Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera or any of its adaptations or characters.
Title: Songbird
Summary: After the death of her father, Christine finds herself at the mercy of an aunt she hardly knew existed. With her entire world changing in an instant, her future never seemed so uncertain. Yet, the mysterious masked lord may just be able to offer her a life unlike anything she ever imagined.
Author's Note: We have come to the final chapter. It is bittersweet indeed. I figured that this story deserved a happy ending, so prepare for the cheese. Thank you all for your support and continuing interest. I hope the ending meets expectations and is satisfactory. It was very fun to see this idea of mine come into being and get flushed out. Honestly I couldn't have seen it to fruition without the help from all of you viewers. Thank you all!
Chapter 21 – Songbird
Four months later…
Erik worked away vigorously at the sheet of music open in front of him. The notes weren't falling into place the way he wanted them to. He scribbled out what he had previously written, frustrated. It had been four months since she had left and he had been completely immersed in his music ever since. He had managed to actually finish another opera in a record time of three months. He had just been that devoted and had had that much inspiration.
His fingers danced over the piano as he attempted to proceed with his next piece. Right from the beginning this one hadn't shown much success. He hadn't turned out a single song yet and he had been working on it for weeks. It had become more of a way to distract himself than divine purpose.
Ever since Christine had walked away from him that night in the labyrinth, he had resumed the dark, aggressive state that he had once known. Perhaps he had sunk even further, though. He had been so hurt, yet he couldn't blame her for her choice. He hadn't gone after her immediately. He had picked up his mask and had secured it. It was the long walk back out of the maze that had had his mind turning. It was the time afterward when her absence had first been noticed that had hit him hard, too.
He banged on the keys aggressively then grabbed the music sheets in two fists and ripped them to shreds in exasperation. He threw the scraps into the air behind him where they floated slowly to the ground. He stood up, the seat scooting loudly against the flooring, and stalked to the windows. Only the one sat uncovered and open. It had gotten quite cold outside to where the leaves on the trees were nearly shed and the flowers had gone into hibernation.
He placed a hand on the wall next to the panes to balance upon. He stared out at the gardens, recalling the last time he had set foot in them. He had been unable to bring himself to tour them after that evening. He had spoken to Joseph Buquet immediately after exiting the maze about cleaning up the little mess left behind at the labyrinth's center. He had to admit that it wasn't the first time, but Buquet always came through in the disposal.
Erik had never actually seen Christine depart, but he knew she had gone. He could feel it. He had shut himself away in his private chambers for days at first, not eating and hardly sleeping. If sleep did come, it was never restful. Then, the inspiration hit. Though he remained just as reclusive, he at least summoned Madame Giry to bring up meals. Working feverishly in this manner, he managed to produce an opera in only a few months.
The opera had been based around the one person he just couldn't get out of his head. It revolved around a young woman with a voice unlike anything that had ever been heard before. In the storyline, with no family to speak of, she is taken in by a travelling circus looking to exploit her gift. In the circus, she meets a deformed man, who loves her and she learns to love in return. However, as the couple attempts to flee from their bondage, they are set upon by the owners and their manservants. At the end, the deformed man sacrifices himself so that his beloved can escape. It is revealed that having experienced love was enough for him. Knowing she would be safe and be able to live was comfort enough.
There was already a lot of buzz surrounding his new opera. It was set to premier at the Palais Garnier in a week's time, and he had already been invited to attend its opening. The answer would most likely be in the negative. After all, he hadn't even read the note himself. Madame Giry had informed him through the closed door to his chambers. Despite having poured out a lot into its creation, he was still sensitive to its underlying subject matter. He didn't know that he could trust himself to actually see it performed.
There was a soft knock on the outer door. He hardly noticed, never turning his head or disrupting his pensive demeanor. His head still hung heavily.
"Leave it," he called.
Supper must have been prepared early. Madame Giry knew better than to knock. She knew to just leave the tray at the door for him. Despite his instructions, there issued another knock.
This time Erik sighed in annoyance, though refused to move from his spot. Instead, he yelled over his shoulder, "Well, come in then if you must, woman."
He shook his head, hearing the door open and close softly. He didn't understand, but then again his patience ran low these days. He was surprised that his entire staff hadn't abandoned him, too. He certainly didn't give them cause for loyalty with how he had been acting toward them. He was slightly surprised at how light the footsteps sounded. Usually Madame Giry walked with more of a purpose.
"Is it so much for a master to ask for some peace in his own home?" he muttered gruffly, just loud enough to be heard. He wanted to make his temper felt.
"If you continue to speak that way, you'll find yourself with nothing but peace," a voice scolded.
He recognized that voice. Despite not having heard it in four long months, he could still identify it without any doubt. He spun around in stunned disbelief. But sure enough, there she was.
Christine loitered somewhat awkwardly mere feet from him, and she couldn't have looked better.
Her thick hair cascaded down her back. It was held from her face by a set of barrettes. She was wearing a heavier frock fit for the season. Most importantly, and what he noticed foremost, was that all signs of injury from the last time he had seen her had faded. There was color to her cheeks and energy in her eyes. Through it all, she hadn't lost her spark.
"Christine," he breathed, as if speaking too loudly would frighten her away. In fact, he was still trying to cope with her presence. He was quite nervous that she was an illusion that would fade away at any moment.
"I can see that you've fallen back into your bad habits since I've been gone," she continued, hardly giving him time for a proper reunion. "Something I'm sure we can break you of given enough time."
Erik was still trying to catch up. "Wh-What are you doing here?"
Christine sighed, realizing she would have to explain herself, which was something she had wanted to avoid. "Imagine my surprise," she informed, much the same way he had done to her the very first time they had met, "when I receive a script of a new opera by Paris's most celebrated composer; and, there is a strong sense of familiarity when reading through the part of the main female character."
He shook his head. "I never intended it specifically for you. You must believe me. It was only a means of expressing and releasing my feelings. After you left…" He trailed off, shaking his head again. He didn't want to drudge up that dark state he had been in.
"I had been right in leaving," she insisted.
"I know." He peered at her carefully. "That was why I didn't go after you."
She sighed, trying to appear distracted. "There are times when I wish you had."
Erik fell silent. He didn't know what to think anymore. He didn't know why she was standing in front of him. He didn't know what her intentions were for finally meeting with him face-to-face. Thus far, he could only determine that she meant to make him suffer even more.
He held his arms out. "Is this why you've come, Christine? Did you want me to have even more regrets, more suffering?"
"Not at all," she reassured. "But your betrayal hurt, Erik. I didn't know if I could trust you anymore. I still don't! And it kills me to think that you don't care about me enough to see how you have wronged me."
He was immediately just inches in front of her. His hands were just below her shoulders, comforting, yet strong. "The problem is that I care too much!" he insisted. "I care so much that I would go to any length to see that you are safe. If that means making a mistake here or there then I will gladly accept it. So I will apologize for deceiving you. If there had been a way to get to those men without using you, I would have jumped at the chance. But doing so allowed me to ensure your safety, and I won't apologize for that. You are all that matters to me, Christine. And, you can trust in that."
She sniffled, pulling back the tears that were threatening to fall. That was exactly what she had wanted to hear. She brought a handkerchief to her eyes, dabbing at the wetness left behind. It caused Erik to release her, and allowed her to take a step or two away.
"The song of apology and devotion that your deformed male lead sings right before his death," she said, "was actually yours."
"Yes," he breathed. He couldn't tear his eyes off of her, unsure what she was going to do next.
She pivoted, framed by the open window and the dim sunlight streaming in. "I knew the moment I had read it. I instantly forgave you." She moved in closer to him, the distance between them diminishing again. "And, I knew I had to thank you, as well."
He shook his head. "For what?"
"For coming to my rescue. For saving my life." She shrugged. "For everything. I don't know where I'd be right now if it wasn't for you."
He stared longingly into her eyes, as if trying to get her to understand. "Christine, I would do anything for you. I would protect you from Death himself. So believe me when I say it was nothing, really."
"No," she stated softly. She reached up with her white-lace gloved hands to either side of his face, drawing him closer to her. "It was everything."
The words were just a whisper on her lips. She instantly closed the remaining gap between them, her lips on his. She was the one to initiate it; and, at first, she was the only one involved. Erik didn't know what to do. He had never been shown this kind of tenderness and love. Coming from Christine, especially, who he had learned to care so dearly about, it was almost too much. His heart felt as though it might explode in jubilation. In a life where only darkness and disappointment had reigned, there was suddenly a strange glimmer of something new.
All Christine had wanted was for Erik to apologize and to say what he really felt. In their time apart, she had come to realize her feelings for Erik were much stronger than her anger toward him. It was only when she had read through his entire opera that she finally mustered up the courage to show her face again. It had made her realize that they had both been rather stubborn. All the while she had yearned for this—this kiss.
Erik relaxed into the embrace. He chased away the doubts that always plagued him when a little kindness was shown to him. For, here she was. She had returned to him. She was the one insisting on the kiss, and all he could do was fall into it. He would fall forever if he could. He had meant everything he had said to her and more. He loved her. She had opened his heart, which seemed an impossible feat. And yet, she had his heart. Her and her alone.
It was Erik who backed away from their embrace. He stared at her, nothing but adoration in his eyes. "Christine," he started, stuttering slightly, "I…N-No one's ever-"
"Hush," she commanded with a soft, pleasant smile. "I don't care about anybody else. It's just you and me now."
Erik grinned. "Christine, you could have any man you want. Why me?"
A sly smirk touched her lips. "Do our hearts ask 'why' when we love? The songbird does not ask why she sings," Christine informed, repeating the message he had given her when they had first met. "It comes from her heart—a vast, mysterious place where the question 'why' is not relevant." She wrapped her arms around his neck, staring into his dark eyes. "I do not ask 'why' because there is no simple answer. My heart is yours and will be forever."
Erik snaked his arms around her waist, holding her close. He never wanted to let go, and it turned out he wouldn't have to. He brought his head down to her level, their foreheads touching. "I think I can accept that," he whispered.
Then his lips fell onto hers once more.
Fin