The Choices of Raoul de Chagny (Phantom/Love never Dies fanfic)

Until I Hear You Sing

...in which Christine loses her hat, and Raoul loses his head...

Chapter 3. 'Til I Hear You Sing

There was a salt tang on the sea breeze, high on the Persephone's decks, and the early morning sun made the long billows in her wake almost too bright to bear. Even the white paint of her promenade deck glistened brilliantly in the last of the overnight damp, and Christine de Chagny, shading her eyes, found herself very glad of the gauzy scarf she had knotted to hold her hat against the breeze. Far below, the waves surged against the sides with a steady hiss as the great ship cleaved through them, steady as a rock. Above her the four wide funnels streamed their constant plume, torn away to windward in shreds of smoke where it began to fade. Here in mid-ocean, there were no gulls, no long mournful horns of tugs or dockside whistles. She might have been alone in a world reborn clear and bright and new, save for the sound of the wind above. Somewhere distant, bells rang, orders were given and watches kept; all the steady, diligent work of the ship went on. But sunlight streamed through the wide windows of the promenade and beyond across the open deck, and Christine leaned both hands upon the rail and turned her face up to the vast blue wash of sky as if she were the only one to witness it in a thousand years.

"Excuse me, madame—"

Christine jumped, as if she had not anticipated the meeting. Her heart was inexplicably racing in her throat. She swung round and met Raoul's eyes with shared constraint.

"I believe you left this behind." Her husband held out the silky bundle of her evening wrapper with irony, as if it had in truth been an illicit liaison that had taken place between them.

Seeking refuge in the same formality, she took it from him with a murmur of thanks, and as if by mutual agreement they fell into step, beginning to stroll forward together beyond the promenade. An observer might have thought it a chance meeting between casual acquaintances.

Christine stole a sidelong glance at his profile, caught him doing the same, and looked away hastily, flushing like a convent schoolgirl. Despite the evident care with which he'd dressed, he seemed pale and somewhat bedraggled, and in anyone else she might have suspected an attack of mal-de-mer; but in Raoul, who had always been an excellent sailor, it was much more likely to be a case of the self-inflicted misery of the morning after the night before. Her heart sank, remembering other unwelcome occasions.

But the involuntary wince with which he finally halted, a moment later, was outweighed by the look of absurd indignation that had prompted it. For a moment they were children again. "Did you tell that steward to throw water over me?"

She'd imagined all kinds of strained awkwardness in their meeting, after last night; but never this.

"Oh darling—" She'd tipped the man heavily to ensure that Monsieur de Chagny would be out on deck to meet her; evidently extreme measures had been required. And Raoul was distinctly damp... She couldn't help laughing. "Oh darling — come here—"

All formality forgotten — he looked so very boyish and outraged — she reached up without a second thought to pull his head down towards her, rough-towelling the wet tendrils of hair with the ends of her scarf, as she had done when they were young. "Here — let me..."

There was a long bench in the sunlight along the side-decks. She drew him down onto it beside her; gathered the tousled head into her lap. After a moment Raoul yielded against her with a sigh, stretching out along the seat and closing his eyes. "Christine..."

"Hush..." She stroked fingers through his hair like tiny caresses, easing out tangles, brushing the crisp waves aside. One hand cradled briefly along his cheek, and she felt a long breath leave him as he settled closer. "Oh hush..."