A/N: Firstly, I know this says General/Romance and is labelled as Raoul/Christine, but it's not going to be extremely passionate or extremely fluffy. Sorry. Secondly, this is based more on Leroux's novel than any other adaptions of 'Phantom of the Opera', but I guess it could apply to the film, too. Thirdly, thanks to my beta, Tierney Beckett, who helped me with my grammatical trip-ups, and to Leroux for his amazingly confusing but still fantastic novel that inspired this fic.
Enough
She looks at him while he sleeps. His once boyish face is no longer young- it is weary and creased with anxiety. But tonight he sleeps.
He has given up so much for her, she thinks fondly, as she reaches out to caress his face. His title, his fortune- they are living a simple life in Switzerland. Better than the Paris Opera, where living was like attending a masquerade all day long, all year 'round.
She remembers Erik. Poor, pathetic Erik. He had not given much for her in the end- he had taken for her, killed for her. But in the end, he had made one of the largest sacrifices: he gave her up for her own happiness. He loved her, she knows he loved her.
"Why, you love him! Your fear, your terror, all of that is just love and love of the most exquisite kind, the kind which people do not admit even to themselves,' said Raoul bitterly. The kind that gives you a thrill, when you think of it... Picture it: a man who lives in a palace underground!"
Should she have stayed?
Erik would not have given up as much as Raoul had, nor would he ever be able. No, she made the right choice. She could not have stayed in Paris much longer.
In the end, though, she thinks Raoul was right. She did love Erik. A strange sort of love- one that made her shiver to even think of it- but oh, she had enjoyed it. She had enjoyed playing with the affections of two men, but in the end, it was only ever to be Raoul whom she wished love from.
She remembers the first time she told him that she loved him.
"It was then that I saw you for the first time one evening, in the house. I was so glad that I never thought of concealing my delight when I reached my dressing-room. Unfortunately, the voice was there before me and soon noticed, by my air, that something had happened. It asked what the matter was and I saw no reason for keeping our story secret or concealing the place which you filled in my heart. Then the voice was silent. I called to it, but it did not reply; I begged and entreated, but in vain. I was terrified lest it had gone for good. I wish to Heaven it had, dear!...That night, I went home in a desperate condition. I told Mamma Valérius, who said, Why, of course, the voice is jealous!' And that, dear, first revealed to me that I loved you."
It almost seemed as though she were throwing it in his face, in retrospect. And perhaps she was. After all, she loves him, but not as much as he loves her. Oh, she has sacrificed for him. But a part of it has also been for her.
"You are frightened...but do you love me? If Erik were good-looking, would you love me, Christine?"
"Oh, my betrothed of a day, if I did not love you, I would not give you my lips! Take them, for the first time and the last."
Something like guilt stabs her heart.
She cannot be treating him so badly, not for all this. He loves her, she knows this. He has sacrificed so much for her that it sometimes hurts to think of it.
But does she really love him?
She thinks back on the past year.
The sun begins streaming in through the window and Raoul stirs.
Yes.
Even as he smiles at her and she leans down to kiss him gently, she knows the truth.
She loves him, and she needs him. It is not a passionate love, but it is gentle and simple, protecting and accepting. It is not like with Erik- the excitement, the danger, the fear. It is not even what she had dreamt of as a child- but it is enough.
And enough is all she wants.
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