A/N This kind of got away from me. But everyone wanted to get their two cents in...everyone that is except Erik. He stood in a dark corner and glared at me, but luckily no one else had any problem talking about him, even his Christine. Thank you for reading.

And...curtain.

Four years later / Gettysburg

Meg pulled into the driveway near dusk and got out of her car. It was a beautiful evening in early October, with the mild days of autumn gradually slipping away into the cold and ice of winter. It was the dying of the growing season, but she well knew life would return in the form of the tender green buds unfurling in the warmth of a spring sun. Just as it always did, but for now she would enjoy the fall, her favorite time of the year. Orange and red leaves. Crisp, sunny afternoons and cozy nights by the fire with her favorite wine. And fella.

She heard the humming of a lawn mower from behind the house, and walking over to the outside edge of the back porch, she peeked around the corner and did a double take. She let out a snort and ran lightly onto the porch and into the kitchen.

Christine stood at the table rolling out noodle dough. She looked up at Meg then straightened, putting both hands on her back and wincing a little. "Meggie! Do these look right to you?"

Meg dropped into a chair and looked at the noodles drying on tea towels all over the kitchen. "My mom always dries them on wooden racks, but they look fine to me. When did you start making noodles?"

"I figured if I told Erik how hard I slaved making them, he'd be more willing to eat a bowl."

"Still strong arming the poor man to eat, huh? You're just used to watching someone like Phil Love 'em and Leave 'em de Chagny polish off a steak dinner and leave nothing but the bone on his plate. Your husband gets by on a lot less, so quit trying to fatten him up." She gestured at Christine's large belly. "As long as he can keep planting Reauchards in there, I'd say he's pretty well off on the energy," and ducked when Christine threw a tea towel at her.

She plucked a noodle off the towel and popped it in her mouth. "Not bad. Besides, I couldn't imagine Erik as anything but seven feet tall and one hundred pounds soaking wet. Could you?"

Christine huffed in irritation. "They taste better cooked, you know. And for your information, he's not seven feet tall. Only six four, and he weighs more than that." With a smug grin, she looked pointedly behind Meg. "Why don't you ask him yourself. He's been standing there listening," and laughed when her friend whipped around in panic to an empty doorway.

She grabbed her chest and gasped for air. "That was a rotten thing to do! You almost gave me a heart attack."

Christine wagged a finger in Meg's direction. That'll teach you to make fun of my husband, and besides, I'm not trying to fatten him up. I've come to the conclusion that's impossible, but I'm still looking for food he might like more than others."

"Uh huh. Whatever you say." She glanced around the kitchen where every flat surface was loaded with noodles. "All the same, you're getting awfully domestic around here, Chris." She jerked a thumb over her shoulder, relieved that Erik was still out in the back yard. "And that goes for him as well. What's your Frenchman up to now?"

Christine wiped her hands on the towel tied around her expanding waistline and laughed. "He enjoys it, believe it or not, so who am I to say anything? He pretends he doesn't, but I know differently."

"Don't let the men of America hear you, Christine. Mowing the lawn is not something they enjoy, not to mention he's doing it in a friggin' suit! Hasn't he ever heard of work clothes? What planet is Erik from anyway?"

Christine looked out the door as her husband made another pass with the lawnmower, and her mood changed rapidly from amusement to sadness. Dismayed, her eyes filled with tears and she rounded indignantly on her friend. "Why are you belittling him, Meg? He hasn't had a normal life like other men. He's happy doing mundane things. That's his idea of enjoyment, so cut him some slack, okay? He tries so hard and..." She clammed up, feeling foolish for her outburst and gave her friend a contrite smile. "Sorry. That was really dumb! It seems to be a habit with me lately."

Meg grinned and gave her a quick hug, brushing flour off her shirt. "Hey, don't worry. It's all those hormones kicking in at the same time. I'm the one who should be sorry. You know my sense of humor. He's great." And she meant it too.

Christine nodded. "Yeah, I do. You're right though. I snapped at him over nothing a little while ago then started crying cause I did. As smart as he is, he still doesn't understand emotional changes and pregnant women. He thinks it's something he did wrong and he's been tiptoeing around me like I'm going to explode any minute." Ha! Boy, do I have that right. Most people are afraid of Erik, but who frightens the Phantom? Me.

Meg looked closely at her friend. "Okayyy. I understand the tears, but what's the big dopey grin for? Did you win the lottery? Um, find out they want to make you citizen of the year? Uh, wait..wait for it!" she exclaimed, snapping her fingers. "Um...you're pen pals with Johnny Depp." She snorted in disgust. "Nope. Erik would never allow that. Besides, that's on my bucket list. So, what already?"

Christine waved a hand. "It's those hormones again. I go from one extreme to the other." Meg gave her a suspicious glance, but said nothing. Oh yeah, the fact that I can make my husband run and hide from me is something I'll just keep to myself. After all, I don't think Erik would want Meg armed with that knowledge.

She went over to the kitchen door and watched with loving eyes as her husband mowed their lawn, his long legs eating up the distance. He looked oddly content in the gathering darkness, sleeves pushed to the elbows, his thin arms corded with sinewy muscle. She never tired of his graceful movements with even the smallest of tasks.

Meg jerked a thumb at the thin figure in the back yard nearly swallowed by deep shadows. "Heh. You must have one hell of a dry-cleaning bill with him! So what's next for Rikky, huh? Golfing with Philippe and the boys on Saturday?"

Christine rolled her eyes at Meg. "An occasional glass of scotch and a game of chess with Phil hardly qualifies for that. I have to practically push him out the door as it is, but it's another thing he won't admit he enjoys."

Meg and Erik had a friendship of sorts, but after four years she was still cautious around him. He would only ever open himself up to one person- Christine. She knew the Phantom wasn't gone, merely hibernating, for she had on occasion seen him looking out of Erik's eyes.

She sometimes joked to his face- err, mask, but when he fixed that penetrating yellow-eyed stare on her, she backed off. At least they were able to carry on small conversations, either instigated by herself or Christine, but never by Erik. He had settled in happily to married life. His idea of happy anyway. Christine had told her a little of her husband's background. Meg surmised this was the most content he'd ever been.

She was most comfortable zinging Erik behind his back. All in good fun, of course. If Meg was completely honest with herself, she would admit to being slightly envious of her best friend. To have a man like him, whose eyes rarely left his wife, and who was putty in her small hands, would be nice up to a point.

He was possessive with Christine, but fortunately, Chris felt the same way about him. Meg wanted someone less intense and more fun loving. Philippe had the right idea. He was dating a woman who loved nothing better than an afternoon of horseback riding, followed by an evening of dinner and dancing at the Hickory Bridge Inn. Anne Sorelli and Phil were getting pretty serious. Could be he'd finally found the woman he was looking for. Meg snorted. Or maybe the one willing enough to put up with him. Just like the man she was dating now; Ben Wilcox was a veterinarian from Chambersburg, and the two of them had been having a good time for the past year.

Marriage? Maybe.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Elizabeth chasing a naked two year old into the kitchen. "Kire Charles Reauchard! Get back here, young man and get some clothes on!"

Christine caught the laughing little boy up in her arms and gave him a kiss on one soft cheek. "Better listen to Granma, Kire. Don't make her chase you."

Meg got up and took him from Christine. "Come on, young 'un. Let's get some pj's on you."

She ruffled his wispy black hair and grinned when she thought of all the angst it took to get him here. Erik adored his son, but once upon a time he refused to consider the idea of a baby. He was afraid of a repeat of himself and made it clear to Christine, there would be no little Reauchards running around the house. With that declaration, the war was begun and the first battle engaged. Mamma revealed to Meg that she could hear the two of them arguing in their rooms upstairs.

Christine was making the loudest noise, but Elizabeth had cringed hearing the low, furious tones of her husband. Erik, when angry, was frightening. Three days later, after many tears, a tense Christine and a mournful Erik reached a compromise. Test his genetic material and make certain it was normal.

Meg joined Elizabeth in the parlor a few weeks later. Christine and Erik were in Paris and the house was quiet.

Meg had to know. "How are the lovebirds? Everything okay again?"

Mamma looked up from her knitting. "Oh yes. Right as rain. Those two can't stay angry at each other for long."

"So who won the battle of the baby?"

Elizabeth smiled and held up her pale yellow knitting. "This color will make a lovely baby sweater, don't you think?"

"He never stood a chance against her, did he?" Meg said sadly, but her eyes brimmed with laughter.

"Noo, he did not, the poor man," Mamma concurred. "What's worse, I saw her packing that little scrap of black lace she calls a nightie. Mark my words. I'll be a grandmother before a year's gone."

And she was.

Things were great until Christine decided another little Reauchard was needed to complete her family. Erik once again dug in his heels. Christine's first pregnancy had been difficult, and his only concern was for her health which made him stubborn. The battle was engaged once more, only this time Meg witnessed the first salvo.

She walked into the kitchen one afternoon and found the two of them nose to chest, Christine red in the face and Erik standing there tall and menacing, looking very much like a perpendicular storm cloud. He had been intimidating, no doubt about it, towering over his much smaller wife, but her friend thought nothing of getting in his face- figuratively speaking.

Meg watched Erik, fascinated against her will by his eyes, which looked like they were shooting sparks. His beautiful voice for once was a cold hiss directed at his wife. It was so unlike how he usually spoke to her that Meg couldn't look away. No, not even if her hair had been on fire. She became alarmed when her friend started emphasizing her point by poking her husband in the chest, and to Meg it was like teasing a bear with a stick through the bars of its cage. And this particular bear looked like he was ready to bite.

Erik stood his ground, head tilted to the side as if studying a new and intriguing alien life form, hands tightly fisted in the black material of his pant legs. Finally, as if he was listening to some internal voice, he backed away from his wife and left the kitchen faster than she would have thought possible. Christine looked at Meg, surprised at her presence and started after him, but Meg's hand shot out and stopped her. "Uh uh. You need to let him cool down, friend and stop poking him with that stick."

Christine's eyes immediately softened. "He would no more hurt me than he would Kire," she snorted. "But you're right, Meggie. No sense getting him too upset. He's only worried about my health."

To Meg, it was a repeat of life prior to Kire. A few days of tension and tears, and Erik had capitulated and said yes to another child. Only from what Meg could gather, there was no horizontal loving going on in their large bed. Christine intimated that Erik was withholding his charms as a way of protest. After a week of nothing but chaste kisses, she pulled out her lace teddy from their wedding night and attempted to tempt him. In true Phantom-style, he slipped very reluctantly from the house and played chess with Philippe until his ardor cooled and he felt it was safe to return home.

Meg was surprised by Christine's grin when she told her this. "He seems bent on teaching you a lesson, but he's a Frenchman- how much longer can he hold out?"

Christine only laughed, but Erik held out for nearly another week, after days of tense silence and some very heated looks between the married couple. Meg shook her head, recalling those smokin' glances between husband and wife which made her squirm, especially sitting at the dinner table, and hell, she wasn't exactly a prude or a stranger to a little happy happy. At one point she got Christine alone, and told her snidely to go boink her husband in the privacy of their bedroom. Christine had merely stared indignantly at her. She chuckled, looking now at her friend's big belly. Chris had done exactly that though. She pecked Kire's cheek and headed upstairs with him.

Elizabeth went over to Christine and took the rolling pin off of her. "Go sit on the swing for a while. You need to rest a little more often." She waved her away. "Go on."

Christine rolled her eyes, but heeded her advice. It would feel good to sit down.

Mamma had her reservations concerning Erik when she heard the news they had married in Paris, but over the years she'd come to adore him. He could be moody sometimes, and it was rare when he actually smiled, but she need only watch him and Christine together, to decide they were both happy. He was always reserved around Elizabeth, but his fondness for the older woman came out in all of the things he did for her. Whatever needed fixing around the house, he took care of himself.

The Victorian had been converted back into a single family dwelling, much to Mamma Valerius's relief. Erik did all of the remodeling, and now he and Christine had their own spacious apartment on the upper floors. She was of a mind that any man who could fix just about anything and play beautiful music, whether on the piano or violin, was rare indeed.

And she couldn't help but be glad after all these years, to have a man in the house once again. He had proven himself to be devoted to his family. She remembered when Christine went into labor with Kire on the last day of May two years ago. Leaning heavily on her husband, she started walking to the car, when he'd lifted her effortlessly into his arms and carried her out, Christine protesting all the way.

After a few harrowing hours and a nearly out of control Erik, their son had been born. Mamma had finally persuaded him to return home with her after nearly an hour of argument. Christine's labor had not been easy and a Cesarean had been performed. The doctor had elected to keep Christine another day, and Elizabeth's patience with Erik for those three days had been severely tested.

He would spend the entire day at the hospital, causing a minor disruption there, then return home and literally walk miles through the house unable to do much else. She had awakened the second night of Christine's absence to find Lucy gone. After a few minutes of searching, she found her in the parlor curled up in Erik's lap. Apparently the little dog was sensing his need for some comfort.

"You need to get some sleep and you won't, sitting in that chair all night. You're going to be busy when Christine gets home with your son."

He stretched tiredly, but his eyes flared bright with emotion. "My son, Elizabeth! Mine!" The look he gave her was a triumphant one, and she felt a welling of tenderness for him. "We have not spent a night apart since she came to me in Paris. I cannot sleep."

And he hadn't either until the sore, but radiant new mother returned home with their baby.

Christine removed the towel from her waist and went outside. Standing on the porch, she watched her husband as he finished up the mowing. They had married in Paris after a very short engagement. She felt bad when she told Mamma that the wedding she'd planned for Christine would never take place, but neither she or Erik wanted to wait any longer.

She never regretted it. They honeymooned in the City of Lights and made love on the opera house roof under the stars. He was a gentle, passionate lover, and together they found completion in one another. They decided between the two of them, they could successfully live in Gettysburg and Paris, trading off every six months or so. And despite the drawbacks and hassles of moving their lives to another continent every year, it was working. Elizabeth occasionally accompanied them to France, but for the most part, she was happy with her life and friends in Gettysburg.

They had bought a 150 year old townhouse that Erik renovated, overlooking the Bois de Boulogne; regretfully, the house by the lake was closed up. They had many fond memories of it and were both sad to leave it behind.

Christine saw Raoul every now and then. He had married and moved to Frederick, Maryland, managing one of their jewelry stores there. He would always be her dear friend, and they still got together when he visited Philippe, but he would never be at ease around Erik. They would sit and talk while his brother and the masked man met over a chess board. A hesitant friendship had sprung up between the two men after the events of the masquerade.

It pleased Christine to watch her husband relax a little around others. What made her the happiest though was watching him and their son together. She would never forget his reaction to the birth of his child. His eyes had been bright with tears, and his deep love for the little boy was clearly evident the moment the newborn was placed in his arms.

It was so much more than he'd ever expected to have in his life.

Christine, with Erik's permission, took some of his compositions, and met with the head of the music department at Gettysburg College. Professor Wingate was her former teacher and an old friend of her father's; he was very interested in Erik's music, classifying it as some of the most original and brilliant work he'd seen in a long time. He was now discussing the possibility of her husband performing it, with the hope of compiling it all on a CD of piano and violin pieces. Christine was excited at the thought of Erik finally getting recognition for his incredible talent.

He made good on his promise to design and construct homes. After receiving his contractor's license, he hired a draftsman to submit his drawings, and his popularity grew steadily after getting off to a slow start. His work was finding more and more favor with people wanting a fresh approach. Meetings with clients would always be awkward for him, but his building plans were innovative, and people either accepted his sinister appearance or were shown the door. Thankfully, enough were able to move past his strangeness and appreciate his diversity in architecture.

Christine and Meg rented a building on York St., and for six months out of the year, the Gettysburg Musical Theatre for Children presented to the public, plays and musicals adapted to the talents of kids. It had become very popular in Gettysburg, and maintained its excellence with the help of a former opera ghost who conducted the pint sized orchestra. The theatre had nearly folded early on, when a number of parents pulled their children from the program after meeting the musical director for the first time. Christine had become livid at their bias of her husband, but when the few kids who remained, improved dramatically in their musical abilities, thanks in large part to Erik's efforts, the ranks of children swelled until they were turning them away. The children at the center of the controversy accepted him much quicker than the adults did, and with Erik's no nonsense approach to music, they were well on their way to becoming a viable group of young musicians.

She was sitting on the swing when he stepped as silently as ever onto the porch and sat down beside her.

"Enjoy yourself?" She smiled at him.

He leaned over and kissed her on the mouth. "Enjoy myself? It has to be done, Christine, or it will swallow our son and Lucy from view someday."

She laughed and rested her hand on his thigh. "Oh really? What happened to the boy we hired to keep it cut?"

Erik shrugged and put his arm hesitantly around his wife. "Busy, I suppose." He leaned down and kissed her temple, still not sure of her present mood. "Are you feeling better now, my darling?"

"Oh, yes. Much better." She squeezed his leg and smiled to herself when he visibly relaxed. Poor man! I'm going to owe him big time after this baby is born.

After going through hell four years ago, they had only grown closer. She smiled to herself. In another four, they would be completing each others sentences. But life wasn't always easy with her masked man. He could every so often, become intractable and melancholy, and at those times he would require a little more patience and understanding. Sometimes though, she would find herself fresh out of both to deal with him, and they would end up shouting at each other. The angrier Erik got the less able she was to understand him, for in his wrath, he would switch to his native tongue with a few choice bits of other languages thrown in for good measure. But at least they could anticipate the making up, something at which her husband, like all things he put his clever mind to, had become very skilled. Yep, definitely my favorite part. All that passion needed an outlet and what better way? What did Meg call it? Oh yeah. Bump fuzzies.

Nightmares still plagued him from time to time, and she would hold him close and give what comfort she could. Fortunately over the years, the bad dreams seemed to be bothering him less, especially after coming to the conclusion that Christine was here to stay. She considered him brilliant and talented, but most of all- hers.

She put her hand on the cheek of his mask. "Let's go upstairs," she whispered. "You can take this off and relax."

His yellow eyes took on that glow she loved so much. "Yes," he hissed softly.

When they were in their own apartment, he would remove the mask and leave it off. Kire was used to his father's face, but again, it had taken some convincing to get Erik to do it in the first place.

"Ek!"

He heard his son yelling as the screen door was pushed open and the little boy came out, making a beeline for his father. Erik bent over, scooping him up and sitting him on his lap.

Christine looked at her son and shook her head. "Uh uh. Dad, Kire. Or Pere. You don't call your father by his given name. Say Dad, okay?"

Her son watched her closely with wide eyes, then turned to his father and pointed one small finger at him. "Ek."

Erik looked at his wife and smiled. "You have confused him, ma belle. You gave him two different appellations. Everyone else calls me Ek- why shouldn't he?"

"You're incorrigible, Mr. Reauchard."

He tsked. "Careful, or your son will call me that next."

Christine observed father and son, noting the similarities. Same black hair, pale skin and long-fingered hands. When she looked at her son, she could clearly see what her husband's face should have been, but she saw her family there as well. Their child had her blue eyes, and whether or not she was imagining it, her father's smile.

The nose she wasn't so sure about...

Kire's red and wrinkled face at birth put her husband in a state of awe. His fear that the baby would inherit his deformity had been unfounded. They had arrived home from the hospital with their newborn son, enjoying an early celebratory dinner Mamma made for them.

The little family had gone upstairs early, and putting a sleeping Kire in his bassinet, the exhausted parents had retired to bed themselves, a relieved and very tired Erik gathering his wife close and shutting his eyes.

At one a.m., always a light sleeper, he was out of bed at his son's first cry.

Christine, drowsy and still recovering from her surgery, watched her husband carefully pick up their child and cradle him close. He figured out the mechanics of his first diaper change, and then brought the baby to his wife for a feeding. He got into bed and laid back, enthralled by the two most important people in the world to him, still not quite believing they were his.

"Look at him, Erik! He's beautiful."

"Yes."

He continued to watch them, then reached out and stroked his wife's hair. "Thank you," he said quietly.

She turned and smiled tiredly. "For what?"

He nodded his head at their sleeping child. "For my son..." he paused, nearly overcome with love. "For...everything."

She curled her hand in his shirt, pulling him close for a kiss. "I adore you," she whispered.

She watched her son nurse, his tiny hand clutching her finger; after a few minutes, she glanced at her husband and found him fast asleep. She realized that in the excitement of caring for the baby, he'd forgotten his mask, and that was exactly how she wanted it. She refused to let him hide his face from his own flesh and blood. She leaned her head back on his shoulder, and bracketed on both sides by her men, she closed her eyes and joined them.

She was brought back to the present as Erik talked to the little boy. "Tomorrow you may come with me to the office. I have some building plans to bring home. Would you like that?"

The boy gave him a big, wet grin, showing his new teeth and began picking at his father's wrist watch, tapping it with one small finger. "Mine," he said, as he looked up with solemn eyes at Erik.

Christine laughed. Oh yes. Like father, like son.

Erik held Kire with one arm around him and pulled his wife closer. Touching her and being touched in return had never grown old with him. Would never grow old. Christine leaned against him. "Are you sure you want to be surprised by the sex of the baby? The doctor said he'd tell us if we want to know."

"Life is much more interesting with a little mystery, yes?"

"Yes," she whispered.

She heard Mamma and Meg talking quietly in the kitchen. Christine hoped eventually to reunite Erik and Nadir. There was still bitterness on Erik's part; perhaps it would always be there. But he was a father now, and it was much easier to understand Nadir's anguish at the time. He would do anything to keep his own son safe.

She kept in touch with the Persian a few times a year, and when she last spoke with him, Erik questioned her about Nadir and his son- something he'd always refrained from in the past. She had relayed news of Reza to her husband, then sat there with him in a companionable silence. After a few minutes, Erik leaned forward, forearms braced on his long thighs and cleared his throat.

"How is the old goat?" His tone was gruff.

Christine had smiled.

She rather thought the wall was coming down- a few bricks at a time. She looked at her husband and son, her hand resting over the life growing inside of her.

The ghost light was all that Erik had said it was that long ago summer day. Its light would never go out.

Fini