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: Apparently posting sooner than later means more than a week later. Yes, I'm evil, but it's not like I'm quitting the story, just still working towards consistency and failing along the way. I'll succeed eventually.

Story Note: Re-reading that last chapter killed me. Stupid Raoul should've just lied.

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Reluctantly Willing

Chapter 19 - … to leave

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By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

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Raoul watched Erik stride out of the room seemingly unaffected by his words, unaffected by the fact that he was leaving a place Raoul thought he had called home. Of course though, why would he be affected by leaving, by whatever Raoul said? Erik had Christine now and everything was as it should have been in the beginning before he'd even known about the Opera Populaire. Except he wouldn't have once loved and twice hated Christine, and he never would have felt Erik's departure as distinctly as he did at this moment.

He shut his eyes when his chest began to ache, but the sight of Erik walking away from him was burned into his eyelids. It was all he could picture, all he could see and feel because he could now really feel the distance grow between them.

Letting out a sharp exhale, his legs buckled beneath him when a wave of fatigue crashed upon him. He managed to stay on his feet by grabbing the bedpost, absently wondering when he'd begun to breathe heavily. He forced his gaze away from the door, letting it fall to the bed. The sheets were in disarray. He'd noticed it when he'd first entered the room but had blocked his thoughts from following that particular path. Christine had slept in their bed. He let out a sharp bark of laughter. Their bed – before victory number two. Or had he only thought of it as theirs after that victory?

Shaking his head, he reminded himself that there was nothing he could do. It had never been his right to have Erik stay with him. It had never been a possibility in the first place.

He could still just barely understand how they'd even come to this point. He knew it had something to do with the fact that he'd decided to walk through Paris one day and help a man he'd wanted to kill, and he cursed himself for that moment of weakness. Oddly enough though, he could imagine killing Erik then as much as he could now, and that was unlikely.

He had the fleeting hope that if he could just pinpoint the moment he'd fallen in love, he could erase it from his mind and everything would be fine. Love? Was this really love? Not wanting him to leave, not wanting anyone else, despising Christine for having what he couldn't. He almost didn't want to name what he felt for Erik, at least not name it the same as what he'd once thought he'd felt for Christine. He just wanted… wanted to know when had claiming Erik as his prisoner turn from a ruse to something more like a desire?

Turning away from both the bed and his thoughts, he saw the fedora he'd planned on giving Erik.

Erik who was… he wasn't anything but leaving him right now, but he had been a constant in his life and thinking back on it, Raoul would have to admit that he'd been… happy. Actually happy and hadn't he once thought that was impossible after Christine?

Before he could think about what he was doing, he grabbed the fedora, swung the door open, and walked quickly out of the room. He wouldn't admit, not even to himself, to nearly tripping over his feet or running down the hallway in his haste.

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His heartbeat was pounding in his ears. Erik couldn't think properly.

There was absolutely no doubt in his mind that Raoul did not love Christine. And while every instinct in him told him that this should be good news, he couldn't explain why he felt like breaking everything on the way to the front door or perhaps punching his fist through the nearest wall or screaming profanities at Raoul's, his… his what? Stupidity? Lack of gratitude?

Erik wasn't exactly certain what, but he knew Raoul was the reason for his ire. He couldn't be mad at Christine. After all, she had returned for him. Raoul on the other hand… he was. Why couldn't he finish that thought? Raoul was what? Raoul was going to be just fine. He was going to find someone else and live his happy life on this estate sharing his bedroom, his meals, his office – but wait, no woman would bother to stay with him through all those hours that he spent in the office. Raoul would be alone during that time, able to hum to his heart's content. He and that woman would meet for lunch of course, and then Raoul would probably take her out for a walk under the sun and to the grove in the back. She'd sit beneath their tree and Raoul would stupidly climb it only to fall on the way down.

His heart might have skipped a beat at that thought. He reached the front door wondering if that was how Raoul would die, broken and bleeding on the grass, staring up through the branches at the sun that had once fallen upon him. Banishing that thought immediately, he opened the door to see Christine waiting expectantly for him.

Christine was waiting for him.

Things had indeed changed. His life was going as he'd once planned it. She was his and his alone; she'd even told him she loved him. He shouldn't be letting thoughts of Raoul ruin what he had at this moment. He refused to let that happen.

She extended her hand and though momentarily uncertain, Erik offered his arm, which she took without hesitation. His heart had yet to slow down. In fact, now it was skip-beating so quickly, he almost felt faint. This was really happening. He fought the compulsion to remove his mask. Not because he wanted to gauge her reaction, not even so that this moment would truly be like how he had once pictured it, maskless, rather it was so that he could breathe.

He'd almost forgotten that he'd been wearing the mask when he'd been speaking to Raoul. The blonde never let his eyes linger on the cold porcelain; he never let his eyes linger on the deformity. He only looked at him, at Erik. He wasn't Erik right now though. He was the opera ghost, the one who wasn't bothered by the feel of the mask on his face. The opera ghost didn't wonder if Raoul might die in an accident, falling out of a tree. The opera ghost would think of how he was going to kill the Vicomte, but that was beside the point currently.

Christine, acknowledging his reaction to her proximity before, stayed some distance away even though she held his arm. "You packed?" She asked, indicating the case.

Erik looked down at the case in his hand and nodded absentmindedly. He'd completely forgotten about it. Seeing it and the consideration that Raoul had shown by packing it for him only angered him further. Maybe Raoul had had it prepared for a long while already. He swallowed through the rancor that seemed to have a tight hold on his throat.

"Where are we going?" Christine prompted. She knew of places they wouldn't go if she could help it, and inwardly, she was pleased to know that she could help it.

She had spent the last week after she'd made her decision to return to Paris trying to decide between the opera ghost and Raoul. She'd learned a lot in the weeks that she'd been away and the decision had been harder than expected. She hadn't lied to Raoul though when she'd told him that he was the one that kept dragging her back to the opera house. He was the one that made her that weak again. Everything with Raoul was connected with Little Lotte and that naiveté that had actually led her to believe there had been an angel who spoke to her in the opera house. It was that naiveté that had made her refuse to admit to herself that the opera ghost and her supposed angel were one in the same.

That was the first thing she'd gained from leaving the opera house, from leaving the opera ghost's lair. She'd gained the ability to tell herself the truth, to see through the illusions she'd built up. Once she could truly see, she'd realized that the fairytale life she'd once wanted with Raoul wouldn't have made her happy. Raoul would never be able to make her happy because she'd return to being weak and helpless with him. Moreover, he would never be able to inspire her, to provide that rush of adrenaline and joy that she received from being on stage. A Vicomtess would never be an opera singer. It was unheard of.

Singing was her life. It reminded her of her father. It allowed her soul to take flight in ways that she'd never known possible. Erik had shown her that. Her love for Raoul, it couldn't hold anything in comparison. And of course she loved Raoul. Dear, sweet Raoul who couldn't understand why he would only ever bring her pain. Concerned Raoul who wanted to coddle her and treat her as some doll in a fabricated life she'd never truly feel comfortable in. She knew that. She understood the differences between them, between their lives and their futures.

She had to move forward and the only person she could possibly conceive to help her do so was the one who had in truths changed her life every time they were together. The opera ghost. It had been obvious after a while. The strength of his personality and devotion. The way things consumed him. In retrospect, Christine wanted that. She wanted and possibly always wanted to be able to let life consume her, not him. She refused to allow him that much power over her again, but she could give him what he needed and not lose herself. At least, that's what she told herself. It would be perfect, beneficial to them both. After all, it was an even exchange in the end. He would have her companionship, everything he'd ever wanted before, and she would have the future she wanted. She could say the words I love you without having to mean them completely. She told herself it was that simple and possible and even though it was a gamble, she was willing to take it.

"We'll just leave," Erik finally answered. He had no idea where they should go. Somewhere in all those plans he'd once spent hours upon hours thinking of, he knew the answer to where they would go laid, but he couldn't seem to focus long enough to see it.

He took a step forward just ready to keep moving, but Christine stopped him, holding him back. "Wait."

He looked at her in confusion. She wanted to leave and so did he. He needed to get away from this place.

She wasn't able to continue because the front door opened and Raoul skidded to a halt. His hair was in disarray and Erik could tell that his breathing was a little faster than normal.

Raoul suddenly wished that he'd missed them when their eyes trained on him. Christine stared at him in confusion. In fact, so did Erik. He opened his mouth but decided against it because Erik's last words were suddenly ringing in his ears.

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

And Raoul wanted to scream because he knew what he should have said, what he could still say but knew he wouldn't.

'Would you stay if I loved you?'

And that was the problem, right? It was that word again. Love. The one he didn't even know if he could actually still believe in. He'd thought he would've loved Christine to his dying day. He'd felt that strongly for her. He'd been willing to die for her. He would have gladly done so if it would have made her happy.

It was admittedly different for Erik. He was glad for it since if it would have been the same, he definitely wouldn't have cared half as much that he was leaving. Or was that a bad thing? Because if this love was the same, he'd eventually learn to despise Erik and all would be well. And even with the betrayal still fresh, still present right before him, he couldn't bring himself to want that. He didn't think he could bring himself to burn Erik's things in the fireplace like he knew he should or get rid of the room he slept in because he'd be burning a part of himself with it. That was their room, those were their things. With Christine, their lives had been separate to start with so he could avoid remembering or repeating those things they had done together. With Erik… he couldn't just stop living could he?

Obviously he could, but then that would be pointless.

The awkward silence was broken when a carriage pulled up behind him. Erik immediately noticed that it was Raoul's private carriage; it was covered and the driver only inclined his head at them before continuing to stare straight ahead.

Christine tried to turn Erik and he looked down at her in annoyance. What was she trying to do?

She hissed low, "Your mask."

He blinked twice before realizing she meant that he should hide himself. But from Raoul's servants? That was absurd. They constantly saw him without a mask; wearing a mask now would be nothing but an improvement.

Christine didn't know he'd been staying there though. He belatedly realized that was why she had made him stop. The sun was already in the sky; if he turned just so, the rays would hit his face but instead of feeling the warmth on his skin, the dull lukewarmth was painfully obvious. He could only feel his mask.

Raoul took a step forward, fedora stretched out towards Erik.

"To hide." Raoul offered.

Erik shrugged Christine's hold from him and closed the distance between them. Christine could only watch in shock.

He didn't bother with the hat instead grabbing a fistful of the front of Raoul's shirt, lifting him up to his toes. Still, Raoul's hands didn't grab him like he expected. Instead, he stood there, eyes cast down towards the ground trying to relieve some of the strain on his shirt.

Erik couldn't stand the sight of him. The fedora was the last straw. Something in him snapped and he didn't bother trying to understand what he was feeling beside annoyance, anger, and of course the need to injure someone.

"Remember," Erik ground out, yanking the fedora from Raoul's grasp and tossing it behind him. He didn't care where it landed. Christine watched it flutter down to the ground from her peripheral vision, her eyes unable to be drawn completely away from the scene before her.

Raoul was on his toes and yet still somehow limp in the ghost's grasp. He wasn't fighting back and though it should have been obvious since he'd been the one to call the ghost for her, she still expected him to fight a bit. Their words were so quiet; she could only hear a murmur of what passed between them. Yet, she couldn't bring herself to interrupt what was transpiring between them.

"How could I forget?" Raoul spoke, the disgust and pain thick in his voice, "With all the effort you've put into this." His eyes flickered past Erik, and for the first time since he'd told her to sleep in their bed, he looked at Christine.

"Thank you for waiting as long as you did," Raoul raised his voice so that she could hear. He meant it, too. He was somehow thankful that Christine had waited this long to return. Or should he be thanking Erik because it was his plan. No, Christine was a strong girl. She'd left looking for something that Raoul obviously couldn't offer her. She'd said as much; so, she must've asked Erik for some time. And, with her absence, Raoul had been given time to remember the fun of living. He'd been able to get some semblance of happiness in his mind, in his memories before he was left alone again.

Since he was still looking at Christine, Raoul didn't see the punch coming. The only thing he knew was that one second he had been looking at Christine and the next his eye and cheekbone hurt and he'd ended up on the floor.

One hand covering his right eye and temple he groaned before looking up at Erik. It was difficult to concentrate with the stabbing pain and the fact that he didn't think he could open his right eye more than a fraction, but he managed.

Erik was breathing harshly, chest heaving and he was staring at his fist in confusion. He had never punched anyone in his life. He hadn't even thought of doing it once. All he had seen or thought were Raoul's eyes not focused on him and the boy thanking Christine. Thanking her. And then, Raoul was on the floor and his fist hurt.

He'd never punched anyone in his life because that was only meant to inflict pain and rather ineffectively. He only injured people to kill, one goal in mind, but he could suddenly see the appeal of hurting someone with fists. Erik didn't quite feel better but he did want to do it again. He liked not only the pain he knew Raoul to be feeling but the pain he felt in return. The ache in his hand somehow matched the ache in his head and chest. It was as though his whole body was thrumming, a mixture of pain and restrained aggression.

Finally looking down at Raoul, he almost felt a twinge of something other than pleasure, but Raoul didn't look anything but surprised and perhaps resigned. Erik took a step forward before remembering himself. Christine grabbed his arm again, and he turned almost ready to strike her as well. He didn't though when he saw her holding the fedora for him.

"You need to hide your mask," she reminded him as though Raoul's appearance had never occurred and she had just stopped him from leaving that first time.

He nodded and wore the hat low over his face though he could see no reason why now when they were going to take the carriage.

Raoul was still on the floor, hand still covering half of his face and Erik could almost see the irony in that. That they were both hiding their faces at this moment, wearing a type of mask in their final good-bye.

"A day." Raoul didn't bother standing up. It would have taken too much effort and he wasn't certain Erik wouldn't have punched him again. "You have my carriage for a day."

Erik glanced over his shoulder and the driver wasn't looking at them; he knew that turning a blind eye and forgetting where they had gone would be a reliable trait.

It was at Raoul's statement that the driver jumped down and opened the door. He took the case from Erik, securing it on top of the carriage before helping Christine in.

Erik wanted to say something else. He wanted to hurt Raoul again but seeing the blonde slumped against his own home, the building they'd shared hours upon hours of their time together, nothing came to mind.

He reached up and felt the mask before shaking his head and getting into the carriage, the driver shutting it behind them.

Raoul leaned his head back onto the wall and closed his eyes for only a second. It hurt to keep them open but he rolled his head to a better angle and forced himself to watch them leave. He needed to convince himself that Erik was leaving with Christine, that this moment wasn't some nightmare. He needed to convince himself that what he felt was real – as though he couldn't feel it in his bones or the bruise that was surely going to be on his face.

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End Chapter 19

Word count: 3,339

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

Chapter review: Damn it, Raoul. He had a second chance at making things right; instead he let Erik go again.
And yes, I realize lukewarmth is not a word.