Jane Eyre/AI Crossover
Title: Mr. Rochester Returns to Thornfield
Author: aesvir
Rating: PG
Summary: AU. Music tutor Kris Allen enjoys a tranquil existence at Thornfield with his pupil Allison. Mr. Rochester returns--with guests.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of this. The villain is also Bronte's.
Word Count: 770. A vignette.
Notes: Kris makes it too easy. My apologies to Charlotte Bronte, except the more ridiculous lines are hers! Really! Go read Chapter 17 and 18 of the book.
Genius is said to be self-conscious. Kris could not tell whether Mr. Ingram was a genius, but he was self-conscious-remarkably self-conscious indeed. He spoke of fashion; his taste was excellent. He posed against the fireplace; his figure was fine. He spoke Spanish to young Allison; and he spoke it well, with fluency and with a good accent.
Kris could not tell whether Ingram was Mr. Rochester's type. Many would admire him, Kris thought; and that Mr. Rochester did admire him, Kris already seemed to have obtained proof. Only a perverse desire to confirm the worst kept him in the room, to see them together.
Mr. Rochester-Adam-entered last. Kris tried to concentrate on his playing, thinking only of the ivory keys under his hands. The moment Adam turned his attention to his guests, however, Kris involuntarily raised his eyes to observe them.
There was no comparison. He is not to them what he is to me, Kris thought. He is not of their kind, but of mine. I have something in my music-in my heart- I do not mean that I have the power of his voice, or his spell to attract. I mean only that we strive for a certain artistry. I must smother hope, and yet, while I breathe and think, I must love him.
An impatient glance from Ingram drove Kris from his perch at the piano bench, and he hovered in a corner as Ingram seated himself with proud grace.
"Adam, what possessed you to take on a protégé?" Ingram waved a hand towards Allison. "And why the music tutor? You should have sent her to Julliard."
"In two years, perhaps," said Adam. He leaned gracefully over the piano, his manicured hand brushing against Ingram's. "Allison is only seventeen."
"But a music tutor?" Ingram's eyes flitted towards Kris. "I had a dozen at least in my day, half of them boring and the rest ridiculous, and all incubi! I'm so glad to be done with them."
Incubi? Kris snorted mentally. If only. From Adam’s raised eyebrow, he was thinking the same. It touched a nerve-sensing that Adam was not truly in love with Ingram. If Adam felt a sincere passion for Ingram, Kris would have covered his face, turned to the wall, and have died to them. If Ingram had been a good and noble man, Kris would have acknowledged his excellence and been quiet for the rest of his days. But to witness this, this farce of a courtship, was too much.
It was time to slip away, Kris decided as Ingram cajoled Adam into a duet. He turned to leave, but the tones that severed the air arrested him. Mrs. DioGuardi had pronounced Adam a god-though Adam rolled his eyes later in private, Kris secretly agreed. It was the way Adam threw all his feelings into song, finding a way through the ear to the heart, waking strange sensations in even the most innocent listener. Kris waited until the last high, glorious note had expired-until the tide of talk resumed its flow-and then made his exit by the side-door.
Crossing the narrow passage into the hall, Kris noticed that a shoelace was loose. He stopped to tie it, kneeling down at the foot of the staircase. Behind him, a door opened and closed. Turning his head, Kris raised his eyes-it was Adam.
"Hello there." Adam smirked, looking down.
Kris blushed as he realized what their positions implied. He sprang to his feet, pointedly looking away from Adam’s powerful figure. "Hello, Mr. Rochester."
"How many times have I told you to call me Adam?" His voice turned petulant. "And why did you not come and speak to me in the room?"
Kris did not know what to say. "I did not wish to disturb you. You seemed . . . engaged, sir."
Adam lifted a hand as if to touch Kris's face, but dropped it to his side. "You are a good deal paler since I saw you last. What is the matter?"
"Nothing at all, sir," Kris said, low.
"And a little depressed," Adam said. "What is it? Tell me."
"Nothing, nothing, sir. I am not depressed."
"Yes, you are, so much depressed that a few more words would bring tears to your eyes. There they are now. I want to know what this means." Adam stared into Kris's eyes, then sighed. "As long as we have guests, I expect you to appear in the drawing room every evening. But you need more sleep. Goodnight, my-" Adam stopped, bit his lip, and abruptly left.
Author: aesvir
Rating: PG
Summary: AU. Music tutor Kris Allen enjoys a tranquil existence at Thornfield with his pupil Allison. Mr. Rochester returns--with guests.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of this. The villain is also Bronte's.
Word Count: 770. A vignette.
Notes: Kris makes it too easy. My apologies to Charlotte Bronte, except the more ridiculous lines are hers! Really! Go read Chapter 17 and 18 of the book.
Genius is said to be self-conscious. Kris could not tell whether Mr. Ingram was a genius, but he was self-conscious-remarkably self-conscious indeed. He spoke of fashion; his taste was excellent. He posed against the fireplace; his figure was fine. He spoke Spanish to young Allison; and he spoke it well, with fluency and with a good accent.
Kris could not tell whether Ingram was Mr. Rochester's type. Many would admire him, Kris thought; and that Mr. Rochester did admire him, Kris already seemed to have obtained proof. Only a perverse desire to confirm the worst kept him in the room, to see them together.
Mr. Rochester-Adam-entered last. Kris tried to concentrate on his playing, thinking only of the ivory keys under his hands. The moment Adam turned his attention to his guests, however, Kris involuntarily raised his eyes to observe them.
There was no comparison. He is not to them what he is to me, Kris thought. He is not of their kind, but of mine. I have something in my music-in my heart- I do not mean that I have the power of his voice, or his spell to attract. I mean only that we strive for a certain artistry. I must smother hope, and yet, while I breathe and think, I must love him.
An impatient glance from Ingram drove Kris from his perch at the piano bench, and he hovered in a corner as Ingram seated himself with proud grace.
"Adam, what possessed you to take on a protégé?" Ingram waved a hand towards Allison. "And why the music tutor? You should have sent her to Julliard."
"In two years, perhaps," said Adam. He leaned gracefully over the piano, his manicured hand brushing against Ingram's. "Allison is only seventeen."
"But a music tutor?" Ingram's eyes flitted towards Kris. "I had a dozen at least in my day, half of them boring and the rest ridiculous, and all incubi! I'm so glad to be done with them."
Incubi? Kris snorted mentally. If only. From Adam’s raised eyebrow, he was thinking the same. It touched a nerve-sensing that Adam was not truly in love with Ingram. If Adam felt a sincere passion for Ingram, Kris would have covered his face, turned to the wall, and have died to them. If Ingram had been a good and noble man, Kris would have acknowledged his excellence and been quiet for the rest of his days. But to witness this, this farce of a courtship, was too much.
It was time to slip away, Kris decided as Ingram cajoled Adam into a duet. He turned to leave, but the tones that severed the air arrested him. Mrs. DioGuardi had pronounced Adam a god-though Adam rolled his eyes later in private, Kris secretly agreed. It was the way Adam threw all his feelings into song, finding a way through the ear to the heart, waking strange sensations in even the most innocent listener. Kris waited until the last high, glorious note had expired-until the tide of talk resumed its flow-and then made his exit by the side-door.
Crossing the narrow passage into the hall, Kris noticed that a shoelace was loose. He stopped to tie it, kneeling down at the foot of the staircase. Behind him, a door opened and closed. Turning his head, Kris raised his eyes-it was Adam.
"Hello there." Adam smirked, looking down.
Kris blushed as he realized what their positions implied. He sprang to his feet, pointedly looking away from Adam’s powerful figure. "Hello, Mr. Rochester."
"How many times have I told you to call me Adam?" His voice turned petulant. "And why did you not come and speak to me in the room?"
Kris did not know what to say. "I did not wish to disturb you. You seemed . . . engaged, sir."
Adam lifted a hand as if to touch Kris's face, but dropped it to his side. "You are a good deal paler since I saw you last. What is the matter?"
"Nothing at all, sir," Kris said, low.
"And a little depressed," Adam said. "What is it? Tell me."
"Nothing, nothing, sir. I am not depressed."
"Yes, you are, so much depressed that a few more words would bring tears to your eyes. There they are now. I want to know what this means." Adam stared into Kris's eyes, then sighed. "As long as we have guests, I expect you to appear in the drawing room every evening. But you need more sleep. Goodnight, my-" Adam stopped, bit his lip, and abruptly left.