A/N: Thanks to all reviewers! I can't believe so many of you are sticking by me with this story. I'm ultra-happy I have so many frequent reviewer/readers, too.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my soul (retail value...how much would having Michael Crawford as my cabana boy cost?)
Ch.14
Erik awoke to a startling realization. I'm not in my room. He sat in a chair next to Christine's bed. Vaguely he remembered how after he'd sung her to sleep he'd remained by her side. As her fever suddenly flared in the middle of the night, he'd woken her up to give her a cool glass of water and a fever reducer, then washed her face with a cool cloth. She'd watched him with eyes half-closed in sleep. But as he'd pulled his hand away, she'd reached out for it.
"Erik." Even from her scorched throat, his name sounded so musical. He'd taken her hand and nodded to her.
"I won't leave you. Now sleep." She'd hardly heard him when she'd drifted back off again.
Before nodding off himself, Erik had studied her trusting, sleeping face. She'd reminded him so much of Sleeping Beauty just then, locked away and dreaming of the prince who'd someday appear to free her. The fact that he was not the hero of her fairy tale was the only thing that had kept him from stealing another caress under night's cover. Instead he'd contented himself with her hand, and slept near her.
Now he watched her as it approached late morning. Gently he pried his hand from hers, and brought it up to feel her forehead. Still warm, but nowhere near as bad as last night. He could relax, knowing she was getting better rather than deteriorating. He hadn't been negligent in not going to the hospital. She was recovering safely with him, trusting him to watch over her. He'd sung to her, and she'd come to him. It had been bold, to discard the distance he'd worked so hard to keep with everyone, for her. But she'd listened, and willingly held fast to him. She hadn't called out for a hospital the night before- she'd called for him. To touch her, to have her follow him, and to see her savoring his song so, was more than he'd dreamed of. The way things were progressing, a little hope did not seem unfathomable. Slowly but surely, Erik was taking her into the darkness.
"Erik?" She watched him curiously as he looked at her, her eyes darting in nervousness. "You-you stayed here?"
"I said I would." Her embarrassment was infectious.Under her gaze, he felt the desire to cover up the tracks of the past night. He stood. "I'll leave you to your morning routine. I'll prepare some soup." He left her to her thoughts.
Christine raised a hand to her temple and sighed, willing herself to focus. I remember he sang to me last night...until I fell asleep. And then I woke up, and he was still here. He'd done everything she'd wanted, and Christine hadn't even asked. Cooling her off, holding her hand in a soft grip- she felt the worry in his actions. After all this time, Erik remained such a mystery to her. Could she dare to call the expression he'd worn as he held her hand tenderness? How could she, when she'd seen those same green eyes glowing with hellfire? Tender and cruel, giver and taker- which is the real Erik? It was as if he wore a mask she could not tear away with physical strength of any kind. But she wanted to pry it loose, to see what him for what he really was. Maybe then I'd understand...
She stood slowly, and began to get ready. Even though she still felt a little ill, the prospect of food sent a growl through her stomach. Erik, whether friend or foe, was an excellent cook, and that was all that mattered to her for the moment.
"I could have brought breakfast to your bed." His voice scolded, seemed annoyed. Inwardly, he was pleased by her recovery. He watched her take another spoonful of the chicken soup he'd made.
"I'm not deathly ill, Erik. And it feels nice to be out of my room for a bit." She closed her eyes and stifled a yawn. "Though I still feel tired."
"Then I won't push you to practice." He watched Christine's unreadable expression. Her hand set the spoon down, and she clutched the napkin slightly. After a moment, he cleared his throat. "What is it, Christine?"
Her eyes looked almost guilty as she looked up to him. Her pretty mouth contorted a moment, trying to find the right words. "Thank you." He remained stoically observing her, awaiting further explanation. "You've been...," She felt color rise to her cheeks, "While I've been sick, you've been really- well, you've been very kind to me." She managed a shy smile under her blush. "So... thank you, Erik."
He picked up his bowl and headed for the sink. "I fully intend to run you ragged during lessons when you're well again, to make up for this lapse." He'd slipped back into his apathetic behavior, but he couldn't do anything else. Not when she'd been so beautiful, pale green dress offsetting the glory of her brown hair, eyes so set to prove the sincerity of her gratitude. He had to get away suddenly as she laid down her defenses, no night to cover them or music to distract her from his repulsive body.
But she gave a small laugh. Not one she expected him to hear or gave for him, but a genuine one. The first he'd heard her give in his home. Forgetting himself, he turned to stare at her. She, realizing he'd noticed, covered her mouth apologetically with a hand. "Oh, I didn't mean- it was just what I expected you to say. 'I intend to run you ragged to make up for this', or something along those lines." Childishly her hand went to her eyes, blinding her to any reaction Erik might have at that as if it would make her invisible. She didn't want him frowning at her silly ways. "I know, I know...my voice is very important, and I need to study seriously. And I am."
"But it's also important not to damage your instrument." His voice came so close to her that she shuddered. Before she could remove her hand from her eyes, she felt his fingers at her throat. An involuntary moment of panic dawned on her, only to be replaced with relief. His hands, unlike days before, were kind. She could feel it in the reverence of the pressure of his fingers- so light, as if he were using only a feather. "Being ill can't be good for your voice, Christine. Be sure to rest today, just to be safe." With that, Christine felt him slip away from her. She uncovered her eyes to find him down on one knee, watching her. He's so odd.
Neither moved. Chrsitine could not find it in herself to remove herself from her seat, and Erik awaited her reaction. "All right," she faintly replied, more interested by his eyes and the earlier actions of his long fingers than what he'd just said. Her own fingers itched to touch his face again, now that it was so close. She remembered how he'd guided her hand to his cheek last night, but now she was alert, and would be able to trace his features, to remember the feel of his pale skin. So pretty...like a bisque doll... Her hand raised itself only slightly from her lap, her fingers beginning to stretch out. What's underneath everything --
"Well then, you'd better take your medicine and lie down." He broke his gaze from her and stood, picking up her dishes. "I have some books sitting around the den. Find something you'd like." She watched him return to his mechanical routine, and her hand dropped down. She stood and accepted the pill and glass of water from him. What was that just now? Handing the glass back to Erik, she knew he barely noticed her now. Wordlessly she walked back into her room.
Confined once again to her bed, she quickly became bored. With no desire to read, all she could find to do was to stretch and think. She listened for him outside her room, and once assured Erik wouldn't be coming in anytime soon, she reached into her drawer for what she'd hid there nights ago. Long since withered, but still unable to throw it away, Christine looked at the rose. It was dear to her, physical proof that one night had actually happened. That he looked a me with such eyes...and I was not afraid. She cupped the flower's petals and brought it to her face, drinking in the fading scent. Tenderly she laid it next to her on the pillow and turned to her side to look at it. Her fingers slowly ran over the ridges of the petals, even as she began to drift into sleep. Did I expect to ever feel such peace in his home?
Had she just tried to touch him? Erik wondered at the idea, but he'd seen her hand raise itself as if she were going to touch his cheek. But she'd never touched him! His sleeve, his hand a few times, but never his face. While he'd guided her hand over it last night, she'd been in a dreamlike state, susceptible to his song. She'd never asked or wanted a touch of such intimacy. Then what was--?
The sound of his cell phone's ring tone took him away from his thoughts. He followed the tone until he found the phone abandoned in his chair. An annoyed sigh escaped him. The Daroga... He flipped it open. "Yes?"
"Is that impersonal greeting all I get from you, Erik?" The detective held his phone in his hand as he lcoked up his office and headed home. His wife had been bothering him about Erik all day, asking him to check up on the ill family friend. He'd only now remembered, and decided he'd be able to tell with a phone call whether Erik needed to go to the hospital. "And here I am, worried sick about your declining health."
"I'm touched," Erik replied in a tone that was anything but. Christine was sleeping soundly, but he couldn't know she was beginning to stir in the other room.
"Antoinette was worried," Nadir admitted, "she always worries about you, Erik."
"I never asked her to." A straight, quick reply. It was true- he'd never asked her for her pity or tolerance.
"You're still as incredibly dense as you were when I first met you." Anger flared in Nadir, mostly because Erik could still not accept what his wife had been freely giving him all along. The fact that he, too, wanted to give him the same thing bothered him only minimally. "Do you still remember?"
"I try not to dwell on it. I thought very little of you then." Erik's answer only reaffirmed his thoughts on the boy's health. He'll live.
"Are you saying you think better of me now, Erik?"
"I suppose since you now think better of me, I should return the favor-"
"Then don't." All mirth disappeared from the detective's voice. He turned the key in the ignition and started his car. Before pulling out of the lot, he took a small notebook out from his coat pocket and flipped it open. "Christine Daae's information. I never really read it before. She was 19. Eyes: brown. Hair: brown. Height-"
"Yes, I know all this. Daroga, why-"
"A future soprano-" Nadir continued, "-parents lost almost two years ago, alone in this world, except for her music. Her music," he stopped to sigh, "and one man, whom she never knew wanted to find her so badly. He stops by her apartment complex every day, hoping someone's heard from her." The silence on the other end of the line gave him leave to continue, and ill or not, Nadir was not going to drop this. "I imagine, if you'd never had anything to do with her life, their reunion would have been a very happy one. Perhaps he would have helped to ease the pain of her loss. Unlike you, Erik, she's lost loved ones."
"I've felt loss," his quiet defense.
"Not like hers. Nothing like hers." It was all cruelty and no kindness, the detective knew, but it was necessary. I'm creating guilt to restore humanity. A tough, angry lesson for a prodigal son...
"You understand nothing." Erik's growl surprised him. "You, Antoinette, you've allowed me to continue living, but you don't understand."
"Then for God's sake, tell me!" He shouted into the phone. Had he ever yelled like this at Erik since that night? No, but he would not hold back. An innocent girl was dead. All affection or pity for the boy would only get in the way.
"Leave me be Daroga. I've cut myself as much as necessary from you and your affairs. It should be enough." Erik was sick of this conversation. It was more serious than what he'd come to expect from the Persian. He was so wrapped up in trying to end it that he didn't hear soft footsteps behind him, her soft breath.
"You don't cut yourself from friends! Lord, do you even understand something like friendship?" Exasperation exuded from him. "What people are capable of, all for the sake of the ones they care for?"
"As your valiant Raoul De Chagny attempts by haunting her apartment until she returns?" Erik's voice was dead with weariness. He wanted nothing more than to lock himself in his room and play at his violin until this all disappeared, but the detective would not leave him be. "I'm sorry I don't measure up, Daroga, but you know why that is impossible. It's as impossible as his search for her."
"Erik?" Her soft voice cut through all his anger with a chilling speed. He turned, knowing his mistake too late. She'd woken up, and heard the boy's name. He hung up on the detective quickly. Shit.
"Go rest, Christine. You're still sick." He'd tried to sound uninterested, but even he heard the lie in his voice. She shook her head and came forward.
"Don't patronize me. Please, I need to know." Her fingers knotted into themselves. "Is Raoul here?"
The hope shining in her eyes tore at him. Erik wanted to make her happy, but not like this. Without lashing out at her, he answered. "And if he is?"
"Then-then let me..." She knew what he'd say, but not what he'd do. Christine swallowed. "...Let me see him." As he turned away from her, the desire to see Raoul made her beg. "Please! I haven't seen him for so long. I didn't even know he was here." Her voice grew a little quiet. "Please, Erik. I want to see him."
His answer was almost a growl. "No." I refuse to lose you now. Just like that, her face fell. Her mouth opened, then closed, unsure of what to say to make him understand.
"Erik, I've never asked you to let me go. Not since that first night. But I've wanted to find him, ever since my father passed away-"
"Why, so he could take his place as your new protector?" A snide comment, laced with the jealousy threatening to overwhelm him.
"Erik!" She placed her hand on his shoulder and turned him to face her. She closed the gap between them. "What do I have to do to make you understand?"
"Nothing, Christine. There's nothing you can do or say to make me change my mind. I never told you I'd let you go. I never gave you any false hope. Your life is here." With me. He placed his hand as gently as he could on her shoulders. "Forget him." He didn't wince as her fist made contact with his chest. The light thuds weren't painful to him. It was the tears in her eyes that bothered him.
"Damn you!" She cried out. "I'll never forgive you for this!" She choked on a sob, as he took her wrists in his hands and pulled her closer. "I'll never forgive you."
"In time-"
"No!" She cried out, trying to free her wrists with a twist. "Never. I won't forget how terrible you've-" A shake jarred her thoughts. She saw him glaring angrily at her. Not the same anger she'd known before, but still threatening.
"Fine! Think me the devil or some poor, terrible bastard! But you won't ever leave me!" he cried out at her, and she ceased her struggling. His voice was barely audible now, dead and hopeful all at the same time. "I don't care if you'll never forgive me, if you'll never choose to stay willingly, but I want you...here..." his breath burned on her exposed wrists, "...with me."
A/N: Did she hear that? Will she still insist on seeing Raoul? Read and find out!
By the way, reviews really help the creative writing process hint hint :)
