Chapter Text
Raoul de Chagny had been Christine Daaé’s crush since they first started going to the same school in second grade. In high school they started dating, an on and off relationship that lasted through two years of college. Through fights and periods of messy breakups and dating other people out of spite, Christine had always thought they’d end up together, no matter what. After all, their “breaks” always ended, they always made up eventually, and they always came back to each other.
Which was why when Raoul suddenly announced to her at the end of yet another break that they would, in fact, not be getting back together because he was, actually, now engaged to someone else, it was understandable that Christine did not take it very well.
Christine Daaé did not just get mad. Christine Daaé got even.
Unfortunately, the judge didn’t exactly see her point of view when he ordered her to do a hundred hours of community service for slashing Raoul’s car tires, and neither did the college when they found out and banned her from campus.
She’d had her lows in life, but this was her lowest.
Her friend, Meg, had agreed to let her crash at her little apartment for a while, no longer able to live in her dorm on campus. Meg offered to help her get a job at the dance studio where she taught, and soon Christine was the newest receptionist at the desk, where she would sign girls in for class and call parents on the phone to collect debts. It was a far cry from singing on stage like she wanted to do, but at least she’d avoided jail time even if she couldn’t return to school.
Her community service was assigned at an old folks home, and after discussing it with Meg it was decided that she’d start her job after finishing the community service, and simply spend two full weeks getting it out of the way.
The Garnier, as the old folks home was called, was laid out like a labyrinth and despite being above ground it had a distinctly underground kind of a scent. The employee who showed her around the building explained in a matter of fact tone that the building was haunted and that many young volunteers were creeped out by very many things here, but Christine was undeterred.
“I’m not afraid of ghosts,” she told the woman.
Her first task was to take plates of food to the residents who’d gathered in the dining hall for breakfast, handing out plates of scrambled eggs and toast and fruit cups and little cartons of milk and carafes of juice. She smiled at the residents who eyed her with suspicion or not at all, and the ones who looked at her with vague confusion as though they couldn’t remember if she’d been here before or not.
When all the dining hall residents were served, she was instructed to take a cart with trays of food to the residents who weren’t able to come to the dining hall. One of the employees asked to see which hall she’d been assigned to and asked to switch with her. It made little difference to her, so she agreed.
Most of the hall was rooms belonging to frail old ladies who called her various sweet names, like honey and sugar when they thanked her. One old lady got mad at her for the toast being cut in the wrong direction, but Christine took her scolding in stride. She could still remember how her papa was when he—briefly—had to stay at one of these places. Being infirm was enough to make anyone mean, and she didn’t take it personally.
She left the room after apologizing and sympathizing that yes, whoever had cut this toast was very stupid and ignorant, and she pushed the cart up to the next door and knocked.
“Ah,” said a deep masculine voice with a hint of either frailty or perhaps just weariness. “It’s unlocked, come in, if you insist.”
She opened the door, surprised that the room was so dark inside. Facing away from the door seemed to be a man in a wheelchair, but he was difficult to make out. She dragged the meal cart inside and he asked—
“Have you come to feast your eyes and glut your soul on more of Erik’s accursed ugliness, then, boy?”