Fiction: Christmas Company (for lilithsshadow) (PG)

[my_daroga]

Title: Christmas Company
Author: darkgondolier
Canon: Leroux
Pairing(s): E/C, R/C, possibly Erik/Persian or Christine/Persian (if you choose to infer such)
Rating: PG
Summary: All Erik wanted was to have a peaceful Christmas. He didn't ask anyone to join him and he didn't expect anyone to join him. Then, one by one, they began joining him. What was a Phantom to do? He barely had any presents...
Warnings (if any): References to drinking (if anyone has a problem with that) and some interesting subtext. That's about it.
Total word count: 3,936
Original promt request number: 21
Author's notes: I really don't have much to say at the moment. I hope you all enjoy the story!


On Christmas morning the fifth cellar of the Opera House was freezing cold, as was to be expected. The temperature did not help lift Erik’s spirits as he awoke and stumbled out of his coffin to behold the small, decorated tree sitting in the centre of his living room (put in at the daroga’s request) and remembered with a jolt that it was finally Christmas day.

For a brief moment in his half-awake state, he blearily tried to remember what presents he had chosen to give himself this year. As he continued to awaken more fully, standing on the chill carpet in front of the empty fireplace, he remembered that he hadn’t bought himself presents for the past few years (as he actually had acquaintances now) and should probably expect at least a small something from the daroga and perhaps Christine, though not necessarily on the day. The two of them had lives, after all, and most likely had much better things to do than linger around his house all morning trading gifts. Speaking of trading gifts, had he actually gotten anything should someone else want a present...?

As Erik prepared tea, he pondered this for a moment. He’d bought a small box of Turkish Delight for the box-keeper, Madame Giry, although he could give that to the daroga if he couldn’t find anything else. Otherwise, he couldn’t think of anything he’d actually gotten specifically for this purpose. Well, he might want to try to fix that. The shops would probably be closed, but he could certainly see what he had about his house. There was a fine collection of assorted pieces of junk others might find useful lying around on tables and such...

Within fifteen minutes, Erik had started a fire, dressed (fairly nicely, but not in full evening dress as he didn’t plan to leave his house), and begun his search of unused knick knacks. So far he’d found a nice china teacup he happened to hate, some mostly un-wilted roses he could leave for Christine, and a nice linen handkerchief he never used. These could certainly work as presents...

Erik was about to celebrate his small victories with a nice cup of wine (even though it was early in the morning, it was still Christmas) when he heard something moving about in the torture chamber. He sighed and set down his empty cup to go see who had fallen into it and whether or not they were worth his time. If it was another of those blasted ballet rats or another chorus girl, he might actually turn the contraption on, to a low setting. They needed to find a hobby other than snooping around in the cellars.

Peering in through the window, he saw with surprise that it was the daroga fumbling in the dark. This was unexpected. Erik opened the door and the Persian blinked in the sudden light.
“Ah, Erik, merry Christmas,” he exclaimed heartily as he exited the torture chamber and made for the couch, setting several neatly wrapped boxes on a nearby table. “I...accidentally fell into the torture chamber, as you can see...”

He flushed a bit and stared steadily at the ground. Erik looked at his acquaintance in confusion for a moment before returning into his room and putting on his mask. When he entered again, the daroga looked up and smiled.

“Yes, well...”

For several moments neither of them said a thing, merely sat in silence, examining the different pieces of furniture and pictures on the walls. Erik finally spoke up.

“Perhaps you should learn to avoid the trap door. Having to deal with you winding up in my torture chamber does grow tiresome after a while.”

“I... yes, that would probably be good.” The Persian nodded and glanced over at the Christmas tree. “The tree looks nice. Pity there aren’t any other decorations to go with it. You know, to give the room a more festive air.”

“The room does not need to be festive,” Erik snapped immediately. “It is fine. Festivity and holiday spirit are overrated.”

“I know, but they are certainly fun, and much more cheerful than... well, I suppose this room isn’t so bad, but your bedroom is certainly...”

Erik cut him off before he could continue. “Yes, I see your point. But I don’t understand why you care so much. You aren’t even Christian. Why are we even celebrating Christmas?”

“I don’t know. It’s what everyone celebrates around here, I suppose. The presents are certainly enjoyable as well.” The daroga glanced over at the parcels on the table and smiled. “I brought some, if you hadn’t noticed. Perhaps we could begin. I don’t think anyone else should be joining us.”

“Ah, yes, we could begin...” Erik silently chided himself for forgetting to wrap the presents. He might be able to figure something out, though, if he could think quickly. “I must retrieve my presents for you.”

The daroga nodded and Erik disappeared into the kitchen, where he’d set the presents on the table. There was the previous day’s newspaper lying nearby, and he quickly wrapped up the box of candy and the teacup, securing the wrapping with some strawberry jam. Those should be sufficient, and the jam should be sticky enough to hold at least until the presents could be opened. Erik re-emerged into the living room and the daroga smiled briefly from his chair, the other presents in his lap. His eyes flickered briefly to the newspaper wrapping, but his smile only faltered slightly. Erik took his seat in the opposite chair, stiffly sitting with the presents balanced on his lap.

For a long minute, the two simply sat and stared at each other, eyes darting between the presents and the faces of their givers. Erik didn’t intend to make the first move, so the Persian took the initiative. He smiled briefly once more and moved across the room, depositing his presents in Erik’s lap and taking Erik’s presents back to his seat, all in silence, a silence only broken by uncomfortable noises from both during the slightly awkward lap exchange. As the daroga sat back down, the silence resumed completely once more for a second or two.

“Perhaps we should open the presents,” Erik suggested stiffly, glancing down at the pile on his lap.

“Yes, that would make sense.”

The two men began unwrapping their gifts silently. The Persian finished first, gingerly dropping the sticky newspaper on the carpet, and pulled out the Turkish Delight.

“Erik, this is wonderful! I adore Turkish Delight.”

“Yes, I thought so...” Erik replied, removing the last of the wrapping on his present. He pulled off the paper to reveal what looked like a card with hearts drawn on in some strangely familiar red ink. Opening the card, he read the contents:

My dear, I shall love and treasure you until the end of time. I could never ask for a lovelier present than you.

Erik looked up at his friend in confusion. “Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

The daroga returned Erik’s confused look until he caught sight of the red hearts. “I... oh. Yes, well...” He leapt up and pulled the card out of Erik’s hands, blushing furiously. “I hadn’t meant to give you that particular present.”

“I certainly hope not. I am only interested in Christine, you understand.”

“I... yes. Yes, of course. Er, move on to the next present, please. That one is yours.”
With a slightly suspicious glance at the daroga, Erik slowly unwrapped the second present. As he pulled the wrapping away again, a couple inkwells of red ink tumbled out. Fortunately, Erik caught them before they hit the floor.

“You gave me ink.”

“Yes, well I thought you might need some. You go through it rather quickly at times...”

“Well, thank you.” Erik set the inkwells aside and both men moved on to the next presents. The Persian pulled out Erik’s unused teacup and Erik removed a tambourine.

“A teacup,” the Persian announced. “I... have been wanting a teacup. Thank you.”

“Yes, and this... tambourine. It is very interesting. Perhaps I could find some way to make use of it...”

“I... yes.”

Both stared down at their presents for a long minute, and were still staring when there was a knock on the door.

“Who on earth would be knocking on my door?” Erik mused to himself quietly for another minute before the Persian nearly forced him up and to the door. A soaked and shivering Christine stood outside, a soaked and shivering Raoul behind her.

“Hello, Erik,” Christine greeted, her teeth chattering, as she wrung out her dripping blonde hair. “I thought it might be good to come visit you, you know, keep you company.”

“Yes, well, I already have company. Why did you bring him along? Shouldn’t he be doing something with his family?” Erik gestured toward Raoul, who, not having hair long enough to wring out, had begun shaking his head like a dog.

“Well, he was going to, but they didn’t want me to come along, and then he got into a fight with his brother, so we decided it would be better to do something else.”

“Why are you so wet?”

“We couldn’t find a boat, so we swam across the lake,” Christine replied far more cheerfully than someone standing soaked in the fifth cellar underground in the dead of winter should have responded.

“You swam across the lake?” Christine nodded. “In the middle of December?” She nodded again. “Do you want to catch your death? It’s freezing!”

“Maybe if you let us in...”

“Very well.” Erik stepped aside to allow them in. The couple dripped lake water all over his carpet, and his upper lip wrinkled in disgust. He didn’t want to think about what was in that water.

Christine, already standing near the fireplace, suddenly held up a small, wet box. “We brought decorations. Well, it was my idea, really. I know how you are with decorating.”

Before Erik could give his complaint, Christine had opened the box and was pulling out half-soaked holly leaves and candles and mistletoe, which she scattered all over his table.

“Here they are! They got a bit wet when we swam across, I suppose, but nothing we can’t get around!”

“Er, Christine, before you begin decorating,” the Persian spoke up from where he had been standing silently on the opposite side of the room, “Wouldn’t it be a good idea to change into some drier clothing? The lake is freezing this time of year, as is the temperature down here, and I know Erik would be terribly upset if you were to catch cold.”

“Ah, yes, of course. Thank you for reminding me. I would have gotten so caught up in the decorating and... well, sorry, but who are you again?”

“I... the Persian. Perhaps you’ve heard of me?”

“Oh, yes! The ballet rats, superstitious little things, tell the wildest stories. They say you have the evil eye. Not that I believe a word, of course, anymore than I believe what they say about the Opera Ghost having hundreds of heads which he chooses to display at will.” She laughed and gently ran a finger along Erik’s hand, resting on the table near her decorations.

“Yes. The ballet rats.”

“Er, Christine,” Raoul muttered quietly, playing with her dripping sleeve. “Do you think we’d be able to change sometime soon? It really is freezing down here.”

“Yes, of course, Raoul. Erik, do you have something Raoul could wear as well? If I remember correctly, you had a fair amount of clothes for me in the closet in the Louis-Phillipe room, but if you had something that might fit Raoul as well...”

“I believe I can find something for him. You may go change while I search.”

“Oh, yes, thank you.” Christine smiled once more and disappeared down the hallway. Erik followed shortly after. He dug through his wardrobe for a few minutes, searching for something that wasn’t a dress suits, and eventually found something suitably plain. It might be a bit long on Raoul’s shorter frame, but it would at least be dry.

“You may wear this,” he announced as he came back into the living room, tossing the suit at Raoul. The vicomte fumbled with the clothing and dropped it on the floor before picking it up and blushing furiously.

“I- I’ll go change, then,” he mumbled, and stumbled over the pant legs as he hurried down the hall, looking for an empty room. Erik turned to face the Persian once more.

“Aren’t the aristocracy generally more graceful?”

“Erik, the poor boy is freezing cold, soaking wet, and you probably frighten him. And it’s Christmas. You could cut him some slack.”

“Yes, I suppose...”

The two men sat in silence once more, until suddenly unusual noises began emitting from the torture chamber. Erik groaned.

“Not again. Who is it this time?”

“I have no idea. Most likely an accident.”

“I should probably see who it is...” Erik rose and went over to peer through the viewing window. In the dark, he could make out two confused-looking shapes in swirling skirts. “Bloody chorus girls...”

He flipped on the switch, not turning it up too high, and two women came into view- a young, lithe dark-haired girl and an older, rounder dame, both blinking in the sudden light.

“Is that one of the box-keepers?” the Persian asked in confusion.

“Yes, I believe it is. My box-keeper, if I’m not mistaken. Are you acquainted with Madame Giry? Oh, and it looks as though she’s brought her daughter along as well. Little Meg...”

He stood quietly for a minute while the two stood in confusion, looking around.

“Are you going to let them out?”

Erik peered into the torture chamber for another minute before turning back to face the Persian. “I haven’t decided. I think I might leave them in there for a while. But I suppose they’ll start banging around soon looking for a way out. If they become too much of a nuisance, I shall probably have to let them out after all.”

“Yes, well, as long as you don’t harm them...” The Persian shifted uncomfortably and began to head back to the living room. Erik lingered behind a minute or two.

“I should probably find a better location for that trapdoor,” he mused quietly. “It won’t do to have people dropping in on me like this all the time.”

“Erik, do you have a present for Christine?” a voice came from the other room.

“Of course I do, you fool, what did you expect?” Erik snapped back as he returned to the daroga.

“Well, it certainly seemed as though my presents were found, and wrapped, at the last minute...”

“What are you going on about? I’ve had those candies for months.” Erik took a seat opposite his Persian friend once more. “And I’ve some very nice roses for Christine. A handkerchief, perhaps, as well.”

“Er, Erik, I think Christine might want something a bit more than roses and a handkerchief,” the Persian suggested nervously. Erik’s glare silenced him from any further advice.

“Very well. I shall finish up the lullaby I have been writing her.” He rose stiffly and headed for his room.

“Erik... do you think you’ll have enough time to finish writing her lullaby before she’s dressed?”

“Yes, of course I will.” Erik continued walking and the Persian rose to follow him.

“But are you sure you’ll have enough time?” Erik grunted and began turning the doorknob. “And isn’t the vicomte dressing in your room?”

The door flew open and Raoul, giving a small shriek of surprise, hurried to hide himself behind the side of the coffin.

Erik’s eyes opened a bit wider in surprise. “I had forgotten you were in here,” he muttered.
“I... I... You... It’s fine,” Raoul managed to stutter out eventually.

“You know, you fail to impress me as a dignified aristocrat, with your stuttering and stumbling incompetence.”

Raoul blushed and shrank a bit closer to the floor.

“Erik, I think we should just leave the boy in peace,” the daroga murmured quietly. “He needs to finish dressing, after all.”

“Yes, I suppose.” Erik slammed the door shut and the Persian had to hurry to move out of the way. When they returned to the living room Christine, dressed in fresh, dry clothes, was standing on tiptoe fastening something to the ceiling. She turned around quickly upon hearing them enter.

“Oh, good, I was wondering where you two had gone,” she greeted them cheerfully. “I was starting to worry something bad was going on. There are strange noises coming from in there.” She gestured toward the direction of the torture chamber. “I was afraid it was something dangerous.”

“Oh, really,” the Persian replied with fake nonchalance, glaring sideways at Erik. “I wonder what that could be.”

“I haven’t the foggiest idea,” Erik answered defiantly, returning the glare. Christine merely continued smiling at the two of them.

“Well, you’re both out here now, at any rate, so we could open presents, right?”

“Well...”

“Er...”

“Maybe in a bit, when the vicomte is dressed...”

“Yes, of course. Christine, my dear, as soon as the boy is done, we can exchange every gift we have. But, for now, please excuse me.”

Erik abruptly disappeared. Christine and the Persian sat down in awkward silence, occupying themselves with the decor...

Twenty minutes later, all four current occupants of the house were seated in the living room, holding presents for each other. Erik and the daroga both prepared themselves for another uncomfortably long wait, but Christine moved first.

“This is for you, Erik,” she announced, handing him a neatly wrapped square package. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get anything for you,” she apologised to the Persian.

“I understand. We don’t know each other very well. I didn’t bring you a present either.”
Christine smiled apologetically and nodded.

“I have a present for you, Christine,” Erik spoke up.

“Oh, thank you, Erik.” She received the gift with barely contained glee.

“And this is for the vicomte.” He handed her another, smaller, present.

“Thank you again, Erik. I’m sure Raoul will love it, won’t you Raoul?”

Raoul managed a small smile and nodded weakly, looking away from Erik.

“Does anyone else have any presents?” Christine asked. Receiving no response, she began peeling open the paper wrapping. She pulled out a rolled up sheet of music and a couple red roses bound with a red satin ribbon. “Erik, what is this music?” she asked as she unrolled and examined the sheets.

“It is a lullaby I wrote for you.”

“Erik, that’s so sweet! Thank you!” She smiled and stroked the notes. “Wait a minute, this ink is still wet.” She pulled up two black-streaked hands and looked at them in minor disgust. “Er, do you have a sink I can use?”

“Yes, of course, right through there,” Erik gestured toward the bathroom and Christine hurried to the door.

Erik and Raoul both chose to take the opportunity to open their own presents. Erik removed a stack of empty lined sheets for music and a pair of silken black socks. Raoul pulled out a white linen handkerchief. The two men eyed the presents curiously until Christine returned.

“Christine, would you like to explain why you gave me socks?”

She blushed slightly. “Er, well, it is awfully cold down here, and I thought you might need some socks...”

“Well, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she smiled shyly. Raoul nudged her and muttered something in her ear about a handkerchief. “I don’t know, Raoul, but I’m sure you could find something to use it for.”
Before Raoul could reply, a particularly loud bang issued from the direction of the torture chamber, followed by a loud shout.

“What was that?” Christine asked nervously.

The daroga shot a meaningful glance at Erik. “Perhaps Erik should see what the problem is.”

“Yes, perhaps.” Erik glared at the Persian quickly before disappearing into the other room.

“Maybe I should go help him,” Christine suggested, rising from the couch.

“I think we should let him examine it himself,” the Persian replied, rising to stop her.

They met in the centre of the room, stopping just under the mistletoe. Both looked up, as if sensing the plant dangling above their heads, then at each other.

“I don’t think this would be a good idea,” the Persian began.

“But it’s a tradition,” Christine protested. “And it’s not a real kiss anyway.”

“Christine, maybe it would be best if you ignored this particular tradition for once,” Raoul added in.

“Raoul, it’s all in good fun. What harm could it do?”

“Mademoiselle, do you know Erik? He would murder me if he found out.”

“But why would he have to find out? He’s not here right now.”

Before the Persian could issue another word of warning, Christine moved in and pecked him lightly on the cheek. “See, that’s all.”

The Persian blushed slightly and quickly moved away from the mistletoe just as Erik walked in, Madame Giry and Meg following behind him as if in a trance.

“When did they get here?” Christine asked in confusion. “How did they get here? Were they the ones making all that noise?”

“You have many questions, my dear, most of which I cannot answer at this time. Suffice it to say that these two were indeed making a great deal of noise in the adjoining room.”

Erik returned to his seat and the mother and daughter seemed to snap out of their trance.

“Are you really the Ghost?” Meg asked, looking up at Erik with uncontained admiration, respect, and fear.

“Of course he isn’t,” Madame Giry staunchly denied. “The Ghost isn’t a mere man, you silly little girl. This is obviously someone acting in the Ghost’s stead. He must have wanted us for something.”

“Er, yes, of course,” Erik replied, putting on a cheerful tone of voice. “The Ghost wanted you both to escort these three back aboveground.”

“But we were just starting to have fun,” Christine protested as Meg gently picked up her arm.

“Why don’t you have fun with the vicomte’s family, as you intended?” Erik suggested.

“I suppose...”

“Er, monsieur,” Meg began nervously, “How do we get back up there? Mama and I fell down a trapdoor to get here.”

Erik rolled his eyes and led them to a flight of stairs. “Just follow these stairs and you will find your way back.”

Madame Giry nodded and began dragging both Raoul and the Persian up the narrow staircase. The two men protested as they were shoved against each other while the old woman continued on with dogged determination. Meg began following a fair distance behind her mother, Christine walking freely behind her. Suddenly the young dancer sneezed violently, almost falling back into Christine and knocking her off balance.

“It’s very dusty up here,” she complained.

“Ah, that might be my feather duster. Christine, would you please hand it to me?”

Christine nodded and removed the duster from under Meg’s nose. Erik tossed it aside and watched the group until they were out of sight up the stairs.

Only then did he breathe a sigh of relief and go back to the kitchen to pour the wine he’d wanted earlier. There were still fingerprints and marks to be cleaned off the torture chamber walls, and discarded wrapping paper lying all over his living room floor, but those could wait. He still needed to relax and take some time to enjoy his Christmas in peace and solitude.

Perhaps next year would be better...