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*-* Erik & Christine XV - Auditions

Half of September was gone already, filled with their songs, their rehearsals, and their gentle discussions on the sofa of their living room.

She had built up her strength, her stamina, and would now be ready for auditioning. It was time to leave their peaceful retreat, and drive back to the capital.

"I will accompany you, if you wish it."

"Of course. I will do better, knowing you're there."

So they took her car, on a warm September evening, up to the city. They would be staying at her old apartment, and take the car to her different auditions, the following week. Once upon a time, she would have taken the subway, but she really wanted him to be there, and he would have an easier time accompanying her if he did not have to suffer going through the Parisian streets as a masked man. Even with her, and the sometimes strange Parisian crowds, it wouldn't do attracting too much attention.

And of course, she needed her own accompanist, and who'd do that better than the one man who'd helped her get ready?

The night before her auditions, she could barely eat, even though he had outdone himself for her meal. The pasta was excellent, cooked to perfection despite her outdated kitchen appliances. But as had become a running joke between them, he didn't mind old things.

"You should eat. You will need the energy, for tomorrow. Especially since you don't want to eat in the morning."

"I can't, Erik, I just…"

She couldn't even speak, now. How would she sing, if even now her nerves were getting the best of her?

"It will be alright. We have practiced each of your audition pieces to perfection. You will be warmed up and smiling and exquisite. The stage managers will hear one note and want you. Don't even look at the other candidates, you will have enough time to know them afterwards."

"And you will be there."

"Yes. I will be there."

She brought his arms around her, settling underneath his chin, while his hand caressed her curls. She loved being held, he knew that now, and he initiated the connection more times than he'd ever thought he would.

He drew soothing circles on her back, trying to ease her breathing, kissed the top of her head.

"I love you."

He stilled, sure he hadn't heard her correctly. She had spoken so quietly, it wasn't real.

"I love you," she said, drawing back to keep her eyes deep into his.

He was struck. Couldn't say a word.

"I love you, Erik," she repeated a third time.

It had never been so complicated to utter a single word. Words he'd thought many times, but had never dared to repeat since that first time in his home after his final reveal, for fear of driving her away, of losing her, of finding her turned to mist into his arms.

But then he found his voice.

"I love you, my dearest, my love, my light, my Christine," he sang.

Her little laugh was an Angel's laugh, pure and delicate, and he showered her with soft kisses, so tender, it almost ached.

She was still here.

She loved him.

The world could stop and turn to dust, he could die, and not wish for more. She was perfection.

She was burning, delirious from her joy and the strength of their love. Would it ever be enough, to spend these moments in the arms of the man she loved?

Fear had taken a step back, lost in the security of knowing no matter what happened, he would be there, to hold her, to sing with her, to share their music.

She could audition. With him by her side, she could do anything.

And she would succeed.

That night, they settled into her old single bed. It was a tight fit, considering how tall he was, but she wouldn't dare take her parents' bed, and it was out of question to spend this night away from him. Not after what they'd finally admitted to each other.

She'd squeezed into his arms, still dressed in the nightgown he'd gifted her (and it had not belonged to his old Christine, even though it was old and precious, for she had never worn it) and him still in the Mandarin lounge wear.

She still hadn't discovered what lay underneath it, for he had been most intent on not showing her his skin.

"My face is bad enough, and what we have is enough."

"What if I want more from you? I want you, Erik. Please."

"Please respect this choice, my dear. In time, perhaps, we shall share that."

But not yet.

It infuriated her, made her burn inside, but even though she didn't understand, she never tried to make him uncomfortable. Choices were the basis of a relationship. She would respect his, as he'd always respected hers.

So they lay together, as the flat was dark and silent.

The noise was different from what they'd had the day before. His vampire ears could pick up every sound of the road, the cars, the breaths of the people around them, in their own homes.

Such an overload of sounds and smells, he hadn't had in many long years. But he would bear it for her, of course, and learn to get used to that.

Still, he tried to focus on her breathing, on her scent.

The old companion of her nerves, that odor of too sweet decay was something he'd tried many times today to soothe, but it was coming back, now that her mind wandered to fall asleep.

He pulled her closer, and softly sang in her ear. A new lullaby he'd made just for her, while she was asleep and he'd spent the night composing the first full two acts of the opera.

Words similar to ones he'd spoken when they'd met, and he'd tried to comfort her.

Little by little, her smell turned back to the one she had when she fell asleep, soft roses and lovely meadows.

He woke her up, gently, a few minutes before her phone was set to ring.

"Time to get ready, my dear."

She frowned and her heartbeat rose a little, her fear coming off strong as she started to fully wake.

"I'll let you prepare yourself," he murmured in her ear, and kissed her forehead.

Then he left her room to dress himself and wait for her.

She'd felt his presence over her, as she struggled to remember what day it was.

It was her big day.

And she would not fail.

She got up on trembling legs, went to shower, and when she came back to dress herself, she found on her wardrobe a new set of clothes. There was a lovely card next to them.

Here is my last good luck gift. You do not have to wear these, but if you do, they'll bring you luck.

Don't pay attention to the others.

Have faith in your hard work and your talent, and remember. I am there.

You'll be wonderful.

Yours, with love,

Erik.

She smiled, and kissed the card. Put it gently aside, to keep it.

Where would she keep it? She wanted it on her body, close to her heart.

She fished from her old jewellery box an old necklace one of her friends had given her, with a pendant which opened, and a small cavity inside. She folded the card and put it there, against her chest, between her breasts.

There.

She would keep him with her, now, and that knowledge eased a bit of her fears.

She dressed in the clothes he'd so lovingly set aside for her, well-made and well-tailored to her measurements, as usual, the material soft and warm on her skin.

There. She was ready.

He was waiting for her in her living room, with a hat, masked and cloaked and looking magnificent. Together, they made a rather dashing couple, if she could say so herself.

"These clothes look perfect on you, my dear."

"Thank you. For everything."

"And now, off we go, if we do not want to be late."

Despite her nerves, she managed to make the short drive through the crowded Parisian streets and the heavy traffic to park next to the Bastille Opera. Thankfully, at this time of the morning, that parking area was not yet full.

He wasn't used to travelling by car himself, preferring to run through the shadows of the city, hidden and disappearing in every dark corner, but dressed as he was, protected from the sun's deadly rays, he rather enjoyed it, with her as his driver. She didn't speak, nor did he try to ease the mood. He could smell her fear and anxiety haunting the small interior of her car, but pretending it did not exist was the best course of action. So he let the silence surround them, only holding to her hand, and squeezing it every so often, to remind her he was there.

Everything would be fine.

Of course, the city had not changed much. He'd seen it not a year ago, when he visited the graveyard his old Christine was buried in, and had born witness to all the changes in a century. The horses gone and replaced by cars. How it had become larger and larger, north and south expanding. How the fields had retreated even more.

He paid it no mind, he'd never liked the city itself much, except for when it was the capital of the arts. Now, it was still the city of lights, and for a vampire like him, not the most perfect fit.

Soon the Bastille loomed near, the great Theatre where she was supposed to audition today. They would be producing Lakmé. Their first choice, and her first audition. He had no doubts she would be perfect, but times had not changed on some points: most of the time, they never cast new performers and barely out of school ex-students for the title roles. One had to earn it by understudying it.

But it would never suit him.

His Christine, there on stage for a mere two minutes! It would be heresy.

Still, he said nothing, as she parked and he left to open her door, taking back her hand into his. The walk was short to the opera house, and obscured for most of the way, but the noises and the smells were a harsh contrast to the peace and serenity they'd felt down in Provence.

They would both have to get used back to the city, especially since they would live there for a while now.

All too soon, it seemed, she stood near the entrance of the great Opera Bastille. As the Garnier hosted only ballet for the remainder of the season, it had not made her list of available auditions.

She was just as glad not to be thrown into that place, not yet. As glorious as it was, she feared the impact it would have on Erik, to be back in his old home, where so many events had happened.

It was still a very nice building, more modern but just as grand. The architecture was just as impressive.

There were already a few people inside, and most of them she knew, either because they'd been classmates, people she'd had shows with, or even performers she had admired from afar.

These were only females, waiting to audition for the main and ensemble roles, and their accompanists.

Sensing her agitation, he kept her hand tightly into his, caressing her skin, as they settled down to wait.

She could almost hear his words in her ears again, though he had not uttered a word since they'd left her house.

Do not pay attention to the others.

He noticed the excited performers, ones who had seen it all, done it all, and were neutral smelling. Some, he didn't like at their mere scent: over-confident, dismissing of others.

From their warming up, he mentally put them into three categories: decent, could do well with a bit more training, and completely horrible (who would have thought humans could sound as toad-like? He was always discovering new things).

All of them had glaring issues, even if some hid them better than others. Only his Christine, did her own warm up as clearly and perfectly as she'd always sounded for him.

If only she managed not to break down when she sang, then most of the journey would be done.

And then it would not be in either of their hands, but those of the managers. And he'd sworn not to tip them.

One by one, the first women stood up and left to audition. Some butchered their arias from too many nerves. Some were fairly decent, and would make good ensemble people, even perhaps a Mallika. But when his Christine stepped inside, and started to sing, there would only be one Lakmé.

She heard them calling her name, and stepped into the room, not even seeing the faces of the three women and the man who would be hearing her.

Erik squeezed her hand once last time before he went to the piano to accompany her.

She told them her name, and what role she would be auditioning for.

And she started. Closed her eyes, at first, letting his advice wash over her again. She was with him. It was just like when they'd rehearsed, her and him at the piano, his gentle sound carrying her. She was Lakmé, young and hopeful and entranced.

She opened her eyes, and let her voice soar to the heavens. Power, control, purity, she had it all.

And they saw it. All of it. She never focused on them, as he'd instructed, and as soon as she'd opened her mouth, they didn't exist. There was only she, Lakmé.

She finished, and they applauded. Not the polite one they showered each candidate with, but seemingly something more real and warm.

He tried not to focus on his lover's beautiful sound, however difficult it was, but on the jury's reactions. Unless he was much mistaken, they were as spell-bound as he felt.

Their heartbeats had slowed, and their smell… The scent of excitement, of disbelief, of awe at witnessing something incredible.

He was very familiar with these.

When she finished, they applauded. It was not automatic, as they were forced to do with everyone who passed in front of them. This was enthusiastic, as much as they could, but still remain impartial and professional.

And he turned back his attention to her.

How lovely she was, pleased with her performance, well-dressed with the clothes he'd offered her.

She didn't dare let her joy explode right away, but she was smiling, and while he remained to the shadows, waiting for them to be alone again to let out his joy and extend his congratulations.

"Thank you for coming, Mademoiselle Nilsson. We will contact you in the coming week."

"Thank you for having me."

She had done it.

Vanquished her fears, and done the absolute best she could do.

No matter their decision, she would be satisfied with her performance, and that was enough.

For now.

She couldn't wait to be alone with him again, to know what he'd thought.

Quickly, they made their way back to her car. And in the darkness of the parking lot, deep within the Earth, she let out her breath.

"I did it! Erik, I did it!"

"You were exquisite," he told her.

She threw herself in his arms, the way she'd wanted to do all morning.

"Now, let's go back home. We need to celebrate."

The drive seemed endless, so impatient was she to let out her joy.

She sat down on the couch, and gestured for him to join her. Despite having taken his cloak and hat off, he still had his mask on, and she frowned when she saw it, looking up.

"Would you take it off, please? I can't see your face."

"Is it such a bad thing?"

She flipped her tongue.

"I love your face. I want to see your eyes better."

He chuckled and put it off, setting it down on her small table.

"Better?"

"Much better."

She reached up and pulled him back to her to kiss him. After the whirlwind of emotions for her, and the assault on his senses, he was glad to be back with his favorite scent in his nose, and her lovely heartbeat in his ears.

She was delighted, from how strong her scent was.

And he was a bit more passionate in his kiss, responding to her with new ardor.

She moaned into his mouth.

"Mmm. What's up with you, Erik?"

"I missed you. Am I not allowed to share my joy?"

"Oh please, share it some more. I will definitely not complain."

And the rest of the afternoon was spent furiously making out on her couch.

Of course, they had to stop just a little while, to get food into her system. Her stomach had been growling furiously.

"Do you know when I'll have the answers?" she asked as she cuddled in bed with him, after they'd managed to get off each other and sing some more. "They told me a week, to get call-backs."

"Yes, next week they will contact you for another audition."

He drew soothing circles on her hand, her head tucked under his chin, his other arm wrapped around her body.

"You speak as if it's done."

"Are you doubting yourself and your performance? You were exquisite. You must know that. None of them got even close to your level."

"I don't know. I just…"

"Hush, now, my dear. Sleep well, and we will talk about preparing the next audition on Wednesday."

"Good night, my love."

"Good night, my dear Christine."

He stayed in bed the whole night, right next to her, feeling her softness next to him, breathing in her scent, hearing her heartbeat, caressing her hair and her lovely skin.

Would he ever get enough of her, of how she felt like, of how he himself became when she was near, so close, so loving?

How distant the past felt, with his own Angel in his arms…

How far away the pain and the sorrow and the long gone dreams of reuniting with his old Christine.

The week was spent in a heartbeat. Filled with auditions, kisses (five hundred twenty three), and more singing.

At three more theatres, she'd sent her application and sung in front of a jury, and their responses ranging from dismissing to enthusiastic.

But today was the day the answer for the Bastille Opera would come.

And she was excited and dreading the call, and he felt it too, as attuned to her emotions as he was now.

He tried to soothe her with more singing, or reading books, but she was in such a state of nervous concentration she couldn't do anything but wait.

So he'd settled her in his lap, and caressed her hair, and they waited.

Her heart was fluttering like a bird in a cage, desperate to leave.

"You will get a heart attack if you go on like this, my dear."

She didn't even have the strength to tell him off, and answer his jokes, and that was the true sign she was nervous.

So he said nothing more, and waited.

Each time he thought he heard a noise, but it was never her phone. Any vibration in a circle of a mile around them? He thought it was the call.

Midday, and neither of them got up to prepare lunch. He knew she wasn't hungry, and wasn't in the mood to convince her to eat. They would celebrate, or not, later.

And then it arrived.

She jumped on the phone, fingers trembling, while he held her at the waist.

"Yes? Yes it is she. Yes. Thank you. Goodbye!"

He knew before she said another word.

"I got callbacks for Lakmé."

The rush of emotions overwhelming her was a hurricane, sweeping him up and all he was in her renewed excitement.

And he kissed her again.

"When is it?"

"Next week."

"Then we have plenty of time to prepare."

She got two more auditions, from other theatres, but focused both of their energy on the Bastille one.

They had five other candidates, still running for Lakmé.

Only two would get chosen, one as the main singer, and the other as an understudy, with an ensemble part. She needed one of those two spots.

The last one came, and they were three remaining, including her.

She did her best, and waited for the answer.

"Two chances out of three, my dear. It is a long process, nowadays, but it is fairer than most."

And then the last call. She hung up.

"I got the ensemble. Lakmé went to Carlotta Guidicelli. You must know her, she's a famous Italian soprano. She's performed hundreds of times around the world."

He was frowning.

"It is still what we hoped for. Don't be disappointed on my behalf," she pleaded.

"I am not disappointed. I am enraged."

"It is a foot in the industry. I will show them what I can do."

"Yes, you will. I have no doubts about your abilities."

He was infuriated. An Ensemble part? For his Christine? How dared they!

Still, he knew it was no use getting angry. And she was right. Being in an ensemble meant she would get to be seen, be known by her peers. He'd done everything he could. Now he could only help her rehearse and let her do her own work. And he knew deep down she had the makings of a great Diva. It was only a matter of time, now.

And wasn't time all that he had?