Author's Note: Hi, guys! So sorry this took so long. Anyway, this is the final chapter. I hope you enjoy. :)
Chapter Eleven
"Gwen will have to act quickly," Erik said as he and Max sat in the coffee shop that had become their late-night meeting place. "She's going to have to go on maternity leave soon from her duties."
Max smiled down at the black cat that sat in Erik's lap.
"So, she's expecting kittens?"
"Yes. Apparently, the local tomcat took a liking to her. I know because I heard them, er, 'courting'."
Max nodded.
"Well, congratulations, Gwen," he said, reaching over to scratch her on the ears.
Gwen meowed her thanks.
#
"I'm not going to tell you again, I'm really not. The next time you make Pierre's conception scene look like something that could only come from an as-over-the-top-as-humanly-possible '80s music video, I swear to Lon Chaney, Sr.—who I have a tremendous amount of respect and admiration for, as should all involved with Phantom—I'm going to hurt you. As for you, you overly-sensitive, pigeon-feeding, pathetic excuse for a Nazi, if you could at least try to keep your pants on during this scene, I'd appreciate it and so would everyone else in this theater. Even if you're still wearing your underwear, no one wants to see that part of your body, especially if said part has been brainwashed into a racist who thinks it, after finding a pristine virgin who meets a strict line of criteria, can create little superhuman Günters who will go running around eventually ruling the world after they've shamelessly wiped out everyone else, all right? Now zip up your pants and don't let me see them even remotely undone or I'll personally see to it your role will be especially altered to be performed by a falsetto voice, you got me?"
Everyone stared, flabbergasted at Erik's rant. No one moved onstage. Even Max, who was in on it, was taken aback. What no one except Max and Erik knew was that Franz had just stumbled in at the wrong time—Erik would have picked on whoever happened to "make a mistake"—regardless if they really had or not—because he was giving Gwen time once again to sneak to the orchestra pit.
#
Gwen tiptoed to the orchestra pit again. None of the musicians were seated at their stands, which was good. She leapt up onto a stool and stretched her paws towards the black stand Master had identified as a "scratching post". It looked different from the scratching post she had at home—there was a thick stack of paper on this one with strange markings on it that looked like little black bugs crawling across little paths . . . hmm, maybe it was a new line of scratching posts? Nonetheless, she reached out and scratched.
Oh, that felt good. Yes, it felt good! She growled happily to herself, digging her claws into the paper and dragging them down, arching her back. This was a great scratching post. She couldn't wait to use all the other ones that sat in the orchestra pit.
#
When screams of horror came from the orchestra pit, Max and Erik knew it was over. Gwen came bounding happily up the aisle, leaping into her master's lap. He petted her, noticing she had bits of paper under her claws.
"Good girl, good girl," he encouraged as she sat purring happily in his lap.
"I'll say she is," Max said smiling, reaching over to scratch Gwen under her chin.
Gwen tipped her head back, her eyes closing. She licked Max's hand for a minute after he finished petting her, then, she bit it.
"She's a feisty one," Max said, laughing slightly, rubbing his hand.
"She indeed is," Erik agreed.
"No, no, no, the score is ruined!" Franz cried, pulling on his hair.
"Whatever will we do?" Carmen wailed.
"Fear not," Erik said, sounding amazingly somber, "It will rest in peace in the Never-Produced-Musicals Graveyard."
And they ceremoniously buried the shredded score.
#
"Now, Erik," Leo said, several months after the sequel's demise, "I think you could be an interesting addition to our team."
"Care to join Leo and me on our adventures on the Great White Way?" Max added.
They were sitting in Erik's house, on the floor. Gwen sat in a basket that was lined with a soft blue blanket—Leo's actually, as he had lent it to her for this special occasion—and her five kittens were clustered around her. Three of the kittens were black, like their mother, while the other two were a more smoky gray color.
"Perhaps, on some future projects," Erik said reflectively, "But, just so I am not forgotten until then . . ."
He picked up one of the smoky gray kittens and handed it to Max.
"Awww, thank you, Erik!" Max said, smiling, and, after checking the kitten's gender with a quick look beneath the tail, he added, "I think we'll call you . . . Diana."
"A good name," Erik said, his eyes sparkling.
They put Diana back in the basket with her brothers and sisters and stood up, leaving the leaving room.
"Now, I am a tad hungry," Erik said, striding purposefully into the kitchen, "Shall I whip us up something to eat?"
The two men nodded and Erik set to work.
"I'm glad the sequel went down quietly," Leo said, he and Max sitting at the counter, perched on barstools as Erik worked.
"Indeed," Erik said. "It's good that the press didn't ask too many questions—had there been a big hoopla about it . . . I wouldn't have liked that."
The two men gulped, for Erik's voice had grown serious with the last few words, but they were reassured when he turned to them and said,
"Coffee?"
They nodded and he brewed a pot. Once it was done, he poured the rich, homey liquid into three mugs and handed two to his guests, pulling a bottle of flavored cream from the refrigerator and sliding it over to them after he had used it. The two men sweetened their coffee according to preference and before anyone took a sip, Max raised his mug.
"Here's to the obscurity of the sequel!"
"Cheers," Erik said as they clashed their mugs together. "And I think we should celebrate with . . ."
"Waffles?" Max and Leo chorused together, both of them smiling as Erik started to pour the now-prepared batter into his Belgian waffle iron, his eyes dancing behind the mask.