A/N: This little songfic is brought to you by the Fray's "How to Save a Life," a lovely song in both lyrics and music. If the characters' dialogue seems a bit modern, it's because I imagine this taking place in a present-day setting. Please read and review-- I enjoy hearing your thoughts and constructive criticism!
Disclaimer: The lyrics to "How to Save a Life" belong to the Fray. The characters belong to Gaston Leroux. If only all this were mine, however-- oh, the shoes I would buy!
How to Save a Life
She doesn't know how to begin with him now. How long has it been since the confrontation, since she kissed his cold lips and felt all the old passion swell between them as if it were early days again: he the powerful maestro and she the willing pupil? Days, she thinks. No, weeks… I fled at his word, and yet—and yet—
She glances around the elegantly appointed living room—no, she shakes her head with a small smile, sitting room; he is very particular about these things. "The sitting room," he had said with a sweep of his long, lovely fingers upon her first visit.
"How Victorian of you," she had replied absently, her eyes never leaving his imposing figure, draped head to foot in a black opera cloak. "Is there also a washroom? And a drawing room?"
He paused, and she had wondered for a moment if her teasing has crossed some invisible line, but then he had chuckled, his lips, the only part of his face visible beneath the mask, turning up in a smile. "Yes, in fact, there is," he said. "If you'll only follow me…"
And now—now she cannot seem to find the words to bring that gentle rapport to life between them. She sits stiffly in her chair beside the fire, watching the flames lick the grate, wondering if, in the end, it had all been for nothing.
Step one you say we need to talk
He walks you say sit down it's just a talk
The door swings open, and he strides in, shaking what looks like a downpour from his cloak. He removes it with a flourish and hangs it beside the door; he straightens his collar, smoothes the lines of his jacket, and moves past her hopeful gaze without a word, without even a glance in her direction.
"You're still here?" he asks sharply.
He can't see her face fall, not with his back to her, moving further away into the maze of rooms. She knows that he will choose the farthest door from her and shut himself away for the rest of the evening if she doesn't say something melt this wall of ice between them.
"Erik," she says, her voice nearly breaking on the second syllable.
He pauses, waits, seemingly frozen, not speaking. Only the gentle rise of his shoulders betrays his breathing.
"I can't—" She fumbles a bit around the uncertainty and the fear. "I've decided, Erik. And my choice is the same. I won't leave you again."
He smiles politely back at you
You stare politely right on through
Now he turns, his golden eyes blank, and she wishes she could once again see the fires burning at their edges. But, no; he is all careful and composed as he tilts his head to the side and asks, "Isn't it a bit late for that? I imagine your husband would not approve."
"He is not my husband," she answers, just as calmly.
"Your lover, then?"
"Not my lover, either."
Some sort of window to your right
As he goes left and you stay right
"I find it hard to believe that your weeks with the Vicomte were entirely innocent, Christine."
She laughs now, bitterly, and she feels cold despite the fire at her side. "You can believe what you like," she says. "But I would not lie to you. Not anymore" She falters slightly. "If you had been there, when I told him of the Opera Ghost's antics—the murders, the extortion, the kidnapping… Some of it he knew, of course, but the others—"
His mouth twists into a grimace. "The murders, the extortion, the kidnapping," he spits out, advancing upon her like a vengeful wraith, "didn't seem to bother you when you returned to me."
Between the lines of fear and blame
And you begin to wonder why you came
"It bothered me," she admits quietly. "It bothers me still. But it doesn't matter in the end. All that matters is you…"
"And now you once again regret your choice?" He is standing before her, towering over her, and in the firelight he seems a man made of shadows, ever-shifting shape and size. He leans over, clutches the armrests on either side of her, effectively trapping her in this prison of his arms and velvet cushion.
She sighs. "I begin to wonder why I came back," she whispers, "when you can't look at me or speak a word to me. The days are so long without your voice, and—" She looks up at him, and the unshed tears glitter in her eyes as she raises a hand to gently stroke his porcelain face, the only face he allows her to see.
He jerks back, retreats several steps.
"And you flinch away from my touch," she finishes sadly.
Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life
"What have I done to make you turn from me?"
He is silent once more, watching her warily, arms now crossed over his chest in seeming defense.
"I did all you asked," she says. "I left Raoul; I told him everything, and though he didn't understand, still I came back to you, even after you sent me away—all willingly, all for you. But from the moment I returned, it's as if you've left me here alone, even though you're right beside me!"
"Well, what more did you expect, Christine?" he roars suddenly, breaking from his defensive stance into battle mode, his fists clenched, his body coiled tight. "Bound to a corpse, to death himself?"
Let him know that you know best
Cause after all you do know best
Her next breath is a strangled sob. "No," she says. "No."
"I've chained you here, my sweet Persephone, to spend your days with a monster—"
"No!" She nearly shouts the word. "No, Erik, no!"
"I should have left you in the sun!" he cries, turning to slam his fist against the wall. The paintings, those priceless works of art, shudder in their simple frames. "I should have let you have the boy rather than condemn you to this—"
"This is what I chose!"
He rounds on her. "There was never a choice!" he shouts. "Stop, stop, stop deluding yourself. You never had a choice, Christine. I twisted and turned your mind until you had no idea what you really wanted. And I hate myself—" He chokes on the words. "Because now that you're here, I can't bring myself to keep you. I look at you, and I hate myself for what I've done to you."
Try to slip past his defense
Without granting innocence
She doesn't reply but instead rises from her chair and moves with sure steps to stand before him. Her head barely reaches his shoulders, and she places her hands on his starched shirtfront, feeling the thready beat of his heart beneath her palm. His breathing hitches slightly, and she raises a hand once more to brush a strand of hair from his eyes, to run a gentle finger along the edge of his unmasked jawline.
"My mind is my own, Erik. And there is always a choice," she murmurs and lifts herself onto her toes to brush his lips with hers, a feather of a kiss.
He stares down at her in disbelief. Unconsciously, he mirrors her gesture—brushes a curl behind her ear, strokes her cheek with a long, pale finger, cups her face in his hands and, all hesitation, bends to kiss her. It is a rough, unskilled thing, but she can feel the edge of the flames lick her skin as he presses more firmly against her, his hands tangled in her thick mass of hair, her hands slipping beneath his collar to rest against the warm skin of his neck.
Her lips move under his, part, and he deepens the kiss, moving his hands to clutch her waist, to pull her against the length of him, and her arms are around his neck, and for a moment they are melting together, a candle burning at both ends—
And then he stiffens, and he pushes her away, hard enough to send her spinning to the floor in a heap of silken robe and slippers.
Lay down a list of what is wrong
The things you've told him all along
He strides away, into the shadows of the farthest corner in the room.
She buries her face in her hands. "Why, why can't you accept what is freely given?" she cries. "I gave up everything for you, and you seem determined to make me regret it!"
She cannot see him, wherever he had hidden himself, but she knows he has not left, that he is lurking nearby; she can feel the heat of his gaze, a prickle of her skin where his eyes devour her, even if from afar.
"Am I a fool to wish for a life with you?" she asks.
And pray to God he hears you
And pray to God he hears you
"Am I a fool to love you?"
Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life
His shape slowly detaches itself from the surrounding shadows, and he approaches her, hand outstretched. She doesn't hesitate; she takes his hand, and he helps her to her feet. They stand, hands entwined between them.
"Christine." Her name is like a prayer on his lips. "You are a fool, my dear, if you think I can make you happy."
As he begins to raise his voice
You lower yours and grant him one last choice
"Well," she says, stung, "I don't mind so much, so long as we are fools together."
Drive until you lose the road
Or break with the ones you've followed
He sighs, releases her hand, turns away.
"You're just going to send me away again," she says dully.
"Do I have a choice?"
"Yes," she says. "Yes. You do."
He will do one of two things
He will admit to everything
Or he'll say he's just not the same
And you'll begin to wonder why you came
"I will never be the boy," he says slowly. "I have been alone too long to understand how this works."
She lays a hand on his back. "But do you want me?" she asks, her voice soft.
His laugh, when it comes, is short. "I want nothing else in this world."
It is as if the weight pressing against her heart has fallen away, her relief is so palpable. She can feel her heart struggle in its rhythm and set itself in surer motion again. "Then, Erik," she breathes, "if you would just—"
"What?"
She takes his arm, pulls him to face her. "Just kiss me," she says. "Oh, God, just love me. And the rest will come in time."
Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life
Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life
Now they sing together every day, so much that he is forced to tune the piano weekly. He tells her stories of his adventures before his arrival in Paris, and she reads to him from the books he buys her, leather-covered things with ink pictures. Sometimes they walk in the park, but only at dusk, and she puts her arm through his, leans into him, steals a glance from beneath her lashes, always to find him looking down at her with nothing short of love.
How to save a life
She sleeps in his arms now, his wife in all things, and though his temper is easily triggered and he still refuses to attend the Sunday services with her or meet her friends, preferring instead to remain in their quiet townhouse at the edge of an isolated street, she cannot say she regrets anything about her life with the tempestuous Opera Ghost.
Rather, as she caresses his unmasked face in open invitation, raises her voice in harmony with his to the heavens, smiles at him in the darkness when he sometimes reaches out an arm to press her head to his chest, to ensure she is still beside him—she knows it is the best decision she has ever made.
How to save a life
Thanks for reading! Again, let me know what you think!