Disclaimer: Do we need one at this point?
Christine Daae
It was early in the morning; the sun had not yet risen, and I looked out over the city in its pre-dawn hush. Raindrops sprinkled lightly over the buildings, though the heavy clouds forebode a downpour later today. I remembered a time long ago, when my father and I would wake up at this hour and watch the city slowly come to life. It seemed a magical time, as though we were the only creatures alive in the world. Now, I could almost pretend that I was still in that happy girlhood; I could imagine my father next to me, and that I had not a care in the world.
But that time was gone. All children grow up, and with maturity come burdens. I could no longer be carefree and innocent like I once was. It was not so long ago when I was still a child, as I had been under Erik's tutelage, and even during my engagement to Raoul. But those brief days as Erik's wife had changed me; matured me. I entered his room a girl and emerged a woman, in mind and spirit as well as body. Now, nine months later, I could no longer deny adulthood and must embrace the duties thrust upon me. I was a mother; I had a son who was completely dependent on me. My father had been my only parent, and now I must be the same to Charles.
Presently, Charles's murmuring broke the silence. He was not yet awake, but he would be soon. Crossing the room quickly, I reached into the bassinet and picked him up. I rocked him gently, trying to keep him from wailing so as not to wake the other inhabitants of the building. The snuffling soon subsided and he was deeply asleep again. Just as I laid him back in the bassinet, a knock sounded from the door.
It was too early for Meg to be up, so I called, "Yes, Madame?"
The door opened and I saw the figure that stood before it.
My hands flew to my mouth. Blood pounded in my ears. I was light-headed with shock. It was not possible.
And yet it was.
The last time I had seen him, I thought that it would be my last. He had been so ill then; one needed only to look at his frail, gaunt form to know that he was dying. The man before me now was Erik as he had been before his health declined. He looked as he always did: his posture tall and upright, his suit crisp, his mask over his face. It was as though the ghost in my memory was given flesh once again. Yet there was something different in his countenance. He lacked his usual confidence and authority; instead he seemed uncertain and even vulnerable. He was no longer the all-powerful Phantom, but merely a man.
Our eyes met and time itself suspended between us, stretched out like a sticky thread that is pulled and extended, longer than should be possible and you expect it to snap back but it does not and instead keeps on stretching infinitely. I was frozen in disbelief, scared that if I moved the spell would be broken and the apparition would disappear.
"Christine," he breathed in reverence.
I let out a sob at the sound of his voice. It was so real, so material before my ears. "Erik?"
I do not know who moved first, but all of a sudden we were rushing towards each other, crossing the gap before us. We embraced in the middle of the room, shaking and trembling. My arms circled him of their own accord, clutching him tightly, and he clung to me as though he would never let me go. Even if he had, I would not have released him. He whispered my name over and over again like a fervent prayer. I could smell him; feel him; hear him. My senses were filled with bits and pieces of him that I had believed were gone forever. His body was real and solid against mine, his voice richer than memory could conjure, his scent masculine and heady. His presence was so vivid, it made my head spin. I was like a freezing man suddenly exposed to a blazing hearth; the intensity of the materials invading my senses was overwhelming.
"Tell me I am not dreaming," I breathed against his shoulder. "That I will not wake and find you gone."
"My love," he said, tilting my head up to face him. "This is real."
I trailed my hand down his cheek, which was covered by the mask. He allowed me to remove it without resistance. At the sight of his face, I laughed softly in relief. Palming his sunken, malformed, yet adored cheeks, I said, "You're here; you're truly here."
"And I promise I will never leave you again," he replied. He then dipped his head and brushed his lips against mine with a breath-taking tenderness. It conveyed all that he had not said, all that he did not have the words for: an apology for his absence; a reassurance of his love; a promise for the future. When he pulled back, he wiped at my cheeks, and it was only then that I realised my tears had spilled over. I expected him to tell me not to cry, but he did not. His own eyes, too, were uncharacteristically moist. A single drop of saline liquid quivered at the corner of his eye, and dropped onto his cheek. I wiped it off with my thumb, and traced my finger along the shape of his lips.
"I missed you so much," I said. It was an understatement, but there were no words that could explain how it felt to have the part of my heart where he resided hollowed out; how it hurt to breathe; how it hurt to be alive when he was not. The wound had been healing, but I knew that it would always leave a scar, a reminder of the wholeness that had once been and never would be again. Now the wound disappeared entirely, and the throbbing of life I felt there was strange and unfamiliar. Like an amputee who is granted a new limb, I had forgotten what it felt like to be complete.
"I missed you too, more than I could bear," he murmured, moving his hands along my face to the back of my head and running his fingers through my hair. "And I am so, so sorry for the suffering you've had to go through. I left you alone, when I should have been there to care for you. If I could do it all over again, I would have done all in my power to prevent you from suffering."
I shook my head as fresh tears fell. "You are here now; let that be enough. God knows it is more than what we had a day ago." At my words he nodded; I could sense that he was suppressing the urge to cry as I did. He held me against him once more, and I marvelled at how right it felt to be in his arms and have him in mine.
There were so many questions I wished to ask: how he was alive and healthy when he had literally been at death's door not a year ago? Where did he go after leaving the opera house? Why did he not return to me sooner? There was so much that I wanted to say, but the words did not come to me. I could not bring the questions to my lips and spoil the moment with tedious explanations and frustrating emotions. For now, it was enough for me to be here in his arms. I experienced a sort of happiness that I had not felt in a long time, not since the last morning I spent with him. The fullness of the moment left no space for words.
We stood there for a long while, as the sun came up over Paris. The dusky blue sky was giving way to pastel pink and orange when I broke the silence. "There is someone I want you to meet," I said, and drew Erik to the bassinet.
Charles was asleep, still unaware that our world had completely turned around. I studied Erik's countenance as he looked at his son for the first time, looking upon features that were a miniature replica of his own. Without the mask, his expression was open. There was surprise, and the slightest tinge of guilt; but dominating both was tenderness.
"Do you hate me?" he said softly without taking his eyes off the sleeping infant. "For doing this to him?"
"It is not your fault," I replied. "You would never have done so willingly. Besides," I added, "it is because of his resemblance to you that we are reunited. If not, I would not have left the de Chagnys, and you would not have come back to Paris. I would have spent my whole life believing that you're dead." At my statement, he wrapped an arm around my waist and I pressed against him.
The sunlight was now creeping through the window, and a few rays of it shone onto Charles's face. The bright light woke him up and he yawned widely. He golden eyes focused on my face and he made a sound of impatience. "Good morning," I said, picking him up and cradling him against my chest. "Look who's here, Charles. This is your papa." Charles's gaze, unusually intelligent for one so young, rested on Erik.
"Hello, Charles," Erik said solemnly. "I'm sorry I have been late."
Author's note:
There you go, the chapter we've all been waiting for.
It took a long time for me to be happy with it, cause it's so important. I hope you like it as much as I do.
There will only be one more chapter, MAYBE two if I feel like it.
Thank you to all my reviewers, both FFN users and guests for the encouraging words that let me know I'm at least doing something right :]
