A/N: Okay, not my speediest update, but much faster than the last one, no? As always, I hope y'all enjoy.
Your Most Humble and Obedient Servant,
S.P.
Disclaimer: I begged ol' Andy for the rights to Phantom. He threw a lawyer at me. If you've never had seventeen and a half stones of soulless litigator hurled at your head, I don't suggest it.
Chapter 19 Impatience Is a Virtue. . .Or Something Like That
Erik turned down a maze of passage ways until he stood behind the tiny dormitory mirror. He hadn't actually meant to come to the room Christine shared with the other members of the corps, but the young Authoress had planted the idea in his mind and his feet and subconscious did the rest. Before he knew it, he had, indeed, gone to watch Christine sleep. Out of habit, he began to sing an old Polish lullaby he had learned as a child. He was careful to throw his voice so that it only reached Christine and not the other slumbering dancers.
Kolibka z marmooroo,
Pielushki zrabechku, lulie aniowedgku.
Chervone yagody spadayo dow vody,
Yuzem pshekonany, Ze nie mam urody
Hotch urody nie mam,
Myuntku nieviele,
E tak vas nie prosche,
O neets pshayiachele.
Christine stirred slightly in her sleep. In time past her subconscious mind would have registered her Angel's voice and, with the comforting image of him singing to her from heaven, drifted deeper into sleep. However, this was not times past and, instead of images of angels, the memory of recent conversations rose in her subconscious, wrenching her out of her peaceful slumber.
"Erik?" she called softly.
The last note of the song was abruptly cut short by Erik's sharp intake of breath. After taking a moment to compose himself, he answered. "Yes, Christine, I'm here."
Christine stretched and stifled a yawn, trying to dispel the last bits of sleep from her only half awake mind. Before speaking again, her gaze wandered from the ceiling to the mirror, unsure which is should address. When speaking to her angel, she had always directed her side of the conversation heavenward, but now she was never sure where to speak. Finally she settled on the mirror. There was something she had been meaning to say.
"Thank you."
Erik knitted his brow in confusion. "For what, Christine?"
"For everything. You've always known everything I've wanted and seen that I've gotten it." She paused for a moment, struggling again to find the right words. Finally she let them out in a verbal rush, as if afraid to lose her courage. "It's simply that I've never done anything in return. When you were the Angel of Music, it made sense that you asked for nothing in return. You were doing your job, but last time we spoke you claimed that you had been only an admirer and knew no other way to approach me for lessons. I don't deserve this. I owe you everything, but you've asked for nothing."
"Your voice is all I need, Angel. From the first time I heard you singing that hymn to your father, I knew that I would find no greater pleasure in this life than to mould your voice into the perfect instrument for my music." His reply was safe, predictable, and the absolute worst thing to say to the woman you love. Had the Authoress been there, it would have earned him a sound smack. One does not tell the love of your life that they're merely a tool for one's art. However, Christine was, quite luckily, either used to such comments or too deep in thought to truly listen.
"Erik. . .Angel, might I. . .might I thank you personally?"
Erik balked. Apparently the realisation that he lacked the ability to desert her in favour of heaven or more deserving students had emboldened her, allowed her to reapproach door Erik thought had long been shut.
"I'm afraid you've asked me to do the one thing in my power I cannot do for you, my dear." His voice was soft, but firm. It would have stopped most people in an instant, but Christine was too far into her fantasy of meeting her mysterious Angel to notice.
"But, Erik," she insisted, "surely you have some kind of magic! I know you do! If you can speak to only me and be at my side when all my senses say I am alone, then you must have other magic, like the Phantom. If she can walk through walls then why can't you do the same for me?"
"Christine," he said in warning, ice slipping into tone, "I thought I warned you never to ask that again. You know very well that I cannot appear to you, not as an angel, man, monster, or otherwise."
"But--"
"No!" Erik nearly shouted the word. Forgetting to check himself, he had allowed his voice to raise to a level that was sure to wake one of the sleeping ballerinas. Sure enough it did.
"Christine," called the sleep drugged voice of a young girl, "was that you?"
"It was nothing, Cecily, I simply had a nightmare," Christine assured the girl. "Go back to sleep."
Erik knew the conversation was done, even if it was not ended on the terms he would have preferred. With an angry swirl of his cape, (which surely would have turned the Authoress into a heap of drooling goo,) he stormed off down the passage way toward his lair.
Meanwhile, back on the stage, C.C. was having a battle of her own.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
"Before we get started, let me just say that I'm such a big fan," C.C. gushed. "Even if you did take the place of Mama Valérius and the Persian, you are awesome personified! I . . ." Suddenly realising that she was acting like a gushing fan girl, the Authoress shut her mouth forcefully, a heavy blush staining her cheeks.
Madame Giry found her strength in the girl's awkwardness. After all, dealing with awkward young girls was part of her job description. With a sharp sound, the heel of her shoe connected with the stage floor, making a fitting substitute for a rap of her signature cane. C.C. nearly jumped a foot in the air, as was the intended effect.
"And just who might you be?" Madam Giry asked.
C.C. looked up with a self-conscious smile. "Uh. . .the Phantom of the Opera?" she tried.
Madame Giry arched an eyebrow in what reminded C.C. of a sterner- and far less sexy- version of Erik. "Try again, mademoiselle. I happen to be acquainted with the Opera Ghost, and we both know very well that he just left," she paused and looked pointedly at the young Authoress, "at your request."
Frowning, C.C. recovered a bit of her spark and dared to look the ballet mistress in the eye. "No, that was the former Phantom, he's retired. Erik's thinking about starting a family and thought it was time to for him to give up position."
Madame Giry's pointed look refused to soften. "There is but one ghost in this opera house. I placed him here myself and I assure you that he has no intention leaving."
"So, he and Christine are supposed to set a cosy nursery and play house in the catacombs?" C.C. countered.
The pointed look turned into an outright glare. "And what does Christine have to do with any of this?"
C.C. fought the urge to roll her eyes. "Well, she is the love of his life. Who else would settle down with?"
"Judging what I witnessed a moment before. . ." Madame Giry let the statement hang.
The Authoress flushed deeply, remembering her previous actions and near-actions. "It's Susan Kay's fault!" She blurted.
"Excuse me." That hadn't been the answer Madame Giry had been expecting, but then, neither had any of the girl's other answers.
"It's Susan Kay's fault," C.C. repeated. "She wrote her Erik with more sensuality and animal magnetism then should be legal-or possible, for that matter- and it started a chain reaction. Kay's Erik inspired Hugh, Hugh was Gerry's Erik, so that inspired him. And therefore it's her fault that he's more irresistible than MC to the power of chocolate!"
"Are you well?" Madame Giry asked, carefully scrutinising the young Authoress.
"Not a day in my life," C.C. answered quickly, "but that doesn't change the fact that Christine's Erik's only ticket out of here. You know it and I know it." Her tone darkened slightly. "It might have been you at one point, but you chose the safe route and got married. Now it's up to Christine. Guys like Erik don't get a third chance, no matter what the Other Woman writers say. Considering how his life's gone so far, I'd say he deserves a little happiness, don't you think?"
The ballet mistress seemed to age ten years in the same number of seconds. Guilt and resignation played across her face. "Yes, he does, but I worry for Christine. I don't want her to get hurt."
C.C. sighed. "The girl's got to grow up sometime. That means there's gonna be a little pain, but it's worth it. Did you love your husband?"
Madame Giry looked startled, but nodded.
"And was it worth the pain?"
"Excuse me?"
"Was loving him worth the pain of losing him? If you were given the chance to do it all over again, would you still marry him, knowing that your bliss would be short lived?"
"Yes," Madame Giry answered softly.
"So loving him was worth the pain?"
"I said it was."
"Doesn't Christine deserve the chance to draw the same conclusions?"
Again, Madame Giry nodded. "Yes, she does, but I just don't see how it can possibly work. I have hoped for so long that she would grow to become his salvation, but I only see him dragging her farther into his world. Sometimes I wonder if it would have been better if I had never found her."
"Hey," C.C. called softly, "I'm taking care of that. All that he needs is to be reminded he's human. And all she needs is to realise that she's not a child. In fact, I've already employed your daughter to my cause, even if she doesn't know it yet. She thinks I'm a ghost and I've filled her head with romantic notions of ghosts and angels, but she's got a good heart and she's a valuable asset."
"You've spoked with my Meg?"
"Yes, she's a sweet girl. You've done a good job with her." C.C. watched Madame Giry's obvious pride at the mention of her daughter. She was a good mother, a trait that would misguidedly lead to Erik's downfall if fate was allowed to keep its course. The Authoress walked over to the ballet mistress.
"So, can I count you on my side?" She held out her hand. Madame Giry grabbed it in a quick, but firm shake.
"Of course."
"Good." A telltale devious smile crept onto the Authoress's face. "And lets keep this little chat just between us. If it gets out I just might have to let it slip to your daughter that the Phantom of the Opera used to lace your corsets."
The shock on Madame Giry's face was comical. With a grin, C.C. dropped her hand and dashed off toward the wings. However, she stopped dead just before she reached the second leg. Turning back she added in a deadly serious tone, "I know this doesn't mean anything to you yet, but it you ever so much as think of betraying Erik to a young man named Raoul de Chaney, no matter what the reason, I will personally see to it that it haunts you for the rest of your life."
With that she disappeared behind the curtain, rushing as fast as she could towards the lair. She suddenly felt the need to be with Erik, if nothing else than just to prove that he was still there and that fate had not yet caught up to him.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
"For the love of Hugh! What was . . ."
C.C. dodged a second vase as it shattered on the rock beside her. That made two glass objects she had had to dodge in the fewer than thirty seconds she had been in the lair.
Judging by the way that Erik was destroying his home, things obviously hadn't gone well with Christine.
I guess you owe your best friend an apology.
'What?'
If her mental voice could have rolled its eyes, it surely would have. Remember that argument you had with Rudolf last week about what the Phantom story was really about. C.C. did remember. She had claimed it was both the greatest love story and tragedy of the modern world. He had disagreed.
'Just because Erik's getting a tad emotional doesn't mean that Phantom's about nothing more than--'
A very, very, sexually frustrated guy in a mask. Yes, it does.
'No, it does--' C.C.'s thought was cut shot as the shattering of yet another piece of glasswork caused her to shriek. The sound of the startled Authoress made Erik stop abruptly and stare at her in shock. It was as though he hadn't seen her, which he probably hadn't despite the fact that he had nearly hit her in the head with both a vase and decanter. C.C. took this momentary pause as a chance to read Erik the riot act.
"Are you quite done?" She snapped angrily at him. "For the love of all things canon, I am not about to put up with anyone throwing objects that are, or have the potential to become, sharp and pointy in my general direction! I don't care a whit who you are, am I understood?"
Erik's gaze grew stormy and he was about to snap angrily back when he caught her eye. There was something in her gaze, the unnamed something common to all mothers and childcare workers, that demanded total obedience. He nodded in response to her question.
"Good. Now, I'm going into the kitchen-assuming there's anything left of it- and I'm going to make dinner. I happen to be famished. When I come back out, I want all of the glass off the floor and I want you to have started cleaning the rest of this mess up. You don't have to tell me what happened. I hope you will, but I'm not going to force you. Now get to work. Do I make myself clear, Erik?"
He nodded again.
Twenty minutes later the liar was beginning to resemble a livable space once again and C.C. and her Phantom sat at the table, staring a bit awkwardly at their plates. Strangely, Erik was the first to break the silence.
"How was your conversation with Madam Giry?"
C.C. looked up. "More fun than a barrel of crack addicted monkeys! I think we had a real bonding experience." She said brightly. Then she grew serious. "Are you ready to talk about how your visit with Christine went? I'm guessing from the way you were acting that you went to see her and it didn't exactly go as planned."
Erik sighed deeply. "She asked to see me."
"And?" C.C. prompted, then off Erik's puzzled look, "I'm sure she's asked to see you before without you flying off the handle. You're not telling me the whole story."
Erik related the events that had happened in the dormitory. C.C.'s frown deepened with each moment, but said nothing until he was done. When she was certain he was done, she looked him straight in the eye.
"You were right that it wasn't the right time for her to see you, but you still made a sodding mess of things." He looked up sharply, caught off guard by her almost tired sounding cursing, but she ignored him and continued. "First off, I never, and I do mean never, want to hear that you've told her that you want her for her voice. A girl needs to know that you want her for her, not because she's a tool for your music. That would make her no different from a flute or a piece of staff paper."
Erik tried to protest, but she cut him off. "I'm not done yet. The girl wants to be told she's loved. That's all any girl wants. Do you understand me, Erik? She needs to be told. A girl like Christine will bond deeply and instantly to someone who tells her they love her. You have to make sure you do it before someone else does. If someone else tells her, especially that damned Vicomte, before you do, she's going to bond to them, despite what she, you, or anyone else feels. Secondly, she's still a child. She hasn't figured out what she feels yet. The last thing that needs to happen is for you to do something that pushes those feelings in a direction neither of us want. That means no raging, no shouting, nothing that will frighten her. Keep. Your. Temper. In. Control."
The air was thick and heavy with thoughts and slowly dawning realisations. Suddenly, C.C. perked up.
"Who's up for a game of Twister?"
Erik looked up at her, justifiably suspicious. "What's Twister?"
C.C. tried to hide and devious smile.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
A/N:
The song Erik sings is a traditional Polish lullaby. My mother used to sing it to me. I thought the lyrics were fitting, that is, if my translation is correct. To the best of my knowledge, the translation of the lyrics is as follows:
No cradle of marble,
No pillows of lace for you, my darling.
Splashing in the water, fall the red berries.
You, my little child, you make me so merry.
Though I own few things,
I¹ll not ever need more,
I have you my darling
You are what I¹ve prayed for.
Another, rather serious chapter, but it was necessary to get a few more of my pesky water fowl arranged in a direct procession. The next chapter will be a bit more fun. Othello is in it's last few days and rehearsals are starting for the next production. What new surprises are in store for our reluctant hero and slightly bipolar heroine? Tune in next week and find out. Now, to the reviews. This chapter we're doing things a bit differently. My beta and I traded Eriks for a while, so I'd like everyone to give a warm welcome for Charles Dance!Erik from the 1990 miniseries.
Dance!Erik: Good evening.
C.C.: Let's get started. Feel free to be brash, Erik, dear. My Erik always is. My reviewers are used to it.
Dance!Erik: Now, why would I do that. They're doing you a kindness by reviewing to your work.
C.C.: -to reviewers- Isn't he the sweetest thing?
Trier1974: Thank you again for your always supportive reviews. I'm particularly proud of the "My Size Barbie" line. I had to think of that one without the help of my muse, he objected strongly to its use. I'm beginning to think he's got a Christine doll of his own stashed somewhere.
Dance!Erik: The use of a doll is no laughing matter. It can be highly symbolic.
C.C.: You would say that, wouldn't you.
Just Plain Insane: Isn't Leroux!Erik a god among Eriks? I seriously thought about having a Lerouxy Erik as my muse, but then remembered that I didn't want a must that was that much smarter than me or quite that homicidal. I had to settle for a custom Erik with a few Leroux characteristics thrown in.
Dance!Erik: I don't understand your objections to Leroux Erik's actions, Authoress. He has assured me he was simply prepared to defend himself from an assault form above. Such a thing is not entirely unexpected.
C.C.: -snorts- What novel were you reading?
aragornnme: Ooo! New reader! Yay! . . .ehem, sorry, I love new sources of validation. lol I'm a bit of a review whore.
Dance!Erik: Such language for one with such a proper upbringing.
C.C.: Ha! My mum was a good girl, but my dad was a sailor, you haven't heard anything yet.
PMEL: Oh, look. You made my Dance!Erik blush. . .not that that's a particularly hard thing to do. Anyway, don't worry, I have a smut chapter or two written, they're just waiting to come into play. I believe my exact reaction to Erik and Christine's activities is to shout "Erik! I have to sleep in that bed!" -wink-
Dance!Erik: Oh, my. Surely Christine would not participate in such activities before marriage. She's a good girl.
C.C.: -sighs- This is why I don't let you read the phics in the M section.
Cassiopeia Lily: Was this fast enough to earn chocolate? I really need it. -pitiful face-Dance!Erik: Are the brownies I've been making not sufficient?
C.C.: They're wonderful, dear, but these are reviewer brownies. They're different.
Pawfoot: There's E/C in this one. . .really, really angsty E/C with no fluff, but I'm getting closer. I promise!
Dance!Erik: I waited my entire life to be looked upon by an angel, surely you can wait a few more chapters for your gratification.
Sunday: I'm glad my humour can last through more than one read. It was made all the more readable by your fabulous betaing.
Dance!Erik: How are the others? Creating mischief, as always, I suppose.
Bek: I couldn't help myself! Oh, and, HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGH!
Dance!Erik: I don't understand your obsession with this Panaro fellow. His clothing is atrocious! Horrid patterns! Leather trousers! His shirts always improperly buttoned and hanging half open.
C.C.: -goes glassy eyed and drools- Yeah. . .