FIC: Shattered Stone Angel, Four
Title: Shattered Stone Angel
Author: Kytten
Pairing: Raoul/Erik
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: I do not own.
A/N: Where have all my readers gone? I feel lonely.
The boat was on the opposite shore. But Christine got her bearings once they reached the lake, having navigated this stretch a hundred times before. She led Raoul to the ledge along the wall and together they crept across, hand in hand like timid children.
“Erik?” She called, creeping over to where the boat was docked.
“Monsieur?” Raoul untangled his hand from Christine’s and walked the short distance to the door. “Are you there, monsieur?”
Christine picked up a stick from the bank as he called and prodded at the water, half expecting to find Erik face down in the bottom.
“Monsieur?” Raoul called again, testing the door handle this time. Locked. But then he’d expected that. “We’re worried, monsieur. Either answer the door or we’re coming in.”
He took a few steps back, expecting Erik to come out with a noose wrapped around his fist. But the cellar was silent, save for the lapping of the lake at its shores. Raoul was becoming nervous. Christine frowned and dropped the stick into the water.
“He should have come out by now. Or at least said something.” Her eyes shone even in the half darkness. “Something’s wrong, Raoul.”
“Could he have left, do you think?” Raoul frowned. “Perhaps he’s only locked the doors in his absence?”
“Where would he go? It’s not as if we’ve seen him above. And you can be sure that if he were out and about he’d have dropped by to threaten you at the very least.”
Raoul chuckled.
“Well, that’s comforting. Thank you.” He smiled. “Now I know that when we finally find him, he’ll make good on his hilarious attempt at murder.”
Christine knew he was only playing and smiled despite her rising fear.
“Raoul, he won’t hurt you with me here.”
“He tried to kill me with you here.” Raoul deadpanned.
“You don’t understand." Christine shook her head. "Now that he’s lost, he’ll stop fighting.”
“I really doubt it’s in his nature to simply give up, Chris.” Raoul took another step back, inspecting the door. “Now how do we get in?”
“The lock’s too difficult to pick. At least not with a hair pin at any rate.”
“Christine!” Raoul was grinning.
She blushed and looked away.
“Meg taught me.”
“I’m so proud of you. And considering re-proposing.”
Her blush deepened and Raoul laughed, clapping his hands together.
“No matter. We must get in.” He paused. “Do you think I could force it?”
Christine frowned and walked up to the door. Resting one hand on the knob, she flew at it, rattling the door on its hinges. Raoul watched a few paces off in shock and amusement.
“It may be me, Chris, but I doubt we can open it that way.”
She pursed her lips in annoyance and stepped back.
“He hasn’t put the wall down.”
“And that’s… bad?” He hazarded.
“That’s good.” She glanced at him. “There’s a wall that comes down to mask the door. When it’s down, the door won’t jump.” She kicked bottom of the door hard and crossed her arms. “It jumps.”
“Ah.” Raoul smiled and dusted off his hands. “Let’s see if I can’t open it then.”
He rammed a shoulder hard into the door, feeling the wood give slightly under his weight. It caved further with the third hit and popped open with the fourth, sending a piece of the doorframe flying across the room. Raoul staggered inside, massaging his sore shoulder with Christine close behind.
“Erik?” She called. “Erik, love, where are you?”
“Monsieur? God.” He hissed the last, cradling his arm. “Monsieur, where are you?”
He didn’t see Christine wander off, seeing as how he had wandered off himself. But when she screamed, he flew from the hallway he’d been exploring, mind devising a hundreds traps that were probably going off this very instant.
He never expected to see Christine panicked, kneeling next to a still figure on the floor. And he really never expected to see the dreaded Phantom of the Opera, slumped against the floor, passed out cold.
“Is he breathing?” Raoul rushed over. “Is he breathing, Christine?”
She nodded, eyes wet.
“He’s alive.”
Raoul crouched beside him and touched the flat of his hand to the exposed flesh of the other man’s face.
“God, he’s so cold.”
“He’s always cold.” She was staring at his face, a hand clenched around Erik’s.
“He’s like ice, love.” Raoul frowned and leant further down, scooping the dreaded monster of the Opera Populaire into his arms and making a valiant attempt to ignore his battered shoulder’s protest.
“Where is the bedroom?”
She was crying and shaking badly, a hand over her mouth.
“Christine,” Raoul kept his voice low, soothing. “It’s alright, sweetheart. Just find me somewhere to put him.”
She nodded and lifted her skirts, flying off down the darkened hallway. Doors banged open in her wake, leaving clouds of dust to spin like wings around her.
Raoul followed, trying to warm the man in his arms, despite the fact he had no doubt if Erik woke now, he would kill him without a second thought.
“Christine?” He frowned, stopping in the center of the hallway, peering into opened doors.
“I’m here!” She scampered out of a room and gestured for him to hurry. “I’ve found a bed.”
“Good.” He sounded more relieved than he meant to. It wasn’t that Erik was heavy, really. Only that his left shoulder was slowly being wrenched from its socket.
He lowered Erik down into the bed and watched as Christine pulled the covers over him, stroking at his face. And he couldn’t help but feel a bolt of something shoot through his stomach.
You’re jealous.
No, I’m not. Why would I be? Christine’s like my sister. She can pet whoever she likes.
I didn’t say you were jealous of Erik, now did I?
What is it you’re implying, exactly?
You know damn well what I’m implying.
You’re wrong. I’m concerned.
He tried to kill you.
Christine is worried. I’m helping her. That’s all. Perhaps now my entire household won’t be woken in the middle of the night for a note that reeks like perfume.
He’ll do it again the moment her back is turned.
This means a lot to Christine.
He has beautiful eyes.
Eyes?!
Raoul jerked out of his thoughts, heart going a mile a minute. But Erik’s eyes were still shut and for all intents and purposes, he looked dead. Frowning, Raoul leaned forward, pressing a hand to his throat. God, he’s freezing. “Raoul?” Christine took a tentative step forward. “What are you…?”
There. A flutter against his hand. Somewhere in this marble statue of a man a heart still beat.
“He’s so cold. I wonder if he’s not half dead already.”
“Don’t say such things, Raoul.” She sunk down in the chair by the bedside.
Gingerly, Raoul sat next to Erik on the bed, mindful not to knock into him.
“He should be alright, Christine." He said with a small smile, leaning forward. "He’s haunted this place for how long already? I doubt he’s about to float off now.”
“Raoul!”
Christine’s face had gone quite white. His back to Erik, Raoul misinterpreted it as anger. He never saw the gold eyes open, or the slim hand as it wrapped around his neck.
Talk to me, people. I am lonely and have no life.