|Gardez mon amour
Author: Kid Blink PM
Guard my love Raoul sits watch and considers his feelings, the people around him, and of course, the Phantom. Slash, RaoulErik. An alternate scene for the graveyard battle.Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Angst - Erik & Raoul - Chapters: 4 - Words: 2,659 - Reviews: 35 - Favs: 13 - Follows: 12 - Updated: 11-29-05 - Published: 02-04-05 - id: 2248615
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
In the darkness of the partially opened door, there was her face. Her eyes were wide and childlike. Those, of course, of Christine Daae. And in almost an instant, I had seen it happen; almost as if the clockwork had been visible behind her brown, doe eyes. The pain and jealousy registered within her mind and I felt as though the blow she must have felt in her heart had stricken me as well.
I felt sick.
A few moments of silence passed that I curse to this day, then she spoke.
"Raoul?" her concentration was placed upon myself.
"Christi-" I was cut short there, still sitting so close to Meg. There was a wicked wave of fabric and a flapping sound that truly made my heart leap with fear. Blackness.
Then the heart-shattering words were spoken. . .
"He does not love you." His voice was chilling and earnest, so honestly believable.
When I looked up I saw that for certain that is was him. His arms were about Christine where he stood behind her, blocking the door shut from any further traffic. I gazed upon the pair of them, she in his embrace, and wondered back for a moment, when exactly my night had fallen to pandemonium. It was four of us. Two of whom had come to me in the night, neither of which were the one I loved and guarded. My night to be protector had gone horribly awry.
I did not take my chance to speak, something that has haunted me since.
"He only wishes to frolic with pretty-faced girls," Erik said. "You were simply his first victim." As I watched, Christines expression changed. Her eyelids seemed to grow heavy. Reason had left her, I believe, momentarily.
"But Raoul," a flicker of hope inside of my was stirred. Her eyes were alive once more. She was fighting his control. Free-will reigned, at least for a while longer. "Meg?" I took the moment when the focus was passed on to stand.
"She went along with his games." The phantom answered the both of us, Meg and I. "They do not care for you." Not like I do, I imagined him to say. I took a risk and glanced down to Meg, who I realized was quite stunned, herself. There was no hope of her speaking any protest. The moment my eyes left her, I recognized, we had been set up.
"Come with me, Christine. I will look after you. I will be yours, only yours. My Angel."
My eyes locked with my loves and I felt them pooling with tears of dread. Could she read my thoughts? Could she tell that I had no meant to hurt her? Was it clear that we were her true allies and not this ghostly demon?
Before there was another word uttered, she was whisked from the wooden floor and up into the rafters, held tightly under one of his arms. She did not protest, but turned and clung to him, her face buried against his chest. A terrible and mystical sound rang through the attic of the opera house: "She is mine."
The door burst open but I did not see it. I heard the distress in Madame Girys voice, however, and turned to see she was holding a pillow. It was white with a lace-trimmed case and a large wet spot in the center. She glanced between Meg and I in confusion and it settled upon her features after studying our own that she understood. For the time, Christine was his.
Buquet and I searched the upper and lower parts of the Paris Opera House for the remainder of the night. It was near dawn when he came to me after a chilly venture onto the roof. He revealed that there had been a slab of stone removed from its place on the flat of the roof, amongst the statues and snow. Directly below it was a crawl space and the wooden frame that separated the roof from the ladies dormitory. A hole had been drilled with a simple turn drill through the wooden roof directly above the bed of Meg Giry. How tiresome and cunning. . .
By God, I swore I would find her. . .