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emptymasks · 4 years ago

Text

Finding something worth taking

Pairing: Erik / Raoul de Chagny

Words: 7401

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Read on Ao3 @ emptymasks (can’t link it or tumblr will block this post)

Notes: Prompt from an anonymous asker in @fallenidolandfalsefriend ‘s askbox. I do not know who you are but thank you for the idea. And thank you Fi for giving me your blessing to use a prompt you got.

Summary: "Well, what do we have here?" The man had to bend considerably to fit through the doorway of the carriage, neck bending harshly against the ceiling as he towered over Raoul. "Such a pretty little thing all alone so late at night. Some little lord? Surely nothing more important with no one here to protect you-"

"A Vicomte, thank you very much. And I need no one's protection other than my own," Raoul was retorting before he could stop himself.

"Someone with some spirit. How... refreshing. Well, little Vicomte. What do you have for me?"

(Alternate title: 5 times Erik robbed Raoul's carriage, and 1 time he got more than he intended to steal.)

Moonlight flickered in and out between the barren branches of the trees that lined either side of the road, light cascading against Raoul's cheeks in small glimpses before being snatched away again. The wheels of the carriage rolled smoothly against the dirt road, only occasionally bumping over some small stone.

It was quiet. Perhaps too quiet.

The lack of birds and wildlife scurrying about and crying was not unusual in the winter months, but even still...

"I know it's a shortcut you seem most fond of gazing at when it's in bloom, but Raoul I would caution you about going down that way. The cold tends to bring out all sorts of vagrants and miscreants," Philippe, his older brother, had warned him before he left.

Raoul felt a little awful for it, but the idea of some danger only had made him more intrigued. He had no death wish, of course not. But as a child he'd been so drawn to stories of fantasy, of pirates, of vigilantes on horseback. He remembered his uncle telling him stories of the famed highwayman Dick Turpin after Raoul's parents had gone to bed and the two of them would sneak downstairs and sit by the fire.

The curiosity was starting to twist a little in Raoul's stomach as they continued down the road. It would only be a minute or so before they would turn off the wooded lane onto a more open road and then another few minutes more until the horses would be clattering against cobblestone and there'd be streetlamps craning overhead. Just a few minutes more.

Moonlight once against vanished from Raoul's face, but this time seemingly with a gust of wind as something seemed to fly right past the window. He slid against to the edge of the bench where it met the wall and pressed his cheek against the glass, straining his eyes as he tried to see to the front of the carriage. But he couldn't see anything. His blue eyes almost glowed with his blonde hair a dusty halo as the light glinted across his face.

Then all of a sudden a whiny broke out and Raoul wondered if one of his horses as the carriage came to an abrupt stop. He was about to rush out of the door when he heard the thud of something, or someone, landing on the ground. Perhaps Nicolas, his driver, was sorting out whatever had happened. Maybe there was a fox in the road.

But Raoul knew those footsteps were too quiet to be Nicolas'. It was as if the owner almost was skirting along the dirt, maybe billowing it up around his feet.

Raoul slunk back away from the window to the middle of the bench, his heart unsure whether to start pounding in his chest, or freeze like a stone.

The door to the carriage swung open to fast it almost swung all the way around and crashed against the outside wall.

A thing leg clad in a heavy black boot clacked against the wooden floor of the carriage. Then another one. And then a tall back mass slunk into the room, a great black cape billowing around him as he raised his arm to show the barrel of his gun. He had a black hat tipped against his head and an equally dark mask covering his entire face. There was something draping down the back of his hat that looked too odd to be hair. Fabric, that's what it was, an extra precaution to protect his identity?

He moved slowly, almost methodically, across the carriage. His long thin limbs cut darkness across the now moonlit full carriage as he craned his head around.

"Well, what do we have here?" The man had to bend considerably to fit through the doorway of the carriage, neck bending harshly against the ceiling as he towered over Raoul. "Such a pretty little thing all alone so late at night."

A gloved hand reached out and pressed itself harshly against Raoul's skin as a thumb griped his chin, index finger digging into the hollow of his cheek. Raoul could smell that the gloves were made of leather and the velvet voice that came from behind the dark mask made Raoul's heart finally decide it wanted to speed up.

"What are you then? Some little lord? Surely nothing more important with no one here to protect you-"

"A Vicomte, thank you very much. And I need no one's protection other than my own," Raoul was retorting before he could stop himself.

"Someone with some spirit. How... refreshing. Well, little Vicomte. What do you have for me?"

Raoul blinked up at him. Forgetting for a moment as the man withdrew his closeness what the man would want with him. He soon remembered how to move though as the man rolled his shoulder and his cape moved allowing the light of the moon streaming through the open door to catch against the silver of its cylinder. Raoul recognised the model of gun; A Chamelot-Delvigne 1873 revolver. It was the gun issued to all members of the French army, and back at home Raoul had hidden own slight variation of it from his time in the Navy.

If only he had brought it with him. Philippe had asked why he never carried it around with him and Raoul had said it was just a bit of a hassle to fit under his clothes. That had been a lie. Philippe would have called Raoul too sensitive and told him to grow up if he's replied with how his hands shook at the idea of having to hold that gun again.

Raoul slid his hands into the coat that was cast aside on his seat as the man sat down opposite him. He fumbled blindly to find his coat pocket, not wanting to take his eyes off the man, before finally clutching his coin pouch. The man seemed to perk up at the noise of the coins clinking together and quickly outstretched his hand. Raoul hesitated for a moment before dropped the coins into the stranger’s palm.

He watched as the man took the coins out, counting them and inspecting them.

"They're not fake coins," Raoul said, indignity.

"Oh forgive me," He could hear the man's smirk. "I didn't mean to offend your delicate pride." He chuckled and pouch vanished beneath his dark cloak.

"Anything else?" The man leaned forward, perching his elbows against his thighs.

"I'm not some pretty maiden with a neck full of pearls and jewels."

"Not a maiden no... But who knows what you'd look like draped in pearls."

"Must you tease me as well as steal from me?"

"It's hard not too when you flush so much. People either fear me or hate me, and yet you sit there talking back to me but making no attempt to stop me, with such a dusting of pink across your nose and cheeks."

Raoul didn't know how to respond to that. It surely couldn't be true and yet he could feel the heat on his face. Maybe it was just the excitement or adrenaline. Maybe he could make believe that it was, since it was unlikely he'd ever see this man again.

Oh god and what would be tell Philippe? He really didn't want an 'I told you do' talk when he arrived home. He could just not tell Philippe? And maybe he could convince Nicolas not to tell? They wouldn't want to worry Philippe, of course.

Lost in his worried thoughts, Raoul didn't notice how the man had gotten up.

"Wait, what's your name?" Raoul blurted out, causing the man to freeze, one of his feet already out of the door.

"Why," He snarled. "So you can try and report me?"

"I have would have very bad luck with that, considering I have no idea what you look like. I'm simply... curious."

"About my name?"

"About you."

The man blinked. Raoul could tell as the moonlight caught against the man's eyes as they tried to hide away with the mask, but they glowed almost golden. He looked all at once not like a fearsome thief, but a confused cat being offered a plate of milk as it sat shaking in an alleyway, pondering and pondering about what possible ulterior motive this could have.

"Erik," He said at last.

And before Raoul could respond the man hoped out of the carriage, shut the door behind and in mere seconds was riding back past the window in a flurry of shadow

-----

Nicolas had promised not to mention last week's unplanned stop to Philippe, worried that it might put him at risk of losing his job. But he hadn't been able to hide the fear from his eyes when Raoul asked them to go back down that road on his return from his next trip to the opera.

"But Monsieur what if he is there again? I've heard others talking. They call him The Phantom, for how he seemingly appears out of nowhere and disappears back into the night. They say his body is made of pure shadow."

"He won't harm you Nicolas, the worst he'll do is take my coin, and I have plenty of it to spare. I assure you he's just a mad made of flesh like you and I"

Nicolas had looked at him strangely, but knew Raoul well enough to not fruitlessly try to change his mind.

Raoul wondered if Erik would recognise the carriage. He'd seemed to have found Raoul strange, not that Raoul could blame him as he had been acting a little out of sorts but... he'd just been so intrigued, he couldn't explain it. But perhaps Raoul had embarrassed himself too much last time that Erik wouldn't approach them.

They were only half way down the road when Raoul felt the carriage come to a stop and his heart started beating harder in his chest.

The door opened delicately and Raoul's heart sank as he thought surely it must be Nicolas. But his vision was clouded in black and as the shape settled Raoul saw Erik's cape fall about his shoulders as he sank into the opposite bench.

He started at Raoul for so long Raoul wondered if he was being dared to speak first. Maybe Erik wanted him to explain himself. Well, he would have to wait then.

Eventually, which was really just a minute or so, Erik crossed his legs, annoyed and agitated.

"Why are you here again, little Vicomte?"

"Well," Raoul shifted in his seat. "I always prefer to take this route. It's more scenic. And it is technically a short-cut for me, so..."

"You forgot about me so quickly then," Erik said it with a tone of jest, but underneath Raoul sensed that thought it was true.

"No, of course I didn't forget you."

"Then why are you back here on my road? Did you think after one robbery I would let you pass a second time?"

"Actually I... What if I hoped that you would...?”

"That I would let you pass? Foolish boy-"

"No, I meant... I meant what if I hoped that you would show up. That we would meet again."

The black mask stared at him as two tiny pinpricks of gold vanished and returned.

"Why would you want that? Not taking pity on me, I hope. I'm not some sort of charity."

"Oh not at all. I have a feeling you wouldn't have any fun with that."

"What makes you think I'm having fun now?" Erik stood and lent over Raoul, his cape swinging down around them both.

"Well," Raoul's gaze flickered from between Erik's hand and his face. One of Erik's hands was pressing against the bench in the spot between his legs, his other hand supported against the wall next to Raoul's head.

"You haven't left yet," Raoul breathed out, as he remembered breathing was a thing he was supposed to be doing.

"I'm just waiting for my prize," Erik's voice was deep and Raoul swore he could feel hot breath from where Erik's mouth would be.

Oh god Raoul could feel himself swallow hard, hyper aware of where Erik's hand was and how close it was to his thigh even as Erik seemed to lean in closer. What prize was he talking about... For surely he couldn't mean...? He had called Raoul pretty last time, but that had surely been a jest? But he seemed to still be getting closer.

Raoul blinked as a jingling sound rang out at the side of his head. Oh. Right. The money. He could feel Erik's grin as Raoul shifted awkwardly, pulling on the bottom of his honey yellow waistcoat. His eyes shifted down.

"Your gloves have a hole in the thumb," Raoul said absentmindedly, eyes drawn to the pale skin peeking out from the dark leather.

Erik drew his hand back from the seat as though he was ashamed. "Erik tore it, he didn't mean to..." He muttered, voice becoming something almost childlike, as if he thought Raoul were scolding him. He seemed to realise it himself and his eyes flashed with anger.

"What is it to you anyway?" He hissed, yet still hiding his hand from Raoul's view.

"Nothing, I'm only..." Only what? Was he just curious? Or concerned?

Why was Erik reacting like that anyway? Raoul was only trying to be polite. Kind. Was that odd? He supposed in his line of work Erik wasn't used to kindness. The only people he interacted with would be those who he robbed and why would they show him kindness. So why was Raoul showing him kindness.

It was unexplainable. There was something about Erik that Raoul just felt drawn too. Perhaps that was unhealthy, for him to find the danger exciting. Erik had a gun for Christ's sake. How could he say he had a feeling Erik wouldn't use it.

How many other people had Erik shared his name with though? He had given it on their first meeting and yet... No one else seemed to know it. Maybe no one else had asked.

He thought to apologise, but for what? Erik's back was already turned.

"Good night, monsieur," Erik said before he hoped out of the carriage, back into the night.

-----

"What is it that you want from me?"

Erik stood in doorway of the carriage, one foot pressing inside and the rest of his body hunched and twisted to try and look at Raoul without having to actually come inside.

"Three weeks in a row, twice already I have robbed you, and yet you keep coming here?"

"Where else would I find you?" Raoul said with a look of ease but inside felt slight nerves.

A week had passed in agony. Every nightfall with the knowledge Erik was out here on this road had started to drive him mad. It was pure madness and nothing more. To be intrigued by this man, this Phantom, to desire him. With every evening Raoul felt it more and more and had to come to terms with the realisation that it was not some mere thrill of danger he felt in Erik's presence. There was no childhood boyish fantasy about meeting a highwayman, or evening joining him on an adventure. It was the reality of realising that less than romantic reality of Erik's tattered clothing, the thinness of his bones, the unfamiliarity with basic human kindness, paired with that mystery, those eyes, that voice which teased him so, that made Raoul's skin grow hot as he laid in his bed.

"Aren't you going to come inside?"

Erik lifted the weight off his foot that was inside the carriage, before pressing it back down. He rocked back and forth as he contemplated to himself, before planting himself across from Raoul.

An awkward silence filled the air as Erik shuffled among the seat.

Finally he turned his head and folded his arms over his chest. "So, what do you have for me?"

"The same as always," Raoul tossed his coin pouch at Erik. "Oh, and these."

He reached out his hand for Erik to take the items from him. Erik was cautious, as if somehow this could be a trap, before grabbing the edge of the fabric and sliding them out of Raoul's hand. They were turned over and back again as they were inspected.

"Gloves?"

"Yes, gloves," Raoul nervously bit on his lip. Why should he be feeling nervous?!

"These seem too large to fit you."

"Well, yes of course. They wouldn't make a very good gift for you if I bought them in my own size."

Raoul hadn't thought it possible the night could get any quieter, and yet...

Oh he wished he could see what Erik's face looked like behind his mask. His entire body had frozen on the spot, not even blinking. Was he shocked? Was he disgusted? Was there a flush across his cheeks? Raoul knew he could feel his own burning up the longer the silence progressed.

"A... gift?" Erik choked out.

"Yes, they're a gift, Erik. I noticed last time that yours had a hole in so I thought..."

"That you would bribe me away with fine leather gloves?"

"What? No, not at all. I just thought, well I just hoped that... you'd like them."

Erik squinted at him, and Raoul felt a little pleased at being able to make out some emotions Erik conveyed. He leaned over Raoul, slightly raising from his seat, as he seemed to be trying to wring out the truth from Raoul with just his glare, and then his eyes widened as if seeing and daring to believe Raoul was already telling him the truth.

He sat staring down at the gloves that hung limply over his hands. Raoul sucked in a breath and slowly, as if approaching a deer that might spook, took a couple of steps across the carriage and quietly as he could fell to his knees in between Erik's parted legs.

Erik didn't seem to realise he was there until Raoul tentatively reached up and brushed his hands against Erik's own. He tried to recoil but Raoul gripped his hands, stroking his thumbs against them until Erik seemed to calm down enough for Raoul to peel the aged and falling apart gloves off his hands.

As the leather peeled away Raoul stared at Erik's hands even as they twitched. Out of nervousness perhaps? That was... a little adorable. What a strange word to use to describe such a man. Raoul chuckled slightly to himself as he became distracted by running his thumb down the length of Erik's long, rather elegant looking fingers.

Clutching at the fabric of his trousers, Erik tried to pull away again. "You laugh at Erik's skin."

Raoul blinked in confusion. Was that something Erik was insecure about?

"If you must know, I was actually thinking they were quite beautiful. I only laughed at my own oxymoron of thinking of your demeanour now as almost adorable contrasted with your usual imposing one."

He looked down again at Erik's hands again as he once again felt Erik's eyes staring at him with such confusion. As Erik slowly unclenched his hands, Raoul could now see harsh lines of scars that began at the backs of Erik's knuckles and disappeared up his sleeves. Of course... no one with a happy upbringing would probably find themselves in this line of work. But then Raoul thought of the high collar, the mask... Was all of Erik's skin covered in such scars?

Raoul took the new gloves he had bought, something of far better quality than Erik could ever afford, and slid them up Erik's fingers. He did the same with the other hand, not before indulging himself and placing a kiss to the back of Erik's hand, his pink lips plush and soft against the hard and cold skin.

He looked up and felt as though Erik's eyes were burning into him. The second glove slid up Erik's hand and Raoul maintained eye contact as Erik's fingers twitched and caught against his chin.

"I hope they're comfortable," Raoul's voice was quiet, not wanting to shatter the moment.

The leather crinkled as Erik flexed his fingers, screwing them up into fists and then straightening them out again. Raoul wanted to say something more, he wasn't sure what, but he wanted to open his mouth to speak again but the words lost themselves as the carriage suddenly rocked to the side and the moment was gone.

"Cesar, no," Erik made to get up.

Raoul had the dreadful shameful feeling that they'd been caught by some companion of Erik's. But as he turned around he heard a strong puff of breath and the carriage rocked as a beautiful white horse rocked into the carriage, his head already peering through the door. Erik fussed over the stallion, shooing him outside and seemingly giving him a stern talking too.

Trailing behind them into the cold night air, Raoul stared at this strange tall skeleton of a man draped in nothing but black talking to horse or pure white as though it was a badly behaving dog.

Both of them turned to Raoul as he started laughing at the absurdity of it all.

Erik seemed almost flustered as he brushed down his cloak and fiddled with his hat. Outside the carriage was only slightly brighter, but Raoul could make out a little more clearly the layers of cape and coat and waistcoat,. He could see the line where Erik's boots laid against his trousers just below the knee. He could see how the mask wasn't some cheap piece of cloth and was something sculpted as it sat neatly against Erik's face. Had Erik made it himself?

"Doesn't a bright white horse make you stand out a little?"

"It wasn't really ever in my plan," Erik huffed. "But Cesar is a good boy. Loyal. And his previous owners were not too kind to him. I suppose I saw some of myself in him."

Erik's voice trailed off somewhere farther away as he seemed to forget himself, then he quickly and effortlessly pulled himself atop Cesar.

"Good night. Your home is not too far away, no? You might be lucky enough to get back before the rain starts."

"You didn't follow me home one night, did you?" Raoul laughed and then stopped as Erik turned his head. "Erik?"

The cape nearly hit Raoul in the face as Erik swung up onto Cesar. "Good night, Vicomte de Chagny. Safe travels."

The bastard had the audacity to tip his hat before he rode away.

-----

"I wonder what your driver must think. The young Vicomte de Chagny fraternizing with a common thief. Surely someone is wondering what is taking you so long to get back home?" Erik said as he stretched his legs out, seemingly content to start treating the carriage like a sitting room.

"Nicolas wouldn't tell anyone. And if he had the inkling too, I can appease him as I appease you."

"Is that what you do? Make a habit of paying people to get what you want."

"Of course not," Raoul snapped. "If I were to slip him an increase in his wages it would only be to protect the both of us from any scandal."

Erik sat up straighter. "I meant no offence... How strange you are, little Count, to think you must protect me from others and not the other way around."

"My name is Raoul," Choosing to avoid answering Erik's probing statement as he didn't really want to think of the moral implications of any of this, Raoul blurted out something he'd been mulling over for a while. "You knew though, probably, I mean you already figured out who I was so... But I just meant that, well, you can call me Raoul. I always call you Erik."

"I didn't give you any other name."

"Something tells me perhaps you only have the one."

"Something did?" Erik perched his elbows on his legs and lent forwards to rest his chin on his hands. "So there is some perception going on in there. What exactly makes you think that?"

Raoul felt all of a sudden embarrassed. "I don't rightly know... And I don't mean to offend, I just... You seem not like someone who doesn't have a home, but perhaps someone who has never had one. And orphans don't usually have surnames."

"You could not offend me."

"You say that as if you aren't easily offend."

"Oh, unlike you?"

Letting his back hit against the wall, Raoul conceded. "Will you tell me if I was right?"

Erik shifted his in his seat, his fingers on one hand rubbing up at down the other's knuckles. "I was not an orphan."

"Oh?" Raoul wasn't going to be surprised if he had been wrong about everything. He was very well versed with people from lower classes so everything he said could have been wrong. It was mostly ideas drawn from lone wanderers from tales he had heard growing up, granted they were works of fiction.

"But," Erik continued. "You can take some pride in thinking I'd never had a home. I'd at least never been in a place that felt like one."

Oh well... Pride wasn't really what Raoul was feeling now. He thought if he worked things out about Erik, or Erik began to like or trust him enough to tell him, that he would feel joyful. But he supposed the reality of growing up alone, or at least feeling alone, wasn't something that should be romanticised.

Erik seemed to not know what to do with himself as he kept shifting and when he coughed Raoul thought he was going to ask for Raoul's money, but he simply went quiet again.

"You don't have to sit over there, you know," Raoul's heart fluttered in his chest. This was it. He was going to find out Erik's true intentions. "There's plenty of room on this bench."

"And this one is equally comfortable."

"Oh the great Phantom of the roads, afraid to sit next to me."

"I'm not afraid," Erik snarled.

"No?" Raoul raised an eyebrow up and smiled cheekily, a smile that only widened as Erik got up and grumbled under his breath.

"Insistent boy. I have half the mind you'll be the death of me," Flicking his cape up so it did not get as caught up underneath him, Erik sat next to Raoul with a huff.

"Oh, how so?" Raoul turned, sliding a little to close some of the distance between them and hoping Erik wouldn't notice.

"You keep letting yourself get robbed so often, people will think you're an easy target."

"Well then people will have the misfortune of finding out quite the opposite."

Erik laughed. "Oh will you fight them away with your feistiness, my little Vicomte."

"I'll have you know I was in the navy," Raoul puffed out his chest and squared his shoulders. "I could take a robber or two if I had the mind too."

There was silence as Erik started at him.

"Then why haven't you?" He asked, his voice soft all of a sudden.

"Why haven't I what?" Raoul furrowed his brow.

"Had the mind too."

Raoul's mouth went dry. Erik seemed impossibly close and he wasn't sure when or if either of them had started sliding down the seat.

He wondered then what it would feel like to have those leather clad hands pining his own wrists against the wall behind him. What it would feel like to have a leg shoved between his own, as Erik bore his weight down on him. Maybe both of his wrists would be captured in but one hand, long fingers grasping him like a rope, as Erik would grab his chin and tilt it upwards to claim his mouth. Would he have to tell Raoul to be quiet less his driver hear them? He wouldn't want a scandal, would he? He'd let himself fall open on the seating as Erik would remain swathed in black, undressing him and claiming another prize for himself.

Or would Erik let himself be pushed back. Raoul thought about the previous week as he had knelt between Erik's legs to put his gloves on and how Erik had seemed so unused to the touch. Would he let Raoul guide him backwards, limbs tangling in the small space, as he let someone take him apart for the first time? Had anyone ever touched Erik in that way?

He reached out, mind running with scenarios, and traced his hand over Erik's, giving him the opportunity to turn away. But Erik stood still as a statue. Raoul grew bolder, his fingers skimming along Erik's shoulders, until they reached under his jaw and slid under the edge of his mask.

That seemed to snap Erik out of the moment as his hands were suddenly around Raoul's wrists, squeezing painfully like a vice.

But Raoul did not want to give up. Erik's panic only fuelled Raoul's curiosity. He seemed far too fearful to be solely worried about his identity being discovered. Raoul thought back on the scars he'd seen along Erik's hands.

"I won't be scared," Raoul whispered, his fingers tracing lightly against the dry skin he'd managed to find.

"You will be horrified," Erik's voice echoed against the mask now longer pressing taut against his mouth.

"Then, just a little..." Raoul pressed still, half expecting to be thrown across the carriage, but half not caring. If Erik would give him this little leeway.

He pressed the mask up just enough to see Erik's mouth, stopping as he saw what would had had to be the start of Erik's nostrils, but Raoul saw no dip of flesh between them. He let his hands rest of the mask there, simply holding it up but not pushing it, until Erik realised Raoul meant that he would reveal no more of his face. The grip on his wrists loosened, but the hands did not leave, for they could not trust Raoul to keep his word.

Raoul traced his thumbs up the pale skin of Erik's sunken cheeks, they were hollowed out and yet Raoul could sense the strong cheekbones above. His skin was dry and cold, not soft but not rough either. His thumbs drew closer together as he found paper thin lips set in a hard line, but they trembled as Raoul touched them.

Having found his mark in the darkness of the carriage, Raoul slide his hands back against Erik's cheeks, brushing against the fabric that was drawn down over his ears. The skin around the back of Erik's head was smooth, the only hair catching on Raoul's nails being nothing but tiny wisps.

Erik gasped as Raoul kissed him, as if with Raoul so close he still didn't expect it would happen. Raoul was suddenly struck with the question of whether Erik had ever been kissed before and the idea of this being his first made Raoul want to make it all the more enjoyable. His hands slid against Erik's skin as he moved his lips slowly, parting them for a second before kissing Erik again. And then again. And again and he wanted to keep going but felt that Erik's hands had slipped from grabbing his wrists to clutching at the fabric of his sleeves as his whole body shook.

"Erik, I'm sorry, was that..." Raoul panted as withdrew. "Was that alright?"

He could see Erik's chest heaving and Raoul's hands pulled themselves back forwards and couldn't resist a final slide across Erik's lips, now slightly slick and wet.

His fingers pressed down despite trying to have some self-control and Erik jumped, head almost knocking against the ceiling, as he scrambled to pull his mask back down so quickly that Raoul's' hands were almost trapped underneath it, oh to be forever trapped between parted lips and porcelain.

"Erik, wait-"

But Erik had already pushed himself away and flung himself out of the carriage and as Cesar's white hide flashed past him Raoul felt the weight of his coins safely nestled in his pocket.

-----

The road was quiet as always and Raoul's heart pounded over and over and over again in his chest. It was as though the sound of it was the only thing he could hear. It seemed to rise and fall as the carriage finally turned onto the road, but as they got further and further down it... Raoul's heart only sank lower and lower.

Had he scared Erik off? He'd kissed Raoul back so... He wanted Raoul too, hadn't he? Wouldn't Erik be pleased to see him again?

But he had also run off right afterwards. Was he ashamed? But Raoul could give him so much. He could give Erik safety and security. Wouldn't Erik want that? He wouldn't have to stalk about in the cold and the rain. Or they could continue this? Whatever this was? Raoul only knew that he hadn't wanted to see anyone else this badly before.

They were past the middle of the road now, and there was still no sign of Erik. The night air seemed dead and stale as the wind blew shadows of gnarled fingers across Raoul's cheeks. Raoul didn't know what to do. They'd be at the end of the road soon, leaving Erik's domain, and he didn't know what to do.

He could just shout out of the window and ask Nicolas to stop... But he was already counting on Nicolas for his trust with enough of these visits. If he did that, how long should he wait? How embarrassing would it be if he stopped and Erik was out there just standing and laughing at how pathetic he looked and never approached the carriage at all?

Raoul pressed his hands against the window, peering out at the nothingness. And he said nothing, letting Nicolas take the carriage straight home.

-----

Raoul stayed up tossing and turning, before giving up on trying to sleep at all. He couldn't stop thinking if he'd made a terrible prideful mistake. He was so worried about what Nicolas would think, and what Erik would think, that he'd just let Nicolas drive on. What if Erik had been somewhere else and hadn't shown up yet? What if he'd thought Raoul just hadn't shown up?

Though what kept his stomach twisting was the idea that he'd read everything completely wrong and that Erik wasn't interested in him at all.

Pale sheets slid of his body as Raoul's feet padded against the cold floor so he could fetch his dressing gown. The deep maroon fabric kept him warm as he opened the doors to the small balcony window and let the wind chill his bones. He wondered if he should pick up smoking like his brother as he imagined doing anything other than just standing staring at the moon. Not that it wasn't a beautiful sight. But it wasn't going to bring him any comfort.

Sighing with resignation, Raoul shut the doors behind him and flopped down onto his bed. He'd not closed the curtains to the balcony, letting the moon shine down on his face. The light might keep him awake, but it wasn't as though Raoul thought he'd get much sleep now anyway. He closed his eyes and wondered if he could imagine being laid back against the seat in his carriage, the moonlight flickering in and out of view from behind his eyelids.

That... was only meant to be in his imagination though.

His entire body tensed as he realised he couldn't see the moonlight anymore.

He tried to keep his breathing as quiet and slow and consistent as possible as he started to slid up to his elbows. He knew if it was some burglar it was safer to act like he was asleep. But what would be the chances of a random burglar picking his bedroom window of all of them. Hadn't Erik followed him home one night? Had he followed him again and watched Raoul come to bed after they'd kissed?

As slowly as he could he turned his head to the side and opened his eyes.

Behind the glass doors was a tall shadow, a silhouette that was unmistakable with its long cape and hat. Raoul turned and sat on the edge of the bed, not breaking eye contact with where he was guessing Erik's face was.

The shadow didn't move. But neither did Raoul. No, Erik needed to be the one to decide here, Raoul was not going to chase him. There was... perhaps... the chance that Erik was here to kill him... That... hadn't even been anything he'd slightly considered. For all he knew Erik had killed before. And if he felt like he'd let Raoul see too much of himself, then Raoul was a threat to his secrecy.

Wood screeched as the balcony doors were slowly pushed open. It was like an ink etching from one of those books, this pure black shape standing out there as the curtains billowed out as the doors opened, the moonlight behind everything... Raoul held his breath.

"Why did you come back again?" Erik's voice seemed to rumble.

"So you were there!" Raoul shot to his feet. "Then why didn't you come over?"

"You answer my questions first, little Vicomte," Erik stalked a couple of steps towards him. Raoul swallowed as he realised the two of them had never been stood this close, only sat, and it allowed him to take in Erik's height more as he looked up at him.

"Why wouldn't I have? I wanted to see you."

"Why?"

"Erik, for God's sake I kissed you," Raoul hissed the words out as he noticed himself getting louder. "Why would any man do that to someone?"

"Maybe you thought it could spare your purse forever more. Maybe you thought it would make me soft you."

Raoul closed all the distance between them, almost stepping on Erik's toes.

"Aren't you already?"

Erik didn't reply and Raoul wanted to keep pressing.

"Aren't you, Erik? Erik? How many people have you shared that name with? How many people have you let get that close to you? How many people have you let have any slight peak under that mask?" Raoul's hands came up and hovered by the sides of Erik's face and watched as he flinched. "You want me."

"You're a vain, foolish little boy," Erik's voice slid out of his teeth as Raoul pushed the mask up once more, until he snapped, pushing Raoul's arms out of the way and tearing the mask of himself. His hat went fluttering to the floor.

Raoul gasped as he stared at Erik's face, but he steeled himself not to look away. His cheeks were not the only part of his face sunken in. His cheekbones and his temples stuck out, and down under his brow bone Raoul could barely tell where Erik's eye sockets started. Those eyes that had seemed black with pinpricks of yellow, were really a deep brown. Quite a pretty colour. But his skin was so dry it almost looked as though it had been sucked tight against his bones, and his nose... Or whatever was left of it. A little way down from between his eyes his face just seemed to opened up onto this hole that stopped where ones nostrils would. His mouth Raoul had already made himself quite familiar with.

"Is this what you wanted to see?!" Erik tried to shout out the words but with Raoul still gazing up at him they seemed to get stuck in his throat. "You can now say that curiosity of yours is satisfied and leave me be."

"No!" Raoul gripped his hands down without thinking, right against Erik's cheeks.

"No? Did you want a closer look?" Erik snarled, his hands starting to make fists in Raoul's dressing gown.

"My curiosity isn't satiated. Erik I... Won't pretend this isn't... shocking..."

That was a little bit of an understatement. Raoul had suspected something was wrong with Erik's face, though he'd thought scaring at worst. This was... Raoul didn't even know how to describe it... And yet he couldn't take his eyes of Erik. Was there something wrong with him to find something handsome in that face, even still? And it didn't change who Erik was.

"It... will take some getting used to," Raoul said. "But it's just a face. And a face that happens to be on a man I'm very interested in."

Erik gazed down at him, the hands clutching Raoul's robe were trembling. "Even still?"

He said it as if he dared not hope. But the fact that he'd said it at all, rather than shoot Raoul down with another insult or scream... That was progress.

"Even still."

Raoul pulled Erik's face down against him and as he kissed Erik again he felt Erik's tears sliding against their cheeks and he pulled Erik harder against him, slowly giving him the confidence to explore Raoul back. And slowly but surely, Erik's hands unclenched themselves and began to move and slide around Raoul's waist, brushing over his hips, until Erik's lips moves and pressed harder against him and Raoul felt himself tipping as Erik pushed him down onto the bed and knelt over him, their lips still connected.

He didn't know what they parted, but they had too eventually, less they suffocate one another. Raoul breathed out a laugh as he pulled himself up his bed, trying to aim his head to land on his pillows, and groaning as Erik just let himself go boneless on top of him. For such a slim man, he still had a fair bit of weight to him.

But he let Erik lie there, afraid that if he were to disturb Erik this would all shatter. That Erik would fly out off the balcony, into the night, and never to be seen again.

So he let Erik lay there, bony hips pressing awkwardly against Raoul's thigh, until Erik felt comfortable to say something.

"You should leave your driver behind next time."

Raoul laughed and shook his head.

"Ah and already so sure they'll be a next time. What should I do? Will the horses to go the right way with the power of my mind?" He mockingly pressed his fingers against his temples and Erik huffed, lightly slapping at his hands.

"You do know how to ride, don't you?"

Raoul sat up. "You expect me to ride out all that way on my own?"

"I'll protect you."

The words ran up Raoul's spine with a pleasant shiver.

"Well, at sweet as that is and as thrilled as those words make me, it doesn't change the fact you wouldn't be with the whole time. I'm not wishing for anyone else to start robbing me," Raoul paused and lent back against the headboard. "Though... You are right. I can't exactly keep making Nicolas an accomplice to this... Whatever this is... And I don't know how much longer he'll want to keep his mouth shut. Although, you know what?"

Erik rolled so that his stomach was pressing down over Raoul's outstretched leg. "What?" He asked, already sounding pessimistic.

"Well I have been making Nicolas stay out awfully long hours, it's not very fair to him. He can drive me around all day as much as he pleased, but perhaps... Well for the sake of not overworking the man, perhaps I could employ a new driver? Just for very late evening appointments?"

Sliding up to his knees, Erik's eyes blinked at him. "Would this new driver be paid?"

"Oh, quite handsomely. Though I would hope, there'd be other things he found enticing about the position rather than just the coin?" Raoul couldn't help the slight hint of a question leak out in his voice.

"My little Vicomte," Erik slid up his body, black fabric pooling everywhere and sinking against Raoul's cream bedspread. "It has not been just about the coin since you asked me my name."

And Raoul let himself sink into the bed with all that fabric, as he tried to the ties that kept it all together.

"You know this does not mean Erik is quitting his regular job?" Erik panted between their mouths.

Raoul grinned, knowing it was wrong. "Well, I always did fancy someone stealing my heart."

#rerik #phantom of the opera #Raoul de Chagny #poto #potoedit #mywriting #mine #poto highwayman au

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timebird84 · 5 years ago

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🎄 PotO Advent Calendar ‘19 🎄

First Christmas

by @i-penna

The storm over, clouds cleared. The black night sky a riot of stars with the moon taking center stage, shining her light on the waves crashing against the sand dunes, now covered in a heavy blanket of snow. The glass panes of the French doors are frosted at the corners, each door displays a wreath tied with red and green bows. Pine cones interspersed in bowls of pomegranates, apples and pears are placed strategically on the piano and end tables.

A small fir, at least by the measure Gustave was accustomed to, fits into one corner of the sitting room. The paper chain he creates from colored paper cut into strips and flour paste Erik made up for him, lies in a pile around him and will become part of the decoration for the tree.

December was always the happiest month for him – a month long celebration – his birthday falling on the Feast of St. Nicholas and then Christmas. Maman always insisted that each occasion be celebrated individually so his bounty was threefold to that of the others in the family.

Pere would argue she was spoiling him, but on this point, she held firm. Maman seldom insisted on anything with Pere – she would simply say yes and bite her lower lip – at least during those arguments Gustave was aware of. Peace was maintained at all costs. Mostly, if Pere sounded angry, Maman would pull him into their private rooms – the heavy wooden door closed firmly behind them.

One time he tried to listen, but his nanny caught him and scolded him wagging a finger at his nose. “Your pere would bring out the strap if he caught you and I would find myself on the street.”

“Maman would not allow it.”

“Do not be so sure, little man,” she sniffed. “The both of you might join me.”

Phantasma and the current preparation for the month of celebration is quite the opposite – as is his life in general now. Everything here is active, loud and busy. Even study and lessons are full of excitement.

Papa Y is always teaching him something – music, history, anatomy, architecture…ventriloquism – as if he is trying to cram a lifetime of his own learning into Gustave’s young years. Not that he minds, Papa Y is larger than life – magical and mysterious, but so loving towards him – he wants nothing more than to please this strange man who is his “real” father, as Maman calls him.

But what that means, still finds him curious. Pere was the only father he knew. Then they came to America and all of a sudden, there was a “real” father to contend with. A man with a deformity so severe he felt the need to wear a mask covering half his face.

This explained, in part, Gustave’s own deformity – not visible to the view of others, thanks to his hair… and the meaning of “real.” When he first saw Papa Y’s face, he was stunned and not just a little frightened, but more surprised than anything. He understood only too well the disfigurement.

Hours were spent looking in the mirror at the scalp behind his right ear – the ear itself partially attached to his head as if melted. The rose-colored blemish under his chin – again, not in plain sight – was examined regularly to see if it had gotten larger or smaller.

His fingers were almost too long for his hands – although he was finally growing into them. Tante Louisa used the expression for all manner of his development from overly large shirts and shoes suddenly become too small to his two new front teeth, oversized compared to “baby teeth” not yet loose enough to pull and trade to the tooth fairy.

Of all the family left behind in Paris, she was the only one he missed. The others were rude or simply cold to Maman – barely tolerating either of them. “Not of noble blood” were the whispers he heard when listening from behind the heavy curtains in the library or under the dining table with the heavy tapestry cloth reaching to the floor.

Bastard.

Opera whore. Probably not Raoul’s – talk of that Opera Ghost kidnapping her. Married him for his money and title. He was warned. Insists the boy is his. Always was a fool. The girl bewitched him.

Bastard.

That was the word they used to talk about him. It sounded so ugly. When he looked it up in the dictionary, he was confused. Maman and Pere were married and he was their son. There was no one he could ask – his instincts warned him that Pere would bring out the strap for sure if he used the word. Not that he ever brought out a strap – it was enough that Estelle said he would. Pere actually paid little attention to him.

Still, when he overheard Mme. Giry tell Mlle. Meg he was a bastard…that Mr. Y was his father, he wondered how could that be? He never even knew Mr. Y before they came to New York. Maman said he was an old friend. Pere would not speak of him at all. Whenever Maman said his name, Pere grew very angry – he would drink some whiskey. After a while, he would leave.

The whole business still confuses him – especially being told he has two fathers.

“Does the tree meet with your approval?” Erik asks, coming through the front door, carrying a large brown box.

“Oh, yes, it will be so pretty when we put all the decorations up.”

“That must be what these are,” Erik says, putting the box down next to Gustave, joining him on the floor.

“You do not have any ornaments?”

“No. This is the first time I have put up a tree,” Erik says. “Your mother ransacked the prop room and found some baubles she thought would be suitable. I understand that we are going to be stringing popcorn and cranberries at some point later today.”

“Do you like my chain?”

Erik lifts up one end, examining the handiwork. “It is coming along nicely – the glue appears to be working.”

“You will love the popcorn and cranberries. And cookies – are we to have cookies and candy canes?”

“I do believe she enlisted the aid of restaurant bakers to secure those treats.” Rummaging through the box, he brings out strings of gold fringe, some papier-mache stars and balls dusted with glitter. “For the moment, it is the two of us charged with challenging our creative gifts to adorn this humble evergreen.”

Gustave giggles.

“What do you find so amusing, young man?”

“You. You are funny. You make me laugh.”

“Indeed?”

“Like when you say that.” Pursing his lips and furrowing his brows, he strokes his chin, deepening his voice he imitates Erik. “Indeed? Harrumph, harrumph, harrumph.”

“Is that how I sound to you?”

“Indeed!” Pleased with his joke, the boy rolls onto his back, holding his sides from laughter.

Joining in the laughter, Erik tickles the boy, “Indeed. Indeed. Indeed.”

Exhausted from their wrestling, they lie on their backs, catching their breath.

“Papa Y, did you never have a tree?”

“You do ask the most challenging questions,” Erik says. “No, I never had a tree.”

“Even when you were little?”

“Especially when I was little – my father died when I was a baby and I suppose putting up decorations was more than my mother could deal with.”

“What about presents?”

“No presents,” Erik says. “I really was not aware of Christmas until I left home. I think my mother missed my father so much, the holidays made her extra sad.”

“I am sorry you did not have a father.” Gustave reaches over to take Erik’s hand.

Squeezing the boy’s fingers, Erik says, “Me, too.”

Sitting up, crossing his legs, Gustave says, “I am so lucky to have two fathers. Especially you.”

Rolling on his side, resting his head on his hand, Erik says, “It is my good fortune to have you for a son.”

“Papa Y?”

“Yes?” Taking in a deep breath, anticipating another Gustave question.

“Why am I a bastard?”

Erik’s face flushes, the red rising from his neck up his cheeks. His nostrils flare and his eyes turn hard. “Who said you were a bastard?”

“I used to overhear people saying that was what I was…once I heard Mme. Giry say it to Mlle. Meg. I thought that was why she wanted to hurt me.”

Erik sits up, shifting his focus away from Gustave to the painful memory of the boy’s near death. “Meg was hurt and angry over things having nothing to do with you – I am to blame for her actions,” he says. “If it takes a lifetime, I vow I will make it up to you.” Shifting his eyes back to Gustave, he goes on, “As far as Mme. Giry – she was wrong.”

“But what does it mean?” Gustave tugs on Erik’s sleeve. “I want to know what it means. Why do I have two fathers? How can you be my father when Pere is my father? I do not understand.” The tears he has been holding back begin to flow.

Erik pulls the boy into his arms, rocking him gently, kissing the thick chestnut hair, so like his mother’s. He glances up to see Christine standing in the doorway, her brow furrowed, lips pursed.

“Tell him,” she mouths, pressing a finger to her lips before stepping back out of view.

Taking Gustave’s chin in his hand to face him, he says, “When your mother sang at the Palais Garnier, I was her teacher. I loved her very much and wanted her to stay with me, but she loved Raoul. That made me very angry and one night we three had a very bad argument. She convinced me to let her go, so I did.”

“But how does that make you my father? Why does that make me a bastard?”

“Christine, please come in here – I cannot do this, he calls over his shoulder.”

“Maman?”

Christine enters the room, setting down the bags she carries. Gathering her skirts around her, she joins them on the floor, first kissing Gustave on the cheek – wiping his eyes with her handkerchief. Kissing Erik in kind, she says, “This is not exactly what I expected to find when I asked you to begin decorating the tree.”

“Our son has a curious mind – we were talking about Christmas – I revealed this was my first Christmas and somehow we began talking about fathers. I told him mine passed away when I was a baby...”

“I want to know how I can have two fathers when Papa Y did not even have one,” Gustave interrupts. “I want to know why people call me a bastard.”

Erik’s eyes implore her to rescue him.

“I see.” Christine takes a deep breath. “When Papa Y told me I could leave to be with Pere, I left, but I missed Papa Y very much.” She rests her hand on Erik’s shoulder. “I went back to see him and we loved each other the way grown-ups do to make a baby. We made you.”

“So why were you with Pere?”

“I did not think I would be a good husband for your mother,” Erik says. “Raoul had a nice house and was a nobleman. He loved your mother…I thought he would take better care of her, so I left and came here to America.”

“I wish you had stayed.”

“Yes, I think all of us wish that had been the case,” Erik says.

“Pere believed you were his son until we came here.”

“No.” Gustave shakes his head. “No one did. Now I know why they called me bastard.”

“You did nothing wrong – it is wrong for anyone to call you names,” Erik says. “If anyone did something wrong it was me – never you.”

“Us,” Christine says, her look fierce. “We are both responsible.”

Gustave takes in the faces of his parents. Papa Y’s holds no expression. Maman’s look is soft with a forced smile. Each of them holds their breath, waiting for him to break the tension. “Okay,” he says, disengaging his hand from Erik so he can stand up.

“Okay?” Eriks says, looking at Christine, eyes wide. “That is all? Okay?”

With a shrug, she shakes her head.

“Yes, I just wanted to know,” Gustave answers, retrieving the bags Christine brought in. “Is this the popcorn, Maman?”

“Yes…and cranberries,” she replies. “There is a small box in one of the bags with needles and heavy thread.” Rising from the floor, she joins him in carrying the bags to the dining table.

Gustave pulls out a handful of popcorn from one of the bags and holds it out to Erik. “This is good. Have some.”

Untangling his legs, Erik struggles to his feet to join his family at the table, accepting the popcorn, tossing a few kernels into his mouth. “Excellent.” Bending over to kiss Christine on the cheek, he says, “Who said you could not cook.”

“No one here, I am sure,” she counters, making a moue.

“Not me,” giggles Gustave.

“Not me,” Erik agrees with a chuckle.

“Maman is the best cook ever.”

“She does make good popcorn.”

“Stop it,” Christine says, pulling another box from one of the bags. “I will not be mocked. Cookies – oatmeal with walnuts?”

“Uh oh,” Gustave and Erik say in unison.

“The baker made them.”

“Oh, boy,” Gustave says as he grabs one, handing another to Erik. Each of them takes a bite, nodding their approval to one another.

“I lied,” Christine says, bouncing up and down, clapping her hands. “I baked them myself.”

Father and son exchange sheepish grins as they swallow the treats.

“There, you see, everyone is able to learn.”

“Maman can cook popcorn and cookies. Yeah, Maman.”

“We shall never starve,” Erik adds.

“Oh shut up, both of you,” Christine says. “Let us get begin stringing or we shall be up all night pricking our fingers.”

“I think I rather like this holiday business – if only for the food and colorful decorations.”

“And I thought it was for the companionship,” Christine responds, standing behind Gustave, wrapping her arms around him, resting her chin on his head.

“Yes, Papa Y, what about the companionship?”

“Worth a lifetime of waiting.”

“Indeed?”

“Indeed.”

#PotO Advent Calendar #PotO #Phantom of the Opera #fourth door #i-penna #Timebird84

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gracie-p8-officialblog · 5 years ago

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Deal With The Fallen Angel: Chapter 3

A/N: Oh man, I almost forgot to update this on Tumblr! This is a What-If!AU where Christine doesn’t kiss Erik in the Final Lair and chooses to be his bride. This story is rated T overall due to graphic violence and a major character death. This fic can also be found on Ao3 and fanfiction.net

Gah! It was SO HARD to convert the rooftop scene into dialogue! This chapter is mostly filler but still important!

Also, screw Love Never Dies! This show ain’t canon in my book!

Raoul looked up to the ceiling in a vain attempt to sleep but the events in his mind had continued to loom over him, mocking him for his failures in protecting her. He tossed and turned, hearing that taunting voice in his head.

“The deal is struck…”

Breaking out into a cold sweat, he sighed to himself. Memories of the past few months came back to him…

* * * * *

Six months ago…

The opera house echoed with screams as the corpse of Buquet was being displayed by the mysterious prankster. He ran backstage to meet Christine, who was ashen-faced and trying not to let her tears show.

“Christine…” He began before being interrupted abruptly by her.

“Raoul! We must run away! To the roof! We’ll be safe there!” Her eyes were wide with panic and distress as she darted up the staircase, her cloak trailing behind her.

“The roof? Wait, Christine!” he cried out as he took chase alongside her.

* * * * *

Once they reached the rooftop, Raoul found Christine trembling from the cold and from fear. She turned to face him, shoulders sagging with relief.

“Christine… we must return, now” he said, slightly terrified and confused by the recent murder.

“Raoul, don’t take me back there” she tried not to let her fear show on her face “He’ll kill you!”

“Who would kill me?” he asked, more concerned for his friend than his safety at the moment.

“The Phantom,” Christine tried not to let the tears fall down on her face “No matter what, he’ll always find us. He kills to get what he wants,”

“Christine,” Raoul began, unsure of what to say “There is no Phantom, but only a man, a prankster who has gone too far when he murdered Buquet…”

“Raoul, I know the Phantom exists!” she tried to hide the tremor in her voice as she pulled his chest to her face “He took me the same night as the Hannibal performance,”

“That night…” he silently thought to himself. “Things have changed, Raoul…” he remembered her warning that very night they reunited, that very night when she disappeared, that very night when he let down his guard and allowed her to be kidnapped…

“I remember… there was such a beautiful melody he played,” the young woman mumbled, almost as if she were being hypnotized “It wasn’t like anything I’ve ever heard of before… but when I unmasked him, he was so angry and said I could never be free…”

“Christine,” Raoul gasped slightly, shocked at her revelation. He tried to suppress his anger at that man who tried to keep her in his prison “Did he hurt you?”

“Raoul, he isn’t a bad person,” she quickly defended as she snapped out of her trance, almost as if she read his mind “I remember… his eyes, he looked so lonely and vulnerable… and so lost… underneath all his anger”

“Christine,” he called out gently “Christine…”

“Christine…” a ghostly, ethereal voice called out, the chill of the wind becoming even colder.

“What was that?” Christine asked, finally letting her tears show. His heart began to fill with worry and adoration for Christine. It was obvious she was trying not to let herself become vulnerable; it was easy to spot from the years they spent together. She would try not to burden others with her worries, remembering her plastered smiles and reassurances ever since her father’s death. It was a trait he had mixed feelings over throughout the years. “Things have changed Raoul…” She was right, things have changed.

Seeing her break down crying and crouching in a vulnerable position made the young vicomte’s heart clench. Knowing she saw things he never told her before but could understand what she had been through. But she didn’t have to face the world alone, for he would always stand by her…

During all these years they had been separated, since Gustave Daae’s death, and since they had parted ways for he wanted to be a sailor while Christine went to the conservatory to study music, he never stopped thinking of her. However, his father cut off any communication between them. It was already humiliating enough that his youngest son had been associating himself with the lower class and writing letters to her every day. Little did the late Comte de Chagny know of the blooming relationship between the Vicomte and the violinist’s daughter…

That night of the performance, Raoul had the biggest shock of his life! She really changed so much! The soft-spoken, demure girl he knew was now singing in the spotlight, almost casting an ethereal glow on her as her voice soared like a songbird’s… It was sweet and gentle, yet so clear and powerful… resounding all over the opera house. But her character never changed. She was still the kind-hearted, intelligent, brave young woman he knew and loved.

And as the month had passed by during Il Muto rehearsals, he slowly realized his love for her. It was all so sudden, but it was everlasting… he gently pulled off her hood to reveal the young woman’s tear-stained face and wrapped her up in his arms, cradling her and whispering soft words of comfort.

“Please, don’t be afraid…” he whispered, hugging her even more tightly than the first time “I’m here, nothing will harm you. I’ll be your freedom… I’ll guard you and guide you.”

Christine looked up into his eyes, love in her eyes “Talk to me about summer and light, just be with me and promise me that you’re telling the truth… Please, that’s all I ask of you,”

“Come out of hiding, I’ll keep you safe and sound…”

“I want to be free from the darkness and be with you…”

“Let me lead you from your solitude,” he felt his heart pound over his ears as he kneeled down, almost as if to propose. Now, he feared her reaction, that his love was just her ticket out of fear and madness.

“Anywhere you go, let me go to… Christine, that’s all I ask of you!” She accepted his open embrace, holding his hand as she smiled so tenderly, he knew his feelings weren’t unrequited…

“Share with me one love, one lifetime,” she answered “Say you love me,”

“You know I do…” he slowly walked towards Christine, trying to look suave as he approached her but secretly feared he might mess things up between them. He saw her flush a scarlet colour as she looked at him, like a girl anticipating her first kiss. Tenderly, they kissed, enjoying the close proximity with each other. He twirled her around in giddy excitement before Christine looked as if she remembered something. She turned to face the stairway before hesitantly turning to face him.

“I must go now. They’ll be worried sick!” She played with her long, curly hair nervously “Come with me…”

He was once again beside her, ready to protect her from any threat that would come her way…

* * * * *

Raoul sighed to himself, those empty promises resurfacing… he swore to protect her but he failed that night… now, she had to sacrifice her freedom for his own life. How pathetic was it? No… there was no use moping about, he had to search for help… who knew about the Phantom…? Madame Giry! Maybe she could help him… maybe if he showed his desperation, maybe if he fought harder… he went back to bed, resolving to save Christine from the Phantom’s prison he trapped her in…

* * * * *

Madame Marie Giry sat in her office, a steaming cup of tea in her hands. She was unable to sleep that night. “When would Erik learn to let go?”

Marie sighed to herself. She came to care for Erik like a brother and a son… ever since that day he arrived, she sensed his presence and knew what he would be thinking. But Christine couldn’t live like this. The way Erik wanted a bride to compensate for his past… a soft knock interrupted her thoughts and she gingerly opened it, seeing the Vicomte…

“Monsieur le Vicomte…”

“I’m so sorry for waking you up this late…”

“No, no… I…”

“Couldn’t sleep either?” “Oui,”

“Madame Giry, I need your help…”

* * * * *

A/N: Next, a dear old friend of Madame Giry comes to help… Cookies for those who could guess the identity correctly.

#madame giry #Christine Daae #raoul de chagny #my fanfic stuff #fanfic: deal with the fallen angel #Author is angst trash

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inevertookwriterscraft · 8 years ago

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“What’ve you got?” Raoul asked. With a carefully crafted hairstyle, dressed in a tailored blazer and slacks, Raoul was anything but the Council’s dirty, disheveled and emotionless caricature of EM addicts. They were, however, his only suitable clothes for meeting another human being.

“I’ve got snake, I’ve got spark, and the batch of lucid I got recently is fucking quality. People are getting real good at making that shit,” Wu beamed. A plump second-generation immigrant from the Eastern Coalition.

Wu had always been like that. A jokester. A class clown, before he dropped out of high school to become a drug runner. Raoul had been a customer for over four years - and didn’t touch anything but EMs.

“Cut the shit, Wu,” Raoul spat. Wu held his hands up, replacing Raoul’s annoyance with amusement. He’s carrying the gun, not me.

“Just a joke, man.”

“Sorry. Been a little worked up lately. Clients haven’t been so nice.” Raoul nodded his head at Wu’s backpack. “Any new EMs?”

“Shit. Sorry to hear that. And just a few,” he said, digging into his backpack. He pulled out three see-through plastic cases from his backpack. Each one was palm-sized, and protected a square chip. They were labelled “SNUFF”, “PORN”, and “USED” in black marker. Very discreet. Wu placed them on Raoul’s kitchen table.

“Shit’s been hard to find lately. The Council has been cracking down on the EM cartels. One of them’s a snuff,” he said.

“I know that’s not your thing. Got another but it’s been used once, so I can’t vouch for the quality. The last one might be good, though. Source says it’s a sexy one.”

“Wu, you’ve had porn chips for the last two months. That’s not exactly what I’ve been looking for.”

“I mean, you never really explained what exactly it is you are looking for. Like, I’m not complaining - you’ve bought my shit all the same. But it’s hard to keep a lookout for something I don’t know, you get me?”

“I know. It’s hard to explain. I told you about the first time I chipped, didn’t I?”

“Yeah. Something about you and your mom, right?”

Raoul sighed, wrangling a chair from the table. He stared at the trio of cases on the surface, and spoke.

“It was so long ago - just a few months after they started to come on the market. Before they started saying making them were a human rights violation. There was the big fuss about revolutionizing the RM industry, don’t you remember?”

“Of course I do. I remember the first time, I chipped for three days straight. My dick never felt so sore in my life!” Wu laughed. Raoul scowled, and Wu’s laughs dissipated.

“Sorry. Go on.”

“You were kind of right. There were only two people in it. Me and a woman. I think I was just a kid. Maybe the woman was my mother. I’m not really sure. But we were in a park or something, and I was lying down on her lap - looking up at the sky. Listening to the wind rustle the trees. Taking in the fresh air. The woman’s boobs were so big they covered a third of my view. I remember wanting to reach out and grab them, but I knew that would be inappropriate. So I settled for pulling the grass instead. She was stroking my hair with her hands. And that was it. That was the whole EM.”

Wu scrunched his eyebrows in confusion.

“So you want like... regular life events? I’m not really sure what you’re trying to tell me.”

Raoul cast his gaze to the barren walls.

“I understand. There was just a very specific feeling in that moment. One that I had never felt before - one I didn’t even know I could feel. It’s hard to say what it even was because I’m not even sure I totally get it myself. It’s alright - don’t think too much about it. What you’ve brought me has been good enough. I’ll take the sexy one, and you can be on your way.”

“Sure. Good man,” he said, his smile returning. Being a good jokester meant a man also had to be good at reading the mood. “It’ll be 1.3.”

Raoul’s eyes widened.

“1.3? Jeez, man. Last month they were 1.1.”

Wu shrugged. He was sympathetic, but business was business. “These chips would normally go for 1.4. Most people are making lucid nowadays. EMs are basically a dying industry. Why experience someone else’s memories when you can do whatever you want in your dreams? ”

Raoul shook his head. 1.3 grand was almost half his monthly income. But Wu was right. EMs had few advantages over lucid. They were difficult to make, and were restricted to what could actually happen in the real world. He decided to take on a few more clients.

“Yeah, I get it. It’s fine. I’ll take it.” He pulled his credstick from my pocket, and began to punch in the amount.

“Hey, wait,” Wu said, suddenly. “How about I throw in the used chip for an extra hundred?”

Used chips were a crapshoot. Most of the time they were still viewable, data degradation meant it was hard to get immersed. Sometimes they were corrupted so badly that all was left was a jungle of sensory overload. But on rare occasions, chips were marked as used when they were actually still fresh. A hundred was dirt cheap, even for a used EM.

“Alright, let’s do both.”

Raoul transferred him the credits. Wu left the two chips on the table, and returned the third to the backpack. He left with the same closer.

“Enjoy. See you again! I’ll see if I can find anything matches your...”, he paused. “Descriptions.”

“See you next month, Wu.” Raoul swung the door closed after him.

A condom was leaking onto Raoul’s sheets. Shit. I thought I finished cleaning up. He tied it up and tossed it out, and moved the comforter to cover the stain. He was having another client over in a few hours. Hopefully they wouldn’t notice.

From his nightstand, he pulled out a homemade neural implant extension he had carefully crafted from the contents of elecshop dumpsters around the city. It had taken an entire year to build one - partially because the parts were hard to find, and partially because the Council actually did a half-decent job of censoring Horizon Lab’s research papers. It looked like trash - that’s what it was - but it worked.

A flashing light on his work comm pulled Raoul’s attention, and he opened up the message a potential had left behind.

how much whats on the menu free tomorrow 3pm

It was usually simple to tell the type of person a client would be by the first message they sent. Straight and to the point. No bullshit. Devoid of punctuation so they couldn’t get hooked by blackmail bots that trawled comm lines for syntactic markers of bureaucrats and politicians. Sounded good. He replied with the usual rate.

150/hh. 280/h. Covered play only, fetishes extra. 3 tomorrow works. Send an escrow receipt if you want to book.

A few minutes later, a receipt appeared for 280 credits, to be transferred once the appointment had completed. A second confirmation message appeared on the comm.

standard service fine

With work out of the way, Raoul plugged the neural implant extension into the port behind his ear. The porn chip, he’d save for later. I’m gonna get my ass plowed in a few hours anyway. What interested him was the supposedly used EM.

He plugged in the chip, and his world faded into someone else’s.

“Hi dad. Happy birthday.”

Eleanor stood slightly behind the door frame, sporting a pair of pajama pants and a sweatshirt of mine that was six years too large for her. Her face was barren as the words exited her mouth.

Not a huge surprise, given the situation.

“Thanks, El,” I said. A half-hearted response to a wasted wish.

“I brought some people to see you.”

“More doctors? I’m not sure what more they can do.”

“It’s Joe and Mars.”

I sat up slightly. I hadn’t seen them in person in years. She looked at someone past the frame’s boundary and the pair walked in.

Joe and Mars were cousins - and my best friends since we attended summer camp together in third grade. That was twenty-three years ago. They co-founded a solar energy company right out of university that exploded to billions in valuation just after a few years. Today, they were the third-largest energy company in the world. Joe led the engineering team out of New York. Mars led the business, circumnavigating the world to broker deals and lobby governments. They’d been working hard every day of their lives since they started.

For cousins, they were nothing alike. Joe was muscular for his height. Olive-skinned, with hair that always seemed just out of control. Mars was fair and lanky, and wore a pair of small, rectangular glasses. Mars held a small envelope in his hand.

“Eleanor, could you give us a moment alone?”

She nodded, and disappeared behind the closing door. The cousins pulled a set of chairs right up to the side of the bed, and sat down.

Mars spoke first, eyes glossy.

“Hey, Ivan. Happy birthday. I just wanted to say we are so sorry. Things have been - “

I cut him off, waving his apology away with my hand. “Guys. It’s okay. You’ve done so much for me, too. There’s no need to apologize.”

“We got you a small present,” Joe said.

“A present?” I smiled. “You didn’t have to, you’ve done so much for me already.” I was blessed enough to have friends like them. They footed my medical bills, brought top doctors from around the world to determine what in the world was wrong with me. But the only thing they managed to confirm was that I only had a few months to go.

“Just open it,” Mars said, smiling. He passed me the envelope. It was one of those fancy cards, the kind that comes with an envelope bundled in the package and a sticker to seal the contents.

I pulled open the envelope flap. The card stock was heavy, and featured a black and white cat painted in a style that reminded me of Japanese watercolour. It looked handmade.

“Did one of you guys paint this?” I asked. “I didn’t think any of you were into painting.”

“It was Mike. He said to ignore the feet, he didn’t like how those turned out,” Mars answered.

“It’s beautiful. A bit of a shame I only got to meet Mike once,” I said. The feet looked perfectly fine to me. I opened up the card.

It was filled. Messages from our old friends at camp. Remember when we Sam taught us the entirety of Blazing Arrow? I still remember the first few lines now. From our friends in high school. Hey dude! I still have those sign language gloves we made for the grade eleven science fair! Messages from teachers at Eleanor’s elementary school. I cannot fathom the difficulty you must have encountered as a single father, but if Eleanor is any indication, you have been an excellent parent. Even from my coworkers and management at the construction company I used to work at. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone so dedicated. Wish you could’ve worked with us longer.

“Holy shit. How did you find all these people?” I asked. “I haven’t talked to some of these people in over a decade.”

But when I looked up, Joe was staring down at his lap, hands were clasped together on his lap, knuckles white. He was shaking, like he was nervous. But why? I was the one headed to the grave, not him. He spoke, but it came out as a barely audible mumble.

“You told us you were sick more than three months ago. January 13th. That’s when you told us. And it’s taken until now for us to come and see you. I took my work more seriously than I did our friendship. And I’m sorry.”

“Joe, come on…” I said.

“Wait, let me finish,” he said, managing to stabilize his voice. “You’ve had it the hardest out of all of us. You and Nicole had Eleanor when you were just eighteen. And Nicole died in that fucking accident just six years later. Now, this. I thought you’d be fine! I really thought everything work out once we found some better doctors. I thought we could just throw some money your way and it’d be all okay. But you know what? I was naive. I’m thirty-one years old and I really thought something as simple as money would fix things.”

He finally looked up at me, tears rolling down his face. “If I had known - “

“What would you have done?” I asked. “Come to visit me earlier? That wouldn’t have changed anything, man.”

Joe raised his voice. “I don’t know! At least we could’ve spent more time with you. Maybe we could’ve done one of those stupid bucket list things. We could’ve done something. But for some reason I thought work was more important - ”

“What would that have done?” I laughed. A frustrated, shriek of a laugh. I clenched my hands into fists. “You think anyone expects to wake up in a hospital and be told they’ve got three or four months left? And that every doctor you meet says there’s nothing they can do for you? I get it - I get it. The stuff you do is helping the entire world. Why would you visit some deadbeat single dad? I wasn’t unlucky. I messed up my entire goddamn life -- coming to visit me wouldn’t have changed one damn thing.”

I slouched back down in the bed, and folded my arms across my chest.

“Guys, please. Let’s not argue now. We’ve been there for each other, as best we could, for our entire lives. Can’t we just be there for each other now?” Mars, ever the mediator.

I continued despite his words.

“You know, I actually thought I was happy. When we were at camp together. When I met Nicole. When we had Eleanor. Even when I got my first job emptying water out of ditches on construction sites. ”

I narrowed my eyes at the pair. Mars looked softly back. Joe had reverted to staring down at his lap.

“But this whole thing? It made me realize. As you’ve said, I’ve done nothing with my life. Nothing! I’ve thrown the whole thing away. When I look at you two and all you’ve done, how could I be proud of anything?”

“Ivan...” Mars spoke. “You shouldn’t compare your achievements against anyone else’s. You’ve managed to raise a strong, independent daughter all on your own. Isn’t that - “

“Don’t patronize me!” I snapped. “You wouldn’t understand. If I didn’t meet Nicole, she’d still be alive today. Our first date sentenced her to her death. And now her daughter has to deal with life in this broken family. Now, I can’t even see her to adulthood. You guys have done more for more people than I could ever dream of doing. How could you ever see things from my view?”

Neither of them would look me in the eye. I took a deep breath, and did my best to calm myself down.

“Look. I’m sorry about that. Dying is a frustrating thing.”

Joe began to say something that felt like ‘I know’ but stopped. “It’s fine. This whole thing is pretty fucked up.”

“I don’t take it back though. I didn’t do anything worth anything. I helped some corp make money. I did my best to raise a kid by working hard. But you two have done so much more than that. So I don’t want your apologies. I have a request to make. Something I can only ask of people who have achieved so much.”

Joe wiped his eyes. “Ask away.”

Mars nodded in agreement.

“I want one of you to be Eleanor’s guardian. Teach her to love the world like you do. Teach her that helping people is worthwhile. Don’t let her have regrets like I do. There’s so much more to the world than pouring concrete and pumping ditches.”

“I can do it. I’ll adopt her,” Mars said. “Mike and I have wanted a child for some time now.”

“Thank you. I really appreciate that. One last thing. It’s fine if Eleanor forgets about me. She doesn’t need someone like me to look up to. But you two - especially you two - don’t forget about me. I never managed to do anything worthwhile, but please. Don’t -”

The EM ended abruptly. Empty. Nothing.

That wasn’t it, either.

Raoul unplugged himself from the neural interface. He wiped something from his eyes. It was almost time for work.

I’m pretty happy with this one.

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