AN: Thank you all for the reviews, alerts, and favorites! It means a lot.
Their dark journey to Erik's home was over. It was so surreal that after four years he would be teaching her again.
"If you will hand me your cloak I will hang it up for you," he offered, holding out a gloved hand expectantly. She removed it from her shoulders and he took it along with his own coat to a hook. His nimble fingers freed themselves of the gloves and he lifted his fedora from its perch atop his dark brown hair.
"Shall we begin or would you like some tea?" he asked her.
"Tea would be nice," she admitted. "My throat has been sore today."
His golden eyes peered out at her sharply from behind the white expanse of his mask. "Are you ill?" he asked, his voice taking on a stern tone.
"No," she replied defensively. "The drafty air has simply irritated my throat. It is nothing to be worried about."
He gazed at her intently for a moment before sweeping off to the room she knew to be his kitchen to collect to the tea.
Her eyes took in the room around her. It seemed he had cleaned it up since the night before, but it still had the small bit of clutter that was usual for a bachelor to have. It was worse around his piano, sheet music flooding the top and floor next to it.
He entered the room again with a tray laden with tea and a wrap draped across one arm. He handed the wrap to her. "It tends to be quite chilly down here, I have grown accustomed to it but you will be shivering in a few minutes."
"Thank you," she murmured as she covered her shoulders with the warm fabric. She wondered why he would keep such a thing in his home when, as far as she knew, he was the only one who inhabited it. It occurred to her that a friend of his, perhaps the Persian, had married. Or maybe he himself had married. She dismissed the idea, he had been alone when she had found him last night and a woman's touch on his home would have been noticeable. It still appeared to be the abode of an unmarried man.
"What changes have come about since I was last here?" Erik asked suddenly. He sat opposite from her, cup of tea resting in one hand with long legs casually crossed.
She started, not expecting this chattiness from him. "La Carlotta has left," she began. She could not help but smile back when she saw the smirk that transformed his face. He looked so…different when he smiled. It was a rare event indeed. "When she left, the Palais Garnier started to flourish financially. Now there is hardly a night that is not a full house. Monsieur Firmin and Monsieur Andre are still the managers. Meg Giry has taken the place of Sorelli as Prima Ballerina. The leading male parts are usually given to Alonzo Bianchi," she finished, remembering with a grimace how he was the one who murdered Piangi.
"I assume you are the Prima Donna?" he asked after a sip of tea.
She nodded meekly.
"I see you are engaged?" he inquired lightly as if commenting on the weather, nodding to her hand which held her sparkling ring.
"Yes, I am to be married in three months."
"To whom?"
"Raoul, the Vicomte de Chagny," she replied, feeling embarrassed. She did not want to be discussing Raoul with Erik, the hatred that had run between them was immense.
He nodded stiffly, set down his cup and stood up abruptly. "I thought so. Are you ready to begin?"
She stood up as well. "Yes."
He strode confidently over to the piano. "A scale to warm up?" he suggested. She nodded and cleared her throat. The notes flowing from her mouth matched the accompaniment of Erik's playing on the piano. Their notes combined into one and she relished the feeling of singing with him again. She welcomed it with open arms.
Satisfied, Erik finished and rifled through his score. "This is what we're going to start in first," he instructed, handing her the music. Her eyes scanned it, noting the key and time signature, accidentals, and repeats. "Sing from measure thirty to forty-six. I'll make some adjustments then, and we will keep going from there until it is perfect."
Perfect. That was a tall order. She was ready to take it on though, and he gave her a free measure before coming in.
This part of the song was melodic, slow, melancholy. The notes were slurred, the phrases long, and the tempo was set at largo. It was beautiful really. The words were even more so, telling of a lonely lover who recently had her heart broken.
They stopped at forty-six. Erik's eyes remained trained to the sheet in from of him. When he finally turned them to her, they were full of so much passion, so much emotion. But he blinked and it was gone.
"That was decent," he said simply. "but not perfect. Give me that," he ordered, motioning for her to hand her the music. He took it and marked some things with black ink. Handing it back he said "From thirty again."
This continued for the whole rest of the night. She would sing, he would revise, and she would sing again. The piece slowly progressed to meet his high standards. Finally, after what seemed like ages, he was satisfied. "That will do for tonight. Tomorrow we tackle a much harder part, so come to your dressing room as soon as you can manage. It might take a bit longer. It is a quarter 'til nine, I suppose you would like to return to the world above? You don't want to keep your fiancée waiting."
Christine found herself blushing. "I was not planning on seeing him tonight," she admitted softly.
Erik seemed to straighten up a bit after that and his eyes brightened. "Oh. Well," he coughed. "I'll get your things."
She had to restrain a laugh as she watched the flustered Opera Ghost hurry away. It was a rare spectacle to see him confused and hear him stutter. He returned, having gained composure. They began their journey back to her world.
The rest of the week passed in a similar fashion; she would go to rehearsal with Reyer, hurry to her dressing room, and then Erik would work with her on first her music for the opera they were producing and then the music that he was composing. They were currently performing Carmen. Christine had the lead, and therefore quite a workload was placed upon her shoulders. But she was improving quickly in Carmen and he was covering ground on his opera. The pair was determined to work hard.
Raoul had not detected anything the whole week. The slight purple hue that tinted the thin skin under her eyes from the lack of rest and sleep went unnoticed by him. He was quick to believe her excuses for coming home late. She prayed that whatever Erik had in mind wouldn't take too long. Although Raoul was self-absorbed, he was not stupid. He would catch on eventually. Then he would certainly not have mercy on Erik and either kill him himself or send someone to do the dirty work. Christine didn't know why she wanted to go to these lessons so badly, or why she was so concerned for Erik, but she knew that she definitely did not want Raoul to find out.
Meg was already suspicious. She knew she could trust her, and she had proved to be a faithful friend over the years. Meg wouldn't relay her secret to anyone else, but she still kept it to herself. Meg would think her crazy and unbelievably senseless to be putting herself in this position again. Maybe she was, but she needed help with Carmen and he needed her to sing for his opera. So far he had not tried to harm her and had been polite, kind, and gentlemanly. So far, she had no reason to fear him…except all the terrors that he had given her in the past.
After five long days of rehearsal there were performances for the next three nights, leaving the daytime free of practice. Raoul took advantage of this and offered to take her out for dinner before tonight's show since she had been so busy the past few days. She agreed to go with him. She was looking forward to being able to relax a bit after the stressful week even if she would have to perform soon after. She did love to sing, but not the strain that goes with it.
Raoul was seated next to her with a charming smile across his face as he innocently asked her about her week. She had to restrain a laugh…oh, what he didn't know! She hid everything behind straight face and told him of all the progress they had made on Carmen since the premier last week. He seemed to be listening, but she could tell his mind was elsewhere.
"What is troubling you?" she asked, wanting to know the reason for his glazed over eyes.
"Our future," he said. "Do you recall the discussion I had with you on opening night last week?"
She nodded, dreading the conversation that was to come. "Yes."
"I've been thinking about it and…I think it's in our best interest for you to retire before we marry…perhaps after the last showing of Carmen."
Christine was shocked. That seemed so soon, only two months. On top of that, she was hoping that Erik would let the Palais Garnier show his opera. No, she could not retire right after Carmen. At the very least, she had to sing Erik's opera. She had only seen bits and pieces and it was undeniably the best piece she had ever had the fortune to sing. But, of course, she couldn't tell Raoul this.
"It isn't set in stone yet; I have not yet talked to your employers. I wanted to have your consent before I did."
"Does it really matter what I want?" Christine asked brusquely, the words tasting bitter as they left her mouth.
"Of course, mon cherie," Raoul insisted. "Of course. But you must consider what it does to our name…a reputable Vicomtesse is not an actress. You should be spending your days in comfort, watching shows instead of starring in them, raising the beautiful children that we will have…you must want that…?"
She felt imprisoned just thinking about it, like a caged bird longing to spread its wings and be free. The rest of her lifetime, spent in stuffy rooms full of gossiping women who had nothing better to do with their lives then brag about their spoiled children and husbands. A world where there was nothing to work for, nothing to strive for, nothing to live for. A world without singing was…she couldn't even describe it. Singing was her life. That was something Raoul would never understand. He wouldn't be able to comprehend the hold music had for her no matter how many times she tried to tell him. It was something only Erik could relate to.
"Christine, it pains me to see you so torn! Think about all the freedom you will have when you do not have to work all day!"
She could have laughed had the situation not been so miserable. His definition of freedom and hers were completely opposite.
She finally spoke, "You are set on it then?"
He nodded solemnly. "Quite."
She suppressed a sigh. She had been looking forward to being a wife but now the position couldn't be more undesirable. As a wife her job would be to please her husband. Pleasing her husband meant retiring. It was as simple as that. She wouldn't have minded making Raoul happy, in fact she wanted to please him, but this was an exception. Then again, life was never promised to be perfect and easy. There were sacrifices to be made. Raoul wouldn't sacrifice their reputation so she must sacrifice her happiness to make their marriage work. She would have to learn to find joy in other things. Hopefully her love for Raoul would make it worth it. "Then," she said. "I will retire after the last performance of Carmen."
Raoul beamed and reached across the table to envelop her hand in his. "You are amazing, mon cherie," he praised. "I know how much this means to you."
Christine smiled back but it did not meet her eyes. If he really knew how much it meant to her he wouldn't put her through this.