đ” đ đž đ« đ·đ¶ đ» (jukejoint) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2012-05-11 18:42:00 |
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Entry tags: | christine daae, phantom |
Who: Sam and Neil (kind of) → Christine and Erik (kind of)
What: Discussing the Raoul problem
Where: Aria
When: Nowish (AKA, while Loki is beating Raoul's ass)
Warnings/Rating: Nope
Neil had come dangerously close to destroying his cell after his conversation with Sam, or Christine, or whoever the hell she was, which was more Erikâs influence than his own. A struggle had commenced ever since the door was welded shut, but until now it had been manageable, something he had a handle on (or so be believed). Now, however, things were spiraling out of control and it was difficult to keep Erik reigned in when he could barely control his own anger. Oh, heâd known Raoul was a bastard, a selfish, spoiled boy who thought the world revolved around him, but this was an all-time low. Coercing Sam into marriage was despicable, the same thing Erik had done, but worse-- he was insane, even if that wasnât quite an excuse. Raoul knew what he was doing. He knew, and he simply didnât care, because he was only capable of caring about himself. Right in this moment, Neil had a hard time believing Raoul could love anyone, even Christine, more than himself.
During the cab ride back to his villa, since driving was out of the question, he attempted in vain to come to terms with the reality that, while it may have been Raoul and Christine in control, Sam and Liam were now married. To say Neil was jealous would have been a gross understatement. He hated the thought of Sam with anyone else, least of all him, and he couldnât even allow himself to consider the possibility of Raoul and Christine consummating their marriage while in the bodies of the others. No. He refused to do it. Erikâs wrath was one thing, but combined with his own anger, his own wounded hurt, there was no telling what might happen. That should have worried him more than it did.
Speaking to Louis on the way did help somewhat, as he attempted to reassure himself that once they reopened the Phantom door this marriage nonsense could be fixed once and for all, and he wouldnât have to contend with âvisitsâ from Sam while she returned to Liam (Raoul, whatever) at night. By the time Neil arrived and had his key in the front door, however, he still wasnât fully calm, and it showed.
âSam?â The door swung shut behind him as he stepped inside, struggling to keep his voice steady-- for her sake, at least.
Sam was in the living room, looking out the large windows. The dress she wore was heavy, an evening gown turned wedding dress, worked and to her feet, which boasted heels in a pale cream. Earrings dangled off her ears, her hair was in loose waves, and her makeup was done. She looked nothing like herself and, in truth, the dress was not even the sort of thing that Christine would have chosen for her wedding. It was too expensive to have been Samâs choice, and that left one person who could have dressed her like the template of whatever he wished her to be.
The sun was shining through the glass, just lowering after midday, and it cast beams of yellow light across the living room floor. She was standing in one of those beams, liking the warmth against her skin and the view below. She was trying to find herself amid the confusion of her mind, and she hadnât had much success.
Some of her welding supplies were in the living room. Her MIG, her torch, a small panel of heavily engraved metal she had been working on, but it was all haphazardly strewn, forgotten. The opera still played in the background, and a bottle of whiskey sat open, a glass beside it almost emptied of its contents.
When she heard his voice, she did not immediately turn. She knew that it was a bad idea to be here, to speak to him when she was like this. Oh, she was still Sam enough to know that all her walls were gone, that there wouldnât be any significant barrier between her thoughts and her words. Christine felt no need for barriers, but then she wouldnât. Sheâd grown up with a Ghost in her mind, and that made secrets useless. But Sam was different, and it was Sam that was looking out onto the city below, despite the glaring signs of Christine in her.
âIâm here,â she said, lilt and very little New Jersey in her voice. She had no idea what she wanted from this meeting, not anymore. When sheâd left the chapel, sheâd known. She wanted him to fix it, to stop her from returning to Raoul, to Liam, to whoever she had just bargained with against her will. In the intervening minutes, Christine had asserted that this was the way to keep everyone safe, and Sam was more confused than before. The knowledge that Raoul would do what he wanted, despite it all, didnât help matters; it was only motivation, more reason to go through with this farce of a marriage. And sheâd had one of those already, hadnât she? How truly terrible could it be?
Maybe she was there physically, but Neil knew that this wasnât Sam, not as she should be. The dress was clearly Raoulâs doing, and the rest of it was Christine; her hair, the makeup, even the sound of her voice. It only served to make Erik more restless, and Neil was having a hard enough time keeping him at bay as it was. One by one, it seemed, they were all succumbing to the influence of fictional characters. Why shouldnât he be next? He could imagine the relief it would be to let go, to stop fighting, but he couldnât, not when he seemed to be the only fucking sane one left.
âNice dress.â He circled around her welding equipment and almost reached for the whiskey bottle, only pulling his hand back at the last moment. The compliment, had it been meant as one at all, fell flat, and he tried not to imagine her and Liam being married, or saying some stupid vows, or eventually consummating said marriage. There was a long pause, during which he had no idea what to say, and the way he looked at her said as much without needing words. âI donât know if youâre Sam or Christine right now, or a bit of both,â he said, âbut this marriage bullshit isnât going to fix anything. You donât have to do everything Raoul wants, and on this side of the door he doesnât get a say, especially not when it involves messing with other peopleâs lives.â
She knew the compliment wasnât a true one, and that made her strangely sad, which was plain on her features as she moved away from the window. âI thought you would approve of a dress for once,â she said. âIsnât this better than what I normally wear?â she asked, watching him circle the welding gear and avoid the bottle. âI always took you for a more traditional man, and I assumed you found fault with my appearance.â
His question didnât surprise her - Sam or Christine - and she sat on the couch, hands folded on her lap and her expression too unruffled. âIâm not certain. Iâm neither, I suppose. Both, perhaps. I donât know. I know what I want,â she said, blue eyes flaring with a little bit of herself, but not much. âI know why I agreed to Raoulâs demands, but that doesnât answer your question, does it? Do I wish to be married to him? No, I do not. But it is the only way. It is no worse than letting Christine marry him. The man is- heâs cruel, Neil. He talks to her as if she has no choice but to obey him. Even today, at the boutique, he was this way. I am not Christine, and I argued, but he would not accept what I said. How can we believe this man will not attempt to take what is his? He told me so, very plainly, that he would not stop if I did not agree to this request. What am I to do? Allow you to die so that I might be free?â The question was asked with enough force to indicate that, no, it definitely wasnât all Christine.
She didnât realize how close this would push Erik, how near the surface, or she would have measured her words more carefully. âI am not her. I am stronger than she is. I could let her take over, and what good would that do us? She would capitulate in all ways, and it would break her. Erik does not care about her any longer, and Raoul will dominate her. I, at least, stand a chance - even like this.â
Neil looked at her for a long moment, dismay and something harsher flitting across his expression in a painful sort of struggle. No, Sam would never ask him that, or openly state that she thought he found something wrong with the way she looked. âNo, actually, I didnât,â he said, a little too much force behind the words. âYou can dress however the hell you want. It never mattered to me. I find fault with this,â he added, gesturing to her dress, âbecause itâs not you. Itâs Raoul, and what he wants.â So maybe Erik liked the dress more than khakis and wifebeaters, but this wasnât his Christine, and even if it had been he didnât like the idea of her being forced into anything despite the hypocrisy of such feelings.
The possibility that this might be some kind of Sam-Christine hybrid made him uncomfortable, and a shiver ran along his spine; not fear, exactly, but a sense of being unsettled in the face of a woman who was made up of bits and pieces of two separate people. He remained standing, and he kept his gaze away from the whiskey, however much he wanted it. âSee, this is the problem. Itâs not the only way. If Raoul was some kind of... of fucking god or supervillain, okay, Iâd get your reasoning. But heâs just a man. What can he do? If Christine wants to marry him, then she can do it in her body through her door, and if she doesnât, she should tell him to fuck off.â It wasnât that simple, and he knew it, but he was too frustrated to care. âIâm not going to die, and neither is Erik. We can take care of ourselves. Iâm not afraid of Raoul, and neither is he. Youâre giving him power by letting him bully you into submission and give him what he wants. Stand up for yourself, dammit!â His voice almost rose to a yell there, near the tail end of his words, but he caught himself just in time and took a deep, shaky breath in an effort to compose himself. Erik, meanwhile, snarled like a caged animal in his head, wanting to be free, wanting out; if Raoul was such a problem, then he would deal with him once and for all.
Letting Christine take over was a very, very bad idea, and he would have said as much, but then she was saying that Erik didnât care for Christine any longer, and something in his eyes changed. It was a subtle sweep, rather than the rip and tear of control, and when he spoke his voice was quiet; not Neil, but not entirely Erik either. âDo you truly believe Erik does not care? You, of all people, should be able to see through--â He cut himself off abruptly with a hiss, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. âFuck. Fuck.â
She could not argue with the comment about the dress, though she looked down at it and smoothed the rich fabric with long strokes of her fingers. âI did like it,â she admitted of the boutique, if not the dress. âNot this, but all those things. They were pretty, soft, different.â She shrugged her bare shoulders slightly, just a lift, and then she stood and walked partway to where he was. She tugged the earrings out of her ears slowly, and she set them aside, as if making a concession. It was all too grown up for Christine, the attire, not at all suited for girl still in her teens. âI did explain to him that I am not her,â she offered, because that part seemed important somehow. âHe knows itâs not Christine he married.â She smiled just a little. âIt isnât even legal. What matters is that he believes it is.â
His assertion that Raoul was not a supervillain was calmly listened to, with no interruption, no cursing, no fists falling against his chest in annoyance. âItâs not what Raoul can do. Itâs what he can push and corner you into doing, Erik into doing. I wonât have you die.â It was simply said, with a calm resignation that didnât belong on her lips or on her face. âWhat do you think happens if she tells him to fuck off?â she asked, knowing perfectly well that he knew it wouldnât be quite as easy as that. âShe promised him, even there, that she would go with him if he let Erik be. He agreed, and then he torched the Opera House. He wonât stop, Neil, and we both know that. Nadir managed to get Liam back for two seconds, and now he is Raoul again.â A frown crossed her features. âI am afraid he is to war with Loki, Raoul.â It was not Raoul she was worried about in that scenario, but it was too hard to keep her thoughts on others just then, and she shook her head to clear it. His yelling, however, did a fine job of chasing all other things away. âI tried. It didnât work, standing up for myself. He chastised me, ordered me, and I kept the peace. I did not actually intend to go through with his wild plan, Neil. I was just unable to resist. And it seemed better, being given permission to see you than to never be allowed to. The best I could manage was coming here, where I am fairly certain you wonât let me leave with his driver. It might come as a surprise, but I have no actual interest in bedding with Raoul. Nadirâs plan involves feeding Christine to him on a silver platter, and I even take issue with handing over a teenage virgin to that cruel man. Unlock the door and shove her through. Do you think that will change anything?â She shook her head. âRaoul sees what Erik does not.â
That subtle change in his eyes was bad news, because Christine recognized it for what it was, even if she didnât, not in her confused state. This, all of this, was something caught in the middle, and his quiet tone only served to bring a very scared Parisian girl closer to the surface. âHe is angry whenever he speaks to me,â she said of Erik, very little of Sam in her voice just then. âI can still stay his hand, oui, and I am not afraid of him as I was, but there is contempt in his gaze when he looks upon me now.â She was not expecting the abrupt cutoff on his part, and she stopped speaking over him and took a step back, only one; something Sam would never do. âMonsieur?â
Despite his uncertainty as to who exactly exerted the greater influence, Neil was admittedly surprised to hear that sheâd liked the soft, pretty, different things at whatever boutique Raoul the Asshole had brought her to. He wondered if that was Christine talking, or if some part of Sam actually longed for that kind of life, despite giving the impression that she despised all of it. âIf you like it, thatâs different, but you-- he picked that out, right? The choice is what matters, and he didnât give you one.â It was a rude awakening for Erik, to see the effect of forcing decisions on the girl from the opposite end, and while he despised Raoul for his cruelty, what he had done was little better. His motivations, perhaps, were his only redemption. Heâd never actually sought to hurt her. âThe fact that he knows youâre not Christine doesnât earn him any points,â he snapped irritably. âWhat matters is that heâs manipulating you, whether the marriage was legal or not. I canât promise I wonât break his jaw the next time I see him.â Unfortunately for Liam, Neil didnât think heâd be able to hold himself back, not with Erik kicking around in his head.
There it was again, her insane worry that he might die. âHow many times do I have to tell you, neither of us are going to die? Raoul isnât going to corner me into doing anything. Iâm not like you, and Iâm not like Erik. This is my life, and my world, not some pompous Vicomteâs. He has no business calling the shots around here.â He scowled when she asked what would happen, because yeah, Christine telling her husband or whatever he was to fuck off wouldnât work. She didnât have the strength to follow through, or to insist, and she certainly wasnât going to be able to kick his ass, not like the real Sam would. All that was forgotten, however, when she mentioned Loki, and Neil started for a long moment before bursting into laughter. Raoul was going to war against Loki? Maybe he wouldnât be a problem for any of them after all. âRaoul doesnât stand a chance against him. You realize that, donât you? Loki isnât human, and from what I can gather heâs not known for his mercy.â He felt for Liam, he did, but he couldnât say there wasnât a part of him that didnât relish the thought of what Loki would do to Raoul. No, Sam hadnât stood up for herself, because if she had, they wouldnât be married. âYou let him order you. Thatâs the fucking problem. You really need his permission to see me, huh? So if he changes his mind, like he always does, youâll just cut off all contact with me? See, maybe itâs crazy, but Iâm a believer in something called free will. Do what you want, and to hell with what Raoul says. If Christine doesnât want to be with him through the door, then she needs to learn how to tell him that. Life isnât a fucking book. If you want something to change, then change it.â He grew angrier by the minute, frustrated with Sam and Christine and their damn passiveness, and the doors in general.
Anger certainly did nothing to aid his attempts to keep Erik at bay. On a normal day, it required effort, but when he actually wanted control, it was hell. Neil shook his head, and oh god, it didnât help that she was referring to Christine as I, and he was afraid that Erikâs words would come if he started talking. âHeâs-- Heâs angry all the time, itâs not you. It... Look, he let you and Raoul go and figured that was it, that was the end, but now itâs like he sees you two together everywhere he turns.â He lowered his hands with a long sigh, and his expression was twisted, pained, and he turned away without even being aware of it. âIt is difficult for me, Christine. I know now what I did, taking away your freedom, and I would not do so again. Being angry, keeping my distance, is easier.â There was a pause, and suddenly his expression became one of dismay. âFor him,â he added hastily. âHim. Erik. Not me.â Fuck, this was not good.
She smiled when he said he would break Raulâs jaw. âI didnât think you were passionate about things,â she said, an old tease, something warm and comfortable beneath the layer of strangeness. Her expression went sober a moment later. âI know heâs manipulating me. He always manipulates her. She doesnât know better. I do, even if I canât resist it when he does it. Iâm trying, Neil,â she said, because she was. It was the reason she wasnât like Liam or Aiden; she was trying. âWhy would you break his jaw?â she asked, and there was definitely a hint of herself there, of teasing, before it slipped away with his reassurance that he would not die.
âWhat if you had been in the Opera House when he set the fire? What if I hadnât been been there with someone else, someone who held me back? If I had died, then what? What if someone had fired on you at that party? You have to stop pretending youâre invincible, Neil. You arenât invincible, and this isnât that kind of story. We ignore the sequel, but the characters are the same, and the outcome is still death. Whether we like it or not, that is where this is heading if we donât do something to change it, to turn the wheels.â She pressed a hand to his arm, not at all tentative, despite the strangely inherent grace of the movement and the rustle of the fabric. The topic of Loki was discarded as unimportant, and her attention was all for the words that followed. âI stood up to him, but he did not approve of my behavior, and I couldnât knee him in the balls like I normally would have done,â she admitted, because that was the plain truth. âIf he changes his mind,â she said with certainty, âI would see you regardless.â She knew he didnât understand any of it, and she didnât either, not really, but that was the long and the short of it, and she was so tired of fighting it.
Maybe it was the exhaustion at her own battle, maybe it was his slip, the use of a name that wasnât hers, along with a pronoun that didnât belong to him. But she gave up the fight, and the hand that tugged on his sleeve seemed much younger, much less certain than it had a moment before. âI believed I could stay away,â she admitted, and it was entirely Christine now, nothing of Sam left, and it was almost a physical change. She seemed immediately younger, more trusting, more in need of safeguarding, with a hint of stubbornness that she was clearly having to fight to maintain. And she was certainly talking to Erik, and not to Neil at all. âI did not want Raoul to die, and I did not want them to find you there, and I believed it was the right choice, monsieur. What chorus girl does not dream of a Vicomte?â she asked, sounding almost sad at the memory, at the question. âBut things are not as I expected. It is lonely, and I miss the Opera House, and Raoul is not kind. He does not listen to the things I say, or the things I wish. I am only a servant in a prettier dress, monsieur, one that he claims to love. It is not as it was when we were children and equals.â She looked up at him, willing him to understand. âI miss your music.â
Neil had never realized that he could miss someone who, for all extensive purposes, was standing before him, but that hint of warm, teasing familiarity made him wish none of this had ever happened. If he and Sam had met under different circumstances, with no doors involved, things could have been different... or maybe they never would have met without the doors. He couldnât be sure. âErik is passionate enough for the both of us,â he managed with a shrug. âI always tried to tone it down. Besides, growing up with a handful of siblings does that to you sometimes. You have to be calm to deal with that.â He frowned when she admitted that Raoul manipulated them, both of them, and he realized that maybe he and Erik werenât so different after all. Not in their methods, at least. He knew how Erik felt about Christine, but as for Raoul, he couldnât be sure. âI know youâre trying,â he sighed. What was he supposed to say, try harder? âIâd break his jaw so maybe we could get a break from his stupid voice. Maybe I should break his fingers too, in that case. No typing or talking.â Maybe it wasnât the kind of answer she was looking for, but he actually being half serious.
He sucked in a breath but didnât argue, not right away, even though his stubbornness refused to allow him to admit that he might have thought he was invincible, or at least chose to ignore the fact that both he and Erik could be killed. âNone of that happened. Death may be a possibility, but itâs not inevitable. Thatâs my point, we can change things. You going along with what Raoul wants and Erik sulking in a corner while Nadir beats his head against the wall isnât a change. Itâs following the same damn storyline,â he insisted, and when she placed a hand on his arm he paused, torn between returning the gesture and not. He still wasnât sure how much of each woman stood before him now. âSo if youâll see me regardless, why agree to his terms at all?â No, it didnât make sense to him, and he covered her hand with his, the hesitation more reminiscent of Erik than himself.
As soon as Christine started talking to Erik, as opposed to him, Neil knew the battle was lost. There were so many emotions wrapped up in the man that he couldnât even begin to understand, which meant that he couldnât fight it, not for long. Control in this body wasnât something Erik was accustomed to, and he treated it as his own, forgetting that there was no facial disfigurement, nothing to hide or for her to draw back from in disgust. âI believed it was what you wanted. That was the choice you made, when presented with your freedom, and I would not have interfered. I would have honored my decision, Christine,â he said, with a sort of desperation for her to believe him, even as he took a small step backwards. âDo you not love him? Was all that I did, all the suffering I wrought, for nothing?â He shook his head. The only thing that had ever given him solace was the thought that Christine would be happy, even if it was not with him. âYou were meant to be happy,â he said quietly, somehow managing to tear his gaze away from the floor and look at her. âIt has not been the same without you, Christine. You inspired my music. Whatever else, that was always true.â
It was a dangerous thing indeed, presenting (what amounted to) a teenage girl with an unscarred visage. It didnât require much thought to understand that, had the Phantom been unscarred, the story would have ended very differently. Perhaps there would have been no Raoul, perhaps there would not have even been a chance for the handsome blond Vicomte. What had given Raoul the edge was his appearance, as fickle as that was, but Christine was very young, very susceptible, and very full of girlish dreams. Raoul had fine looks, yes, but he didnât share the one thing that she felt a grand passion for her. He stood between her and the music, and she had always known he didnât understand it like she did, didnât it feel it deep in her bones. It didnât speak to him, didnât hypnotize him; that was Erikâs advantage, and it was a strong one. Had Erik been handsome, well, it would have been a different story. And now, dangerous as it was, he was handsome. And, simple little girl that she was, Christine found that captivating.
But there was something in her eyes that was older, older than she had been then, something that understood fairy tales werenât as they seemed, and that perhaps the monsters on the bed werenât so monstrous. She stretched her arm out when he stepped backward, fingers closing around the fabric of his sleeve boldly. She addressed what Neil had said first, instead of his own words, and her voice was no longer Sam. Her appearance might not have been her own, and even her voice was different, but it still sounded like her all the same - the cadence of France, that soft tone, a singerâs voice. âWe should change the storyline, monsieur?â she asked. âBreaking his fingers would do this? Non, and I believe Samantha would resist if she was not allowed to return here. I believe this to be true,â she assured him, though she did not think Erik would care about such things, and she knew this was Erik.
âI did not want to sing your opera,â Christine admitted, because if they were coming clean this was the time to come clean. âI was afraid, and I did not want to do this. Raoul forced me, and I should have realized how things would be then-â Her voice trailed, and she let her hand slide from his sleeve, a slow movement, controlled and every inch the ballerina. âI made a choice in an underground lair, monsieur, where lives depended on my choice. I did not ask to go with Raoul. You told me to leave with him, oui? It was you that cast me away after I kissed you. From the moment it began, there were no choices for me.â And yes, she sounded much older than she had before Raoul had arrived in Paris that fateful evening and set everything into motion. She had wandered to the window, but she did not truly see the world beyond; it was all foreign to her, and it felt cold and not like home. She turned to look back at him. âWhat do you imagine my life will be with him? Not what you knew of him then, but given what you know of him now?â
Erik might not have realized how very bad this was, but Neil did, and he had always worried that one day the other man would realize that he could be beautiful, in a manner of speaking, if only he could wrestle control from the man whose mind he shared. Even now, that wasnât his motivation, but surely it was only a matter of time before the truth clicked. His struggle to regain the upper hand was in vain, however, now that it was Christine who was speaking rather than a mix of her and Sam.
âNo,â he said, scornful. âBreaking the Vicomteâs fingers will do no such thing. The man is angry, you see, and he is jealous, and such things lead to impulsive actions. Violence, if you will.â He, of all people, knew this very well. Her hand around his sleeve made him uncertain, visibly so, but he did not move back, almost in awe of the fact that Christine was willing to touch him in any capacity. As for Neil and the girl, Samantha, he was not overly concerned with their happiness, but the man had been decent to him. He could not deny that. âAh. He is pleased to know this, as he... enjoys her company,â he said, a bit gruffly, and it was a strange sort of relief to move on from the topic of those whose bodies they currently inhabited.
There was a part of him that ached when Christine admitted that she had not wanted to sing his opera, but he should have known better, should have realized it was not the sort of role she would have wanted to play; then again, he hadnât cared. Not then. It was about his anger, his sense of having been betrayed, and the opera was something like vengeance, nothing to do with her wants or even furthering her career. âHe forced you to capture me, as I knew he would,â Erik said bitterly, though it was directed towards himself as well as Raoul. Perhaps it was the Vicomteâs absence, or Neilâs influence, but this was a rare moment of clarity for him, and he did not feel his usual rage, similar to that of a caged animal. âI... I did not cast you away. You did not want to remain with me, Christine. I would have forced you to, in order to spare Raoulâs life. I believed he was your choice, the one you truly wanted.â He sounded bewildered, almost like a small child, and nothing like the dark, dangerous Phantom she knew all too well. âWhat choice would you have made, had you the freedom to do so?â Perhaps he shouldnât have asked it, and he regretted the question a moment later. It was easier once she was close to the window, and there was space between them; his posture relaxed, and he was no tense. A long silence followed her question, and he did not look at her when he spoke, voice quiet. âI imagine your life will be what he wishes it to be. You will be the wife he desires, and I very much doubt he will allow you many choices. If he does not wish you to sing, then you will not sing. If he wishes you to bear him children and remain at home, then you will be expected to do so.â He sounded almost sad, as though just finally realizing what he had done in forcing her into a decision, and attempting to keep her against her will.
âHe forced me to be bait, monsieur, to catch you. I did not capture you for him. Bait does nothing but be impaled on the hook. It has no conscious choice in anything. If you were truly what he believed you to be, a murderer, then what do you think of a man who would willingly put someone he is meant to love in the arms of such a person?â She shook her head. âNon, monsieur. It was more about catching you, than about saving me. It remains so to this day, for both of you.â Despite the intelligence of her words, she sounded very young. She was very much the girl in the underground lair, the one who had told him that she was no longer afraid of his face, with a greater understanding of where the true deformity resided.
His bewilderment did not surprise her. A monster he might be, but it was a childâs ire, limitless and unthinking. But that was a far cry from the cruelty of Raoul, the very careful unkindness that came from the other man. No, Raoul was no monster; he was what he was meant to be, in his time. But Christine had spent months in the mind of someone else, in a place where life was different, where that cruelty did not need to be tolerated because of gender and rank. She understood now, though it changed nothing for her. And perhaps it was better to be blind than to know. âYou believed, monsieur,â she said, moving away from the window once more, closer to him. âYou believed, and Raoul believed, and I was caught in the middle. I do not know what I would have chosen, had the choice been mine. I only know that now there is no choice at all, oui?â
She finished crossing to him when he acknowledged that her future would be whatever Raoul dictated. âOui,â she said. âI have promised him that we may leave Paris. I do not wish to go, but if he is not there then he cannot continue to hate you as he does. He will not wonder if you are somewhere I can hear. I have promised, here, that I will remain with him as long as he wishes it, for the same reason.â It was no confession, no declaration, but it was plain and clear, and her hand closed on his sleeve once more. âI would ask you for two things.â
Erik said nothing, for he could not, and simply stared, surprised by her honesty and understanding of past events The Vicomte had been perceived as a rival from the moment he arrived, that much was certain, and over time his attention had moved from furthering Christineâs career to besting the other man, as selfish as it was. She had become something of a prize, caught in the middle, though his feelings for her had never waned, even if they might have been based more off of an ideal than her as a person. âI know it was his plan, Christine, and not your own,â he said finally. âBut it was not always like this. Before the Vicomte came... I only wished to see you succeed. Perhaps I hoped you would... return my feelings, yet I had no intentions to act.â He likely might have, sooner or later, but without Raoul in the picture there was no threat, and thus no need for impulsive action.
This was, perhaps, the cruelest revelation of all. Erik had believed until this moment that he had given Christine her freedom, that leaving with Raoul had solely been her choice, but now... now it seemed he had been mistaken. âNon,â he insisted. âThere is still a choice. I too have seen what it is like here, in this place where so much has changed, and you need not obey Raoulâs every whim. In the end, Christine, I wanted you to be happy, but you are not. Not with him.â
His hatred for Raoul had previously been in conflict with his belief that he was what Christine wanted, but now there was nothing to hold him back, to make him spare the Vicomteâs life, and that was a dangerous thing indeed. âThe man, Neil, will never allow such a thing. Nor will--â He paused, perhaps thinking better of what might have come next, for while this was a lull in his usual maelstrom, he knew it was only temporary. In Paris he had no home, no source of income, and even if he did return to the Opera House to rebuild, a life beneath the floors was no place for someone like her. âTwo things,â he repeated. âWhat are they?â
She believed what he said about his intentions before Raoul became patron of the Opera House. Before, there had been lessons and demands, but never death. She had feared him in the way the unseen is always feared, but there was a fair amount of adoration as well, something born of music and late nights in her mind and things that felt secret and thrilling. But then it became a deadly game, and there was no more of those things that had made a teenager go to her bed with dreams in her head. It did not mean she would not have recoiled in fear, because the girl she had been would not have known how to do anything else, but time might have mended it. They would never know, and they were both different now.
âI will do as he wishes. I have already agreed, monsieur,â she said, a hint of the scared girl behind eyes that were not her own. Not scared of Raoul, and not scared of him, but of that future and the loneliness it promised. âI will return to him, now that I am as I am, and I will convince him to cross back to Paris with me. We can arrange time with Samantha and Liam, evenings, perhaps, and it will be a good arrangement. You will be unharmed, and he will be appeased. If he keeps true to his word, I will not renege on mine.â
She took a deep breath, and her fingers slid down from his sleeve to the back of his hand. They rested lightly there, her fingers, against his skin, and she looked up at him, the teenage girl sliding back into place after the moments of determination. âTwo things,â she repeated, a blush making her cheeks warm. âA song, an aria, a composition that you write once I leave here. Something to tide me over once I am back where I belong and music is denied me.â She paused nervously, a girlâs twist of her fingers at the end of his sleeve. âA kiss.â Because he was handsome now, and because it would be the only opportunity for this before she was returned to Paris and wedded to Raoul. She blushed warmer, redder, and her gaze dropped, but she did not move away from him.
Oh, Erik was not interested in arrangements, nor was Neil, and he felt as though the other man might have more success. He and Samantha were nothing like himself and Christine. "He is not interested in arranging times," he warned. "This world is not ours, Christine. Even I understand this. Raoul is a fool to act as though this is not true." Ah, but perhaps this Loki might take care of the problem, which was what he could glean from Neil's mind. It would be no great loss, surely. "I will be unharmed, perhaps, and Monsieur Vicomte will have his way, but what of you?" He did not truly expect a response and so looked away, elsewhere, until her fingers made contact with his skin.
She had never looked at him as such before, with her cheeks warmed by blush, at least not before she discovered the truth, before he ceased to be her Angel of Music and became a monster of a man instead. Her first request he could agree to, without hesitation, for composing was one of the few things he had left in life to keep him going. âAs you wish,â he agreed, but the second, that made him pause. The realization came slowly, that the body he inhabited now was nothing like his own, and for a moment he was almost hurt, that she would only want such a thing from him now. Indeed, Erik might have refused, had he not wanted it. Perhaps it was not Christineâs body, but it was still her now. For this, he allowed some of Neilâs influence to slip through, for he had no idea how to go about such a thing when he had only ever received one kiss in the entirety of his existence.
Even with Neilâs assistance, his general demeanor was still uncertain, unsure, and the fingers that slid beneath her chin to tilt her face upward were impossibly light. Even the kiss was tentative, a press of his lips against hers; in this, he was hopelessly naive.
She feared he was right about Raoul, but she could not give over to despair when it came to this. A solution must be found, and she would not think that it could not be, not yet, not at this moment. She did not understand this âLokiâ as he did, though she knew he had gone to speak with Raoul. Perhaps he could be convinced, but it was not the important thing in this moment. What of her?, and she ignored that question in favor of the other things. âI will give Samantha back what is hers, and we will all be safe,â she explained, because this was the goal, in the end. She touched his cheek when he agreed to the aria, her palm light and gentle against unscarred skin. âMerci, Monsieur,â he said, her features bright in the way of hopeful small things. She tipped her chin up the remainder of the way when his fingers slid against the skin there, and she closed her eyes for the exquisitely tentative kiss.
In the lair beneath the Opera House, she had been the one to kiss him, and countless kisses had passed with Raoul since then, but she did not take control or lead. She took the naive kiss, and she made it last, closed lips and chastity, the bygone dream of a little girl with an angel in her head. She turned her cheek once she needed breath, and she pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth, all without opening her eyes. âI wish we were ourselves,â she admitted, even as she pressed one last kiss to the line of his jaw. âI will go now, Monsieur.â Reluctantly, as she moved away.
It all sounded so simple, but Erik knew better, and safe was not necessarily synonymous with happy. Perhaps he could never truly be so, but it was different for her. She was not terribly scarred, nor branded a murderer, and she could walk in the light of day without risk of being captured and caged like an animal. He looked at her for a long moment, his gaze searching, but he said nothing; he had already let her go once, and he seemed resigned to it now. All he knew how to do was demand, not ask.
The kiss may have been chaste and inexperienced, but the feeling behind it was genuine, and he knew that he would never forget this moment even though he was experiencing it in a body not his own. Perhaps it did not mean as much for her, but he could pretend, at least, that it might have. He didnât know what to make of her confession that she wished they were themselves, and he watched helplessly as she moved away, rendered tongue-tied, and if it hadnât been for Neil he likely wouldnât have said anything at all. The other man was stubborn, however, and while fighting Erikâs influence was no easy task, he didnât need very long. âNo,â he insisted, and his voice was more Neil then, rough stubbornness with no hint of a French accent. âItâs not right. Not for you, and especially not for Sam. Itâs her body. Donât go to him.â
Stepping away was the hardest thing she had ever done. Monster, or no. Killer, or no, she knew this man would try to make her life more than it now was. She had always known this of him, jealous and possessive though his patronage might be. But this was the only thing to do for any of them, and she did not weaken when his voice changed. If anything, it made it easier to insist. Denying her angel of music was one thing, but denying Neil was quite another, easier. And perhaps she was made for this, for sacrifice and being cowed by the will of others. Perhaps she did not believe there was a happy ending here to fight for.
âNon, Monsieur,â she said, a sad shake of her head. âYou will open the door, oui? I will convince Raoul that we should walk through it. I will try to have him agree to our wedding night on the other side. This will ensure you have Samantha back, without Raoulâs influence here. Let me do what must be done.â She was at the door now, hand on the frame and fingers sliding along the wood. âYou will not forget the aria?â she asked, one last, hopeful question before she forced herself to go.
Erik wavered between himself and Neil, neither of whom wanted to let either woman walk out the door, but short of forcing her to stay, which neither would do, it seemed she was determined to go to Raoul regardless. âI donât like this,â he said, frustrated, but then Neilâs influence began to fade and it was Erik again, torn between anger and an almost child-like sense of helplessness. âYes, he will open the door. He and his brother have agreed to do so,â he said, because he knew this was true. Neil protested loudly within his mind, and he almost asked her to stay again but he did not. He hated himself for it, but he nodded. âI will not forget.â
That she did not want to go was obvious in the way she lingered in the doorway, almost giving in and stepping inside once more, into the quiet safety of the suite, into the arms of the man within. But, no. If there was one thing she could do right, it was this. Surely Raoul would listen and return to Paris with her, and no one would be hurt again. It would be worth it, she thought, as she looked at him one last time and then allowed the door to close behind her.