A/N: I couldn't leave things as they were, so I finally sat down last night to begin to tie up the loose ends. (I know, evil of me to have left it where I did before, but my muse had utterly abandoned me for a while!) I'm hoping to have this story properly finished up by the end of the year.
Happy holidays and season's greetings!
Back in Paris . . .
There was a bit of commotion at the opera house when Erik and Christine returned from seeing Mme. Valerius and Suzette home. The pair made use of the secret corridors to avoid adding to the excitement.
When they had reached a suitable spot from which to eavesdrop and watch the goings-on, Christine heard her paramour's breath hitch in his throat. Despite the mask, she could see the hurt confusion in his eyes. She kept silent, of course, until they were once again downstairs in the parlour in the house on the lake.
"That woman - Mignon's mother - was quite something, wasn't she? Her clothes nearly outdid La Carlotta's!"
"Hm? Oh. Yes, yes. Quite," he replied distractedly.
"Erik? Are you -" She let out a sigh. "It's been a long day. I think I shall go to bed."
He stared into the flames dancing in the fireplace, deep in thought. 'She resembled Anahita so much, yet she was so different from the woman I remember. I suppose her illness and the passing years could have - Did Christine say she was going to bed?' "Christine?" he called out tentatively.
She poked her head through the doorway after a moment. "Oui, mon cher?"
"I am sorry, my dear. I am weary from our journey. You said you wished to go to bed?"
She smiled sleepily and nodded.
"I'll be in shortly, my sweet. I just want to make sure this fire's warm enough." He spent nearly half an hour stoking the fire and adding enough logs to ensure it would last through the entire night. He wondered at that face, so familiar yet so foreign to him, and the mannerisms, while graceful and refined, lacked a certain fluidity.
He strolled to his bedroom and quickly changed for bed. He had to clear his head or he wouldn't be getting any rest. So what if that were Anahita at the party? She was married and had a child! She was obviously doing well and didn't need some corpse from her past interfering with her life now.
And he was with Christine now, and they were planning to marry. No, this other woman, whoever she was, didn't matter.
Arina stirred her tea while Mignon gushed about the party the managers had thrown for the patrons. It was good to see her daughter so happy, especially considering the dreadful accident that had befallen her so shortly after her arrival.
". . . and wasn't La Carlotta's dress absolutely exquisite? She had the fabric imported from Italy! And Sorelli! Isn't she a remarkable dancer? Oh, I knew you'd like her once you saw her on stage. It was such a pity, though, that Christine Daae couldn't be here. It was the anniversary of her father's passing a few days ago, so she went to visit his grave. But she has a wonderful voice and she'll be back tomorrow. And -"
Arina held up her hands and chuckled. "My dear, there will time enough for you tell me all about her. Tomorrow. Tonight, you should get some rest. We've had rather a busy day, yes?"
Mignon had paused mid-pirouette while her mother spoke; now, she pouted but nodded. "You're right, Mother. All the excitement of the evening has me quivering!"
"Yes, indeed," she concurred. "But we have an early start tomorrow, so we must both get some sleep."
Christine was in bed, nestled underneath the covers and writing in her diary, when Erik joined her in her room. She was relieved to see that he'd removed the mask and dabbed his soothing balm on his skin already.
"Feeling better?" she asked.
He cleared his throat self-consciously. "Yes. I suppose seeing all those people - all that noise - was a - a shock to my senses after the time we spent in Perros."
She grinned. "It is quite different. It was nice to get away, wasn't it?"
"Very. Shall I put out the light?"
"Yes, please."
The following morning, Christine awoke dark and early far beneath the streets of Paris. She didn't dare move for fear of rousing Erik, whose head rested quite adorably on her shoulder. The clock on the mantle chimed six. A low hum sounded from Erik's golden throat. His chaste angel continued the melody and stroked his balding head.
"Ah, what bliss to open one's eyes and see an angel and hear her heavenly song!" he whispered, terrified he might find this nothing more than some enchanted dream.
"'Tis exquisite joy to wake with my beloved Phantom by my side," she murmured affectionately.
"Shall we go out for breakfast or stay in this morning?"
"Mmm, let's stay in. I have to be at rehearsal at eight, and I mustn't be late my first day back."
"You're absolutely right, my dear. We both have full days ahead of us. But we can't get anything done unless we get out of bed," he chuckled.
Christine let out a lazy moan while she stretched. "All right, time to -" A yawn interrupted her motivating speech. She sat up, rubbed the sleep from her eyes, then pushed the covers away.
Erik, she noticed, had fallen back asleep.
"I'll wash up and get breakfast started. You rest, my love."
She had dressed and brewed his strong tea when he joined her in the dining room. He cut quite the dashing figure, standing there in her doorway with his cloak swirling around him and his black mask covering the better part of his face.
Le Fantome.
She couldn't hide the blush that crept up her face. 'How does he always have that effect on me? I feel like such a silly little girl in the presence of such greatness - but he is my maestro, my angel, my love. He saved me from the dreariness of my own misery.'
It took Erik more than a moment to catch his breath. 'She is an angel. An absolute angel. What could she possibly see in a demon such as I am? Ah, but angels are so pure to save the evil from their own fates, however well-deserved.'
They ate breakfast in comfortable silence for several minutes until Christine asked, out of sheer curiosity, what business he had to take care of.
"Just dropping off my instructions to the managers, checking on scenery, that sort of thing. Nothing terribly exciting. Did you sleep well last night, my dear?"
"Oh, yes, wonderfully. You?"
"Heavenly," he remarked, his eyes glowing.
Arina had had trouble sleeping and so had awoken before the dawn. She flipped through a worn photo album, reliving days long gone by. So many years had passed, and no one knew of the life she had once lived. She could tell herself that it was all behind her, had nearly convinced herself of that on several occasions, but the truth was that her past was never all that far from her thoughts.
True, she was a long way from home and a far cry from her origins; it didn't mean, however, that who she was inside had changed all that much in the ensuing years.
Once upon a time, she had dreamed of being a dancer. An unfortunate accident had quashed all those hopes. Now, here she was, several years and a whole continent later, and she was a patron of an opera house.
If she couldn't be on the stage, she reasoned, she could at least enjoy being part of the production process. The managers had been kind enough to invite her to watch the day's rehearsals, as well.
When she noticed the time, she called out for her daughter to rise. Mignon called back sleepily that she was already awake.
The morning went uneventfully. The chorus ran through the entire repertoire for the evening's performance and some new choreography. La Sorelli was thoroughly pleased to have a prominent solo.
Erik stalked around the offices and deposited his notes to the managers. He hadn't been gone for very long, so business had not suffered in his absence. Still, it was always prudent to remind them who really ran things.
He also had some gifts for Mme. Giry to thank her for being such a kind and unintrusive box attendant. That would have to wait until he attended the performance that evening as she was, at the moment, arranging flowers in the corridors leading to the box seats. She was very good at her job, varied as it was, and he appreciated the pride she took in doing it so well. And her daughter, the dark-haired little Meg, was sure to be royalty in due time.
He just had to find the right nobleman to set in her path . . .
For now, though, he had to keep an eye on the stagehands and their wandering hands. The dancers needed to maintain their focus without having to worry about some lecher making a grab.
Besides, the stagehands had better to do with making sure no pieces of scenery fell over. They wouldn't want some ghastly accident to befall any of them as Joseph Buquet had suffered.