A/N: Thank you to my reviewers for always letting me know what you thought of the story :) I own nothing except the OCs. I expect there will be the next chapter within the next day or two, which will conclude this story, so I thank you all for hanging in there with me and enjoying. Until next time!

Chapter Thirty-Three – Hope of the Future

"Isn't he a darling?!" cooed Mary as she and the other girls visited Angelique. She was seated comfortably in her bed now, having been nearly twenty-four hours since little Gerard forced his way into this world. He blinked amiably at the doting females, snuggling into his mother's bosom when he got tired at looking at them.

"He'll be having playmates over in a few years," Christine grinned, giggling as she held her own little boy in her arms. Cyrille had his parents' beautiful blue eyes and little blonde curls forming on his head, growing rapidly since his birth a month and a half prior. Likewise, Sorelli's son, Mathis, was growing quickly, constantly whining for more milk to her disappointment. He shared his father's startling grey eyes while dark hair was sprouting all over his scalp.

"Oh, such little treasures," Becca sighed.

"Oh yes, until they cry in the wee hours of the morning," Sorelli smirked. "Then you start having second thoughts."

"But you still love him," Meg stated.

Sorelli sighed, kissing her child's forehead. "Yes…yes, I do."

"How does Erik feel about him?" asked Christine, curious as to his reaction about the child. She had never pictured him to be the fatherly type, but then again, she never imagined he would be married.

"Why don't you see for yourselves?" she grinned. "Erik!" she called out, startling Gerard so much that he wailed for a few moments. "I'm sorry…don't worry, Papa will be here soon," she reassured her little one.

At once he was in the room, quickly greeting the girls before rushing to Angelique's side. "What is it? What's wrong?" he demanded, catching sight of the sniveling bundle.

"Oh, he won't stop crying…I think he wants you," she said innocently, offering him the baby.

His hands shook as he reached for the child, becoming firm and sturdy once the babe rested his head against his chest, his cries dwindling to a whimper as Erik sang softly to him. He dozed off at last, snuggling into his father's arms.

"Ohhhh!" the women all sighed and swooned, causing him to grimace as he realized he had shown himself to be so vulnerable.

"Honestly," he muttered, rolling his eyes. He earned a coy wink from Angelique, causing him to pout until he felt the baby in his arms mumble in his sleep. "Hush, little one," he murmured tenderly, sitting beside his wife on the bed. "We're here…we love you, don't we, mon ange?"

"With all our hearts," she vowed, kissing Erik's cheek before bending down to plant a soft kiss on her child's tiny, warm head. "Always…"

~OG~

Ten Years Later…

"Papa, Papa!" the little boy cried, tackling his father's legs as he entered the fine house.

Erik grunted, struggling to balance his wares as he entered his abode. "Gerard, I need some room-!"

"Papa, I finished my composition! I want to play it for you? Mama said I could!"

At once, Erik's eyes lit up and he wriggled an arm free of the parcels so that he could take his son by the hand. "Show me!" he insisted, just as gleeful as the boy. He let the child drag him off into the drawing room when suddenly, many figures jumped out of their hiding places.

"Surprise!" they cried out, nearly causing Erik to leap onto the ceiling and hiss like a cat.

"Mon Dieu, will you never stop with these infernal 'surprises'?!" he snapped, only causing the others to laugh merrily. Try as he might, he was always taken off guard whenever an event was planned and made a "surprise", and no matter what he said, deep down, he enjoyed the times when they did do such little events in his honor.

"Happy birthday, Papa!" Gerard grinned. "I was telling the truth, though-!"

"Papa! Papa!" two little girls giggled, rushing towards him from their mother's side.

"My little muses!" Erik cooed, falling to his knees and throwing the items aside so that he could embrace his daughters. The twins were approaching the age of four rather rapidly, their affections and control over their father growing with each passing day. Marceline had been born first, with the same dark tresses her father had while her mother's grey-blue eyes glistened. Rosette hurried soon after, her hair a glossy chestnut-red like her mother, while her eyes were an odd, entrancing golden hue, captivating everyone. "Paien!" he exclaimed, meaning to scold the full-grown black-haired mutt, ending up laughing instead as the canine licked him affectionately. "Down, boy…Did you help plan this party for Papa, girls?"

"Yes, yes!" the giggled in unison.

"Papa, please?" Gerard asked, his blue-grey eyes pleading for his father's attention.

He chuckled, mussing the boy's light brown hair. "Yes, my son, I would love to hear it. Go to the piano – go on! Play it for everyone."

"All right, but know that it's only for you," he said stubbornly, running away in time to miss a tear that leaked from Erik's eyes.

"Happy birthday, Erik," Angelique breathed into his ear, sending chills down his spine.

He turned to her and kissed her chastely, fighting the urge to ravage her mouth in front of the children and guests. "You little minx," he whispered, chuckling as he caressed her cheek with his knuckles. "You didn't have to do this."

"You needed cheering up," she insisting, helping him gather his parcels off the floor.

"No, no, allow us," Lamar insisted, motioning for his wife to join him.

"Thank you," Angelique nodded, returning her attention to her husband. "Girls, why don't you help Aunt Christine bring out the cake?"

"Yes, Mama!" they giggled, running off in an instant.

Angelique accepted Erik's help, inhaling deeply as she stood up. She had yet another baby on the way, but she wasn't going to let anything stop her from going about her life. She rested her head against his shoulder, remembering the tragic event of nearly a month ago. "…I know you miss him sorely, darling…but he's never really gone."

"I know," he whispered, his stomach twisting into a knot.

A month…for a month, his friend, his partner, his fatherly figure had been gone. Rupert Adelshire had been suffering from a terrible cough for the past two years, most likely from his addiction to a good cigar and his trusty pipe, and then one day, he didn't wake up. Erik and Mary had been crushed the most from the tragic news but found solace in one another. They had been working together as partners since she moved to Paris after Erik's marriage to Angelique, running the Palais Garnier like a well-oiled machine…not that they didn't have their occasional disputes, but for most of their days, they were happy to work together. With Adelshire's passing, he bequeathed his wealth to his daughter and full ownership of the opera to Erik, though he asked that he continue to work with an train his precious granddaughter. Erik was only too happy to comply with this request, but for a long time, he mourned the loss of his dear friend.

"He wouldn't want you to mourn, Erik," she said gently, watching him as he took her hand and reverently kissed it.

He sighed, running his fingers through her hair. "Erik has become so…accustomed to happiness that he almost forgot about…death, tragedy, pain, sadness…" His eyes swept across the room, catching sight of the children that frolicked and giggled in his house. There was Cyrille, Christine and Raoul's son; Mathis, Philippe and Sorelli's little boy; Suri, Nadir and Becca's charming daughter; Gaspard and Dominque, the identical twin brother and sister duo from Henri and Meg; and finally, little Jonathan, stumbling around his little legs as he followed his parents, Adrien and Mary. And then of course, there were his little girls and his bright son…

Gerard's music floated through the air on the piano, filled with happy, skipping notes that seemed to urge him to smile. So it was that his lips twitched upward as he kissed his wife once more. "You're right, mon cher…he wouldn't want us to be sad." Hugging her to his frame, he waited for the throng to return with his birthday cake, enjoying the feel of Angelique's heartbeat against his own. Life was good…

~OG~

Six Months Later…

He couldn't believe it.

He was stock still in terror as he saw the child. "No…it wasn't supposed to be like this!" How could it have taken such a dark turn? Raoul and Christine shared two fair-haired and beautiful children, Cyrille and Christia, the latter recently born just a few months prior. Adrien and Mary had recently received their own new addition as well – a second son which they named Lamar, after his scarred grandfather. Erik and Angelique's newest baby…he was supposed to be happy and beautiful, just like the other three they had…

While his skin color was normal, his eyes were black as night, with flecks of shocking gold as they stared back at Erik, with unbridled curiosity. The nose had not yet been fully formed, stopping half-way so that a small stub poked out, the two nostril holes still quite visible and gaping. He had hair as black a night already forming on his tiny skull, and at least his lips weren't transparent like his own, but still…

"Forgive me," Erik wept, falling to his knees at Angelique's bedside. He repeated it, over and over, both to his wife and newborn son. "Forgive me…"

"Erik…"

He slowly raised his head, tears of agony spilling down his face when he stopped, seeing how she gazed at the child. The baby blinked at his mother, as if waiting for her to say something.

"…my dear, darling little Erik," she cooed, smiling brightly at him. "You are handsome…and you're mine…and your Papa's…" The baby blinked at her once more when a musical, tantalizing laugh rang out through the room, trickling out of his lips. "Erik…hold him," she pleaded, her eyes full of love and longing.

"H-He's…you're not…?" he stammered.

"He's perfect, just like the others," she insisted, kissing the baby's head. "He needs his Papa…"

Erik couldn't think as to why he did it, but his hands moved towards his white mask and he removed it slowly, showing his true face to the baby. The child did not scream, nor cry…he only stared a moment, as if puzzled, before something flickered in his eyes – recognition? – and he stretched his hands out, wiggling his tiny, thin fingers at his father, as if to say, "Come closer!" Erik obeyed, taking the child in his grasp, as he had for his first three children and kissed his forehead, shivering as the baby giggled and gurgled gleefully before closing his eyes and sleeping in his arms. "…what did you call him just now?" Erik asked, facing his wife once more.

"Erik…I wanted to name him Erik before he was even born…but, if that bothers you-" she started, blushing as she realized how he might feel about it.

"Erik…Erik the Second," he repeated, stiffening just a bit as the baby cooed in his sleep. He ran his fingertips over the child's dark hair, a weak smile growing on his grotesque face. "…we will love little Erik, won't we?"

"I didn't plan on doing anything other than that," she whispered, leaning towards him. "Kiss me before I faint." He did as he was told and sat down beside her as she closed her eyes, resting for just a moment. Softly, he sang for the two of them, plans already running through his mind. "You are lucky, my son…but not that lucky," he sighed, rocking the baby to and fro. "But fret not…your Mama and I love you…and I shall do everything in my power to make things right for you…as my parents never did."

~OG~

Five Years Later…

"Madeleine, don't twirl so much!" Angelique scolded her little three-year-old daughter as she precariously spun around by the kitchen table. Her rich red curls whipped around her face as she moved, her eyes large and black as she looked back up at her mother.

"But Mama!" she whined, as she usually did when her Mama told her not to do something.

"Non," Angelique warned her. "I am not going to clean up another mess because you want to play ballerina." She had already had to move the items in the kitchen from one place to another for fear that her daughter might accidentally knock into something and send it flying onto the floor. The kitchen in Erik's underground home was not as spacious as the one in their home aboveground, which meant that little Madeleine would have to wait to dance. She and Mary's youngest child, Marie, had very bad habits of spinning on their toes and not checking where they were heading towards.

"Papa lets me dance," she pouted, plopping down on the floor in a most undignified manner.

"Papa keeps all his possessions locked away so there are no accidents," she smirked. "I want to finish Gerard's birthday cake without anymore interruptions!"

No sooner had the words left her mouth, she heard the front door open, the rush of feet hurrying to greet their visitor.

"Papa!" she heard her children call out in unison, their voices blending as though they were an angelic choir. She shivered as she heard him chuckle, a certain warmth spreading through her body. She couldn't fathom just how he was able to make her feel so young, so alive, after all these years, but he did. Fighting her urge to run to him as well, she took the cake out of the oven and set it on the stove, covering it with a cloth when a pair of lips placed themselves on her neck. She felt the hairs on her body rise at once, her eyes shutting instantly as she gave into his embrace. "Erik…"

"I'm home," he murmured, turning her around so that he could look into her eyes. She was surprised to see him in his old white mask, the one that left his lips and chin exposed, but it brought back a flood of memories to her.

"Where were you?" she asked, raising an eyebrow accusingly at him.

"My pocket watch needed polishing," he said lightly, pulling the item from his vest pocket. It was his first pocket watch, the golden one that had fallen into retirement once he had received her father's pocket watch as a wedding gift. "It's his present."

She beamed at him, kissing his lips. Gerard was a young man now, sixteen to be precise, and his best friends Cyrille and Mathis already owned their own pocket watches. Gerard was a humble boy, never asking for anything that wasn't necessary, but Erik took great pride in him and got him whatever his friends had nevertheless. Gerard, just like his brother and sisters, adored his father, even with his grotesque face. He had inherited a gift for composing and playing the piano, he had ingenious designs that he had sent in to many architectural competitions (and won nearly all of them), and he had a sharp eye for details when it came to assisting his father and their "aunt" Mary Adelshire in managing the opera house.

"Where are they now?" she asked, noticing how quiet it was in the house.

"I told them to go upstairs and find Suri…she's waiting to take them to Henri's home. They've set up another awful 'surprise' party." He rolled his eyes. "With all these 'surprises', it's a miracle we're still able to be surprised."

"Erik, I haven't gotten the cake ready yet," she frowned. "We should be going with them."

"The children are going to play games – our friends won't be there for another two hours or so," he reassured her. "Meg and Christine will be keeping watch over them."

"Oh…well then," she shrugged, still feeling that there was something he was keeping from her. "How is Jammes doing?"

"Madame Cecile is utterly insufferable, as per usual," he grumbled, shaking his head. "I still can't believe you convinced me to hire her as the new box keeper."

"She believes in the 'Opera Ghost' still," she smirked. "And after her injury, she needed a new profession. I couldn't think of a job better suited for her, considering…" She stopped, the words in her mouth drying instantly.

Erik nodded, also somber. "Yes…Madame Giry was a fine woman." The old widowed box keeper had died months ago, leaving the position of concierge and box keeper open for several weeks before Angelique finally suggested they hire little Jammes – who, coincidentally, was not so little anymore.

"Never mind that, Erik," she shook her head. "This is a happy day. I should start getting my clothes ready-"

"Not yet," he said softly, his hold on her waist tightening just a bit.

"Erik-?" she asked, gasping as he began to kiss her passionately, his long fingers running up her spine to loosen her bun. "E-Erik! The children-!"

"Aren't here," he smirked seductively.

"B-But…I-"

"You what?"

"…Erik…do you still find me…well…"

"Attractive? Beautiful? Irresistible? But of course, you are the Angel of my heart…why do you ask?" He pulled back, taking his turn to raise an eyebrow at her. "Whatever is the matter?"

"Oh, I don't know," she shook her head. "I was looking in the mirror the other day, and…well, I'm not as thin as I used to be, and-"

"Mon ange, I am losing my graying hair, I have this hideous face, and you still kiss me without a hint of disgust. Your being a bit plump from having several children only serves to make Erik…hungrier." He nipped her bottom lip, feeling her melt into his arms. "Mon Dieu, I love you, Angelique…"

"Erik," she moaned, claiming his mouth as she moved to unbutton his shirt.

Taking her into his arms, he carried her off to their room, entangled in one another for quite some time.

~OG~

Seven Years Later…

Madame Jammes Cecile brushed the dust off of her shoulder before stepping into the elusive Box Five, her senses already heightened. At thirty-eight years old, her dark hair was already streaking with the first signs of old age. Grown woman though she was, she remained a skittish young girl at heart, and her belief in the Opera Ghost drove her husband and bosses mad at times. She took her job very seriously, unwittingly following the steps of the previous box keeper, Madame Juliette Giry.

Entering the room and shutting the door after her, she placed the meager bouquet of red roses onto the plush seat when she stiffened, sensing another presence. "…monsieur?"

"Good evening, Madame Cecile," the silky tenor spoke, alluring her in the most unexpected of ways. "I see you brought the flowers. You will find your compensation underneath the seat."

She knelt down and pulled an envelope out at once, tucking it into her shawl. "Merci, Monsieur Opera Ghost," she curtsied. "Will there be anything else?"

"Tell me, what do the managers plan on having for this next season?" he asked coolly, sending shivers down her spine.

"Faust," she answered, waiting for another command. She had seen this Phantom, many years ago as a dancer in the corps de ballet as a girl, and having heard his voice again in the past few years reassured her that he was most certainly not gone from the Palais Garnier.

He chuckled, a sound that made her want to wince and swoon all at once. "Delightful. Thank you, Madame, that is all for tonight."

"As you wish," she curtsied once more before excusing herself and escaping at once.

Box Five was still, silent for several minutes before one of the columns inside the dark area sprang open silently, allowing for a lithe figure to step out. A young boy's laugh was stifled as the "Phantom" stepped out of his hiding place and pressed his fist to his mouth. "It gets better and better every time," he whispered.

"Indeed."

The boy jumped back several feet as another tall, lanky figure emerged from the shadows. Both of them stared at one another, both sets of golden eyes glowing in the dark like an enchanted cat. "Papa," the boy gasped, stiffening as his father approached him. "It…it's not what it looks like."

"I see you've been taking note of the secret pathways and hiding places I showed you," Erik said curtly, readjusting his dark mask. "Your mother would be furious if she knew you were taking up my old persona of 'le Fantome'."

Erik Chevalier the Second sighed in defeat, bowing his head. "I wasn't trying to cause any harm…that old harpy likes to take my requests, anyways."

"Yes, she does," Erik the Elder grinned, chuckling in spite of himself. He was getting on in his years, well into his seventies by now. He had given up the Opera Ghost business and planned on retiring soon from working at the opera as its manager. Mary Adelshire was well adept at working on her own, and she had even taken his eldest son, Gerard, into the business of management.

How the time flew…Gerard was twenty-three now, working hard at the Palais Garnier. Marceline and Rosette, now sixteen, were also both occupied in the theater – Marceline had taken up the position of seamstress with her mother while Rosette was tutored by her father as well as her "aunt", the Vicomtesse de Changy, joining the chorus of the Opera House. Little Madeleine threw a fit one day demanding that she wanted to dance, so it was that she was placed in the corps de ballet at ten years old. And Erik the Younger…

Little Erik, now twelve years old, was fascinated with the stories his father had told him of the "Opera Ghost" that haunted the opera house, eventually putting the pieces together and realizing it was indeed his father that had done the task of terrorizing the citizens within. In the past year, he had brought the Opera Ghost back to life, reinstating a renewed fear and awe of the Phantom. Everyone who knew the Chevalier family thought it was Erik the Elder up to his old tricks now that he was planning on retirement…but it was not so. Sharing more or less the same hideous facial features as his father, young Erik learned to accept himself and used the masks his father made for him. It was certainly liberating and he gave no real second thoughts about it for many years…until recently. He would be found staring at himself in the mirror, his eyes glazed over as he was lost in his thoughts. He had taken a greater liking to his father's old white mask that only revealed his strange eyes, his thin lips, and his pale chin.

"I suppose you'll tell Maman now," Erik the Younger sighed, scuffing his foot against the carpet.

"Perhaps…perhaps not," Erik shrugged. When his son gaped at him, he sighed in response. "You remind me of myself, Erik…in so many ways…while it is good, I don't want you to become exactly like me. There are certain traits that should not be utilized. You have an advantage you can use and appreciate…I did not have the same happiness you had at your age."

"I won't destroy the chandelier, I swear it!" Erik vowed passionately. "I would never kill anyone! I just…I want a way for my face…my true self, to be free. The Phantom of the Opera is a part of our legacy, Papa…a part of you. I don't want it to die."

Erik the Elder felt a strange, ghostly smile stretch over his gruesome lips as he beckoned his youngest son to approach him. Embracing the boy, he kissed the top of his head and whispered, "Neither do I." Seeing his son's face light up, he added quickly, "But it's best if you try to be more discreet. When your mother realizes who it really is – and believe me, she will – she'll either be very impressed or mortified…or both."

"I will be," Erik the Younger nodded. Pouting, he added in a grumble, "Besides, that goody-two-shoes Suri is on to me. She's so nosy and bossy!"

Erik barked out a laugh, knowing that the twenty-two year old woman had inherited those traits from her father, the Persian. "Yes, we'll need to work on your skills." Shaking his head, he gathered the flowers the Jammes had left behind. "And these?"

"Oh, those are for Maman," Erik the boy smirked. "They're your present to her for your anniversary."

"Mon Dieu, that's today?!" Erik the father gasped, his hand flying to his head. "I need to compose something for her!"

"I already have," Erik the Younger shrugged. "If you'd like it, that is." He grinned as his father scowled, only to place his arm around him moments later, leading him towards the hollow pillar.

"Come, my son…show me what else you know before we return home for the night."

~OG~

Five Years Later…

The hansom cab stopped before the beautiful establishment, allowing the rather pudgy man to step out and gaze at it. He paid the driver absentmindedly, ordering him to wait for a moment as he moved towards the door. Raising his fist, he knocked on the wooden barrier, waiting until the door opened. A middle-aged woman with soft red hair blinked at him, stunned by his arrival. "Can I help you, monsieur?"

"I certainly hope so," the man said, fixing his spectacles. "I'm looking for Gerard Chevalier."

"I'm afraid he's working today at the Palais Garnier," she shook her head. "He's- Berlioz! Get Franc away from the door!" she said suddenly as a mutt ran to the doorway to see the visitor.

"Pardon," the man inside apologized, tugging the excited mongrel away.

"My son was supposed to be watching him," the woman apologized as well.

"Oh, that's perfectly fine," he smiled. "Anyways, you said he would be at the Opera Garnier?"

"Yes," she nodded. "You'll find him there…may I ask who sent you?"

"I've seen many people who instructed me to come here," he told her truthfully. "The de Changys, the Baronne de Castelot-Barbezac, the Joubert-Adelshire residents, and one fellow who called himself 'the Persian'. Even members of the Chevalier household directed me here."

"Oh my," she blinked. "You'll have to excuse me, I'm rather surprised that they would all direct you here to speak with the Master…if you don't mind me asking, whatever is this for?"

"I'm a journalist and author, Madame," he tipped his hat once more. "And I have heard of a most intriguing tale that only your employer can help me unravel completely. I need to know the truth about this family and its involvement with a certain specter at the opera…listen to me, rambling! I shall take my leave now."

As he turned away, she called out to him, "Your name, monsieur?"

"Leroux…Gaston Leroux."