Christine's Choice

by Spikesmyvice

CHAPTER ONE

"You try my patience. Make your choice."

In some part of her heart, Christine felt a spark of gladness that it had come to this, that he had taken the choice from her and forced her hand, making up for her lack of courage.

"I choose to remain with you."

His eyes stayed glued to hers for a long moment, and she was the first to look away.

"Don't throw your life away, Christine," Raoul said. "You don't have to do that for me."

She shook her head. "You don't understand. I can't leave him. I just can't do it. I need him. I need his music. It's my life."

Raoul looked at her in confusion. "Christine, you don't mean that. You agreed to marry me."

She sighed. "And perhaps that was the smart choice, Raoul, but it wasn't a choice I made with my heart. My heart belongs here. With him."

"You heard her," the Phantom said. "You can go now."

He strode purposefully through the water, and the grate started to rise, though she'd not seen him move any lever or press any button. When he reached Raoul, he untied the noose from around his neck, and they stood staring at each other.

"Leave this place, Viscount, and never come back," the Phantom said.

"Christine doesn't make this choice freely," Raoul said, stepping back. "I'll be back with an army if I have to."

The Phantom smiled a cruel smile. "If you return, I'll kill her."

Raoul's mouth dropped open. "I don't believe you," he said finally. "You wouldn't hurt her."

"I wouldn't want to hurt her, but I'd kill her before I'd see her married to you. Believe that, Viscount, and gauge your actions accordingly. Christine's life is in your hands. Accept her choice and she lives."

"Living with you is hardly living."

"If you return, you'll be the one to extinguish her light, her voice. She'll never be yours. That I promise."

Raoul took another step back. Then another. He looked over the Phantom's shoulder at Christine. "I'm so sorry, my love. But you mustn't give up hope. You will find a way to escape. I know you will. And then this creature will face justice."

"I won't try to escape, Raoul. I've made my choice."

"I know you don't mean that, Christine. Don't give up hope."

"It's time for you to leave, Viscount," the Phantom said.

Raoul took one last long look at her and retraced his steps through the water and then up the stairs.

The Phantom turned to her. "You were very convincing, my dear. I almost believed you myself."

She looked at him – at his misshapen face. "Believe what you will. I'm yours now. What do you intend to do with me?"

The rage left his face, and now he just looked puzzled.

"Well?" she demanded.

"I didn't mean it, you know," he said. "Your viscount is right. I could never hurt you. Never."

Christine pursed her lips, considering. "I know, but I think Raoul believed you. He'd believe anything of you."

"But you don't? You see something in me?" His eyes were wide, his hope on display.

"I see my teacher – the maker of the music I can't live without."

His gaze became shuttered against her.

"I can't live without your music," she said, "and you can't live without my voice. We are in bondage together in more ways than one."

He took two steps closer to her and nodded over her shoulder. "You have a room here."

She felt her eyes widen with her surprise. "You don't intend to force yourself on me, then?"

He snorted. "I love you, Christine. I didn't bring you here to rape you."

"Just imprison me."

His face fell. "So it was all lies. You don't have to pretend anymore. I can accept that you're only here to save your viscount."

"How can you accept that? Can you really?"

He smiled a rueful smile. "Having you near me is more than I ever hoped for. It will sustain me."

"Even if all I feel for you is hate?"

He looked at her for a long time. "I don't think you hate me. You don't love me, but you don't hate me."

Christine dropped her gaze, finding herself staring at the smooth skin revealed by his open shirt collar. "Will you show me to my room now?"

He gestured for her to turn, so she did and preceded him up three low steps. Through a gauzy black curtain she could see the ornate swan bed on which she'd awoken the last time she was here. Next to that was an open doorway that revealed a room full, top to bottom, with shelves covered with sheets of music.

"The next one is yours," he told her.

This room had a blue velvet curtain, and she raised a tentative hand to part the folds. Inside was a lovely little room with a white four-poster bed and matching dressing table, night stand and wardrobe. The bed was covered with white sheets and an embroidered cream coverlet. There was a vase of red roses on the night stand, and a silver mirror and brush sat on the dressing table.

"I know there'll be other things you'll need," he said from close behind her. "I'll get you whatever you want – whatever you need to feel at home here."

She laughed bitterly. "I've not felt at home for a very long time. Not since my father died."

He sighed. "You don't have to tell me that an opera house is not a home, Christine. But I've learned that home is what you make it. You'll make this your home, in time."

She shrugged. "It's a beautiful room. Perhaps you're right."

She thought she could feel tension leaving his body, though he wasn't touching her in any way.

"Rest now," he said. "I won't disturb you. There are clothes for you in the wardrobe."

She stepped through the curtain without looking back at him and waited until she heard him move away. Then she opened the wardrobe and examined its contents. Finery like she'd never known was laid out before her – beautiful dresses of satin and velvet. There was some more casual attire – long wool skirts in gray and linen shirts in lovely pastels. A white night dress completed the package, and she removed it from its hanger and put it on.

Sitting down at the dressing table, she brushed out her curls, removing the pins that the costumer had put in place to tame them during the show.

On bare feet, she padded over to the bed and climbed in on top of the billowy down mattress. It snuggled up around her, and she took solace in its embrace.

The next morning she woke and noticed for the first time that there was a curtained doorway in her room beside her bed. She got up and parted another blue velvet curtain to reveal a bathroom with modern fixtures and a gigantic, footed tub. It had knobs and she wondered how he managed to get hot and cold running water in this place. But she supposed nothing was impossible with enough time and ingenuity. And he certainly had lots of both.

She decided to try out the tub and washed herself and her hair with the rose scented soap she found on a little table by the door. A soft towel hung on a peg beside the toilet, and she dried off and wrapped the towel around her hair, and then went to go dress, opting for one of the gray skirts and a pale pink shirt.

She wondered how she'd spend her first day in captivity, and she left the false security of her room to go find her jailor.

He was dressed much as he had been last night – in a loose white shirt and black trousers. Today he wore a black mask, and Christine wondered at her disappointment that he'd gone back to hiding his face from her. Surely she preferred the mask?

She watched as he scribbled notes onto a blank sheet of music.

"How can you compose without playing?" she asked.

He turned to her, swiveling on the piano bench. "The music is in my head. I don't need to play it first. I only play it after – to see where it needs improvement."

She smiled. "I'm surprised any of your work needs improvement."

He didn't return her smile. "There's always room for improvement. That's why we work so hard."

"And will we work today?"

He nodded. "After you've had breakfast." He gestured to a tray sitting on a low table in front of a red velvet sofa. It held coffee and a variety of pastries, with butter and jam. She sat and took advantage of the hospitality. She'd been far too nervous to eat yesterday, and hunger was starting to make her feel weak.

"How can you be so calm?" she asked. "Just because Raoul is out of the picture doesn't mean the police won't come looking for you. They may have been too busy seeing to the fleeing patrons last night, but that doesn't mean they won't come."

"This place can't be found unless I want it to be. I'm not worried about a search party. Besides, I've composed a letter to your idiot managers. I'm going to renounce my role as opera ghost, provided they make you the lead when the opera reopens."

"How do you know it will reopen?"

"I'm sending them a substantial donation toward its reconstruction – enough for at least a new chandelier. There really wasn't so much damage. The fire never got out of the main auditorium. And I'm foregoing my salary as of today."

"How will you live?"

He laughed. "Worried about me? Or just wondering if I can keep you in dresses?"

"Just curious is all."

"I have a solicitor. He manages the investment of my salary, and I have done very well. I'm not a poor man, Christine. You've no need to worry that I can provide for you."

"The Phantom has a solicitor?" She couldn't keep the disbelief from her question.

He laughed. "I do occasionally leave this lair. When needs must."

"Does the Phantom have a name?"

That question seemed to surprise him. "In all the years you've known me, you've never asked my name."

"I've only known you were a man for a short time. I didn't think to ask my angel's name, and wouldn't have dared if I had thought of it."

"Don't say you've never thought that your angel might be flesh and blood. It must have occurred to you."

She thought. "Not really. It's not how I wanted things to be, so I ignored all evidence to the contrary."

"I'm sorry to deprive you of your angel," he said, his voice softening.

"It's alright. I understand how hard it must have been for you, hiding behind yet another disguise for all those years."

He sighed. "But I loved that I could give you your dream. I just hoped that someday you could give me mine."

She remained silent, and he turned back to face the piano. "Shall I play it for you?" he asked.

"Your new piece? Of course. You know I love to hear you play."

She leaned her head back and closed her eyes as the notes began to fill the room. She new without instruction that this was a tale of lovers. Two threads – independent at first, then finding harmony. For a moment, she wished she could give him the closeness he so clearly longed for.

"You live in your music, don't you?" she asked as he ended with a minor flourish.

"Why would I live anywhere else? You've no idea how the real world has treated me."

"I think I've some idea. Why don't you tell me about it?"

He shook his head, not looking at her. "My burdens are not yours to bear, Christine. I won't do that to you."

She rose and went to stand behind him. He didn't move, and, very slowly, she reached out to lay her hands on his shoulders. His spine went rigid.

"I can't give you what you want. But perhaps I can be your friend?"

"I'm not sure I know what that means. No friends have ever found me."

"It means you should at least tell me your name."

He sighed. "Erik. My name is Erik."

"Erik…" she repeated.

She saw a slight smile crease the unmasked side of his face, and he relaxed beneath her hands.

"Will you stand like that while you sing for me?" he asked. "Is that something a friend would do?"

"I can do that," she replied.

He leaned forward and began the introduction to the aria from Hannibal. Muscles bunched and released under her fingers as he played, and she wondered at her sudden urge to stroke them.

He stopped playing. "You missed your cue."

"What? Oh. Will you start again?"

"Only if you're with me this time."

"I'm with you."