AN: I have one more chapter to update as I will be going away for a long weekend (whee!)
Like what you've read? Please consider leaving a review. I am a poor student and reviews are awesome to motivate me to write in my free time.
It was Friday again, and he was again waiting in room 900. Erik leaned against the medical counter, fiddling with the white coat and the key card clipped onto it. Christine's medical file rested just on the counter and he knew she was on her way up. It left him enough time to second guess what he was even doing here, waiting for the daughter of a man who was decent and now wasn't anything at all.
He owed her, didn't he? That's all this was, really.
Then why had he played her song? Why had his mind wandered again and again to their meeting?
The door to the exam room clicked open, and his body snapped up to attention. The wheels of her chair pushed into the room.
"Hello again!" Her voice was cheerful, infecting him with her enthusiasm.
"Hell-" His greeting fell short as the person who pushed her wheelchair came into view. He was tall, sandy haired, with wide blue eyes that did nothing to hide his surprise or slight fear.
The mask.
Erik recovered himself and looked away, picking up her file quickly and leafing through it.
"I'm glad you made your appointment, Ms. Daae." His voice was neutral.
Christine seemed not to pick up the change in his attitude. Her smile remained in place.
"Yes, I was lucky Raoul was available to give me a lift," she replied. Erik risked a glimpse and saw the man was still gawking at him, hands on the handles of Christine's chair.
Christine raised a hand to point to the man. "This is my boyfriend, Raoul. Raoul, this is Erik." Her smile widened expectantly.
"And you're sure he's a doctor?"
Erik's right hand curled tightly into a fist but Christine beat him to it.
"Raoul!" Her tone was surprised, scolding. "That's incredibly rude!"
Her head tilted towards the direction of Erik's voice. "I'm so –"
"He's wearing a mask, Chris! What the hell is that?!" Raoul pressed on.
"Raoul!" She tried to silence him. Erik thought of a few other ways to achieve that.
"My name is Dr. Erik Destler," his voice dripped acidly, "surgeon." And with a gentility that belied his rage and humiliation he smiled coldly.
Christine's face was crimson in embarrassment and Raoul remained wary of the masked man. It was fairly clear to Erik what the boy thought of him.
"Raoul, it's time for my appointment. You can wait in the downstairs lobby."
Raoul glanced down at her. "I can stay."
"I'm fine," she insisted.
Raoul bent down close to her ear. Fool boy didn't realize he could hear the words he hissed to Christine.
"You can't even see him. He's got his whole face covered."
To Christine's credit she gave her head a sharp shake away from him. "We'll talk later," she replied angrily. "Go, Raoul."
It looked like the boy was going to argue further, but Erik was at his breaking point. With quick strides he went over and held the door open.
"A pleasure to meet you," he ground out. "I'll make sure Ms. Daae is ready to go in an hour."
Raoul shot him a narrowed glance but had to concede defeat. He bent over and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
"I'll be waiting, angel."
Christine gave a small head nod, gentler now, and with another glance to the masked man Raoul grudgingly walked out of the room. As soon as the door was closed she turned to him, her hands swiveling the wheels of her chair.
"I'm sorry – I'm very sorry. He's very nice but since …," she raised her hand to her eyes and then drifted off.
Erik quietly picked out the necessary equipment from the cupboards, trying to think of what to say that could soothe the sting of humiliation and … and disappointment in his heart.
"They protect you," he said at last. "Mrs. Giry and … the boy."
Her smile curved the right way and yet didn't quite seem to be a smile. "They want to keep me safe," she agreed. The way she said it, however, echoed achingly within him.
He knelt in front of her, basin full of supplies at his side, and noticed she held a little red book in her lap. The cover was raised in bumps. Braille.
"You're not even asking about it." He knew she was aware of what he was talking about.
The mask.
"I thought you might be wearing something," she admitted. "Your-your voice sounds a little muffled, sometimes."
He looked at her curiously. She was clever; of course she'd picked that up. So why hadn't she said anything?
Her hands traced themselves on her lap. "I know what it's like to look a little different," she said with a smile. "And I don't like being stared at. I can feel it, when it happens."
Her milky eyes. The wheelchair. She thought that he was a little different. If only she knew…
"I don't like being stared at, either," Erik admitted. He sorted out the medical supplies and dumped a medical wash into the basin. He saw she had left her foot free of slippers, and the bandage looked well-secured in place.
He unraveled the bandage. "We're going to give the area a thorough washing today and check the progress," he explained as he went along.
"I am sorry," Christine repeated. "I really didn't mean for that to happen. And I know that … that your reasons for the mask are your own."
Erik gently laid her foot in the basin and opened a packaged sponge to dip it into the water.
"You're not the one who was rude. You don't have anything to apologize for." He sighed, then looked up at the girl. Today she wore a dress of sea-foam green, bringing out the copper in her hair.
"Are you angry about it?"
Christine started and for a moment Erik had to adjust his hold on her ankle.
"W-what?"
Erik soaked the sponge in the wash and squeezed it over her ankle. He gently brushed the sponge over it with great care. "What are you feeling … really?"
Christine frowned. "I'm fine. I am."
The only sound in the room following that statement was the gentle lapping of the liquid in the basin and Erik's sponge on her skin. She worried her lip and he kept his eyes on the ankle he was working on.
"Have you ever felt ... different?"
Her question stilled his hands in the wash. Erik looked up at her to see her looking back down at him.
"Often."
He took a small, fluffy towel and gently dried the site of the surgery before grabbing the fresh bandages. He bent his head and focused on the work of wrapping the injury and tried to ignore the unsettled quiet around them.
He heard her run her hand over the cover of that red book.
"What's that?" Erik asked, hoping for a change in topic. The hand stilled.
"It's A Midsummer Night's Dream." Christine opened the book and Erik clipped the bandage neatly before bringing his eyes up. The pages were crisp and white, littered with braille – raised bumps and patterns he didn't recognize.
He picked up the basin and tossed the opened packages in, tidying up. "A fan of Shakespeare, are you?" He stood up and moved the things back to the counter.
Christine laughed with some deprecation. "I'm trying to be. I was focused on performing arts in college, and now that I can read braille I was hoping to keep working on my Shakespeare."
Erik nodded and threw away a few of the used packages and his latex gloves. "I always found him lyrical. Songlike."
Christine turned her wheels to face him, a grin on her face that lit up her features. "You know the play?"
Erik looked at her, then at the door her beau had exited. That boy. Raoul.
"I see their knavery," he sang quietly, "this is to make an ass of me – to fright me, if they could."
'He's wearing a mask, Chris! What the hell is that?!'
His lip curled at the distrust he found in that statement.
"But I will not stir from this place, do what they can – I will work up and down here," his voice gained dignity and anger and rose in strength. "And I will sing that they shall hear that I am not – I am not afraid. I am not … afraid."
I am not afraid of that boy. But, oh, how sick he was of being judged the same way by nearly every person he met!
"I know not by what power I'm made bold, but still you flout my insufficiency – the more my power the lesser is my grace!"
And then there was Christine, who heard him with rapt attention and delight. He looked at her – she, who looked at him like he was anybody else.
"My ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye. My tongue should catch your tongue's sweet melody," Erik almost touched his lips with two fingers and then pressed them with longing to her, "my tongue your tongue – were the world mine."
Couldn't he do it? Restore her sight? Couldn't he try?
And he could see it, see her under the care of nurses as he prepared for surgery. He could see its success, he could see the bandages being cut away from her eager face and then – and then she'd see him. And he'd see that look of disgust. He'd see her run away.
"O, why rebuke you him that loves you so?" He sang bitterly. "Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe – on your bitter foe!"
Her voice murmured and cut through his tortured vision. Erik turned to see her hold out her hand.
"What angel wakes me from my flowery bed?
I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again –
Mine ear is much enamored of thy note …
I'll follow thee, I'll follow thee –
And make a heaven of hell."
Erik moved to her and then placed one hand in hers.
"I'll follow thee, I'll follow thee-"
Erik joined her, kneeling in front of her chair.
"And make a heaven of hell … And make a heaven of hell!" Their voices crashed into a crescendo, followed by a silence of infinite closeness.
Christine's free hand reached out, slowly. Erik had plenty of time to stop her, to take that questing hand and move it back to her lap. Instead he took it in his free hand and guided it to his mask. He felt the pressure of her hand, the heat of it warming his mask where her fingers explored.
"My eye should catch your voice," Christine sang.
"My eye should catch your eye," Erik repeated.
"My tongue your tongue – were the world … mine."
Hope you liked it! Happy weekend, y'all!
Song used: 'Were the World Mine' watch?v=CwgOiX48BJs