Awakening

Well guys. If you haven't heard of me, I'm Kelly. Fan Fiction to me is the greatest thing on earth, second only of course to Gerry Butler drools and her head hits the keyboard, jerking her from her daydream. This is not my first Fan Fic, I have written many, the majority of them finished, the ones which aren't are currently being neglected for this one sigh. Who can really blame me? This is however my first Phantom of the Opera Fic so go easy on me. Still trying to decide whether to make this a one-shot or full fic. WARNING: Fop (Raoul) bashing present.

Quote of the Week: Billy Connelly: There was a For Sale sign sitting up outside a house. And it said on it: For Sale: Full set of Encyclopaedia Dictionaries, unneeded because wife knows everything!

Well enough ramblings now the story:

Cold she remembered being so cold. Like she had been carved out of ice. Freezing tendrils of shivering turmoil creeping through her mind, entwining around her body, squeezing, refusing to release her, slowly getting tighter. Snow sprinkled with drops of crimson. Like the night sky only backwards. The droplets of blood winking and glittering in the moonlight. Blood. Had it been hers? Raoul's? Eric's? Above all she feared the last most. What would she do without her Angel of Music to guide her?

What had happened that was so shrouded in mystery by her mind. May be she didn't want to remember… But the thought of constant ignorance chided her into forcing her brain to awaken and begin remembering.

As she slowly came to, and her senses started returning, she found that she had the most God Awful headache. It was like there were millions of needles being pushed into her right temple, and the discovery of thinking made it worse came the hard way. Although she had been cold before, now she was very warm. Almost too warm, but deep down inside her, her instincts told her that the way she was now was where she wanted to be so she stopped the attempt to pull away from whatever the heat was radiating from. The once freezing tendrils had now turned into warmth wrapping around her, almost like arms.

It took a few more seconds for Christine's strangely slowed brain to work out that they actually were arms.

She let a soft moan escape her dark luscious lips. She slowly felt the arms drawing away from her. She didn't want them to for some unknown reason to her, and after they had gone there was a feeling of cold and emptiness.

Then without warning it felt as though the millions of needles in her temple had been pushed in another inch. She tried to pull away but a hand gently but forcefully at the same time kept it where it was. The pain lingered for a moment, but then was replaced by a feeling of coolness as the pain ebbed away.

Her eyelids felt glued together, but she fought them open none the less. At the beginning everything was just a blurry collage of colours, but this soon focused and brought a clear picture to her after a few well placed blinks.

It took Christine a while to register what exactly it was that she was seeing…Erik. Looking down at her with concerned light green eyes. The ones that she had lost herself in so many times. One half of his face was still covered with the trademark white mask.

"Christine?" he asked with concern filling his voice. "Are you alright?" he said, pulling a stray strand of hair away from her face tenderly.

She nodded not even wanting to know what it felt like to speak. He smiled a concerned smile and stroked her hair again.

He was propped up on one elbow to her right side. They were in a bed. Obviously the one under the Opera Populaire. She still couldn't remember what had happened but Erik she, she took had jumped in beside her to try to warm her up. It had worked a charm.

She snuggled closer to him, and he lay back down so she could get comfortable. She rolled over onto her side and put an arm over his chest, resting her head in the crook of his neck.

He looked down at her. He had lost her. So many months ago. It seemed like she was gone forever. He had tried to forget about her, but everywhere he looked, especially under the Opera Populaire, something reminded him of her. Even the cavernous walls seemed to echo her name.

The bed covers and the air constantly held her scent. The mirrors seemed to have her reflection burned onto the glass. The water seemed to create waves that resembled her face.

He found that it was hard to move around his own home without constantly being reminded of her in some macabre way. He found the easiest way to live was to lie in the middle of the floor, the only thing that didn't remind him of Christine in some way, and stare at the ceiling.

He spent a lot of his time there. He rarely went near the organ that now sat in the corner, covered in a thin layer of dust and cobwebs.

Stray bits of his many compositions randomly lay on the floor or floated about the room on the gentle breeze from the underground lake. His eyes were dry and he no longer had any tears to shed.

But now she was back. Just like that. He had saved her. As he lay there, he recounted the tale in his head:

In the twilight the Cemetery looked even more eerie than usual. The silent tombstones and sculpted Angels were bathed in the silvery moonlight. It gave off a gloomy atmosphere, cold and monumental.

There was a slight breeze that night. Not cold but enough to send a slight chill through your bones. The air was filled with the sent of turned earth, and the sky was clear with a rare cloud floating solitarily below the stars.

The dew-covered grass was soft as his boots fell quietly on the ground. He heard shouts of anger and pleads for mercy ringing through the air. At first he had been simply puzzled.

He had left the Opera Populaire to try to get away from Christine and he thought that some fresh air might help him think of where to move. He had to leave that hellhole filled with memories that he didn't want to remember.

Normally he was the only one out at this time of night, when the moon was high in the sky the majority of the French Population were lying in bed in deep, vivid, dreams helped into their heads by the wine they had consumed earlier that night.

He quickened his pace to see what the commotion was. As he rounded a particularly large tombstone, he saw two silhouettes in the moonlight. One small and thin frame, obviously belonging to a woman and the other a slightly broader and taller form, belonging to a man.

The two people were fighting. Anyone could tell. They might as well have been having it in the middle of Paris, because no matter how remote they were, they were shouting so loud they could have been heard reasonably far away. The man was being very boisterous-the fight was apparently about something rather important.

The man was grabbing and screaming at the girl. Eric was still too far away to be able to make out exactly what they were saying, but it was obvious that he felt very passionately about it. Even from this distance Eric could tell that the man's words were a little slurred. Drunk. That never ended well.

Eric got a little closer so that he could find out just what the two were fighting about. He crept up in his ghostly silent way and placed himself behind another tombstone, which were plentiful since he was in a graveyard.

He still could not see the pair's faces but now he could hear them perfectly. Their voices carrying on the slight breeze. The woman was not happy.

"LET ME GO. PLEASE, LET ME GO. YOU'RE HURTING ME" she was sobbing loudly but the words were clear enough.

"NO! YOU BELONG TO ME. YOU SAID I DO! YOUR CHOICE, YOUR FATE, YOUR PROMISE. I LOVE YOU!" the man shouted back equally as passionate. He was almost blinded by grief. He was holding the girl tightly by the arm, not allowing her to get away.

"IT WAS A MISTAKE. I DON'T LOVE YOU! I NEVER DID AND THIS WON'T MAKE ME LOVE YOU!" she screamed, her voice going high pitched and hoarse with the shouting.

It was apparent the girl needed help. But Eric was no superhero. He wasn't there to save lives. He came out to get some peace and quiet, not bump in on some random argument between some random young couple. He wasn't going to go dashing off risking his life for someone he didn't know. That only happened in books. And this wasn't a book.

But yet the voice of the pair seemed somehow familiar. He just couldn't place where he had heard that voice from before. As he thought back to it now he found it ironic that he couldn't remember the voice that he couldn't seem to forget…

The man had vibes coming off him and Eric could feel them from where he was standing this wouldn't end well…

The man grabbed her and threw her down on the ground. They were standing on the top of a steep hill now, at the bottom of which, there was a wide glassy lake. The man jumped on top of her and began shaking her screaming: "HOW COULD YOU LEAD ME TO BELIEVE YOU LOVED ME? WHEN YOU DIDN'T? WHEN YOU LOVED HIM. THAT MONSTER!"

This was beginning to seem familiar to Eric now. He could almost slap himself now he had been so slow at realising what was happening.

Then the girl shouted and everything came together. "LET GO. YOU'RE NOT THE MAN I FELL IN LOVE WITH. YOU'VE CHANGED RAOUL, FOR THE WORST!"

CHRISTINE! It hit Eric like a piano. He jumped out from behind the gravestone just in time to see Raoul backhanding Christine across the face. He felt anger stirring up inside him. He ran towards the drunken FOP! And dragged him off his Angel.

He saw her roll down the hill; she had been knocked unconscious by the force of Raoul's blow and could do nothing to save herself. Erik had tried to run after her but Raoul grabbed him round the throat and pulled him back.

Erik placed his hand around his throat where there were still red marks from Raoul's attack.

Raoul squeezed without mercy. Tightening his grip. Erik was helpless. Then he remembered Christine rolling down the hill. He flung his fist behind him and felt it connect with Raoul's skull.

The Fop fell backward allowing Erik to run after Christine, he was halfway down the hill when she hit the surface of the lake and fell in. He flung of his cloak and his jacket (left wearing the shirt that he had worn for the Point of No Return) and dived into the water head- first.

He saw Christine her face deathly pale already. He swan as fast as he could and grabbed her. Then he swam up to the surface as fast as he could and over to the edge.

He pushed Christine up onto the bank and then had felt a hand pressing down so that he was underwater again. He hadn't had the chance to take a breath and so had very little time. But he wasn't going to let the Fop kill him.

So he reached up and grabbed the arm, and twisted it backward. It quickly retreated and he swam up to the surface far enough away from the bank so Raoul couldn't harm him.

He reached down to his belt and pulled out his Punjab lasso. Raoul ran.

Christine stirred slightly. It had been a few hours since she had fallen asleep. Erik looked down at her. He still couldn't decide what to do. She was awake and he didn't know how he was going to force her to leave. He still loved her but he would never admit it to her face.

He shivered slightly as she slid her hand down to his stomach. He wasn't used to so much contact. Her hands slid over his ribs gently and then the pressure increased as she pulled herself closer.

A sharp intake of breath on Erik's part woke her up fully. She looked at him questioningly. He didn't make eye contact with her, his eyes wandered around the room.

She pushed again another sharp intake of breath and a pained expression on the uncovered side of his face, made her sit up. She looked down at his ribs. They did look slightly odd. She rubbed her hands over them gently and then over her own.

The patterns were different. Drastically so. Erik's ribs were strange; some were higher than others were. She looked at him. He said nothing, still not making eye contact. He looked a little shifty.

She moved her hand over and checked the other side. Still, some were at odd angles and heights.

She put pressure on them and judging from the pained expression that graced Erik's face once again she finally asked.

"What's wrong with your ribs?" she asked looking at him with a concerned look.

"Nothing. They have been like that ever since I can remember," he said with a small shrug.

"Well they shouldn't be like that," she said rubbing her hands over them again. "Do remember how it happened?"

Flashes of Erik's childhood came back to him, unwelcome into his already confused and full mind. Christine saw the look that came into his beautiful, green eyes. He was remembering something. Then he snapped out of it.

"No. I don't. Too far back," he said shaking his head in a very convincing way that it was obvious he had spent his life in the Opera house watching people act. But Christine knew him well enough to know that it wasn't true.

"Yes you do you just don't want to tell me. Come on, can't you trust your Angel?" she asked in a pleading voice.

"Yes," he said with a sigh. "I can trust her. But there are some things that even Angels shouldn't know about. Trust me you don't want to know. And I don't want you to."

"Please my Angel. I want to know everything about you," she said with a smile.

"Why," he asked. "Because I love you and I'm going to live with you aren't I?"

Erik looked confused. Then he shook his head. "Oh no, Vicomtess. You made your choice. And you didn't chose me."

Christine looked hurt. "But. I made a mistake. You can't possibly think that I am going to go back to that. To the man who didn't care that I was rolling to my death. I love you and I see that now," she said seriously.

"Too late. You're married. Now you have to live with your decision. And what did you think that I would welcome you back with open arms?" saying this to the love of his life pained him greatly. The only thing he really wanted was to welcome her back with open arms. Seeing the expression of pure sadness in her eyes stung him deeply, but he would be her toy again.

She gave him a look that said yes. He shook his head and closed his eyes.

"What? But I thought you loved me?" she said tears filling her eyes.

"Yes, Christine I did. But you left me. You denied me and betrayed me. I refuse to be the fall back guy because you marriage has gone to hell. Go back to the Vicomte," he said sitting up

Christine sniffed and let a soft sob escape her lips. She nodded in understanding. "You just can't take it that I picked him over you. Can you?" she said with a little conviction.

He looked at her anger etching his face. "I refuse to let myself become obsessed with you again. I won't be your toy," he still was obsessed with her though. And there was nothing that he could do about it try as he might.

"Toy. Is that what you think I saw you as. I picked Raoul because you scared me. I was frightened of you. Can you really blame me?" she said the tears now running freely down her face. "You killed people without a thought," she said.

"Because of you! You were driving me mad. And can you blame me?" he said getting very angry. He was beginning to hate her now, but at the same time love was there.

"I didn't force you to kill people. You had a choice as well as me. And you made the wrong one too," her voice was getting louder now.

"Why aren't you scared of me now. If you ran away from me once because you were frightened then why did you come back?" he said raising his eyebrows.

"Because I had nowhere else to go and I still loved you so much."

She went to get out of the bed and walk away, but Erik, after this last confession, grabbed her arm, his resolve had disintegrated. She turned around, the tears still streaming down her face and the pain and hurt evident in her eyes.

She looked at him and he looked back at her. Straight into her red rimmed eyes. Her lower lip was quivering slightly. It broke his heart again. If he did this to her anymore it would not be able to mend.

He pulled her into a deep passionate kiss. He put his hands on her neck and then moved one round and tangled into her hair. She rubbed her hands over his smooth jawbone gently with love.

Eventually both had to pull away for air. Christine looked at him. There were new tears in her eyes, but judging by the beautiful; smile that pasted itself over her lips, they were tears of joy.

She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace that she had longed for, for too many months and the whole way through their argument. Bliss. She never wanted to leave this man again.

She pulled back and smiled at him. Erik fell in love with her all over again. She sniffed and rubbed her eyes. Then looked at him again. The man that she wanted to send the rest of her life with if she could.

It was only now that she noticed that he was still wearing the trademark mask over the right side of his face. She swallowed, remembering the last time that she had done this. She reached up slowly and rubbed her hand down the white mask.

Then slowly she pulled it away. When his whole face was finally uncovered he jerked his head away so that she couldn't see the right side of his face. She shook her head and reached out grabbing his chin gently and turning his face back towards her.

She reached up to touch the scarred skin. He tried to pull away again but she held his head firmly.

"I told. This face holds no horror for me now," she sang like she had several months ago. It was only after she had sang it that she remembered what she had sung after it, and quickly wished she hadn't said it. She made up for it now though;

"It's in your soul that true beauty really lies," she said and leaned forward and kissed his scarred face. She rubbed both hands down from his forehead, then over his cheeks and stopped to rest them on his neck.

Erik's eyes fluttered closed with the love-filled touch. The passion seemed to radiate from her fingers.

He loved this woman but would he take her back? He thought that he had already decided that. Although her words of song were supposed to comfort, they might have just condemned their love. It brought back the memory of that night that neither wanted to remember.

"It's in your soul that the true distortion lies," had been the proper second line. When she had sung it that night she had meant it. He had to decide…

Duh duh duhn! A cliffie sort of! So it is only the first chapter and the story is only getting warmed up. Hey what are you doing here listening to my lame excuses for my awful writing go review? And as I have heard before flames will only be used to roast marshmallows…