik couldn't help smiling to himself.
The child in Christine's arms was asleep, and she slowly rocked him, humming Angel of Music. Erik looked at her again and was startled to see worry and sadness in her beautiful eyes.
"Christine…mon ange, what's wrong?" he asked anxiously.
She said nothing, but the melody of her song dissolved into a slow, pleading lament. Erik grimaced as he put words to it; she was remembering that awful night… when they had parted.
A tear slipped down her face and she whispered, "Erik, we can't keep him."
"What are you saying, Christine?" He was at a complete loss.
She turned her gaze on him. "I love him so much but… I can't."
"Christine, you need rest," Erik countered. "Sleep…"
"No, Erik," she resisted his hypnotic voice. "Get Raoul for me. Please?"
He turned at once and swept from the room. Shaking Raoul roughly by the shoulder, he growled, "Your… wife wants to see you."
The younger man instantly leapt up and followed him back inside. Seeing the infant in her arms, he ran to the bed.
"He is… beautiful, Christine." It came out as a hoarse whisper.
She put a finger to his lips and motioned Erik to the other side of the bed.
"I have… made a decision," she said. "And I know you will not like it."
Her steadfast gaze never left Raoul's face, watching for his reaction.
"We… I cannot keep him," Christine whispered, her eyes welling up again.
"What do you mean?" Raoul immediately glared across the bed. "Has this monster now blackmailed you into giving him our son?"
Erik remained silent, his blazing eyes on Christine.
"No, Raoul," she replied. "None of this is Erik's fault. There are… too many old, painful memories for me. This is my fault alone. And how would an opera star have the time to give him the proper attention he needs?" she reasoned.
Erik still sensed Raoul's tense reluctance, but Christine reached out to him and he knelt on the floor beside her. Raoul heaved himself backward into a chair as Christine placed the bundle in Erik's arms.
He could barely hear her words over the pounding of his heart.
"Teach him everything you know, Erik. All your music, your architecture, your magic. You are his godfather, his protector, his mentor. I trust you."
He glanced up and saw her clasping Raoul's outstretched hand.
"Take him home, Erik," she urged quietly. "Go now, before anyone sees you. We will be able to leave in a few hours. Go!"
Erik concealed the infant under his cloak and slipped through the door. Flying through the shadows, he spirited the child back to his underground haven. Only then did he realize that Christine hadn't named her son…
The next few months had been slightly chaotic for Erik, but even at five months old the little one had begun to recognize his compositions. Don Juan was too loud and discordant, but songs like Music of the Night and No One Would Listen had put him to sleep every night…
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Erik launched himself across the chamber, slamming into the wall with a force to shake the entire room. He ran his fingers through his hair again, kneading his forehead with his knuckles.
He took a deep breath, threw open the door and strode to Adrien's room.
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Adrien and Isabella had heard the thud when Erik hit the wall, and they both stood up, anticipating something further. A minute later, the door flew open and Erik leaned against the frame.
He looked a terrible mess. His white shirt was soaked with sweat and dotted with red ink and his dark hair hung in sunken eyes.
Isabella rushed to him, took his hand and led him to the bed.
"Erik? What's wrong?" She cast a worried glance at Adrien, who hastened to her side.
"Nothing… just memories," he sighed. "I need to tell you…"
His eyes found Adrien. "What is your earliest memory?"
Adrien's eyes widened. "Erik…"
"Well?" His tone was harsh.
Adrien tried to think. It came to him, a flash of song and color.
"I remember… you, playing the piano. Red silk… it was Music of the Night. I asked whom you were playing for, and you… you wept. I think I was around four. I had heard you play before, but I never asked anything until then." He looked at Erik, at the mask covering the old face. "Why do you ask?" He seemed wary.
Erik watched him with unshed tears. "I wanted to know if you remember your parents."
Adrien shook his head slowly. "I remember you saying my mother was an opera singer… That's all. Was she a famous singer?"
Erik chuckled darkly. "The most famous the Opera House ever knew. Your mother was Christine Daae, the Vicomtesse de Chagny."
...Yeah, like you all hadn't guessed it anyway. This chapter seems too soap opera-ish, but that's my fault. Oh well… the story needed it. Hope you enjoy!
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