"Retiring? Oh, my," Christine's play at surprise is convincing.
The managers have called her to their office to lay out the information that they believe is new.
"You've been so terribly helpful all this time, Mlle Daae. We can't think of better hands to leave the Opera Populaire in than yours."
Christine increases her phony surprise tenfold. She gasps, her hands fluttering up to her face and she looks back forth between each manager. It's only thanks to her many years of acting skills that she manages to not burst out laughing at her own display.
"Why, do you really mean it? It would be a dream come true! It'll be an awful lot of work, certainly - but I feel I am more than ready for it! Thank you so much!"
It's a fine line between too surprised and too eager, but it's one she walks well thanks to rehearsing various replies with Erik and Giry.
The managers are pleased by her response. They arrange to have the paperwork drawn up the next day, and send Christine - future manager of the Opera Populaire- on her way.
She finds Giry waiting for her just around curve in the hallway, and greets her with a huge grin.
"They asked! It'll be official tomorrow!"
Giry could nearly faint with relief, but there's far too much to plan to spend any time in a swoon. With Christine as manager, things could be so different around here.
They return to Giry's office (perhaps not her office for very much longer, now) and find Erik waiting for them. He had, of course, been hiding in the walls of the managers' office, and so he already knows what has transpired. He sweeps Christine up into a hug and kisses her.
"I should think," she says, looking up at him with sparkling eyes. "That this marks the beginning of a very different sort of relationship between the Manager of the Opera and the Phantom of the Opera."
His laugh rings out, dark and warm.
Inside of the office, they set to drinking a bottle of champagne that Giry had stowed away there in anticipation of the good news. Christine feels as bubbly as the drink in her hand as she thinks of the future that's spread out before them. Not the future she had dreamed of as a little girl, nor as a young woman - not even the future she had dreamed of a mere year or so ago - but a glorious future all the same, perhaps made sweeter by its unexpectedness. She thinks back to that day when the doctor had told her she'd never sing again, how she never would have imagined such happiness could possibly await her.
Happiness, yes, and a great deal of work as well. The days pass quickly in a flurry of activity - there is much to be done, much she would change.
The first change she implements is to declare the top floor of the opera house off limits to everyone. She has whatever offices and storage rooms that are currently there moved to a different floor. She asks Erik to draw up the floor plans he would like, and she quietly hires a construction crew to build and to modify whatever existing floor plan into what he has requested.
The cellars will no longer be his home - she won't stand for it. She breathes a sigh relief as they finally finish moving whatever furniture and various decor he wished to continue to have upstairs in his new quarters, when he has finally made the rooms up there fully his. No longer will she have to worry over his health down there in the damp cellars, if he might catch a cold or a cough from the terrible conditions. He is getting older, after all, and it is of the utmost importance to her that she have him for as many years as she can, and that he be as comfortable as he can as well. He has had a difficult life, and he deserves comfort now. He casually mentions to her one day that his knees no longer ache as they used to, and he muses that it is likely due to no longer having to climb so many sets of stairs each day. She beams for the rest of the day over this, beyond pleased that he's feeling better.
It's not just her and Erik's living quarters that she has moved upstairs. She has given Madame Giry a serious promotion and a larger office on the top floor (she gives her former office to Christine, who has sentimental attachments to it, and who will need an office that isn't on the forbidden top floor so that she can meet with employees in it). Christine has an office upstairs too, one she shares with Erik. The three of them are now often found together, discussing the various matters regarding how to best keep the opera house running. Between the three of them, the next season is one of the most successful that the Populaire has ever seen.
It takes Erik a while to adjust to living upstairs. There are many moments where he startles awake in the morning, unused to the sunlight spilling in through the curtains, or when awakes at night confused by finding moonlight and not the usual pitch blackness of his former home. It is different, but not unwelcome. It is different, also, to walk through the halls of the top story without fear of being seen, though it feels very freeing. He can do as he pleases up there now, and on occasion he even sometimes forgets that he is not simply a normal man at his place of work.
Sometimes he goes out onto the roof, into a little alcove where he has placed a chair. He has no fear of being seen or found up here - the only possible people who could ever see him are either Christine or Giry. His chair situated as it is, he would also hear if either of them were coming long before he was seen by them. There are times, in this little alcove, that he removes his mask and his wig, feeling the sunlight on his entire face for the first time since - since he cannot remember when. It feels nice, warm. It feels like he need not hide anymore. He always makes certain that both are firmly back in place before he leaves the alcove, however. Still - it is nice, those few moments out of the day when he can look at Paris and feel the breeze and the sun and listen to the birds without any anxiety at all.
Although he would say that he currently feels more at peace than he ever has before, there are still sleepless nights here and there. Sometimes he goes up to the alcove at night, to stand under the stars and to breathe the cool night air. Sometimes Christine joins him, having woken after the realizing the absence of her husband next to her. There's no need for words there, standing close to each other, her arms around his waist and his arm around her shoulder, both staring out at the cityscape that's been illuminated as never before with the new electric lights. He will invariably kiss her on the top of her head before eventually suggesting they both return to bed, his mind feeling a little more quiet now.
He's pleased to be able to finally work - not as a Ghost, but as a normal man. Christine has put him in charge of casting for the majority of shows and overseeing all of the productions. No longer must he write cryptic notes and vaguely threaten for his ideas and opinions to be taken seriously. The opera has grown tremendously in quality ever since.
Christine finds her new life can become stressful at times - sometimes more often than not (where would they all go if a certain decision caused the opera house to have to shut down? It's a tremendous amount of pressure). But on the whole she enjoys it immensely. It's tiring but satisfying work. And how she could not love working with Giry and Erik? Two of her favorite people?
She only very seldom finds herself wishing that she could still be a part of the opera house the way she used to. Occasionally she goes for long stretches of time without even thinking of singing - occasionally, like tonight, the feeling of nostalgia and sadness is a little nearer and dearer.
Tonight is the premier of her Nightingale opera.
She sits with Erik up in Box Five, nervously awaiting the the sound of the orchestra warming up, the sign that her show would soon begin.
She wishes that it were still her down there, on the other side of that red and gold curtain, and her heart aches a little. She realizes, of course, that if she had still been down there, there would be no Nightingale opera at all - no opera by the new composer Daaé, no Ghost turned opera house manager, and who knows what else might have been different? So many lovely things that had happened all because of that cough she didn't get checked in time... But she would like to think that some of them would have occurred, even still.
She glances at Erik.
She still would have been in love with him, she knew that. She would like to hope that they still would have married, but she wonders at what the different circumstances might have been. How would she have confessed her love, if she still had her voice? Would she still have needed to write an entire opera to convince him?
The orchestra hums to life. The show is beginning.
Erik reaches out and grabs her hand that's gripping tightly to her armrest, and he gives it a squeeze, smiling at her. She smiles right back. It feels like her heart is made of birds at that moment.
The lights dim and the curtain draws, and nearly every thought of what might have been vanishes. All that is left is Christine Daaé the composer watching her first opera being performed for the first time with her husband and mentor by her side, and that is more than enough.
Erik could not be prouder of his wife, of this woman who loves him so much despite his shortcomings, of this dear woman he could not imagine life without. Her opera is a thing of beauty, and when the curtain falls and the lights go up again he springs to his feet to applaud.
Christine wipes away a few happy tears. The show had been everything she had hoped it would be. It feels like a dream and she can scarcely believe that it's not. She stands as well when she claps (not for herself, but for the performers and musicians who had brought her lovely dream to life), and while doing so she scans the audience to see their reactions.
Erik had been the first to stand, but Christine notices someone in the audience who is a quick second to stand as well.
Raoul.
Raoul de Chagny is there, front row, standing and applauding wildly. Christine's breath catches a moment. There's a young woman there with him, and Christine notices the sparkle of a diamond ring on her finger. She's standing and clapping joyfully too, smiling. Madame de Chagny, Christine supposes. She vaguely remembers that she's seen her before now, but she honestly hadn't thought of either of them very much until this very moment.
Erik notices where she's staring so breathlessly, and he paused as he watched the pair down below. Any jealousy he might feel is wasted, Christine thinks to herself. She is surprised to see him again after all this time, and she feels only the vaguest of wistful nostalgia for him - she knows those days are far behind them all. She misses him like she misses being a child - carefree innocence that she knows she can never recover, but isn't certain if she wants to even as she laments it's loss. They both found others to marry, and Christine would not change her choice for the world. She hopes that he is as happy with his wife as she is with Erik. Raoul deserves to be happy, she thinks, and smiles a little. He certainly looks happy.
A glance at Erik tells her that he is uncertain. When she turns to him she can read the questions etched there on his face as plain as day - do you miss him? Do you wish he were by your side instead?
Christine smiles kindly at him.
"It's a surprise to see him here," she tells him. "I hadn't been expecting him."
Erik licks his lips, which suddenly feel too dry.
"Do you- do you wish to go speak with him?" he asks, nervous.
She looks down at her old friend and his wife again, at how they smile at other as they whisper and laugh. She shakes her head.
"No," she says. "No, not tonight. Perhaps- perhaps another time we'll catch up with each other. But tonight I only want the company of my husband."
Erik relaxes once more at her words, observing his one-time rival. He looks a little older, a little more mature, and now he's sporting a mustache. Erik reaches a tentative finger to his own face.
"Christine," he hesitates. "Do you think I should grow a mustache?"
She turns to him, thinking he's having a go at her, but she quickly realizes from the nearly pained look on his face that he's actually serious. She glances at Raoul and back to Erik, pressing her lips into a thin line.
"Decidedly not," she says with a huff, and he nods.
She breathes a little sigh of relief. She hadn't been a fan of Raoul's mustache to begin with, the very last thing she needed was Erik somehow getting the idea that she thought Raoul more handsome than him, causing him to try to imitate the young man.
They stay in Box Five until the theater is empty. There, as the last two people left, a flutter of nerves return to Christine's stomach. It had gone well, and people had seemed to like it, but she couldn't help but worry over it even still.
"It was perfectly fine," Erik squeezes her hand again as he assures her. "Everyone loved it, and of course they did - it was marvelous!"
She nods, trying to convince herself.
He can tell, however, that it's still consuming her even as they prepare for bed that evening, and he realizes that perhaps a bit of distraction would be for the best.
"Everything could not have gone more perfectly tonight," he murmurs between soft kisses to her cheek and neck as he pulls her close. "A perfect performance of a perfect story with a perfect score."
"Oh?" she blushes a little and squirms to be closer to him.
"And written by a perfect wife," he sighs happily. "How did I ever manage to gain such a blessing?"
He scoops her up and carries her to bed as she giggles softly, and he knows his plan has succeeded.
First thing in the morning, she goes to the market and buys a newspaper. She folds it in half under her arm as she hurries back to the opera house, too nervous to even peek at what it might have to say before she's safely in her kitchen.
Erik is there in their kitchen when she gets back, a cup of tea waiting for her. She takes a sip with trembling hands while Erik eyes the paper, but he doesn't open it, knowing that she wants to be the first to read the review.
She takes a deep breath and opens it, flipping through the pages until she finds what she's looking for. She begins to read it out loud, her voice a little unsteady at first.
"The Nightingale, by new composer Christine Daaé, premiered last night at the Opera Populaire. This little show, while unusual in many respects, is a - oh, Erik! - he said it was a triumph of the arts!" her face lights up at the review. "He said everyone should go see it!"
Erik picks her up and spins her around as she laughs.
"What did I tell you, my dear?"
After the newspaper's recommendation, every showing is sold out. Inspired by such wild success, Christine and Erik begin to collaborate on a second opera, although progress on this one is a little slower than on the first. Neither one minds, however. It is the process of creating and the time spent together that they both enjoy.
The season closes, one of the most successful in the opera house's history. It is nearly Christmastime again, so they throw a small party on the top floor, one to celebrate both the coming holiday and the end of a successful show. The party size has doubled since last year - instead of just the trio, now Meg and her husband are able to attend, along with Nadir.
It's a lovely evening with lovely people, and plenty of cake and wine to go around. They linger there for hours, and Christine marvels at how much it feels like they are a normal couple entertaining friends in their own home. Erik is no longer shy at the little party, instead feeling quite outgoing, and Christine is proud of how well he does with conversation.
Their guests slowly and regretfully take their leave, first Nadir, and then Madame Giry, and then Meg and her husband. At last it is just Christine and Erik left on the couch in front of the fireplace.
She glances up at him, at the ghost of a smile left on his face as he recalls the previous hours and companionship it afforded. She thinks back to the previous Christmas, how different things are, how hard they've both worked to establish this little life of theirs.
When she returned to the Populaire, voiceless, hopeless, she never could have imagined anything like this might come to pass for her. She is happily married to the man she loves so dearly, she is no longer a singer but she is a budding composer and writer and musician, she is co-manager of an entire opera house, she has a very spacious apartment (in a sense) that's quite charming in its decor and style, she has beloved friends who keep in touch frequently, and an entire future spanning out before her now. She sighs happily.
And Erik - he no longer has to live in a cellar. No longer has to live without being loved. His work is the respectable work of a man and not that of a specter. Her heart has never felt so full as it currently does.
"Erik," she whispers. "I love you."
Erik doesn't freeze as he did last year upon hearing those same words - no, now he smiles when he looks at her. She leans over to kiss him, and this time when he reaches for her, it is most definitely not to push her away. He did not repeat her sentiments before the kiss, but no matter - she can feel his response in his lips and in his hands and on his tongue. Nevertheless, he breaks the kiss and pulls back just enough to murmur something, his voice dark and rich before kissing her again.
"I love you too, Christine."
Author's Note: You've reached the end! Thanks so much to everyone who read along, and to everyone who commented. It really means a lot!
