Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash. Post-POTO. A bit of R/C (yeah). General discontent runs through the characters as they are forced to adjust their views of happily ever after. I guess a bit of E/C as well (but that's usually unavoidable)

Warning(s): slash (that's homosexual content for those of you who don't know)

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

A/N: The first chapter after a break is always one of the hardest for me. It's a lot trying to get into the same mindset and I think I'm failing right now. Remind me next time that I think going on a vacation is a good idea, to not do it until I've finished whatever I'm working on at the time. It'll make all our lives easier. I had to edit this one a million times over and I'm still not pleased, but seeing as I'm already late posting, I figure why not.

Story Note: What, Christine's back? WTH? She's always a complication, but you were expecting that already, right?

o.o.o.o

Reluctantly Willing

Chapter 18 - … to lie

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

Erik knew that he should've been back at the Chagny estate already. Lingering at the Opera Populaire was pointless; however, he was trying to get his thoughts in order. He'd expected the clarity achieved after being angry with Raoul then himself would have remained. Instead, all he could think about now was the fact that he hadn't packed his clothes already. He hadn't prepared everything and made that last encounter with Raoul the last. He shouldn't return.

It was obvious that the boy had in fact moved on. He would no longer pose a threat to Erik's main goal, which had always been Christine. Raoul just didn't care.

Unfortunately, he still didn't like how much that thought bothered him.

He'd spent an inordinately large amount of time going through the charred areas of the opera house in an effort to focus. Walking around, he wondered why he hadn't gone to the grave with it. It would have saved a lot of time and effort. Then again, he now had this second chance to have Christine for himself; so, he couldn't complain.

It was just that the past seemed so far, another life entirely, so separate from his life at the moment that he was almost certain it hadn't been him who had stolen through the night teaching Christine or watching the residents of the opera house. It hadn't been him who'd been obsessed with Christine, with her voice, with her future. It hadn't been him who'd despised the Vicomte and had almost killed him on more than one occasion.

And, he wasn't even that person anymore. Was he? He'd proven he hadn't changed much with that last outburst with Raoul, but in the end, he hadn't killed him, which was astounding. Though, that was only a technicality since the Vicomte was no longer his rival. And that was another subject to address…

He was doing a rather poor job of focusing. Erik headed down to his home, an act that should've been familiar; yet, it wasn't the same. He'd always felt like he was fully in his element walking through the passageways. They were his home, the only place he truly belonged since there was nowhere else that would accept him. He'd been free in these tunnels. Not anymore though. There was no freedom in these passageways, no air, no life, nothing. There was another place that he belonged and was accepted.

Pushing the confusing emotions aside, Erik walked through the devastation that had reached even five cellars down into the opera house. In the weeks that had passed Raoul's and Christine's initial departure and then the mob's, Erik hadn't bothered to try to salvage the fragments of his life that had managed to remain. It had seemed unnecessary. He'd been loathe to move at all; cleaning had seemed too arduous a task to undertake. So, it had remained: broken glass, strewn papers, mangled furniture. It was as though time had stood still after they'd gone. In a way, it had – for him at least.

Time had stopped until he'd returned to the surface and had been saved. The novel feeling of a kind hand, the warmth that had spread through his body. The concern. The care. All directed at him. Still directed at him.

Forcibly stopping that train of thought, Erik slipped through one of the side passages, moved what looked to be a solid wall before retrieving his spare mask. He'd left the other one for the mob to find in hopes that they would be appeased that he was gone, that he really was just a ghost.

As he held the cold porcelain in his hands, he knew the right action would be to wear it. That had been the point right? He had returned here to get a mask so that he wouldn't have to worry about anyone seeing his true face whenever he moved about. He had returned to make looking for Christine easier. He hesitated. Sliding the mask quickly before he could change his mind, it settled against his deformity. He couldn't help but feel the difference immediately. He'd lived weeks without a mask to cover his face, growing accustomed to it. The mask now pressed against his skin and made him all too aware of the bumps and irregular skin; it reminded him of who he was.

He kept it on.

Without the mask on, he lost focus. Without it, he'd lived with the blonde without once trying to kill him. Without it, he'd given Christine away, let her slip through his fingers a second time. It was now obvious that he'd been wrong to let her go in the first place. His face, the core of his weakness, needed to be covered. It was a mental impairment that made him act contrary to what he should. It was best to be the opera ghost than whoever he'd been before.

He'd been Erik, not the opera ghost, he realized. He also knew now that he couldn't be both. A fact that rang true was that the opera ghost needed Christine; Erik did his best to ignore the fact that Erik might need something, someone else.

If that were true, he should've felt better with his mask on. His thoughts should have immediately narrowed to Christine like they once had, but he still felt unsettled. Somewhere in the clenching muscles in his stomach, in the nervous energy that seemed to thrum through his limbs. Somewhere in the mask that was the only face he was comfortable showing Christine, the one that now rubbed against his deformity irritably, that he was now unaccustomed to seeing through, that suddenly was slowly suffocating him. Somewhere in all that laid the answer.

Raoul.

It was the blonde that did this to him. He couldn't get Raoul's eyes out of his thoughts. He couldn't forget the way that the blonde looked at him, had looked at him on a daily basis, from morning to night without the mask and still hadn't flinched at the sight. He'd flinched for other reasons like when Erik became aggressive, but just not for his face.

Erik had to physically shake his head in an effort to clear his mind of Raoul again. It was becoming more and more difficult to reign in his wayward thoughts, near impossible because every thought of Christine only brought a corresponding thought of Raoul. Still, he tried.

He'd have to search for Christine, but where. Raoul had already said that he didn't have any idea. However, he was right when he pointed to Madame Giry. That would be his first resource. Yet, he had no intention on heading towards the Giry household at this moment. The only place he could really think about was the Chagny estate and how much he needed to go back. Of course he needed to. After all, he had yet to pack his clothes. He'd yet to prepare his things and go through his works to see which ones he would bring with him and which he could discard of. It had nothing to do with the fact that he was also anxious to see Raoul again, to further gauge his reaction when he realized that Erik was in fact leaving to find Christine and was never going to return, not even to gloat.

Raoul probably wouldn't care. That was the point. It was good to know that some plans succeeded.

He swallowed with some difficulty. One more day, a last day, to spend with Raoul before finding Christine. He headed out towards the estate, rushing, subconsciously determined to make this day last as long as it could.

o.o.o

Raoul pressed the heel of his hands against his eyes. His heart was pounding loudly, drowning out any other sound, like his footsteps through the yard or the snapping of branches as he grabbed and pulled at every offending tree that got in his way. After closing the front door, he'd quickly walked away before he found himself running as far and as fast as he could. Resignation. He'd thought he could handle this easily. Hadn't he learned that struggling against other people's decisions was pointless? That he should simply let things be so that it would be less tiring? However, he'd forgotten just how difficult it was to convince his emotions what his mind already knew.

He hit the edge of his estate and for the first time in a long while didn't want to stop; he could keep running, keep moving further away. The nausea that had once kept him in wasn't there. Escape was available, but the point wasn't to escape from just this household. It was to escape everything that had occurred. His self-imposed house arrest could end right now. The world was out there. He could lose himself in it. He knew that and still turned back towards the house. He'd never be able to run far enough away to appease this impulse – not without a horse or carriage or without any food or money.

He stifled the urge to yell again, stifled the urge to hurt something, mainly someone. Running managed to tire him out enough so that he wouldn't be able to both make it back to the house and hurt her. If only Christine were to come to him.

His legs buckled and Raoul dropped to the floor, using the bare minimum of effort to break his fall. The betrayal pressed down; he forewent sitting, his body bent towards the ground. He listened to the harsh sounds of his own breathing. Trying to calm down, he only managed to worsen things as he began to hiccup, his breathing still loud now only interrupted. He hated himself for sounding so weak and pitiful.

Finding it difficult to continue breathing in such a position, he pushed himself onto his back. Looking up, a harsh bark of laughter tore through his throat as he realized he was at the exact same place he'd been the last time Christine had left him, the same place he always seemed to end up time and again.

It was funny, in a way. Tears clung to the edges of his eyes, making his vision blurry. He coughed weakly when a sharp intake of breath caught in his throat. Funny because she'd come back and just for that, Raoul wished he could still love her. He ardently wished that was his problem, but he was coming to the frightening, breath stealing conclusion that it wasn't.

It wasn't her betrayal that was hurting and unfortunately, that thought was persistent. It kept picking at his mind, trying to open a wound he hadn't known existed. It wasn't her that was the problem. It was… himself. He was the problem because the mere thought that Erik had been lying this whole time literally made him gasp with a pain that radiated through his body. He didn't understand how it could physically hurt this much.

Why Erik?

It wasn't a surprise. He kept telling himself that in hopes that it would eventually become the truth. The ghost and kindness… he should have expected.

What was the point in trying to figure out what had happened or who did what? He was so tired. At one point he'd expected this sort of thing. He'd even mentally prepared himself for such a betrayal. What had changed? Raoul shook his head. He'd trusted the man. More than just trust, he'd become dependent. Yet, dependency was too small a word. There was more, so much more between them that it actually worried him, made him question his ability, this hard-learned lesson of independence to be effective once Erik was gone.

Glancing at the sky, Raoul noted that the sun would be rising soon and Erik would be returning as well to see how well his experiment worked. He refused to be found crying on the floor. He refused to be found crying at all. Standing up, he dusted off the grass, fixed his hair, and tried to steel himself so as to be able to enter the house and face both of them with some dignity.

Erik and Christine. Erik and Christine.

All along. How could he have been so blind? Of course Erik had known where Christine had been. What other reason would he have to remain? It obviously hadn't just been for him.

There had to be a way to survive after this.

o.o.o

Erik entered the house, cautious. He knew the servants were just beginning to move about but not in the main house yet. He was a little surprised not to see Raoul puttering about, waiting for him. He climbed the stairs and bypassed his room for the sake of going directly into the spare one.

The first thing he noticed was the closed door that connected their rooms. Turning to the bed, he was about to chastise Raoul when he noticed it was empty. Confused, he entered his room and couldn't help but smirk at the lump he saw in the bed. There was something about the sight that was reassuring, so much so that Erik almost forgot that he was supposed to be annoyed with him. It was such a small rebellion though to close the door and then sleep in their bed. It pleased him in a way he would never admit to that they shared a bed, that there was one more boundary that didn't exist between them. And now, it made him feel that Raoul was still just Raoul and somehow things hadn't changed so drastically.

This fixation with change, with how things had been was beginning to get confusing. He didn't know why it mattered. Raoul, the Vicomte, they were the same, yet a whole other set of emotions were attached to each. Just like there was a difference between the opera ghost and Erik.

He watched Raoul sleep for a while. The form shifted and Erik just waited. After all, Raoul's uncanny ability to know where he was had never gone away. He had rather gotten used to the fact that someone was attuned to his every sound. It wouldn't take long at all for him to be noticed.

Looking a little closer, he was confused when a brown curl appeared beneath the blanket. Taking a step back, his eyes widened while a part of him came to its own conclusions. When the blankets were pushed down fully, he was only partially surprised to see Christine. Surprise quickly turned to disgust. Without questioning why, his immediate reaction was to jerk her from the bed. Luckily for her, upon seeing him, she gasped and quickly stood up smoothing down her skirts and fussing with her hair.

She opened her mouth to give the well-rehearsed speech she'd perfected on her way to the estate. Those weeks alone, all alone in the world, she'd been both elated and afraid. It hadn't been what she'd expected. That anxiety of finally being free never left. It had plagued her until her arrival at Raoul's estate though it had begun to recede once she'd decided to return in the first place. The speech never made it past her lips since Erik spoke before she could even begin.

"Where is Raoul?"

Christine could only stare at him. She'd gone to Raoul's room not knowing what to expect, especially after last night and his odd behaviour. Noting that he'd once again changed the room beside his own to be a bedroom once more, she'd almost been tempted to stay there and just pretend for a moment what it would have been like had she agreed to Raoul's proposal. It was all just fantasy, one that she herself had refused, and she couldn't even bring herself to regret her decision. Instead, she'd done as he'd asked and closed the door.

She did momentarily wonder if Raoul had found another woman already, but then remembered the bruises on his arms. She didn't know why the two were connected in her mind, but they were. She assumed he'd simply taken to getting into physical arguments to relieve the stress of her departure. She'd stopped wondering anything at all when the exhaustion took over. The bed was soft and inviting, an amenity that had seemed so trivial in the past.

But the opera ghost was there now. Raoul must've known where he was and try as she might, she couldn't understand how.

Without waiting for a response from her, Erik left the room without a second thought. Christine chased him down and caught him at the top of the stairs, grabbing his arm. Her cold touch was like a shock to his system.

Where was he going? Christine was right here. The search was over before it even began. She had been in their bed, and odd how what once had meant Raoul's and Christine's now meant Erik's and Raoul's bed.

"I came here for you," she explained, expecting that to be the problem. Erik was going to harm Raoul for getting her into his bed.

That statement should have been dubious, considering that she'd just been in what she thought to be Raoul's bed. Yet, he didn't doubt her. He looked into her eyes, expecting to see the person who'd thrown the lamp at his head. Instead, he saw Christine, saw she meant it and instead of feeling the joy or relief he thought he should feel; he was suspicious. He wondered what had happened because as he looked closer, he could see she was tired border lining desperate. It wasn't his place to question that though. He should accept whatever was given now that she was finally offering more than what she'd once said was possible. Why was he hesitating in the first place?

Pressing further, seeing as Erik was still quiet, she asked, "Where were you?"

Here. Erik could only dumbly respond. "The opera house."

It was the obvious place and yet Christine hadn't been able to go back there, afraid of what she might find. Afraid that she'd regress even further if she returned to where it had all started. She wasn't the same person as she'd once been. She had gotten stronger and knew what she wanted now. Yet, she'd come to realize that she'd overestimated how strong she could be and her won worth to society. She'd reached far and fell. That had been a difficult lesson, one that had changed her completely. She was now more afraid of failing than she was of regressing to become the person she'd once been. Swallowing through the tightness in her throat, she reminded herself that she was going to reach again, but this time she would have someone there to catch her if she did fall. She would make sure of that. She was making sure of that right now.

"I was wrong," she said.

Erik didn't reply, didn't think it warranted a response.

"I hadn't known what you were offering, hadn't know how much I wanted it," Christine said. The words came out easily because she knew they would work. They had to, "I love you. I know that now."

Erik looked at her sharply though he responded automatically. "I love you, too."

The words didn't exactly come as easily as they once had, but he realized that yes, he still meant it. After all, the ghost died without Christine. She was the reason for his very being. How could he not love her?

She smiled brightly at him and it lightened his heart to see her beauty, her joy because of him. Some of those doubts, those bothersome unnamed emotions regarding Raoul, were finally muted.

She clutched his hands and said, "Let's leave like you promised. Let's find another place, another opera house, start over. It could be like you'd always imagined."

Those dreams seemed so distant now, but after so many years, it was easy to remember them. Life with Christine would be wonderful, perfect; yet, a cynical side added that it would be nothing like life with Raoul.

Which was good of course.

Erik nodded slowly, gripping her hands in turn, as foreign as it felt.

"Let's go."

They made it all the way down the stairs with her clinging to his arm as though it were natural before he couldn't handle her being so close. As much as he had once wanted her touch so desperately, dreamt of it countless nights, it was as though his body simply rejected her proximity, the unfamiliarity of it. It was more stifling than the mask he wore. She crowded him and he did what he always did when he felt caged, he tried to make distance. Disentangling her hands from his arm, he reached for the front door jerkily before stopping.

"Go wait for me outside," he ordered. He didn't know if it had been a sound that made him pause, but something had.

"Don't do anything rash," she warned, but went outside regardless.

Erik climbed back up the stairs, glancing down the hallway. It looked empty but he could have sworn that someone, something had caught his attention. He walked towards the den, entering the room only to find it empty. Several of his works had been moved, he could easily tell, but that wasn't abnormal. Raoul often touched his things. It was why he kept an extra close eye on where he placed them. He could picture the scrutiny and open appreciation in Raoul's expression. After so many years of working for no one but the rats and the dust, it was nice to feel appreciated.

Christine was waiting for him. They needed to leave. Erik left the room, and though he headed towards the stairs, he found himself in front of their room.

Entering, he faltered. Raoul stood, back turned to him. Erik had a fleeting concern that Raoul had seen Christine and him together even though he knew it made no difference. The boy had sent her to their room. It was the only explanation.

He softly closed the door behind him and only then did Raoul turn, a case held loosely in front of him.

"You let her sleep in my bed," Erik said, distaste evident in his tone.

Raoul glanced at the mussed sheets. Smirking, he fought hard to exude a calm he really didn't feel. "I let her sleep in my bed," he retorted, a short laugh punctuating his sentence. "I figured one last time would have been nice." His tone was self-deprecating but at least not bitter. He didn't want to seem too affected, didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that Raoul had thought him sincere, that he'd fallen for it again.

Erik's lips tightened to a straight line. He knew Raoul, knew his features and Raoul was lying. About what, he wasn't sure, but he was lying.

"I didn't even have to look for her," Erik replied, irked at the knowledge that Raoul would blatantly lie. They'd spent every minute of every second of their day together for how many weeks and the boy actually thought there was a part of him that he couldn't read. So, even though he knew it was impossible, Erik asked, "Did you send for her for me?"

Raoul scoffed. "Indeed. Can you believe it? She's here on the day that you wish to find her. All it took was a call to a few contacts and she came."

Another lie. One said out of anger, but angry at what? That Christine was leaving with him or that he was leaving in general. He didn't want to know the answer.

Knowing that both of them angry would get them nowhere and that Raoul was currently lying at every breath, Erik decided to give a single concession, knew that Raoul was due for the only one Erik was ever willing to give him.

"I won't leave if you still love her."

He would give Raoul one last chance to answer him directly, only because the day he'd almost wanted to spend with Raoul, their last day together was going to end before the sun had even risen. Only after the words had left his mouth had he realized that he was giving them one last chance.

And Raoul was suddenly tempted, sorely tempted to say that he loved Christine even though Erik would see through the lie. He himself barely understood why completely. He didn't want to understand why he desperately didn't want Erik to leave; he'd been trying to avoid that particular revelation. Instead, he tried to convince himself that the feeling was simply an automatic reaction to someone else leaving him. Tried to convince himself that there would be someone else, but in that grove, he'd leaned against their tree, looking up at the dark sky. He'd realized rather frighteningly that he didn't want anyone else. He didn't want there to be someone else.

Still, he tried to rationalize, afraid of what it would mean if he let himself fully believe the only possible conclusion to his emotions. Maybe it was because Christine had come back for him and just to spite her, he'd suddenly developed this feeling. This desperation he felt was a gnawing pain at the pit of his stomach that told him to lie, yelled at him to do anything to make Erik stay, didn't feel like spite.

He thought back to how every thought of Christine had once had a corresponding thought of Erik and how that had become simply thoughts of Erik. Suddenly, it wasn't so confusing any more.

Biting the inside of his cheek, Raoul made his decision. "I don't love her."

It had taken a while for him to answer, but Erik knew it was the truth. "I'm leaving," he stated the obvious, his voice dead.

Raoul shrugged. "I know." He presented the case he held in his hands.

"You'll be fine." It was a useless platitude that Erik found himself unable to stop from coming out even though a part of him wanted the contrary. He wanted Raoul to be miserable.

"Probably." And, that was a lie Erik was actually pleased to hear.

"I packed your clothes for you. Essentials." Raoul refused to meet his eyes, not when he was wearing the mask and everything was just so wrong. The sight of the mask had been a shock to his system. He'd known at that moment how everything would end, and he'd been right so far.

Erik nodded; grabbing the case, their hands brushed. It should've gone unnoticed – in the past few weeks, they'd rather grown accustomed to those moments when they would touch. It was inevitable. However, this was different. Raoul found himself trying to memorize the fleeting contact – support, a comforting presence that made every day a little better – not knowing that Erik was actually trying to do the same thing – kind hands, hands that night so long ago that had saved his life. How had everything changed so drastically?

"I'll find someone else," Raoul whispered to himself. He wanted the pain to stop. He had no control over the situation so there was no point in struggling, but giving up made it all that much easier for him to stop struggling against the truth of what he felt for the other man. If he wanted to move on, he'd have to first admit there was something to move on from.

Erik heard the statement. It wasn't a lie but tinged with sadness. He scrutinized Raoul one last time. "You do not love her." It was a question though said as a statement.

Raoul grinned despite himself. How he could find humour when he felt like he was going to collapse on the floor was beyond him. "No." It was funny though. It was funny in the way everything had been funny since Erik had left to retrieve his mask, a detached way. He wanted to laugh but feared it would only mean that he'd finally lost it. "You can go." It wasn't fair, but it was funny. "I don't love her." Because he meant every single word more in this moment watching Erik ready to leave him than he had meant it any other time.

If Erik heard that emphasis, he gave no indication as he walked out of their room.

o.o.o.o

End Chapter 18

Word count: 4,723

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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Chapter review: The whore used the same line on both Raoul and Erik. That's simply evil. As for Raoul, he should have lied.