This epilogue wanted to be written like this, and it refused anything else. I hope you enjoy it.

Epilogue

Almost One Year Later.

Nadir Khan considered himself a rather knowledgeable man. He had, after all, been chief of police in Mazandaran for sixteen years and a public servant of the law in one way or another long before then. He knew a lot about many things in this world – from tea, to weapons, to literature. If someone asked him, he would say he understood much about numerous topics, that he was a man of simple tastes that ran deep.

He was also rather excellent at understanding people.

However, what he did not understand was his own perplexing, aggravating, and wearisome persistence of a certain brooding, unpredictable man. This was not the first time he had crossed half the world to find Erik. It would likely not be the last.

He sighed heavily and sipped his morning tea while watching from his deck chair as the ship slowly cruised into New York harbor. Admittedly, he had been nervous to set sail across the Atlantic Ocean after reading in the paper that La Roche had crashed upon arriving, even if he had also received word (from an extremely vague and encrypted letter) that Erik and Christine were both unharmed. He did not enjoy being out in open water with no escape, the vast expanse of the ship churning beneath his feet like a racing heartbeat or stomachache.

He had left too many belongings in Paris. Nadir did not need a lavish lifestyle to be happy, and indeed his pension from the Persian establishment did not allow for it, but he did enjoy his tea sets, his books, his antique furniture, his ornate rugs and drapes. All of it he had left behind, taking besides his clothing and toiletries only his wife's favorite tea set made of a vibrant blue china, a few of his choice books written in Persian, and anything that remained to remind him of his late wife and child.

The ship pulled into New York harbor, easing to the dock in an excruciatingly slow manner. Finally, finally, they were allowed to disembark, and he had to wait a few more hours to retrieve his trunk and other belongings before being able to load them onto a carriage.

Blast it, his trip here had taken entirely too long. He had not been able to retrieve the funds he needed until well after the summer, and even then, the men who handled his pension had taken their time in transferring his pension to a bank in New York.

By now, almost a year had passed since he had bid Erik goodbye. For all he knew, both Erik and Christine no longer lived in New York, if they had settled here at all. He had no address for either of them. He had never been given one since the only letter he had received had simply stated they were both alive. However, he did know that Christine Daaé had come here to sing, and therefore, any opera houses in the area might have heard of her. If they had not heard of her, he thought perhaps he would have to start branching out.

It was not the first time he had tracked someone down.

The cab driver spoke of the Academy of Music as the oldest opera house in New York, so Nadir asked the man to take him there. He paid him a little extra to wait, and he hopped down to dip inside the front of the building.

Once someone inside flagged down the manager, Nadir asked the man if he had heard of Christine Daaé. Nadir had found Christine to be a rather likeable young lady, so he was startled when the man turned red in the face and began shouting about how there was no one with that name here, if this was a joke, and if he wanted to find Miss Daaé, he could very well see her in the autumn along with anyone else with no taste in music.

As the man was about to bodily show Nadir the way out, he did not bother asking questions. His driver was able to smooth out his confusion anyway.

"Oh, he must be speaking of that new place going up on Broadway. I'll take you there."

Two opera houses in one city? He found it odd that such a city, even as large as New York, could support such dueling entertainment venues. In any case, when they pulled up before a large white-bricked building, he climbed down once again.

He immediately knew he was in luck: a poster mentioning Christine singing in a preview adorned the entrance.

After waiting a while for someone to find the manager, a mustached man met him in the lobby. He knew that look – the sweeping up and down of suspicious eyes; he did, of course, appear differently than most of the people in this area. But he was used to such treatment, and he merely tipped his hat and greeted the man in his heavily accented English.

"Good morning! I am trying to find Miss Christine Daaé." He pointed at the poster. "I believe I am in the right place, yes?"

"Depends on who wishes to know. We do try to maintain the privacy of our performers."

"Of course." Nadir stuck out his hand. "Nadir Khan. I knew Christine while she lived in Paris and sang at the Populaire."

"Did you now?" The man still seemed suspicious, but he accepted Nadir's hand. "Henry Abbey."

"Nice to meet you. I just arrived from Paris myself."

"Unfortunately, Christine won't be back to sing for a few more weeks. She is on sabbatical before she comes back to headline another preview. We are opening in October, you see. Need to generate some buzz."

"I understand that. Could you direct me to her house?"

Abbey stroked his mustache. "She has never mentioned you by name."

"I am called many names," Nadir said, smiling, and swept a hand over himself. "The Persian, for one. Daroga, for another."

Abbey snapped his fingers. "Daroga! Now that is a moniker I have heard before." He winced. "Not as anything but the target of a joke, however. In any case, she seems fond of you." Jotting down an address, he gave it to Nadir. "Good luck."

Nadir sighed and headed back toward the awaiting carriage.

At least he was getting a tour of the ritzier side of New York. Now, his driver turned down streets that were more modest but still contained decent-sized apartments. Nadir peered outside the window frame at a corner townhome in red brick, four stories high. Did Christine Daaé live here by herself, in this enormous and rather lavish home? Perhaps she rented a room.

"Wait here?" he asked the driver once again.

He walked up the concrete steps and rapped on the door using the heavy knocker. A moment later, a young man opened it. He was thin-framed and rather short, with sandy-blonde hair and barely enough mustache to call it so. He wore a smart brown day suit that seemed a bit formal for the morning. Nadir guessed he might be a servant.

"Good morning," the man said, his accent sounding of French origin. "I am Auguste Laurent, the butler here. How may I be of assistance?"

"Bonjour, Monsieur Laurent," Nadir said, testing the waters, and the young man grinned at him. They both switched to French, each now speaking more easily. "I am looking for Christine Daaé."

"You have only just missed her, monsieur," Laurent said. "May I ask who is calling?"

"Nadir Khan."

Instantly, Laurent's eyes brightened. He swung the door open wider, gesturing enthusiastically. "Ah, come in, come in!" But then he paused, putting up a hand to block Nadir. "Hold on, monsieur. I must ask you – what was the gift you gave Christine before she left Paris?"

Nadir blinked, and then shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "A pistol."

The young man did not react to the mention of a weapon. Instead, he removed his hand from Nadir's path, still smiling broadly. "Forgive me, but we are a suspicious lot." He dipped his head in a small bow. "I thank you for the pistol. It saved my life once."

"A story will you have to tell me one day."

"Indeed, though Christine might tell it better than me. It was she who pulled the trigger, after all."

Nadir's mouth flapped open to interject at that, but Laurent was leaning out the door, scrutinizing his carriage.

"Hey, mister!" he called in English. "Bring the luggage 'round, will you? I will tip!" Laurent blinked at Nadir, switching back to French with ease. "I apologize if I am rushing, but you caught me half out the door already. I assume you mean to stay here?"

"I-I do not want to impose."

"You aren't. There is plenty of room. I am on my way to Evergreen – the Daaé summer home – after finishing my internship at a restaurant here in the city." He flashed a grin. "I need more people to test my recipes upon. You are welcome to wait here, of course, but it will be another two or three weeks."

Nadir shook his head. "No, I will come with you. Evergreen, you said?"

"I am told it is an inside anecdote, and I do not bother asking anymore. In any case, they are just renting this place. Do you need to unpack or do you wish to bring all of your belongings?"

"I will bring them all." That seemed easiest, and he was eager to make his way to this summer home.

"All right, Monsieur Khan, let me pack some extra provisions for you, and I will fetch the carriage. A train heads out that way now, but Christine could not stomach the smells last time."

Soon enough, they were off again. Nadir expected Laurent to ride with him in the carriage, but instead the young man drove, apparently quite capable. Nadir felt more at ease now that he was back on land. It seemed as though Christine had made quite a name for herself since coming to New York. He hoped she was as happy as her new circumstances, and Laurent's cheerful company, appeared to indicate.

Laurent spent much of the half-day journey speaking softly to the horse and eventually lulling Nadir to sleep. Nadir was jolted awake by Laurent pulling aside to serve them both lunch. It was then that he learned that Laurent had met Erik and Christine aboard La Roche, where he had been their primary steward. Laurent did not speak much about Christine's private life, and Nadir thought this was likely about of respect for Christine than Laurent's usual personality. Instead, he learned how much Laurent had grown to like both of them while crossing the Atlantic, and the young man felt as though he owed a debt, for multiple reasons.

Nadir at least could now suspect that Erik was still in New York, especially if he had somehow made it possibly for Laurent to pursue his career in cuisine.

They got back onto the road, the time now well into the afternoon.

Nadir could smell the sea long before he caught sight of it. The scent was different than that of the well-used harbor – a cleaner smell mixed with lingering low tide that reminded him of his own past travels. He had never seen an actual beach with miles of sand before, and he was eager for what he was certain was a dazzling view.

Soon, the trees opened up to nothing but miles of light tan sand, which sparkled in the sun. The ocean stretched wide-open parallel to one of the carriage windows, the sound of waves caught whenever the carriage was not too creaky. They passed a couple other houses, and then nothing for almost an hour.

Finally, Laurent pulled them up to a small stable to the side of a rather brown two-story home rising alone in a sea of sand. Many windows of various sizes dotted the exterior, which was all sharp gothic angles combined with curved outcroppings to indicate large interior rooms. A large porch wrapped around the front.

"Here we are," Laurent said, beginning to pull down their luggage. "House Evergreen. It needs a coat of paint, and some boards are loose on the porches, but she's got good bones and plenty of space."

The two men lugged their bags up the stairs to the front porch. Laurent knocked on the door, and finding it locked, opened it with his own key.

"It is me!" he called, entering. There was no answer, but Laurent did not appear disturbed. "Try out back," he told Nadir, still wrestling with their luggage. "You will give them such a shock."

Them?

Nadir had assumed Christine was alone, but he did doubt she would have stayed in such a large house by herself. Enough time had passed that she could have easily have found a husband, but why was she still using her father's name?

Traveling through the home, Nadir enjoyed the fresh but chilly breeze coming through the open windows. While the outside of the home had seemed dingy, the inside was carefully decorated. The furnishings in the home were sparse but well chosen for the space, and warm fabrics and wallpaper livened the space. He caught sight of a baby grand piano in the main living area before he headed out the back door.

The back of the home faced the beach, and the porch's steps fell right into a sandy path through the dunes. He gazed down the stretch of sand and, hearing a woman's laughter, headed toward the line of the ocean, the sand squeaking beneath his shoes.

Halfway down the path, as he crested a dune, he caught sight of Christine in a large sunhat, her petite form sitting upon a blanket, her legs stretched out in front of her. She was singing softly to herself in Swedish. He almost did not want to interrupt her, as her voice was as lovely as he remembered.

Once he grew close, he cleared his throat. She peered over her shoulder at him, a bit startled, but her eyes quickly widened with recognition.

"Monsieur Khan!"

"It is," he said, tipping his hat at her and returning her easy smile. He drew to her side. She wore a purple embroidered wrapper with a shawl around her shoulders. Her shoes and stockings lay beside her; she had taken them off to dip her toes in the sand. She did not seem perturbed by her own bare feet, nor at the causal way in which she was dressed.

She waved a hand at a chair nearby. "Please, sit! I cannot fully explain just how delighted I am to see you, Monsieur Khan, and after nearly a year."

"Nadir, please," he said, sitting. He had to keep a hand on his hat to prevent the somewhat chilly ocean breeze from whipping it away. This was a truly lovely place. He could already breathe easier, the salty air filling his lungs.

"Nadir, then. However did you manage to find me?"

"Your butler kindly escorted me."

He did not miss how her eyes brightened. "Oh good, Laurent is finally here! I have missed his company – and his cooking!" She grinned up at him from beneath her giant hat. "Forgive me for not rising to give you a proper hug. I seem to have ballooned lately, and I cannot get to my feet without help."

"Pardon?"

He had not noticed before, her billowy dress and her own posture hiding her shape. But now she smoothed the purple fabric around her quite round belly.

"Due in two months," she said, "which is perfect timing, really, since the Met does not open until October."

Nadir felt a little light-headed. "Due? You are with child, mademoiselle?"

To his surprise, she laughed. "Madame now, dear friend. I told Erik we should at least have sent you a notice about our marriage."

Marriage. The light-headedness continued, causing a ringing in his ears. He gripped the armrests of his chair, glad to be already sitting down. Somewhere beneath the ringing, he heard approaching footsteps, muffled as they were upon the sand. As a shadow fell across him, he looked up to see a dark form, tall against the blue sky.

"Calm yourself, Daroga, before you have a fit," said a familiar wry voice.

Christine glanced between the two men before settling upon Nadir. "I kindly ask that you not punch my husband. I am as much an accomplice in this as he is."

Nadir realized he was balancing upon the balls of his feet. He was not certain where his sudden urge for violence had arisen, but he had clenched his right fist. Forcing himself to relax, he leaned back in the chair, squinting up at Erik.

"Some warning would have been nice."

Erik snorted. "Keeping Christine safe is more important than your own personal comfort." He was carrying a covered tray, which he bent to set on the blanket next to Christine, and it carried various supplies for tea. "Laurent believes he has a sense of humor, not telling me you were out here. Your footprints in the sand are as small as a woman's."

Nadir did not rise to the bait, but rather let it cover him like a familiar blanket. How quickly he and Erik could settle back into their roles with each other. "You only have two cups."

"Laurent is taking his tea inside."

Christine pressed the back of a hand to her mouth, almost covering up her own chortle. "Erik, dear, please fetch Nadir his own cup. Unless you would like me to do it?"

Erik's mouth pressed into a firm line. "You promised you would stay in that spot for an hour."

The smile she gave him was dazzling and obviously mean to be so. "Tell Laurent I said welcome back."

He grunted, but left immediately. As he walked away, Nadir noticed that he wore no wig beneath his hat. He swung his eyes back to Christine. "Well played, madame."

"I wanted a moment more with you," she admitted. "I can tell you are surprised that Erik and I are married. After everything that happened, I suppose I would be surprised myself if you were not. However, I assure you that I married him of my own volition and not due to any such coercing on his part. I love him, Nadir. Very much so."

Nadir suddenly felt chagrin wash over him. He had known Erik for many, many years, and during that time, he had only ever wished for the man to have peace in his life. Now, sitting in this chair with this amazing woman beside him, at the ocean's edge with a lovely house at his back, he was ashamed that he had ever thought Christine incapable of making her own choices in life, free of anyone's pressure.

As Christine continued to fondly rub her expanded belly, Nadir saw the black-stoned ring upon her finger. He knew it must be the same stone that he had let Erik take with him from Persia, the one that had not been able to heal his dying son. Black onyx and all the drugs in the world had not been enough.

However, the stone had brought life back to someone, at least.

"Forgive me, madame," he said. "I suppose I did judge. I know how taken he was with you in Paris, and how much grief he caused you."

She smoothed her dress over her belly once again, contemplative. "I know he did. We cannot forget the past, but I can certainly move on from it. These past ten months have not been… easy. The pregnancy has made him rather wild in his overprotectiveness at times, and he often has nightmares, which have only gotten worse now that I am showing."

Nadir knew about the nightmares, which were not a new occurrence. He suspected Erik worried about Christine's safety in such a condition, and, he knew this was even more likely – Erik worried that his child would be born with his same facial deformities. How the man managed not to tear himself apart with anxiety was likely due to Christine's own calm ground of him.

"I am sure there are many stories to tell, my dear, most of which our mutual friend would not like me to hear." He managed a rueful laugh. "It is good to see you both again, and doing so well."

At that time, he caught sight of Erik heading back toward the beach, teacup and saucer held in one hand, a bottle of chestnut brown liquor in the other. Two small glasses balanced within his lithe fingers. He came to a stop in front of Nadir.

"Tea or whiskey, old man?"

A smile plucked at his lips. "Whiskey."

He watched, fascinated, as Erik folded his long limbs to sit on the blanket next to Christine, facing away from the beach so he could view both of them. Despite the other man's grumpiness, there was an ease about him that had not been there before. Erik had always had a certain gait in his step, an odd awkwardness that exposed how unused he was to existing around other people. Now he walked like… a man. A tall, imposing, misshapen, short-tempered man, but a man nonetheless.

Erik set aside the whiskey and glasses to pour Christine a cup of tea, adding two lumps of sugar before handing it to her gently. Then he poured two glasses of liquor and raised one for Nadir to take.

Grinning, Christine raised her cup of tea. "To old friends."

"To old friends," both men said.

The whiskey burned going down his throat, and he coughed at once, not missing the amusement that curved Erik's lips.

"Easy, old man. I would hate if you choked as soon as you have arrived."

In response, Nadir took another big swig, grimacing against the burn but not coughing this time. "I did not know you care so much," he said, a bit hoarse.

Christine sipped her tea. "Please, tell us about how you have been. How was your trip here?"

"Much better than yours, I am sure. Actually, the past year has not been pleasant. The gendarmerie in Paris would not leave me alone, and I had to move out of the city only a month or so after you left."

"You mean you were run out," Erik grunted.

Nadir shrugged. "I did manage to claim most of your collected salary from the banks. They had no legal way of withholding it from me since I knew the name on the accounts, thanks to Madame Giry. I… did give a fair share of it away. Some to the Girys, some to the performers of the Populaire – anonymously, of course. I think you will still be happy with the remaining amount. In any case, it took me a long time to get in touch with the Persian government to transfer my pension to the States."

"That could be done?"

"We will find out."

The two men gazed at each other. Erik knew exactly why Nadir needed the pension to begin with, that it was because of Erik that he had fled Persia lest he himself be killed.

"You will stay here, please?" Christine asked. "We have plenty of room."

Nadir waited for an objection from the other man, but Erik only cut his eyes away. "Thank you, madame. How long do you plan on staying at the Evergreen?"

"A few weeks," Christine said, at the same moment Erik interjected, "As long as it takes." She glared at him without heat. "I was feeling hot and cramped in the city," she explained. "My doctor thought the salty air would do me some good. Hence the relaxed clothing and picnics outside."

Erik did not correct her, but Nadir guessed it was more than that. The pregnancy must be taking its toll on her, though it did not seem to be anything serious. After all they had been through together, Nadir thought this might be more due to Erik's own internal insecurities than an actual physical obstacle with Christine's pregnancy.

Something wordless passed between the married couple. Christine reached across the blanket to touch Erik's ankle, a strangely intimate gesture. Suddenly, Nadir felt like he was intruding on a private moment.

"Perhaps I should go and unpack before it gets dark," he said, standing.

"Past your naptime, old man?" Erik quipped.

"I missed you too, Erik. Enjoy the rest of your afternoon."

Christine smiled. "Join us for dinner later?"

Nodding, he tipped his hat at them both and began to head back to the house, glass in hand. He could hear the couple exchange murmurs between them, and he resisted the urge to look over his shoulder until he had reached the crest of the largest dune.

He looked across at the length of warm sand to see Christine and Erik now sitting side-by-side, arms nearly touching. They were too far away for him to make out details, but he could see when Erik reached up to brush curly hair away from Christine's shoulder. He saw Christine lift her hand and slide free Erik's white mask, the movement easy and without hesitation as though she had done it many times before. Erik himself did not flinch, letting her do as she wished. From this angle, Nadir could not see Erik's bare face, but he could see Christine's smile, and he could see when she tilted her face up for a kiss.

Nadir turned away at that moment, walking the rest of the way to the porch steps, wiping away the moisture beneath his eyes. Erik would never let him hear the end of it if he was caught.

Laurent must have heard him because he came to the back door, opening it. "Were they surprised?"

"I would say that."

"Glad to hear it." Laurent took off his hat, rubbing the sweat from his brow with his handkerchief. "Thank God someone delivered some food to this place, so I don't have to drive back into town. Let me wash up and rest a little, and I can start some dinner. I hope you like scallops." And he was off, leaving Nadir to linger on the porch.

Hesitating, he collected himself, grateful that Laurent had said nothing of his tears. Stepping inside the house, he pulled the door closed behind him, but Christine's laughter blew in through the open windows, ruffling the curtains with her joyfulness. A year had passed, and almost no time at all had passed, and he knew his place was here, with them, for as long as they let him linger.

Fin.

I started writing "Choices" at the beginning of the year, and after working on it almost every week since, it feels weird to finally be done.

Thank you so much to all my steady reviewers. Special thank you to Wheel of Fish for everything.

Come follow me on Tumblr (i-am-melancholys-child) if you aren't already for snippets of my next project, whenever that happens haha!