Disclaimer: I am neither Andrew Lloyd Webber nor Gaston Leroux.
Author Note: Hello all! The last few weeks have been a complete nightmare for time- mocks, then coursework, then 101 different events occurring all the in the same week- ahh! My complete lack of time is very frustrating, because I love fanfiction and I want to keep this story going! Fear not, it will keep ploughing onwards, whatever the pace ends up being...
This story is getting to the exciting action bit now, and although this chapter is a bit of a filler really (it was originally part of chapter twenty one but that was waaaaay too long) I am leaving you with the introduction to some much needed Erik/Christine romance; yay!
NOTE: the flashback at the start of this chapter is a bit random, but it does (I hope) demonstrate how/when Christine began to feel a mixture of emotions regarding Erik, which reached the crescendo of admitting she loved him and kissing him during the production of Dun Juan whilst her fiancé watched. Also, now that I've read Susan Kay's 'Phantom', I feel intrigued by the events of Christine's visits to Erik in his home five cellars below humanity, which are described in 'Phantom' and in the original book by Gaston Leroux. I'm going to say that this flashback occurs in a sort of 'happy time' for Erik and Christine, when she is starting to accept that he is a man and not an angel, before he goes and ruins everything by killing Buquet during Il Muto and terrifying Christine with the fact that he does kill. Oh the joys of artistic licence, being able to mash together all the different versions of our beloved Phantom of the Opera... *big smile*
SECOND NOTE: the chapter title is really, REALLY rubbish. I had no idea what to call it. I was tempted to do something along the lines of 'something there that wasn't there before', in reference to the growing tolerance between Raoul and Erik, but that sort of crossover hint should be reserved for E/C, not the fact that Erik can now have a conversation with le Fop without strangling him.
Sorry, I keep ranting today... onto the chapter!
Twenty Two- The Eve of the Escape
The moonlight did wonders for Paris. The pearlescent glow it seemed to give everything brought out the best in the grey, gothic stonework of the city streets and buildings, making the ostentatious facades of buildings such as the palatial opera house sparkle with a beauty which seemed to belong not to this mundane world. Of course, Raoul de Chagny did not care a jot for the way the moonlight made the Seine glitter coolly, or the way it turned each cobble stone into a precious gem. All he cared to observe was the beautiful woman who clutched onto his arm as she laughed and blushed and tipped her head back to exclaim delight at the thousands of stars that winked down at them from that celestial seat. Her beauty was far greater than some white face in the sky, her presence making him feel warm and giddy despite the chill in the night air.
Christine Daae was a marvel, a bloody marvel, and he told her so as they stopped to stand on one of the Seine's many bridges. She just laughed at him, as if nothing had changed, as if they were still young children playing on a rocky seashore together, happily ignorant of the unspoken rules that controlled society. Raoul hated those rules, and the way his brother seemed so holy and horrified if he even hinted at breaking them- why wanting to marry this woman, this perfect woman, was a crime to rouse such disapproval, Raoul did not know.
"I think you may be slightly intoxicated, my dear Vicomte. Your flattery has grown far beyond its usual levels." She smiled at him, anxiously patting her elaborate hairstyle which was faring well against the midnight breeze. She looked different with all her hair swept back- the absence of the wild curls was startling in its affect, making the slender curve of her neck and her jaw line so prominent and enticing that Raoul had to remind himself that they were in public, and he was a gentleman. Christine noticed him staring, and her eyes lost that shimmering veil of amusement; she pulled the flimsy wrap closer about her shoulders, self consciously, and lowered her eyes, only just peeking up at him through her thick lashes. "I think you ought to take me back now, Raoul."
"Back already?" he asked in a soft voice, daring to step closer to her, telling himself that this was a matter of conserving heat on this oddly chilly night rather than satisfying the need to be close to her so that he could smell the heavenly scent that lingered on her flawless skin. She made an uncomfortable noise at his proximity, but did not try to stop him as he took her hands in his own. "Christine, the night is young, there is still plenty to do- why, this is Paris, not the little coastal village we spent our childhood in! We could walk the length of the Seine, or perhaps I could take you to one of the clubs I frequent? Or maybe you would like to meet some of my friends- we could have drinks, play cards?"
He already knew it was useless, that her mind was set on going home. It was odd, because he was sure that she had been having such a wondrous time, smiling so beautifully at him across the table in the restaurant and then happily linking her arm through his as they took this slow, meandering walk to gaze upon the river. He had hoped that maybe she would open up to him, away from the stifling atmosphere of the opera house- that maybe she would give up this ridiculous pretence of claiming to hold no feelings for him and permit him at last to shower her with the kisses and adoration he so wanted to give her. If he were able, Raoul de Chagny would give Christine Daae whatever she desired; he only wished for some confirmation that she was aware of the fact.
"I'm sorry Raoul, but really, I can't." She said softly, squeezing his hands gently before tactfully disentangling herself from his grip with the suggestion that she might need to fix something about her hair- Raoul wasn't fooled, but said nothing. "Thank you for such a lovely evening."
"My pleasure, Mademoiselle." He said in a low voice, leaning forwards. He wasn't quite sure at what moment the kiss intended for her hand found its way to her lips, but it did, and Raoul was pleased that after gasping in shock, she responded with a desperate edge that made him want to hold her close and press his face against her neck, breathing in her alluring scent and closing his eyes, blotting out everything that wasn't related to her.
It was she who broke off the kiss and fumbled with her bag, cheeks dusted red, whilst Raoul signalled for a carriage. She accepted his hand to steady herself, but seemed eager to break contact and sit as far from him as possible. Raoul frowned and found himself agitatedly fiddling with his gloves, throwing them down in annoyance when he saw her anxious stare.
"What is Madame Valerius' address, Christine?" he asked in a dull tone. "I can never remember it..."
"Oh, no Raoul, forgive me for misinforming you. I am not going home to Madame Valerius. I am going back to the opera house." She said in an embarrassed voice. Raoul simply gaped at her in astonishment.
"The opera house? At this hour of the night?" he demanded, and Christine gave a curt nod. "Why the devil would you want to go there? You won't be able to get in- they lock the place up at night, I'm certain of it!"
"It doesn't matter. It's not as if I want to go into the foyer and book myself a box for the next performance, is it?" she challenged, stung by his accusing tone and that distrust that always seemed to be lingering in his voice the moment he was not aware of every single detail. "Really, Raoul, it doesn't need a fuss to be made. I would be grateful if you would have the driver drop me off at the opera, but if that is an inconvenience, I would gladly walk."
"Of course I'm not inconvenienced by it. I just wish you would tell me why you want to go back to the opera house at this time of night, when you have no purpose there and the building is inaccessible! I don't feel happy leaving you there alone in the dark, knowing that you won't be able to gain entrance."
"Raoul, please. You don't need to concern yourself- the matter does not involve you."
"You're meeting someone." Raoul suddenly declared in a sulky tone, turning to snap their desired destination at the driver before irritably closing the partition. Christine looked appalled by his words, which seemed to be the prelude to a tantrum. "You've arranged some secret meeting with a gentleman outside the opera house and you don't want me to know. Dear God, Christine, why would you agree to come out with me tonight? Why would you give me such false hope?!"
"You surprise me, Raoul, and not in a favourable manner." She shot back icily. There was silence for the remainder of the journey, and once the carriage pulled up outside the opera house, Christine rose from her seat and exited into the night without a word, slamming the door after her, leaving a very miserable Vicomte sulking inside.
Feeling furious at herself for being goaded by it, and at him for being so distrusting and jealous, Christine stormed along the gloomy streets as she fumbled in her bag for the small key which was vital to unlocking the gate in the Rue Scribe. With her concentration focusing purely on finding this vital object, she did not look where she was going and subsequently ploughed straight into someone who had been lingering in the shadows. She didn't even need to look to tell that it was him- it was as if the atmosphere changed in his presence, the air tasting different or the shadows suddenly seeming that much darker and engulfing, and as she took a hasty step backwards to steady herself she realised that as soon as she came to look into his burning, yellow eyes, the act would become futile and she would feel unstable on her feet once again.
"Erik." She said quietly, her voice still tentative and unsure when saying his name, as if teetering on the uneasy boundary between being shy and being scared. "What are you doing out here? I was going to use the key you gave me."
"You were later than I had anticipated, so thought it might be wise to wait outside, to make sure that you were not in any danger or simply stuck in the dark, unable to locate your key." He spoke in a voice that still amazed her- so melodic and full and beautiful, even speaking those mundane words. If she allowed herself to, she could easily become lost in that voice. The voice which, until recently, had been her salvation- the voice of a guardian angel, teaching her, guiding her. "Forgive me, Christine, but you seem irritated. Did your evening with the Vicomte not run smoothly?"
There was a malicious grin to accompany that harmless query, and for a reason unbeknownst to Erik and to Christine herself, she started to laugh. Normally she might be paranoid and start to worry, as Erik only ever made comments about Raoul if he was being insulting or trying to suggest a sinister threat, but Christine was so filled with an honest sense of relief to be away from the jealous Raoul and back in the company of Erik that there was no reason to feel anxious. It struck her then, as Erik gave her a puzzled but pleasantly surprised look and lead the way to the hidden entrance to the cellar levels, that it was true- she honestly did feel relieved to be back in Erik's company. With a jolt in her chest, which could only be an erratic heartbeat, Christine realised that she had missed Erik in the short time she had been out with Raoul rather than entrapped in the cellars with him. She had yearned to be in his company.
How...odd.
"Let's not talk about the Vicomte." She sighed, feeling pleasantly tired once they reached the curious little house nestled in the subterranean levels of the opera house, where a fire crackled in the hearth and she could happily throw the pathetic little wrap down on one of the chairs, already imaging how nice it would feel to take the horridly uncomfortable heeled shoes off and walk on the soft carpet. She noticed that Erik was watching her, his eyes giving nothing away but the intensity of the stare enough to make her feel both embarrassed and a little curious.
"You look the part tonight, Christine." He suddenly commented, which made them both freeze, as he never made comments about her, unless it related to music and her progress. Christine felt very aware of how guarded Erik was, making sure that his words were more of an observation than anything near to a compliment.
"Raoul bought me the dress, and the shoes. He thought I would feel more comfortable, dining with him in public, if I looked like all the others in the restaurant." Christine said blandly, brushing the soft silky texture of the dress and avoiding the fact that she had been glad of the purchase, which had allowed her to blend in and not feel too conspicuous.
"What a methodical way to destroy the purpose of beauty and individuality." Erik muttered to himself, looking again at Christine, taking in the fashionable dress and the makeup and the elegant upswept hairstyle. Then, in a rare moment of honesty that made Christine's heart race for unexplainable reasons, he said; "Of course, you look beautiful, as always. But I would request one adjustment."
Then he stepped closer to her, closer than he had ever been as Erik, calm and rational and ordinary, and with shaking hands he reached out and pulled the pins out of her hair, so that the full glorious mass of glossy curls fell about her shoulders. Christine found that her heart beat had reached a crescendo, pounding a heavy rhythm within her chest, and as she gazed into those yellow eyes she could not help but reach out to him. He pulled away with a sad expression, and immediately left the room, and Christine sank down onto the carpet where she stood, her skirts pooling around her, her hair wild and dishevelled.
She reached up to touch where he had touched, shuddering at the intimacy of such a thing, and then closed her eyes. She did not want to think anymore about these odd feelings, these stirrings, this heartbeat. Far better to ignore it and relive those sensations in her dreams than risk confusing reality with them. For Christine felt that once she succumbed to whatever it was, she would never be able to go back to her old existence, of innocence.
What she didn't realise then- or rather, what she refused to admit to herself- was that she already had given in, and it was only a matter of time before acceptance became inevitable.
It was early morning, the outside world lit up with weak, watery sunshine and filled with the cheerful rush and flurry of traffic and people in a large market town. None of this warmth or cheerfulness, however, penetrated the cavernous depths of the auditorium where Erik was pacing up and down the aisles. He was listless and fidgety, needing something to occupy his mind so that he might stop dwelling on the matter of the performance tomorrow and the subsequent escape plot which now seemed to be so full of possibilities to slip up and make a mortal error.
"Why did I ever agree that this plan was any good?" he had ranted earlier to Nadir, who had simply raised an eyebrow in his usual unaffected manner and turned his attention to laying out the correct sheet music in the orchestra pit. "It is childish and ludicrous, clearly the work of a deranged loon! It will just be our luck that the trapdoor will fail to open, and the Vicomte will manage to make a mistake handling the chandelier, and Christine and I will be impaled by a flying light fixture before delighted audiences- what a triumph that will be, Daroga! A live death, no, two deaths on stage! What dramatics! What commitment to the arts!"
"Erik, do shut up." Had been the caring reply from Nadir, leaving Erik to pace the aisles with a murderous expression plaguing his features, his mind unable to block out the endless worries and questions to which he knew there would be no answer, at least, not until this whole ordeal was over and Christine was finally free from the slavery circus.
The thought of afterwards- him and Christine, back in Paris, and all the trials and tribulations that would lead to- did not even penetrate his consciousness in that moment as he paced, so full was Erik's mind with every fretting worry. The details of the plan were almost all completed; the orchestra – luckily a competent collection of musicians- had all been given the correct music, the stage and trapdoors were prepared and it had been arranged that Nadir, Raoul and himself would meet with Christine tonight, to go over every miniscule detail and to pass on the dress she was supposed to wear. But even though those details had been checked and checked again, discussed until even Raoul could recite them in his sleep, Erik could find no peace. In reality, he knew it was the thought of singing onstage in duet with Christine that had him in such a state- the idea alone of their voices entwining to the hellish notes of Don Juan Triumphant again made his blood run like ice through his veins. He was regretting letting her choose that song- that damned song, with all its connotations and memories and disturbing emotions that would swell and surge and rip through them both. He didn't want her to sing it and then gaze at him with terrified eyes as she suffered unpleasant déjà vu with no rational explanation as to why... or rather, with no explanation that Erik was willing to give.
"Well this is a lot better than I expected, I have to admit."
Erik whirled around on the spot, torn from his silent lament and tortuous mental wanderings, and immediately fixed his murderous glare onto an amused looking Nadir, who was desperately trying to feign innocence and not to laugh at Raoul, who was stood next to him and peering around the auditorium with enthralled eyes, gasping at the huge mock chandelier above them. Erik's tolerance of the Vicomte had increased massively during this testing struggle, and he had even come close to feeling respect for the boy, but when he took on this ignorant, gormless character Erik found that his desire to throttle the Vicomte would escalate exponentially. Now was no exception.
"Well, I thank you for your approval, Vicomte." Erik spat menacingly, and Raoul's eyebrows shot up in mild astonishment- he too clearly had noticed that his once arch enemy had been far less venomous recently.
"I'm sorry if that sounded insincere or degrading, somehow. I honestly mean it- I had doubts regarding this venue, but once again Erik you have proved your superior intelligence." Raoul pressed on cheerfully, the sickening praise shining with sincerity, and Erik immediately felt a stab of guilt- Raoul never reacted with hostility or venom, just a slightly scared but hopeful grin. He was foolish and at times very stupid, and irritating, but he was so young and so sheltered- Erik knew, with only a mere glance to his horrific memories, that he was far too hard on the Vicomte. He found that he was shaking his head in disbelief, but whether it was to Raoul's ridiculousness or his own revelations he could not tell. "So I suppose this means that everything is set for tomorrow. That we're well and truly ready."
"Indeed." Nadir nodded, his eyes glancing over the auditorium and making Erik feel nervous, as if waiting for the verdict of Nadir's inspection. He disliked the feeling of nerves and the prickle it left on the back of his neck, so coughed. It had the desired effect. "Vicomte...do you remember everything I explained about the chandelier, how to cut it free, when to do so?" there was a painful moment of silence, so Nadir began again, in a sharp voice. "Vicomte, it is vital you understand precisely what is expected of you. Erik will be onstage, as will Christine, and I will be below stage waiting to open the trapdoor- there will be no one to assist you."
Raoul gave a nervous laugh and Erik groaned as the aristocrat gestured vaguely to the gallery above with a hopeful expression. There was indeed a rope up in the gallery which the Vicomte would need to cut, and Nadir nodded, satisfied, but Erik knew better- after all their efforts, he was not going to leave theirs and Christine's fate dangling in the grasp of such a bumbling fool.
"Nadir you complete and utter ass. Vicomte, come with me." He snapped tersely, causing Raoul to stare at him in confusion. "Well don't just stand there gawping at me, you blockhead! Seeing as you are clearly incapable of admitting your incompetence, I will show you what you will need to do with the chandelier."
Both Nadir, who stood frozen, and Raoul, who began to trail behind the visibly furious Erik, were aghast with shock. Had the Phantom truly just offered to teach the Vicomte? Raoul didn't even hear the venomous insults- he watched Erik intently once they had climbed onto the gallery walkway, his eyes never straying from the ropes Erik gestured to, his focus never wavering as the procedure was explained in that dark, melodic voice. His whole face took on that eager, boyish expression again, and Erik felt rather unnerved by the intent, awestruck look in Raoul's eyes. It was as if he were the adoring pupil, Erik the master tutor, instructing and guiding him. The parallels to another place, another time, made Erik feel hollow. He had taken on the role of teacher and guide just once in his lifetime, and such a thing was reserved for that moment in time, when things had been so simple and fulfilling and full of hope. He had no wish to taint his few good memories.
"Don't just stand there staring at me!" Erik hissed, recoiling sharply as an amiable grin spread slowly over Raoul's face. "And stop smirking! Do you understand what to do now? Can you assure me that you will not ruin all our careful planning in one act of utter uselessness?!"
"I promise I won't be ruining anything. I understand perfectly. Thank you." Raoul continued to smile in earnest, a self made challenge to remove the scowl from Erik's face, twisted round the mask. The expression darkened, so Raoul decided words would be better than smiles; after all, he was renowned for his charisma and flattery. But, of course, with Erik they had the adverse effect. "You know, Erik, you are an excellent teacher. I suppose that is why Christine is so very good at singing."
The words made Erik flinch and recoil sharply, hating how Raoul so casually mentioned her name, how he could think of her and speak of her and not feel his insides ripped apart by guilt and regret and terrible, terrible fear that she was going to be taken from him. He knew that Raoul was just like him in the sense that they both needed Christine Daae; for whatever absurd reason, she was the only woman either of them would ever desire, the only way either of them could ever reach happiness, and this bitter struggle to leave the other without her would commence as soon as tomorrow was done and she was out of the clutches of Emilian and the gypsy tribe.
At that moment, Erik found himself staring back not at the Raoul who had smiled at him and praised his teaching skills, but at the smug faced patron of the opera house, whose timely arrival had been the catalyst for pain, suffering and disaster in Erik's existence. He still remembered the day that Raoul had arrived at the Opera Populaire, his good looks and wealth and youthful charm radiating off of him, intoxicating all who swarmed around him and thrilling sweet Christine Daae. Erik had hated Raoul from the moment he dared to rekindle the childhood romance he had shared with Christine- a romance that seemed to only come back into the aristocrats mind once he had observed her glowing successes on the stage. He hated not only Raoul himself, but what Raoul represented- an ignorant, innocent youth, whose life had seen no disasters, no tragedies, no moment of pain or hopelessness.
How could it be that a man as unscathed, golden and perfect as Raoul could be so desperately in love with the same woman as a tainted, scarred, warped, hideous monster? If Erik had believed in the existence of a deity, he would have blamed such unfair odds on them- in fact, the blame had to be lain on himself, and that was such a terrifying reality that Erik had never allowed himself to dwell upon it. The only part of him that was truly not his creation was his hideous face...and yet that was what most judged him upon.
"Monsieur le Vicomte, you may keep your pointless observations to yourself. Kindly cease spouting like a deranged water feature and have the tact and the decency to appreciate when silence is preferable!" he hissed, his anger tightening when Raoul's expression became crestfallen, as if he was honesty bothered that the madman did not want to be amicable. "Don't look so pathetically dejected- I never pretended I would be pleasant to you, or even tolerate your miserable existence!"
Raoul's eyes cleared of the childish hurt and became very serious. The spoilt, silly part of Raoul's personality had disappeared again, and Erik found that he was tense all over, waiting for the frighteningly insightful speech that the Vicomte would no doubt deliver. Sometimes, Erik wondered if Raoul understood him better than Nadir. Only sometimes...
"That's right, you have never suggested that you would take this truce of ours any further than the cooperation required to free Christine. But I know that what you do and suggest is very different from how you really feel, Erik, as is with us all." Raoul commented, and Erik had to force himself not to get up and run. "I cannot say much, as I barely know you. But what is clear, just from the short time we have spent in each other's company, is that you see yourself as a villain, a monster, a tainted man who cannot change from what he once was. But it's not that you cannot change- you simply won't let yourself accept the fact that the change is already complete. You force yourself to act the part of the monster, Erik, but you are not a monster! Christine has always seen it, the truth- and now I am starting to see it to. I only hope that you will also."
"What do you mean, Christine has always seen it?" he asked hoarsely, his defenceless mind unable to stop the memories flooding back- her face, terrified and eyes full of conflicted loathing, and tears. Even though she had kissed him, chosen him, declared her love for him, those images of Christine's terror and hatred inspired by his actions had scorched themselves into his brain and his heart, and Erik would never be able to lose them. His pain made him angrier still. "How can you claim such a thing- she fled into your open arms and despised me, Vicomte! The memories of those awful days still haunt me, to the point that I wonder if I just dreamed the night of Don Juan- if I simply made up the sensation of her kisses, the words she spoke, the look in her eyes. It is all too easy to think it was nothing but mere illusion."
"One thing you, of all people, should understand about Christine is that she is weak." Raoul replied in a soft voice. In a moment of rare courage, he reached out and gripped onto Erik's shoulder, surprised that he was not pushed away. "She loves so fully, she trusts so entirely, that when the truth came to light about you and who you really were, rather than an angel sent from her father, it shattered her. I struggle to find the words to explain it... it was almost as if... as if it wasn't the killing or the lies or the darkness that left her so conflicted but rather the fact it was you who had done those things. You, who she had idolised, you, who she loved. And then there is the part that bothers me..."
"Yes?" Erik whispered, stunned by the words the Vicomte was blessing him with.
"She still went back to you." Raoul was whispering too now, as if the words were too painful to speak aloud. "No matter what you did, or what rumours came to light, no matter how loving I tried to be...she still went back. It was as if...as if nothing you did or said made any difference to her. Because she understood that you weren't a monster, you were just pretending, because that was all you had ever known. She somehow managed to look past the echoes and distortions and see the real you. She didn't accept it at the time, she was far too scared and weak and goodness knows what else. But it was still there, and I could see it in her. I imagined that you must be warping her mind, but of course now I know... she was right."
Erik felt exposed, unprotected, vulnerable. He felt as if the armour had been ripped away from him, and that meant that he had no way of stopping the tears of raw emotion rolling freely down his face as he shook and writhed- he had slipped down onto the floor without knowing it, his legs powerless, his strength shattered. He remembered how she had gazed into his eyes and kissed him that night, as Christine, real Christine, Christine who had somehow managed to unravel the horrific mess he was and see through to what little good there must be within him. He grieved and wept for her there on the floor as if she were dead. He did not know at what moment during this spectacle Raoul left him and brought Nadir instead to calm him down, but he was grateful for it- he did not mind making an ass of himself in this way in front of Nadir, who had seen and braved so much worse.
"I miss her. I miss her so much." He choked, taking off his mask and letting the tears roll over that twisted flesh. "I'm scared, Nadir. I'm scared that she will remember everything, but I'm scared that she never will. Either option seems disastrous- I can't live with either, yet I can't live without either. I don't want her to know what I am, Nadir, but I can't bear to keep living without her, the real her."
"Don't think about things like that until tomorrow is over and she is free." Nadir offered in a soft voice. "I understand your fears, Erik, because I have feared them myself. But remember- she loved you. Nothing will change that. Christine Daae loved you."
The feeling of raw exposure did not leave Erik, not even when they rode away from the market town and the dim auditorium into the greenery towards the gypsy camp. The atmosphere in town was different to usual- there was none of the fearful excitement that normally sprung up with the arrival of gypsies, as people came flocking to see the tricks and trades of the world brought to them as bonfires crackled and fiddles screeched out merry music. There was no alluring call from the gypsies tonight, and any villagers who approached the camp were warned away by a stern faced, knife bearing guard. Why Emilian would refuse entry to the locals, whose easily amazed natures brought astounding profit, was a mystery that worried Erik. He knew gypsy culture from unwanted first hand experience and this hostility to paying customers was irregular to the point of ludicrousness.
Erik, Raoul and Nadir made their cautious advance to the camp perimeter, through the light tree coverage, all of them wondering how on earth they were going to locate Christine but none of them willing to be the first to voice this problem- it was as if denial would mean the issue didn't exist, and had Erik been in a better state of mind, he might have made a cynical comment. But Pali must have been watching from a distance, and must have somehow caught sight of their shaky steps through the darkness, for when Erik was peering through the foliage and into the array of tents and caravans he was startled by the sensation of someone placing their hand on his shoulder. He turned sharply, expecting it to be Nadir warning him of an approaching gypsy or whispering an insignificant observation, but instead he was delighted to find Christine stood there, beaming at him through the dark.
He gave no explanation for why he suddenly pulled her to him in a fierce embrace, or for why he buried his face into the top of her head and her glorious hair, or for why he was shaking. But she didn't seem to mind- in fact, she clung to him, starting to laugh a little with the exhilaration, and this made his eyes sting. She was so loving, so warm, so wonderful to be around and yet...and yet this was not her, and this facade he was living was not really him. I've sealed my fate so I may as well enjoy it whilst it lasts, he thought bitterly as he drew back from her arms only to receive a light kiss on the cheek which made him smile in the way only she could provoke.
"Christine." He said her name in place of any of the mundane, normal, typical greetings and she seemed to like that, beaming at him again, her eyes sparkling in the darkness. She quickly went over to Nadir, and then Raoul, simply to say hello and give them a smile, but she came back over to Erik and stood by his side, as if she felt the most comfortable there. Raoul caught Erik's eye in the dark and nodded once, a subtle reference to their earlier conversation, as if to say 'I told you so', but Erik knew that if he allowed himself to linger on that rather pleasant observation he would lose whatever shred of sanity he still possessed. There was obvious discontent on the Vicomte's face, seeing Christine return to Erik rather than standing alone or beside him, but there was also a fond, pleased expression that made Erik look away again. He had to think of something else. "Christine, where is Pali?"
"Pali is within the camp, watching out for anyone who may come this way and disturb us." She said in a soft voice, giving a darting glance behind her, as if to verify her words. Her eyes were a little wild, and Erik peered anxiously down at her, unable to understand what it was that was off- she was smiling, she seemed happy, and yet something was preying on her mind. "Emilian is passed out drunk, so he is not the threat, but many of the gypsies are taking his...lapse in concentration, let's say, to leave the camp and go drinking in the town. They might come this way, so Pali is watching out for them." She seemed to catch sight of the parcel tucked under Nadir's arm, and her curiosity peaked. "What's that you're holding, Nadir?"
"That, Christine, is your dress for the performance." Raoul piped up before Nadir even had the chance to respond, easing into the conversation effortlessly, with a perfectly executed smile that made Christine smother a giggle at the unexplained tension between the three men. She stole a glance at Erik, who was frowning at something, and realised with a little jolt of worry that maybe there wasn't anything funny at all about the unease. Perhaps they really didn't get on- she hated to think that her miserable situation was making them feel uncomfortable. And yet, selfishly, she would hate it if one of them left. "If you like, you can take it back to your tent, try it on, and then maybe you can show us what it looks like?"
Christine laughed and thanked the stonily silent Nadir who passed her the parcel. She was surprised by how heavy it felt, considering it was just a dress, but then she realised that she had never been bought a dress before- at least, not that she remembered- and that she had no idea what real clothes were like. She was so used to the loose, ragged gypsy skirts...she was instantly giddy with wonder. What colour would it be? What would it look like? Who had picked it- would it suit her? And- she blushed even to think it- would Erik think it looked nice? Would he say so if he did?
"I'll go and try it on. I'm in a caravan at the moment- Emilian's idea of a reward for my singing opportunities." She laughed again, turning to leave. "I'll be right back."
Three pairs of eyes- two adoring, one exasperated- watched as she turned and ran from the clearing, footsteps light and silent on the thicket. Raoul lounged against a tree, one thumb hooked in the pocket of his jacket, an expectant look plastered on his face. He was anticipating that she would despise the dark, dull dress and would be glad to accept his offer of one of the many white, flouncy gowns with lace and petticoats- a dress fit for a Vicomtess, he thought with a stab of guilt. Erik was oblivious to the Vicomte's smug pose, instead glancing at Nadir and offering a tentative smile- for Emilian to have put Christine in a caravan to reward her, he must have accepted the offer; the plan could go ahead. Erik felt his worries slip into nothingness as calm and peace took over, just for that moment- for then Christine came rushing back into the clearing, and his new found peace disintegrated into a riot of desire and elation.
Christine crossed the moonlit threshold at a slow pace, her face betraying her nerves, her steps shaky as she stared resolutely at the ground, not sure whether to feel stupid or not. Her focus on her feet meant that she did not see how Erik and Raoul stared at her openly, no attempt to disguise their appreciation- Erik knew that the colour of the dress would work and now he was rewarded with seeing her, in the flesh, stunning and beautiful as ever. Her uncertainty and nervous embarrassment somehow made the whole ordeal even more endearing, seeing her so shy and unsure, her face dusted with the hectic pink of a blush.
The dress was stunning. The dark red made her glossy curls seem warmer, her pale skin seem creamier, her slender frame seem faultless. The gentle billowing cut of the skirts was a simple, classic look that suited Christine- nothing flouncy, or ostentatious, just effortlessly beautiful.
Nadir had never truly understood why Erik and Raoul were so besotted with the girl, to the extremes they both endured, and seeing her like this did not bring him to a sudden epiphany and leave him hopelessly in love. He could, however, see that she was beautiful and could enjoy- with an almost feline satisfaction- that awestruck yet angry look that now plagued Raoul's princely features as he no doubt recalled his previous smug certainty that Christine would vastly prefer the table cloth frills. How wrong Raoul had been- and how perfectly right Erik had been. This was an analogy Nadir would keep in mind for the tantrums and screaming rows that were sure to come in Paris, when Erik decided to go off on another psychotic rant and destroy some furniture.
"Mademoiselle Daae, you look truly beautiful." Nadir smiled, making Christine's head shoot up, blinking in astonishment. She looked right at Nadir, as if checking for any amusement, and when she found none she blushed prettily and found a small smile. Nadir saw how Erik and Raoul were gaping like fools, unable to stutter or mumble in their dumb fascination, and he gave an evil grin. "What is your opinion on the dress, Erik, Raoul?"
"Truly wondrous." Raoul managed to choke out, going crimson and shooting the Persian a helpless glance.
"Perfection." Erik breathed, only just managing to catch the satisfied sigh that was now playing upon his lips. He, too, shot Nadir a look- only his was murderous.
After the awkward fumbling of words and appreciation, Erik and Raoul kept silent as Nadir alone clarified the final details of the plan with Christine. Both of them were embarrassed by their complete lack of ability to form coherent sentences simply because Christine was wearing a well made dress- Erik, especially, was infuriated with himself for being so utterly pathetic- and it was also as if seeing Christine so well groomed and professional reminded them both again of what she used to resemble, as an opera star, and a famed one at that. Christine had never been vain like La Carlotta, or demanding like La Sorelli, but her roles at the opera had lead to her wearing some exquisite costumes- though this dress was better still, by far. Raoul could barely believe he had ever considered it to be drab and dull- it made her shine.
With the details laboured and Christine seeming content, Nadir bade her farewell and turned to leave the little clearing, ushering Raoul and Erik to follow his example with a look similar to that a stern father might give his two squabbling sons. Raoul and Erik both mumbled their goodbyes and began to shuffle after Nadir into the eerie darkness and shadows of the trees, but Erik did not get so far- as soon as he had turned to go, he felt a hand clamp down on his arm, the fingers tense and clutching this time. He knew the wild look would be in her eyes again as he turned to face her, not knowing what to expect. She looked torn with anxiety and conflict.
"Erik, wait." She said to him in a voice that sounded as if she were pleading with him- such a sound made Erik's heart twist sharply within his chest, for he hated to think she believed begging was the only way to make him stay, when in fact he would rather never leave her side.
As she looked up at him, her hand still grabbing onto his arm with no intention of letting go, Erik realised that there was something else in her eyes now as well- fear. She was frightened, her confident laugh crumbling, all her worries and doubts- so similar to Erik's- catching up with her and attacking her in the dark. Erik turned and murmured to Nadir that he ought to go, and he heard the Persian agree, and then it was just Erik and Christine alone in the darkened woods. It was so quiet, so near to silence, that Erik could even hear the rising panic in her breathing, and he gently took her hands firmly in his own, hoping that such a paternal act might offer some comfort.
"Erik." She trembled again. "Erik, I'm...I'm scared. I'm worried that I'll fail, that after all your hard work I'll ruin it all in one stupid act-"
"Christine, I have no doubts regarding you. I know you will be absolutely fine- excellent, in fact. And I will be with you; I won't leave you." Erik dared to soothe her with a finger stroking her soft cheek, and her eyelids fluttered closed for one second.
"I don't want you to leave me, Erik. I need you." she whispered, her voice so scared to say the words that Erik instantly wondered if she somehow doubted his care for her.
"I promise you I won't leave you, Christine, you know that. If you need me, I will be there. Everything will run as smoothly as we desire and then you will be free- you will be able to do as you please, go where you please, live just the way you wish. You will never have to worry about those slave masters ever again."
"Erik, I..." she trailed off, sounding embarrassed and torn and almost choking on the words that she both wanted and did want to say. "Oh God, this will sound so dreadful. I don't think I can ask you this."
"You can ask me anything in the world. I will do anything to ensure your comfort and happiness." He assured her.
She took a deep breath and then, staring coolly into his eyes, Christine Daae whispered the words that had the power to leave Erik well and truly speechless for once in his opinionated existence.
"Then...Erik, I will ask you. Though it is improper. Erik...will you stay with me tonight?"