A/N: Chapter 13! Thank you all so much for the continued support. I didn't think anyone would really read this, so I'm touched that so many people actually did. Chapter 11 and 12 have set up a nice situation, and I'm perpetuating here. Enjoy and review...pweese?
Disclaimer: If I owned PotO, I'd have an island in the Caribbean and a cabana boy named Erik who could sing like Michael Crawford...or maybe I'd just own Michael Crawford :) Since I don't, however, I write fanfiction.
Ch 13
"103 degrees." Erik read the thermometer carefully. "You're not getting out of bed today."
"This is ridiculous," Christine cried, and Erik couldn't agree more. He'd woken up to see her weakly clutching the kitchen table after getting a glass of water. Apparently, she'd been physically sick the night before, weakening her, but he hadn't heard a thing. Damn deep sleep, he thought to himself. He'd helped her to bed and taken her temperature, but Erik knew little of bedside manner or assisting others. All he could do was to take her temperature and set a course of action to make her better soon. He sighed and looked down at Christine.
"Stay in bed. No music practice today. I'll make some tea and find some medicine." He was about to walk out of the room when he turned a moment, a frown on his face. "Don't get out of bed." He closed the door softly behind him, and Christine resigned herself. With a small sigh she closed her eyes and laid her head back down on the pillows.
"103 degrees, Erik? Well," Mrs. Giry sighed from her end of the line, "while it's not terribly serious, it sounds like you have a nasty case of influenza. It's probably been brewing for a while. Are you going to the hospital?" Her question bothered him more than he wanted to admit. To take her outside his walls was dangerous, the police and this...Raoul waited there but if she was suffering...
"Is it necessary?"
"...no." He breathed in relief. "Just keep the fever down and drink lots of liquid. Broth and crackers, if you can keep them down, will help. Do you have any medicine? Ibuprofen is a good fever reducer, but don't expect miracles."
"How long should it last?"
"Two days, if you get plenty of rest. But I am surprised, Erik," she admitted. "I thought you almost never became ill."
"Mrs. Giry, I've been keeping late hours. I suppose it finally caught up to me." He heard the tea kettle whistle. "I'll have to repay you for your consultation soon."
"Don't worry, it's an amateur's. But would you like me to send Nadir to look in on you tonight? Or perhaps I-"
"No, I'm perfectly fine on my own. Besides, I shudder at the thought of our dear detective as my nurse." He heard her give a small laugh. They were rare, and he rather enjoyed the light sound. It reminded him of a wind chime.
"All right, Erik. But call tonight or I really will send him over." With that, Mrs. Giry hung up. Erik placed his phone back in his pants pocket, along with the keys to the large front door and his bedroom. He began to prepare the tea, and looked over into his kitchen cupboard. At the top shelf he found his first-aid box. He found the bottle of ibuprofen and set it on the tray. Wondering if that would be enough, he decided he'd stop by the pharmacy for more medications on his way back from the music lab. She has to get sick the day it's my turn to use it, he thought miserably to himself. But he couldn't stay. He'd finally finished the song as he wanted, and he couldn't let it go. It would be perfect, and then she'd hear it. He wanted her to be the first to hear the song. He picked up the tray and carried it to her room.
He watched Christine as he set down the tray. Her eyes were groggy, her brow feverish. But she'd smiled to him as he poured her tea, with a little slice of lemon on the side, as she usually took it. She sat up on her pillows and he set the tray on her lap.
"Thank you." She said as he opened the cap on the medicine and set two on the saucer. She took a sip of her tea, thankful that it was not as sweet as she normally took it. It would have been sickening otherwise.
"Take two of these now with your tea, and two more in four hours." Erik instructed her.
"You...you have class." She tried to sound like she was stating a fact, admonishing him for staying as long as he was. Somehow, she felt a well-known twinge of disappointment. Had she really expected him to stay? Maybe sing her to sleep? She smiled brightly when he didn't answer. "I won't keep you. Go, or you'll be late."
He nodded his head, and after reminding her she needed to stay in bed and bringing her a pitcher of cool water and a glass from the kitchen, left. But as he drove, he saw the disappointment that had clearly spread through her features. Whether he felt touched or guilty for it, the image remained until he reached school grounds.
Erik was walked into the music lab. He took a look at the soundboard, and the piano on the other side of the glass. He'd dreamed of this moment, recording the music he'd been dreaming up for so long. It was just one song, but it entranced him. It was as if he'd developed his own niche, like Coltrane or Bach. His music leaned towards the classical and operatic, but there was a darkness melding into it and making it his own. With some small rearrangement to the console, he was ready to proceed. He was going to make Christine understand why he'd left her side. Gently he raised the bow of his violin and began.
"Sir, if you'll just look-"
"Mr. Chagny-" The detective began.
"Raoul."
"Raoul, then. The missing person's division has file cabinet's filled with missing people who really are missing. Your friend-"
"Well, she's missing too." Raoul pulled out a photograph of a small girl and boy, sitting together on a porch swing.
"Is this Christine Daae?" The detective watched the boy. Of course he knew the answer, but he had to humor the boy.
"Ten years ago. Now," he pulled out a printed photo. "she looks like this."
Raoul's devotion to the girl struck the detective. There were no creases on the older picture, as if it had remained carefully preserved in a picture frame, only to come out now to demonstrate his desperation. Nadir had to admit she was pretty, and had become quite beautiful as she'd matured. He'd seen her photographs as he'd erased her out of existence, but this one was quite nice. She was dressed up, receiving an award for third place in a music competition. A musician, like Erik. Same school, too. He wondered why he'd so easily ignored these facts. Perhaps his mind had been more focused on his wife's pregnancy and offsetting costs. He noticed Raoul was looking at him hopefully, and Nadir only shook his head. To give the boy hope, when he himself already knew Ms. Daae's unfortunate end, seemed too cruel.
"I'm afraid I have my hands full on a different case."
Raoul refused to take his photograph of the older Christine as he left. "Please, if you find her, let me know." Without even accepting, Nadir had been recruited for the fruitless search and become further enmeshed in Erik's mess. He placed the photograph in his desk drawer and continued his paperwork, deciding it was best not to think too much on the dead.
Christine woke up from a fitful nap. The fever that had spread through her body was still burning her up. Even with the medicine, she felt the heat. In her discomfort, she began to resent Erik for leaving her alone. She was sick, and he was the only person in the world she had access to. So why didn't he stay? She wondered what she'd want of him if he had stayed. A song, in that soft voice, like when she'd heard his Ave Maria. A song...and maybe his sleeve. She'd become so used to giving his sleeve a soft tug when she was too nervous to trust her words, and now she found it comforting. Does he think it's childish? She looked at her hands. But I've held his hand before...maybe he'd take mine-
She shrugged off the covers, relishing the temporary cool the act provided her. Content to just lie in bed and be a little cooler, she didn't hear the door open, or the whir of the sound system as a cd was inserted. Only the violin's song, joined by the piano, roused her. Then, as she'd begun to stir, a voice filled the entire apartment.
Nighttime sharpens,
Heightens each sensation
Darkness wakes,
And stirs imagination
Silently the senses
Abandon their defenses
His song filled the whole house, but before she could try to rush out of the room to see him, Erik was at her doorway. His eyes only saw her and he held his hand out to her when she tried to get out of bed, continuing to sing to her. She went to him, and held his crystal gaze. His song was for her, and his eyes seemed to say that to her.
Slowly, gently
Night unfurls its splendor
Grasp it, sense it
Tremulous and tender
Hearing is believing,
Music is deceiving-
Hard as lightning,
Soft as candlelight.
Dare you trust the music of the night?
She was aware of how close she was to Erik, but did not care. That voice... She'd follow his voice anywhere. It was impossible to deny him, not when she could not find it in herself to struggle.
Close your eyes,
For your eyes will only tell the truth,
And the truth isn't what you want to see.
In the dark it is easy to pretend
That the truth is what it ought to be.
That statement was lost to her in her present state, but the words were writing themselves into her. Heartbeat racing, Christine could only obey the music, and follow Erik. She closed her eyes, and felt Erik all around her.
Softly, deftly music shall caress you.
Fear it, feel it secretly possess you-
Open up your mind,
Let your fantasies unwind
In this darkness,
Which you know you cannot fight-
The darkness of the music of the night.
New energy rushed into his song, and she heard it, let it resonate through her. His hold on her became stronger, but never lost its gentility.
Close your eyes, start a journey through a strange new world,
Leave all thoughts of the life you knew before.
Close your eyes and let music set you free!
Only then can you belong to me...
There was a sincerity she'd learned not to expect in Erik, an openness. It was both painful and beautiful to hear. She'd somehow been turned so her back lay flush against him. He took her hand and brought it to the left side of his face, his other snaking around her waist. It was so warm to her, but not uncomfortably so. It was the electrical current from before, now a thousand times stronger. He was guiding her with song, guarding her with his own body.
Floating, falling sweet intoxication.
Touch me, trust me,
Savor each sensation.
Let the dream begin
Let your darker side give in
To the power of the music that I write,
The power of the music of the night
It's burning hot. Whether because of the intensity of the music or Erik's presence or the fever, Christine felt herself falling into a deep and sudden sleep. It was not unpleasant, but indeed like stepping into some wondrous darkness. Erik was right there to catch her as she fainted, and lay her gently on her bed. His hand strayed once more to her cheek as he sang, but he did not feel any disgust. Only longing.
You alone can make my song take flight...
Help me make the music of the night.
A/N: I had lots of fun writing this, and I hope you liked the incorporation of the song into this. Read and review! I do love to read reviews. They spur me on to write and update!
