Chapter 6: Promises Beneath the Starlit Sky

Erik yanked the door open and strode onto the front roof, feeling a cool evening breeze sweeping over him.

Wandering around the opera was probably the last thing he should do after triggering such a commotion, but after all that had happened, he desperately needed a gulp of fresh air. Embers of anger burned inside him, mixing with the growing frustration and the swirl of feelings he couldn't even name.

It was not how he had imagined it would go. He had been trying so hard, and yet everything was slipping more and more out of his control. And why the hell were they all treating him as if he were a villain in this story?!

A tiny voice at the back of his mind whispered to him that his actions today certainly hadn't helped convince them otherwise, and with a growl of irritation, Erik leaned against the doorframe, rubbing the nape of his neck.

He still believed that he had to do something to make the managers stop ignoring him, but now, as his wrath subsided a little, more and more of his doubts and qualms of conscience started coming to the surface. The intervention had seemed a good idea before, but now a part of him was starting to think that perhaps tampering with Carlotta Giudicelli's vocal spray might have been a little too much. And had confronting Joseph Buquet really been his only option? The irritating stagehand had undoubtedly deserved to be taught a lesson, but the rumours he was sure to spread weren't going to help regain Christine's trust.

Just like that incident with the young Giry…

Erik winced at the memory of the frightened ballerina, and with an effort pushed all those thoughts aside. It wasn't like he could change anything now, anyway. All he could do was to hope he would be able to explain everything to Christine when he finally spoke with her again.

Taking a deep breath, the Opera Ghost descended a few low steps leading to the zinc roof and approached the edge, raising his head to look up at the night sky.

The moon shone brightly above the horizon, illuminating a few clouds with a silver glow; far below, lamps flooded Paris with their warm circles of gas flames. A few single snowflakes whirled gracefully in the air, and all around prevailed an almost complete silence. Only a faint wind tugged at his clothes, playing with the tails of his cape and brushing the uncovered part of his face…

Erik closed his eyes, breathing deeply, and slowly some of the tension inside him started to leave. Maybe it was strange, but this place always helped him to calm down. For some incomprehensible reason, being here, suspended somewhere between the stars and the lights of the city, he felt almost…

Free…

As if he were leaving all his problems far below him.

However, he wasn't given much time to enjoy the feeling that night; a muffled sound of raised voices and hurried footsteps came from the staircase, waking him from his reverie, and he had just enough seconds to hide behind one of the statues before his problems stepped onto the roof too…

The door handle clanked and Christine burst onto the roof, her heels clattering loudly against the zinc roof tiles.

"You are not listening to me, Raoul!" Her voice quivered almost hysterically, but she didn't have the strength to care. Tears stung her eyes, threatening to spill over any moment. "We can't go back now – it's just not safe there. I think this is the only place where he won't hear us," she said plaintively.

The young viscount's footsteps followed just after her. "I am listening, Christine." A hint of frustration slipped into Raoul's tone too. "The problem is that I don't understand what you are talking about." He huffed out air loudly, then got closer to her.

"I understand that you're distressed by today's incident," he added more gently, "but I am sure that it was just some tasteless prank. And as for that man – Joseph Buquet – even I have heard that he is not exactly a trustworthy person. He is famous for spreading blood-chilling tales, so he's probably just making up something to explain why he let the prankster scare him away." Raoul stopped in front of her, and his features softened, reassuring notes tinging his words.

"Listen, Christine, I'm sure there is no Phantom of the Opera, so you really have nothing to be afraid of…" His hand reached forwards to rest on her shoulder, but the gesture didn't bring her comfort.

Christine lowered her head. "Unfortunately, that's where you are mistaken, Raoul. The Phantom… He really exists…"

Her whisper sounded strangely weak in the night air. Swallowing the lump in her throat, Christine moved away, wrapping her arms around herself.

"I once told you that I had some sort of misunderstanding with my teacher," she began quietly, "but I didn't tell you everything then. And now, it is high time for you to finally learn the whole truth…"

"I thought that everything would resolve itself, after I asked him to end our lessons," she admitted weakly, finishing her story, "but now…" Christine shook her head, despair flooding her. "Maybe I'm overthinking it, but I think he interrupted the performance because his instructions weren't followed. And, what's more, he threatened Monsieur Buquet and Meg! I didn't believe he could harm anyone, but now I'm not so sure, and–" Her voice broke slightly.

"The truth is, I just don't know what to do anymore, Raoul. I just don't know..." Tears welled up in her eyes again, muffling her words. When she looked back up, she discovered that the initial disbelief in her friend's expression had been replaced by unconcealed worry mixed with something almost severe.

"Darnation, Christine." Raoul ran his hand through his hair in an agitated gesture, covering the distance between them in two long strides. "You should have told me this sooner. If you have any suspicion that this man could be dangerous, we should report him to the managers and the police!" His even eyebrows pulled down in a frown. "I'm sure that if you just show them that strange underground hideout of his, they could arrest him. And you–"

"I can't."

Her hushed, interjected refusal hung between them, clearly confusing the aristocrat. Not being able to bear his shocked gaze, Christine lowered her head.

"I… I know it might be strange for you," she continued quietly, "but… I just can't betray his trust like that. Not after all he's done for me…" Her nervously interlaced fingers clenched a little tighter.

"I probably sound hysterical to you now, but I'm just so conflicted, Raoul. I don't understand what he actually wants from me and I'm afraid of meeting him again, but at the same time I… I still want to believe that, deep inside, he is not a bad person…" She glanced back up uncertainly, and her heart sank at the sight of Raoul's creased features.

"If you don't want me to intervene, Christine, then what are you expecting from me? Why are you telling me all of this if you don't want me to do anything?" An untypically sharp note crept into the man's tone. Ashamed, Christine averted her gaze.

The worst thing was that he had every right to be irritated with her. She really hadn't stopped to think, had she? She had just panicked and felt she needed to tell him everything.

"I'm sorry…" A wave of guilt flooded over her, and her hands clasped even tighter. "I felt I needed to warn you in case something happened, but I really didn't think it through. The truth is, I just don't know how to solve this situation…" A thick lump formed in her throat, choking her whisper. "Angels, I just wish I could somehow run away from it all…"

Wetness welled up under her eyelids again, threatening to spill, and no longer able to stop herself, Christine hid her face in her hands. It really was a situation without a good way out, wasn't it? And she–

A loud sigh interrupted her trail of thoughts.

"You don't have to run, Christine…" A gentle brush of a hand at her arm made her twitch slightly. Lowering her hands, she saw Raoul's softening expression just above her.

"I can't say that I like this situation, but I'm here for you, and we'll get through this together." Raoul gave her a gentle half-smile. "I would prefer if you at least informed the managers about that" – he grimaced slightly – "delusional artist pestering you, but I will respect your decision, Christine, and I'm glad you've told me about it. I agree that you definitely shouldn't meet alone with that man again, but, as you have said yourself, that so-called Phantom has been nothing more than words and a few foolish pranks so far. I doubt he will dare to do anything more. And even if he tries anything, I'll be around to protect you, so you really don't have to worry, Christine…" The viscount's palm reached towards her, offering her a cambric handkerchief, and as his vivid blue eyes locked with hers, the unwavering confidence she saw in them started slipping into her heart too.

Raoul smiled at her again. "Though, if you really wanted to leave this place, there is a possibility for that too. You could go with me to England once my apprenticeship is over…" His smile brightened, and she felt her heart skip a beat.

Oblivious to her shock, Raoul combed his fingers through his hair.

"It's not exactly the way I wanted to tell you about it," he stated good-humouredly, "but… well, you should know that I would be more than happy if you agreed to return with me. However, if you decide not to leave Paris, I could stay here with you too. After all, I have already promised you that this time you won't get rid of me as easily as eight years ago, haven't I?" A lopsided grin touched his mouth, and the rhythm of her heartbeat stuttered even more, changing into an almost giddy accelerando.

He couldn't mean what she thought he meant, could he? Heat rushed to her cheeks, and with a pang, Christine reminded herself that she had no right to expect something like that from him.

With an effort, she forced herself to look away, swallowing the lump forming in her throat.

"I… I'm not sure if I can accept such an offer, Raoul. I mean … what would your parents think about it? And the others…" She broke off, not sure how to formulate her thoughts. At the edge of her vision, Raoul's eyebrows pulled together again.

"I don't care much what others may say, Christine." The young viscount's handsome features creased slightly. "And as for my parents, they might not completely agree with all my decisions, but they are not going to decide for me with whom I can or cannot spend my time, if that is what worries you. I assure you that they will accept the fiancée I choose." Seriousness filled his tone, and Christine felt as if the whole world whirled around her.

A fiancée?

Too shocked to utter a word or even form one coherent thought, Christine raised her eyes to her childhood friend, and he chuckled softly.

"Don't give me such a look, Christine. I thought my intentions were clear to you after our first meeting at the cafe." Amusement flitted across his face, but as he spoke again, the playful sparks in his eyes were replaced by a more serious expression.

"I'm aware that there might be some truth in my old governess's complaints about the fact I sometimes act a bit too impulsively," he admitted, "but I have known that you are the person I want to spend my life with since we were children. And even those eight years of separation haven't changed that. It's true that our relationship might provoke some unpleasant gossip, but that won't stop me from marrying you." Raoul's fingers gently took her palm, and his tender gaze once again met hers.

"The only question is if you want that too."

Her chest filled with the warmth of summer sun. There was only one answer she could give.

"There is nothing I want more, Raoul." A smile curled up her lips as she looked at him, and Raoul's features brightened even more.

"And there is no answer that could make me happier." The viscount took her other hand and delicately pulled her towards him, so that only centimetres separated them.

"I can't promise you a life without problems," he added softly, "but I can promise you that, from now on, we'll face them together. So, please, don't ever forget that you are not alone, Christine…" His gentle whisper caressed the space between them. And then, before she could react, his arms wrapped around her, closing her in an embrace.

For a split second, Christine froze, stunned. Then, with a slight hesitation, she let herself nestle her face into the soft fabric of his cravat and tail-coat's lapels. The scent of his cologne – sandalwood, coriander and lavender, the same he had started to use when he turned sixteen – reached her nose, and for some reason she felt as if she were back home.

Under her cheek, the aristocrat's chest rose and fell steadily, and she felt her own breath gradually calm down, trying to match his. It was a bit strange, but suddenly all her problems seemed less frightening, and she couldn't help but think that Raoul was probably right – together they could overcome every obstacle. With him, she was safe…

Like that day, thirteen years ago…

An old memory stirred at the back of her mind, transporting her in time.

It had been the second summer they were spending together when – having some urgent matters to attend to – her father had left her with Raoul under his governess's care for one day. Unfortunately, it had also been the same day that a terrible storm had reached the coast.

As a child, she had always been afraid of thunderbolts, so without her father at her side, she had been – putting it mildly – dead scared. The miserable remains of her courage had left her as soon as the first flash of lightning had lit up the sky, and so, with a high-pitched scream, she had run away to the deepest corner of the house as fast as her short, eight-year-old legs allowed. When Raoul finally found her cowering there, he had laughed at her for at least five minutes, but then he had sat next to her and spent the next hour holding her hand and whispering soothing words.

That was probably the first time she started falling for him…

Christine smiled to herself. The protective proximity of his arm was still able to calm and warm her, even after all these years. With a slight sigh, she started to entangle herself from the embrace, and then froze mid-gesture.

"Don't think of the darkness, *
Forget about the tears."

Raoul's velvet voice resounded in the silence again, surprising her completely. Pulling away, she glanced up, but the man only sent her a tiny smile, not stopping his singing. The soft, clear notes soared into the night air:

"I'm here to always guard you,
Together we'll face the fears.

I'll be your haven,
Your shelter in the storm.
My heart resounds beside yours;
Combined, we will form our home."

The melody wrapped around her like a warm blanket, and before she realised what she was doing, the well-known words flew from her mouth by themselves:

"Say you need me and lend me your strong hand,
Lead me back towards the light.
I don't want much, just to be beside you;
Gift me your love and take mine too.
That's all I wish of you…"

Carried by music, Christine held the last note, and only when the sound had finally faded did the realisation of what she had just sung fall on her with full force.

Despite herself, her cheeks took on an intensely red hue. She knew that Raoul had already told her that he wanted to marry her, but she couldn't stop herself from asking. Her eyes uncertainly moved to him again, and she felt her face colouring even more.

"Do you really mean that? Do you…?"

"Do I love you, want to marry you and spend the rest of my life with you?" the viscount supplied obligingly. A wide smile spread across his face. "Christine, you know I do..." he answered simply. And then, before she could say anything more, he leaned down, sealing his answer with a kiss.

The world spun around her, catching her breath away. And suddenly it was as if everything became reduced just to the two of them, the starlit sky above and that warmth inside her, filling her like the sunshine and making her want to sing from happiness.

Without fully realising what she was doing, Christine threw her arms around Raoul's neck and gently pulled him closer, returning the kiss.

Goodness, she just couldn't love this man more. And once they finally parted, she saw in his eyes that he felt exactly the same towards her.

Raoul grinned broadly at her.

"Well, we should definitely do something like that more often," he said happily, and she felt her already flushed face becoming even more red.

"Raoul!" A tiny trace of reprimand tinged her tone as she tried to hide her embarrassment and the fact that a part of her wanted to implement his suggestion right away. "A proper gentleman shouldn't even suggest something like that. Especially since we are not formally engaged or even officially courting yet," she reminded him gently, but in response his grin only widened.

"Well then, we should hurry up and catch up with those formalities soon," he retorted teasingly. "Especially since I already can't imagine a life without you..." His expression softened tenderly for a few seconds. And then, with a bubbling chuckle, the man lunged forwards, catching her in her arms again. One strong jerk raised her up, and Raoul spun her around, laughing loudly. A muffled squeal of half-hearted protest escaped her lips, but by the time she was put back on the ground she was giggling like crazy too.

"I'm starting to believe that your old nanny was right and you really are 'an unreformable scamp', monsieur…" The amused notes in her voice sabotaged her attempt at another tiny reproach, and Raoul's grin widened even more.

"I know," he panted, trying to catch his breath, "but I've heard it's completely enchanting for some women…" He winked at her, and in response she didn't manage to suppress her own smile.

His hand reached for her own, squeezing it gently, and for a moment they just stood like that, simply enjoying each other's presence, before Raoul finally broke the silence, clearing his throat slightly.

"I definitely would prefer to stay, but the managers have already extended the intermission for your sake, and I'm afraid that making it any longer might irritate the spectators. Even though they've had free access to the served refreshments," he pointed out softly. "Besides, it would probably make me a terribly bad patron if I spoiled the whole performance by stealing its star..." The man sent her a bit of a playful gaze. "Therefore, I suggest we should go now, brooking no delay. Unless you have more questions?" One of his eyebrows rose questioningly, and Christine realised that there was indeed something else.

"Actually, there is one thing I would like to ask you." Her forehead creased slightly. "How could you still remember that song? My father wrote it for a performance, but it never became popular. I haven't heard it since childhood." Christine glanced back up, earning herself another smile.

"Oh, that's simple." Raoul offered her his arm and started to slowly lead her towards the exit. "As a child, you loved singing it and forced your father to play it on his violin almost every day. Once you even said that you would definitely marry a man who would sing it for you, so..." The aristocrat paused for a moment. "Well, it could be said that I was effectively encouraged to memorise it very well," he finished finally, and the roguish grin she loved so much once again settled on his face.

The door clanged shut, but for some reason Erik could not find the strength to leave his hiding place behind the statue. It was as if something had been ripped out of his chest, leaving only a numb emptiness.

He regretted now that he hadn't slipped out through the second exit when he had the chance. Everything would have been better than hearing all of that from Christine's lips.

The words she had used to describe their last meeting resounded in his mind again.

A nightmare…

A sight one could never forget…

Oh, he knew it was true. For all his life, even once, he hadn't thought otherwise. Yet, despite that, after he had met her for the first time, he had allowed himself a shade of hope that maybe she would be able to look at him differently than the others. Without fear or loathing. What a fool he had been...

The man dropped his head, gritting his teeth.

Why did everything he ever held dear have to always be taken away from him? He had let himself believe that Christine would be different, and now he was finding out that she wanted to abandon him, just like everybody else he had ever cared about.

Why did he have to lose the only person who he could, in approximation, call a friend? And, what was more, to someone like that foppish, egocentric boy?

The familiar feeling of anger slowly rekindled inside him.

It was all that cursed viscount's fault, wasn't it? If he hadn't been there, Christine would have surely learned to trust him again.

His hands clenched at his sides.

What right did that insolent fop even have to act so familiarly towards her, anyway? Where the hell had he been when Christine couldn't recover from her father's death? When she had cried alone in darkness?

Certainly not where he should have been if, as he claimed, he loved her so much…

His fists clenched tighter.

It was he, her Angel of Music, who had been beside her in those hard moments. It was he who had been the person she had talked with, who she had confided in and whose advice she had sought for the last years. So now, he wasn't going to lose her to someone like that overconfident fool!

His anger flared up even more.

Oh no, he was not going to allow that.

Not without a fight. Not without a chance to talk to Christine again.

His jaw muscles tensed.

We'll see who is "just words", Monsieur le Vicomte, he thought grimly. And you will yet curse the day when you set foot in the theatre hall for the first time.

With that vow, the Phantom of Opera turned on his heel, and with a swirl of his cape strode away from the roof.

Author's notes:

1) *I've read that it's not allowed to copy musical lyrics and besides this an AU fanfiction, so I've tried to create my own version of the song. I'm afraid, though, that the modified lyrics might sound a little silly and their rhythm might make them harder to sing. I based them on Andrew L. Webber's amazing song "All I ask of you", its Polish version and my imagination. I don't have any rights for the first two. :)

2) Accelerando – a gradually increasing tempo of music (according to some online music dictionaries I've checked to write this fanfiction).