Here with Me
a Phantom of the Opera story
by Hermione Eveningfall
The damp tunnels proved to be an endless labyrinth. Christine and Raoul ran as fast as they could from the Phantom's chambers, their boots splashing in the puddles. At last, Raoul spotted the silver rays of moonlight up ahead, and motioned for Christine to follow him. He was still dreadfully soaked from his escapades, and shivered uncontrollably. His neck ached, from where the Phantom had tied the noose, and massaged the area tenderly.
"We will go to my home," he told Christine, breathless, as they stumbled into the snow. The faithful white stallion remained tied to the iron gate, surrounding the tomb. He helped his wife-to- be onto the animal's bare back, swinging on behind her. "You will be safe there."
"My Raoul, you are chilled to the bone!" Christine whispered, as his fingers clasped tightly around hers and the leather reins. She longed to rub them vigourously, but they had no time to spare. The faster they got away from this retched place, this--sinister place, the better.
Raoul's response was a quiet "Yah!" as he nudged the horse's sides with the heels of his shoes, and sent them off at a gallop. The air was bitter cold, and even through her thick red cloak, Christine could not find a position that was remotely cozy. She was grateful when Raoul's family's enormous mansion appeared in view, along one of the quiet streets of Paris.
"Ye-TCHHHH!" Raoul let out a somewhat stifled noise, that sounded all too like a sneeze as he pulled the horse to a stop. "Pardon me," he apologized, weakly sliding down to the sleet- covered walkway.
"Blessings," Christine told him, frowning as she watched his teeth chattering. "Already you are coming down ill. We are going to have to get you into bed straight away," she told him, helping him take the horse into the small paddock the Vicount's family provided in the small square of yard.
"We will have to be silent as church mice," Raoul whispered, as he unlocked the front door. "My mother will certainly be asleep."
Christine nodded in understanding, and drew the cloak more tightly around herself as they entered the house. It was very dark, and their feet creaked along the hardwood steps. Raoul took Christine's hand, placing a finger against his lips, and the two of them tiptoed as softly as they could to the second floor.
Raoul peered in on his mother, who was as he expected, sound asleep in her bed. Christine fought a giggle at the old woman's loud snore, and wrapped her slender, pale arms around Raoul's waist. She could feel his body twitch, and released her grip on his hand as he raised it towards his nose.
"Ye-TKMMMPH! HehKMMMPH!"
"Bless," Christine whispered, taking his arm. "Allow me to put you to bed, my darling."
Raoul cleared his sore throat, wanting nothing more than to bundle beneath his thick sheets and quilts. He led the way down the narrow hallway, feeling a bit awkward inviting his new lover to his quarters, especially without his mother's knowledge. Once they were safely inside and the door closed, Christine went to the fire place, and began the process of lighting the flames and stoking the black coals. Raoul removed his stiff shirt, revealing his bare chest. It was then he noticed the scar from the sword fight, noticed the streaks of dried blood down his shoulder. He grimaced as he touched it, hissing with pain as he attempted to rotate that particular arm.
Once the fire was ready, Christine turned and gasped. "Oh, your arm!" she eased him onto the feather bed, examining it closely. "It will have to be cleaned and bandaged propertly. But I will not be able to do such things in the dark, unless you are familiar with where your mother keeps the medical supplies in the house?"
Raoul shook his head. "It is not bad," he told her.
"We do not want to risk infection," Christine pointed out.
"I will survive until daylight." Raoul kissed her gently on the forehead, and carefully embraced her. "My sweet angel. My sweet Christine."
Christine cuddled against his chest, reaching up to stroke the ends of his shoulder-length, light brown hair with her fingertips. When she moved her touch to his cheek, it seemed to tickle him. "Heh..ETCHHHEH! UhKUTCHHH!" Raoul snapped forward, covering his mouth quickly with one hand. The sneezes were followed by another series of coughing, and Christine gently rubbed his back.
"Bless," she told him. "My dear, lie down, and I will make you comfortable. I will look after you tonight."
"It is late," Raoul croaked, as she helped to remove his boots. "And you must rest. You have been through quite an ordeal, my love."
"I am not catching cold," Christine replied firmly.
"You may if you do not rest," Raoul whispered, and she shook her head.
"Rest your eyes, dear one. I will sit beside you, and sing you a lullabye if you wish."
Raoul coughed again, managing a small smile. "You are so beautiful," he whispered, and she smiled, feeling a faint blush creep into her cheeks. "After all of these years..."
"Our dreams have come true," Christine finished for him. "It was fate, no doubt."
Raoul nodded, though the somewhat confused expression came over his pale face again.
"Another sneeze, my love?" Christine asked, hearing his breath quicken. She reached into the pocket of her gown, fetching a silk handkerchief, and offered it to him.
"KetCHEEESH! Et-HESHHH!" Raoul shook his head.
"It is too nice. I could not possibly."
Christine chuckled. "My darling, what else is it to be used for?" she covered his nose with the cloth. "Blow for me."
Raoul did as he was told, though somewhat awkwardly. He remembered Christine doing little things like this for him when they were children; she adored playing mother when he was ill. "Is that not better?" Christine asked, and Raoul nodded.
"Thank you," he whispered, and she pulled the blankets close to his neck.
"Rest now," she told him, smoothing his hair away from his face. "If you are not any better in the morrow, we will have to fetch the doctor."
Raoul closed his eyes at her soft touch, eventually drifting off to the gentle sound of the crackling flames.
It was the bright rays of sunlight that woke the Vicount early in the morning. He ached all over, and gritted his teeth as he attempted to raise his head. His arm bumped gently against something, and when he got a better look, what met his eyes made him smile. Christine still sat beside the bed, though her cheek was resting against the mattress, her hand draped gently over his stomach. The fire had died during the night, and the room was comfortably cozy.
`My dear one,' he thought, smoothing the head of curly hair, and struggling to plant a kiss there. Christine let out a soft noise, and, in her still-sleepy state, allowed Raoul to encourage her to snuggle beside him in the bed. Christine had kept her word, that she would watch over him as the night went on.
When the door to his quarters opened shortly after, Raoul jumped, turning towards the intruder. His mother stood with a bowl and a wrag in her weathered hands, her eyes warm and calm behind her spectacles. She came to her son's bedside, setting the items on the nightstand, and sat in a chair opposite Christine's.
"My darling son," she spoke. "Why did you not inform me of your courtship? Such a dear girl she is."
Raoul smiled weakly. "We went through quite a bit in the past couple of weeks, mother dear. I was going to inform you this morning."
The old woman felt his forehead, clucking her tongue. "You are still feverish," she told him. "You've a terrible cold."
Raoul gave a soft sniffle, pressing the back of his hand against his nose. Christine raised her own head at that moment, and let out a small squeak at the sight of Raoul's mother.
"Madame!" she gasped, embarrassed, and sast up quickly. "I am so terribly sorry..." she started to stand, but her elder shook her head.
"Please, love, do not be frightened. I have been waiting many years for this moment. My son has found a treasure, most certainly."
Christine blushed. "I am ashamed that we did not inform you before our arrival," she replied. "It was not proper."
"If my son is happy, that is all that matters." The old woman patted her hand.
Raoul stifled a cough, cringing at the tightness of his chest. Christine squeezed his hand, and looked at his mother. "He is worse this morning," she told her, and the older woman nodded.
"I have already sent the messenger for the doctor. He will arrive within the hour. For now, my son, rest as much as you can. I am going to dress. Christine, dear, would you care to borrow a dress from my wardrobe? I do have a couple of gowns that will fit you perfectly."
Christine smiled. "That is very kind of you," she said. "I could not accept..."
Raoul stroked her cheek. "Go on, my love," he whispered, his voice and his eyes filled with more love than Christine had ever heard or seen them.
"Thank you, Madame," Christine nodded, sliding out of bed. She kissed Raoul once more, before following his mother out of the room, shutting the door behind her.
The characters do not belong to me. They belong to Gaston Leroux and Andrew Loyd Webber, as well as Joel Schumacher.
Following the plot for weekly hatch #70: One character gets sick. The other takes care of him/her and ends up accidentally and unexpectedly falling asleep in his/her bed.