Gustave Daae knew one thing for certain, his young daughter was unreservedly, unsettlingly concerned for his health and well-being.
He'd lost count of how many times he'd caught her staring at him after a single sneeze or cough, even when the source had been as innocent as a dust cloud knocked free off a tall shelf. Several times he'd thought of confronting her about it, but he didn't even know where'd he'd start. Gustave couldn't help but feel as though her concern was part of something deeper, something he couldn't quite grasp. Not to mention that, if Christine was indeed gravely distressed, blankly telling her not to worry without any deeper understanding of the situation would undoubtedly cause only more anxiety.
And so Gustave waited, keeping his own watchful eye on her in return.
There was something undeniably different about his daughter, even if he couldn't quite specifically put his finger on what that difference was. As the days progressed and his unease grew, he realized that it - whatever it was - had started months ago.
His first thought had been that Christine might've been suffering some youthful form of heartbreak following the young Vicomte's sudden departure, but - he'd soon decided - that couldn't have been it. Playing back the days in his head, the peculiarities of her behavior had shortly before then, although he still couldn't recall a singular origin.
This odd withdrawal of hers, a veil of distrust and secrecy drawn viciously around her and barbed with a hollow cheer, had happened before on a slightly smaller scale around the first anniversary of his wife's death. Christine's unexpected sullenness had caused Gustave a great deal of concern at first but, after realizing the connection, had also been understandable. He checked the calendar again after supper that night, wondering if he'd forgotten some other tragic day, but the weeks were white and clear.
And the strangest thing was that her moods came and went.
There would be days where she'd wake up with a brilliant smile and chatter endlessly on at breakfast, words flying out of her mouth faster than his ears could take them in. Gustave would get ready for a rehearsal or two in town and she'd scurry off, collecting his things from about the house and depositing them neatly at the door. At night she'd curl up against his lap as he'd read to her from one of his many tattered, second-hand novels, and he'd wonder if perhaps he was just imaging the whole thing after all. That perhaps this was all just some twisted, subconscious affliction of his own that he was simply projecting onto his daughter, making her seem the odd one.
But then there were times where he'd call her name and it'd take her several moments to respond. It wasn't the delay itself that concerned him - ever since she was a toddler it'd often taken multiple calls to break past whatever preoccupation had her currently ensnared - but this was different. It was almost as if she didn't believe that he was calling her name, as if he shouldn't have been calling her name. And when she would finally turn her head, the eyes that gazed back at him were far, far older than any ten-year-old's eyes had the right to be.
And, of course, there was the matter of putting her to bed. For years she'd been enthralled with the stories he'd weaved for her. In many ways, she still was. However the Angel of Music, who'd she long expressed delight in to the point that he'd become a staple figure in nearly each and every tale, was now apparently a subject of off limits.
"What's the matter? It is the Angel?" Gustave asked after she'd visibly flinched at the name. He'd always equated the heavenly being with both musical and moral excellence and felt slightly guilty whenever Christine pouted about his lack of presence in her life. Perhaps she'd finally taken it too much to heart. "Are you upset that he hasn't come to you yet? Because it doesn't mean that you are any less of a good person or a good musician."
"It's not that," Christine said softly. The light from the bedside candle cast flickering shadows over her face. She fought to keep her head turned towards him but failed to meet his eyes. "I… I just think I'd like to hear stories about other things for now."
The whole affair was disconcerting to say the least, but - with no clear path to proceed upon - Gustave was content to simply observe rather than push for the time being. And, to his mild relief, it seemed like Christine was as well.
Then his cough began.
Gustave always seemed to get a cold at this time of the year. Snow began to fall, sporadically at first, but with more and more consistency as the days passed. It drenched boots and mucked up entrance ways when it stuck to ground, then clogged the streets with brown slush when it finally began to melt.
Demand for musicians increased tenfold, to his delight and exhaustion, every mass and seasonal celebration clamoring for festive melodies to waste the bitter nights away. While he welcomed the additional employment, Gustave often struggled to juggle all the commitments he heaped upon himself. His schedule strained with rushing from practice to performance to practice once again every minute, every hour, every day, for weeks and weeks and weeks. His sleep was always the first to suffer and his health often followed, an inevitability that came with dedicating a life to music.
And Christine knew this. Gustave had recently managed to befriend an older lady at church who didn't mind keeping an eye on his daughter during some of his longer days, but in the past Christine had accompanied him everywhere, sitting patiently and quiet at his side through the long hours. She'd seen him fall sick and press on, holding vigil from offstage as he fiddled away through a severe fever, nary a thought running through his head save the endless stream of notes cascading in and out through time itself. Many times he'd finished the night with a flourish, bowing triumphantly to the crowd only to have collapsed in crumpled heap as soon as the curtain fell.
She should've been used to his colds by now and should've been used to the fact that he always recovered.
But whatever dormant dread had possessed her, now shone in full fury.
"You need to see a doctor," Christine said one evening, after a coughing fit fierce enough to jerk his hands away from his strings.
She stood by the door to the kitchen, her shoulder bumping its frame every so often as she rocked back and forth on her heels, hands still wet from the evening's dishes and covered in suds.
"A doctor?" he cried out incredulously. He let out a light laugh. "Whatever for?"
Christine avoided his eyes then. "Because you're sick."
"Christine…" Gustave tried to keep his face buoyant but sighed all the same. "It's just a small cough. You've seen me get sick many times before, and I've never needed a doctor then."
"But…" She bit her lip as she twisted the front of her dress, her fingers leaving frothy trails over the stiff, blue cotton. "But what if this time is different?"
He frowned, contemplating, then put his violin down and went to stand by his daughter. He kneeled so that they were at eye level and then took her chin in his hand. She reluctantly raised it. As always these days, he had trouble meeting her eyes.
"Christine," he said in his most reassuring, pleading tone. "I am fine."
But she merely shook her head out of his grasp and fled back to the safety of the kitchen before he could stop her.
To his slight dismay, his daughter's petitions for him to seek medical attention only increased after that. Once or twice every few days would have been tolerable, but these were harrowing and constant. Gustave began to watch his every move, his every sneeze and cough, but Christine easily saw through whatever attempts he made to hide his illness.
It wasn't necessarily his daughter's determination itself that finally won out, but rather the disturbing supply she had of it. He'd never seen her be so persistent about a single matter, at least not so intensely for so long. In fact, Gustave had never seen any child her age be so persistent, never about things that didn't somehow concern themselves in some way.
And so after church one morning, he called after the town's resident physician, Doctor Jean Renard, and - unshakably aware of his daughter's nervously expectant presence behind him - made an appointment later that week for a basic examination.
Dinner that night was a brighter affair than usual. Christine, back once again to her cheerful self, babbled on about the many adventures she'd had that day at Madame Bayard's house, her face nearly bursting at times from the sheer size of the guileless smile plastered upon it. For a foolish moment, he let himself believe this would be the end of it all.
But whatever hopes Gustave had for a peaceful resolution were short-lived.
The actual visit with the doctor went smoothly enough. On the morning of the appointment Christine begged to accompany him, but he had several rehearsals in town that day scheduled to last long after dusk. She sulked for a bit before he finally convinced her, to his great relief, that it was better for both of them for her to stay at Bayard's again for the day.
At the small clinic, Doctor Renard asked him a series of basic questions before performing a few small physical tests, marking down the information and results for each on a small pad of paper. He then left for a moment; whether to gather his thoughts or simply deal with another patient, Gustave did not know.
The older man made his way back just as Gustave was beginning to glance more and more at his watch, itching to take off before he was late.
"Well?"
"Honestly there doesn't seem much to worry about, Monsieur Daaé."
Gustave wasn't sure what other news he'd really been expecting but let out a sigh nonetheless.
"If could, however, get a specific date on something for my records?" the doctor continued. "You mentioned this cough of yours, the one that's been troubling you."
"In all honesty it's been troubling my daughter more than myself," he said, feeling a little foolish again for bothering the man with such a trifle. "But as to its origin…"
Gustave thought back, trying to pin point the exact day it'd began. The trouble with chronic coughing was that it was often hard to pick out which ones were the prelude to sickness and which were simply innocent tickles.
"About two weeks now," he finally decided. "On and off. If I had to guess."
"Hmm… And you've only experienced the cough. No soreness of the throat or congestion of the sinuses?"
"No, but surely their absence is a good thing."
"Oh, to be sure. An abnormality of course, but common ailments have quite their share of those," Renard said, with a wave of his hand. He referred to his sheet once more. "And no other symptoms to report? No fever? Fatigue? Loss of appetite?"
"No," Gustave said carefully. "That is, if you're asking whether I've been feeling tired lately, of course. But who doesn't at this time of year?" He paused as he watched the doctor scribble another note. "And to be completely honest, I don't think I've been eating as much as I normally do, but that's only because I'm barely at my house these days."
"I see."
Renard waited until he'd finished the last of his scribbles before turning to Gustave with a crafted smile. "Well, Monsieur Daaé, as I mentioned before, I don't believe you have anything to worry about. I know, I know," he said, raising a hand when Gustave began to protest. "You said your daughter was the one fretting about. Be pleased that you can return home and assuage her fears. Your cough is - in all likelihood - just one of the many manifestations of a simple winter cold."
"Thank you, Doctor Renard."
Gustave stood up and shook the doctor's hand before turning to his coat that'd been draped over the chair he'd been sitting in. He was already halfway out the room, violin case in hand, when he paused.
A faint memory of Christine's haunting eyes drifted back to him, the lingering chill of her desperate pleas raising hairs down his spine. For the first time, a sliver of the dread that seemed to consume her these days broke off and wedged itself deep within his heart. It wrenched at him, filling his lungs with ice.
Gustave slowly turned back around to where Doctor Renard was already flipping to a new sheet.
"Doctor?"
The older man glanced towards him with a bemused expression. Cursing the childish absurdity of it all, Gustave continued.
"You are right that it's most likely a simple winter cold, but… assuming, just assuming, it was not. What would your diagnosis be then, if you would indulge a foolish man in his wonderings?"
Renard frowned. "I thought you said your daughter was the concerned one."
"She is," Gustave said, his gut already swirling with unease. "This is simply… curiosity for curiosity's sake."
The dour curling of his lip showed exactly what the doctor thought of curiosity. "You do understand that no diagnosis is ever absolute, don't you, Monsieur Daaé? That multiple symptoms always share multiple ailments? That fear-mongering speculation only serves to worry the mind and delay the body's natural recovery?"
"I do."
The two men stood at a slight impasse before Doctor Renard finally yielded.
"Well, if you are so adamant in knowing," he said, body crumpling slightly as he let out an audible sigh. "There is a minuscule possibility, and believe me when I say it's more likely for you to step out this door and be hit by a carriage, that your cough might represent the very early stages of consumption."
"Consumption?"
"As I said, merely one possible diagnosis of many. In fact, there are hundreds of applicable others and each is just as improbable as the one I have given you. If you are truly paranoid, you could visit a specialist to be more certain - there are many in Paris - but even their answers would not be absolute. Trust my word as a doctor and save your time, worry, and money. This is a winter cold, pure and simple, and you have nothing to concern yourself with."
He picked up Christine from Madame Bayard's long after the sun had set. She bounced down the front steps as Gustave waved a thank you to the old woman and promptly took her place at his side. She didn't take his hand but remained close, hovering, as they walked home. Occasionally he glanced down, her fervent desire to know his examination results painfully transparent from the burning glimmer in her eyes.
They were barely five minutes into the half hour journey when what little patience she possessed finally ran out.
"So?"
"So what?" he asked, feigning ignorance.
"How did the visit go? With the doctor?"
Gustave smiled at her, breaking slightly under her intense scrutiny. From the importance she'd attributed to the visit, his daughter was clearly expecting a certain answer, and it was not the one he was about to give her.
"You can stop your worrying," he said anyway. "The doctor said I was fine."
She stopped dead in the snow, small and rigid in the darkness. "Fine?"
"Yes." The beginnings of a frown tugged at his lips. "Don't you believe me?"
"Of course I do!" she cried out, her face suddenly shocked with guilt. "But… your cough-"
"Is just part of a small cold," he said. "Like always."
Christine didn't respond, instead choosing to turn her head towards the ground. Her hands slowly curled themselves into loose fists.
Gustave sighed. They still had quite some distance to cover before they were anywhere near home. "Christine, take my hand. You'll catch a cold of your own if we stay out here like this."
She murmured something he couldn't quite catch.
"Say again?" he asked.
"And you're sure that's all he said?" she said louder, still continuing to stare at her boots.
"Christine," Gustave pleaded. He tried to avoid the question, knowing there'd be no rest if he told her the full truth. "The doctor said I was fine-"
"Is that all he said?" she cried out, her head whipping back up to face him, eyes clear and unswayed. Gustave nearly stumbled.
"Christine…"
He briefly considered lying, a delicate white lie for both of their sakes, but the thought instantly appalled him. Is that really what he was resorting to now? Directly lying to his daughter? And even he were to go through with such a thing, he'd already hesitated too long. Christine hadn't been fooled by any of the other attempts he'd made to hide his cough, and he had no doubts she'd easily see through whatever sugary falsehood he could manage to fabricate now.
Although-
He continued to run through his thoughts, both acutely aware of and ignoring his daughter's increasingly worried face before him in the snow, he realized she shouldn't be able to do these things, parsing through his words and movements so effortlessly. The Christine he knew, the daughter he'd raised, oh, she was astute in her own childish way, but never had she been so… precise about it. This had gone far beyond continuous worry and a slight change in bedtime narratives.
Gustave took a deep breath.
"What is this really about, Christine?"
Her eyes widened, face draining of all color, and she visibly flinched.
"About?" she squeaked. She coughed and forced a weak smile. "It's- It's about you, of course! You're sick and you need-"
"Christine, you know that I'm fine-"
"No, you're not!" she screamed. Immediately her hands flew to her mouth. Her eyes left his face, wildly searching the ground as if it somehow would provide the answers to close whatever cursed box she seemed to have just opened.
Gustave didn't know how to respond.
They both stood there in the falling snow and darkness. She looked so conflicted, so torn and ragged. He finally took a step towards her, reaching out a conciliatory hand, but from the way she shivered, instantly taking her own step back, he might've just as well raised a fist to strike her. His heart clenched, mind reeling with guilt, with terror… with, beneath it all, betrayal. Betrayal at the way she had slowly but completely shut him out. The way she no longer trusted him. The way she was now viewing her own father as a creature to be feared.
What was happening to his daughter? Had he truly been such a terrible parent that he hadn't noticed how serious things had become? No, Gustave had definitely noticed; he'd just chosen to wait around for the situation to solve itself instead of actually doing anything about it.
He wasn't sure what was worse.
"Christine," he tried again, trying to keep his voice level and free of tears as she seemed to crumble in on herself. "Whatever you may think, no matter how things may seem, I am on your side. All I want to do is work with you… help you. Just tell me what is going on and I'll listen."
She slowly glanced up at that, meeting his gaze physically, but her mind was still somewhere else. Somewhere horribly far away.
"You're not though," she protested, her own tears glimmering at the corners of her eyes now. "I'm trying so terribly hard, and you don't hear a word I say!"
He instinctively took another step towards her, but she put out a hand for him to stop.
"What else did the doctor say?" she asked again. She shook her head. "Don't try and tell me there was nothing else. I know there was something else."
"How?" Gustave challenged, his voice rising despite himself. "How do you know these things? What has happened to you, Christine?"
"Nothing!" Despite the passion of her voice, her eyes told a different story. "I don't know what you're talking about!"
"Nothing? Some days I look at you and you're hardly there! I call your name and see you turn, but I'm not sure I know who looks back anymore and it scares me!"
"Scares you? Of all the- Do you know what scares me? What is truly frightening? You ramble on about money to save and rehearsals to attend and you don't even begin to understand what I'm trying to do for you! What you keep pushing away!"
"Chris-"
"The doctor told you something, didn't he? And I don't know what it was because you're not listening to me, you never listen to me, but please! The solution to everything is in your grasp, and you're just turning your back on it because of some minor expense-"
"Christine, a sudden trip to Paris is hardly a minor expense!"
The words left his mouth before he could stop them, leaving an echoing silence in their wake. Father and daughter stared at each other, lungs exhausted, chests heaving. He prayed… oh, how he prayed…
"Paris?" Christine finally whispered. His heart dropped. "You have to go to Paris? Why? Is it another doctor? There's another doctor in Paris, isn't there? A better one! Papa, you have to go!"
"Christine," he said suddenly exhausted, feeling as though every bone, every inch of his soul, had been dragged non-stop across the length of the rocky coast. "This conversation is over."
"Madame Giry is always writing us letters," she continued brightly. "It's been forever since we've seen them! I'm sure she'd be glad to have-"
"Christine, we are going home."
His tone was final, a warning that he'd rarely ever had to use with her, but she still paused.
"No," she said.
"Excuse me?"
"No. I'm staying right here." As if to further demonstrate her point, she promptly sat down, ruining her skirts in the process. She crossed her arms and stared up at him, eyes defiant.
Something in him snapped.
Gustave lumbered over to her and, with his violin case tucked under one arm, scooped her up and tossed her over his shoulder. Christine was still at first, brain too shocked to process what was happening, but after the first couple steps she began to thrash, screaming in rage as she pounded at his back with all the tiny strength she could muster. Steeling himself against the blows, he tightened his grip around her waist and continued walking.
It was going to be a long night.
A/N: Yay, chapter three. Or as I'm informally calling it, "Well That Escalated Quickly."
Sorry for the delay on this one. As I thought about things, I rewrote it twice and even then originally planned to cram four times the amount of plot in. And then, after I'd already cut in half, I realized if I didn't cut it in half again, I'd never finish it. Of course that mean it'll probably take me four chapters to get where I thought I would in one, but oh well.
I promised I'd keep things short. I'm actually thinking of making a small tumblr to post full author notes and stuff, catalog the plot adjustments as I write... long there, short here. Special thanks to SquidPire btw for some improvements I ended up making in chapter two.
Anyways, hope you enjoyed! Feel free to comment whether you loved or hated it.