A/N: So we've reached the last chapter of Part 1. I just want to give a big thank you to Wheel of Fish and LeticiaMaree whose continued support got me through the annoying period in which I really struggled writing this and lost all confidence. Thanks for sharing your thoughts and pointing out errors you picked up on. Thanks for everyone who followed this silently!

At the moment, I'm focusing most of my energy on Kalos Machina but in about 2 weeks my University course will start again which is usually a great time to note down an outline for a story, so I'll start planning Part 2 of Coda more thoroughly then. It would be great if you'd join me for that. In the meantime, check out Wheel of Fish's great story By Starlight! :)

Chapter 19:

Erik had spent many sleepless nights in his lifetime, but he could not recall one quite like this. He had reluctantly shared his tent before or less reluctantly his bed with a cat or a dog, but neither experience had been as peaceful as this. As the silence continued, he had been afraid at first to put down his violin, lest Julianne would not offer her hand again, but then she had suggested it herself and he'd have looked a fool, had he insisted that remaining upright was comfortable enough. The lack of touch – even for those brief seconds – had been dreadful though more bearable than the loss of Christine's kiss. Nonetheless, he contained his need until he had settled down on the sofa and Julianne offered her hand again.

He knew they had started to talk once more but the details escaped him now. After a while, she had fallen asleep. He had made certain that her body was comfortable but kept holding her hand, watching over her. He could not bring himself to sever the contact just yet. In the morning she would be gone, he knew that now, and it was paramount that he savoured the last few moments. Perhaps, perhaps if he handled this like a gentleman, she would come to see him again of her own free will.

When his pocket watch informed him that a new day had begun, he had reluctantly and with very great care released her hand and straightened himself. Then, he had hurriedly written two notes – a simple one to Moreau, commanding him to pass the enclosed note on to his messenger, and a second one to Madame Doucet's staff, informing them of her return that day. Both letters in hand he had quietly made his way up to the surface, positioned them in the manager's office and then returned. He would not trust the little man with handling his personal business, too great was the risk of being discovered, but a simple note was safe enough in his clumsy hands.

When he entered his house again, Julianne was still asleep and after much contemplation he gingerly slipped his hand into hers once more. Another long while passed until she finally opened her eyes. She chuckled when she realised her surroundings.

"You should have woken me! You can't possibly have been comfortable."

Her hand went up to pat down her hair.

"I would like to take you back today," he voiced in return, sitting up straighter and resting his hands in his lap.

"Take me back where?" she chuckled but then realisation dawned on her. "You are letting me go?"

The relief in her voice stung although he had been preparing himself for it.

"Yes," he replied quietly, "I have realised that my past actions have been anything but appropriate and I was hoping that we might reach a new understanding?"

"Oh?" she nodded curiously and shifted closer towards him once more.

"The opera house cannot be silent, as much as it pains me," he offered hesitantly, "but perhaps you would consider consulting me on the pieces you plan to perform. Some discomfort might be avoided this way, perhaps, as well as some mediocrity."

"You would lend your expertise to the Opera?" she questioned; her face was scrunched in deep thought though the grin that was tugging at the corners of her mouth gave her away.

"Yes," he inclined his head.

"And I suppose in return you expect box 5 and 20,000 francs?"

"Naturally," he was grinning also.

It was still an outrageous demand and he could see annoyance battling with humour on her face but he doubted that she'd dare to argue.

"I shall accept your proposition for now. But should I feel that you do not meet your end of the deal, I will be forced to alter your payment."

"Trust me, Madame, I will not disappoint you."

"Very well," she chuckled and it sounded a little bit like hope, "I better go and wash myself then or Babette will have a fright."

He nodded slowly and shifted out of her way, conveniently avoiding eye contact also since he feared it would betray his reluctance. It still went against his instincts to set someone free and put his trust in them. It was difficult handing over control and relying on another person to repay him in kind. But this was the least he could do for her, after everything he had put her through and after all the kindness she had shown him nonetheless.

He watched her disappear into his room, listened to the whisper of fabric once more and then the sloshing of water.

"What about my dress, Erik?" she called and that's when he remembered the garment that was still discarded on the floor.

She could not be allowed to wear it as it would raise too many questions, but her current one would not do either, seeing as it was just as dirty from where she had been kneeling in the dust.

"I'll find you another one," he called in return and then rose to his feet.

Tentatively, he entered his bedroom, keeping his eyes fixed on his bed. When he had first stolen from the Opera's atelier he had brought down several dresses with him, now he'd only have to find them. His bed had become a messy treasure trove of items and he vowed then and there to build new furniture again. It just wouldn't do to live like that. At last, he managed to disentangle a dress from the sheets, held it up into the air to smooth it out with his free hand and then hesitantly approached the door leading into the bathroom.

Julianne had hung up her old dress over the edge of the door and he figured that she'd find the new one easier if he positioned it there as well. He had just reached for the old dress when something white caught his attention. At first he attributed it to the dust that had settled on other parts of the garment also, but then he realised that it had a shape, a shape that was all too familiar. Sound was thudding in his ears and something twisted his stomach. This feeling, too, was dreadfully familiar. Perhaps he had underestimated her curiosity, perhaps he should not have allowed her to filter through his personal belongings.

His fingers trembled when they grazed the mask, the faint motion sending something else tumbling out and onto the ground. They seemed to have been hidden inside the mask, were crinkled and folded multiple times. The replacement dress hung loosely in the crook of his arm as he bent down to retrieve the envelopes. He turned them over in his hand, felt cold when he saw the broken de Chagny seal. He fingered the letters, fumbled, craved to tear them apart. His eyes slid back up to Julianne's dress that had contained the secret, stared at it as if his anger could somehow burn it. Then he parted the envelope and drew out the first letter.

Madame Doucet,

It is with great regret that I must inform you not to try and reach out to my wife again. It is upsetting to me to see that those she holds dear have so carelessly betrayed her whereabouts to an unknown third party. If you truly are dealing with the man who calls himself the "Opera Ghost", I furthermore advise you to be careful. He is nothing but a heinous monster and you'd do better to keep your distance.

Raoul de Chagny

Rage was running through his veins, muting all other sounds around him. Numbly, his fingers opened the other envelope and fished out the second letter. He could barely focus on the words in front of him, too full was his head with the words the Vicomte had written. But the pity he found in her letter stung far worse; in the end he had been nothing more than a poor, miserable monster to her, too.

I fear I'd be doing my loving husband, as well as my sweet son, a great injustice.

An ugly beast roared inside his chest, longed to tear everything apart once more. Of course they had not hesitated to have children. Their life had not ended after this so-called ordeal.

But she should have known better, Madame Doucet, known better than to awaken old demons. She should have offered up her own misdeeds at least, handed this piece of treachery to him. It all made sense now, her sudden use of his name, her insight into Christine's feelings, the guilt that must have compelled her to hold his hand. The world was crumbling around him, everything seemed to be shaking and yet his house remained ordinary and still before him.

She had wanted to deceive him, just as Christine had done. Had thought it easy to take advantage of a lonely, old monster. But she would pay, he'd make certain of that.

Julianne's mind was still foggy from sleep and hazily trying to make sense of Erik's sudden decision. She had hoped before falling asleep, that this night would change something between them, would make them start over again, perhaps, but she had not anticipated something so drastic. The cold water washed against her and the marble walls surrounding her, it made her shiver but also helped focus her thoughts.

She was relieved to be allowed to go home but secretly also pleased that he had offered his services to the opera house. Not only could she use the help if she wanted to run the business without Moreau's input, but she also liked the idea of keeping Erik in her life somehow. The company of someone who understood the temperamental nature of grief was a gift.

She dried herself with one of his towels, smoothed out her hair with an ornamental brush and then turned back towards the door where she had hung up her dress. She pried the mask and the letters loose from the wires that kept them hidden and then peered into his bedroom to see if he had found her a replacement dress. Once she spotted it, put it on and concealed the items again, she emerged in the sitting room.

Erik had his back to her, his arms were stiffly folded behind it and he was wearing his gloves once more.

"Thank you," she offered and when he did not respond she glanced around the room for something else to say, "and thank you for not burning my dress."

The silence swallowed up her nervous chuckle.

"I shall have it cleaned for you and delivered to your house." He turned at last, mechanically, his eyes icy and cold. "You can tell your staff you had a little mishap."

"I will," she inclined her head and chuckled uneasily once again.

Why this sudden change? What had come over him?

"Come, come, now, Madame, you've wasted quite enough of my time already."

He was reaching for his cloak, straightening his hat, but she felt his words as if he had slapped her in the face. She did not know why it mattered and really it shouldn't have, but the unfairness of the situation truly upset her. How dare he speak of wasted time when it had been him holding her prisoner? She trudged after him, dutifully keeping her eyes fixed to the ground, not even the gentle sway of the boat could calm her this time.

Had she been foolish enough to believe that her kindness could change him? Had she wasted her time on a man who was nothing but ungrateful?

Their steps echoed around them as they climbed up the stairs. Then the cavern made way to a wood panelled chamber that was small and compressed and required Erik to hunch over. He did not look at her or speak to her again, guided her wordlessly up a ramp and into another small corridor of stone.

"Your luggage, Madame," he informed her icily and pressed her heavy baggage into her hand.

She had forgotten all about it when he had abducted her.

"Thank you," she whispered, her eyes downcast.

She heard him touch something and then an opening bared itself before her, brought so much light flooding in that she needed to squeeze her eyes shut. In this moment of disorientation, his hand wrapped itself around her neck.

"I have made a slight alteration to our deal, Madame Doucet. From now on you shall do precisely as you're told. Once a week I shall send for you and you will not hesitate to seek me out in box 5. We will attend to business and you will follow my demands to the letter. If I tell you to put on a certain opera you will agree, if I tell you to cancel performances you will comply. Should you fail to appear or follow my demands, I will be forced to kill those dear to you, starting with that insufferably nosy maid of yours. Have we come to an agreement?"

She nodded slowly, opening her eyes in search of the man she'd thought she'd somewhat known.

"Very well," he growled and pushed her into the office.

Almost automatically she lifted her suitcase and made her way out of the building and to a nearby brougham. The light was still stinging in her eyes and the sounds seemed to overwhelm her senses. She even struggled informing the driver of her address.

Had Christine Daaé felt this out of place when she had emerged from Erik's strange netherworld?

Erik, the opera ghost, the monster, the man, the never-ending, infuriating conundrum. Had he truly shown her his real face or had it been nothing but another mask? Had she been so naïve to believe they had got closer? And if they had, why did his actions feel like such a betrayal?

Outside the window, Paris slipped by unseen. The busy boulevards disappeared, making room for smaller alleys and larger gardens. Once back at the Rue de Vaugirard, the driver helped her out of the carriage and accepted her orders to wait outside. She shrank into the house, tasked Alexandre with paying the driver and then slowly made her way up the creaky old stairs.

"Madame?" Babette who was waiting for her on the next floor greeted her.

She looked anxious, twisted her hands a lot and when Julianne caught sight of her reflection she really could not fault the woman. She looked pale and unwell, the black dress Erik had fetched for her drooping off her thin frame. Thankfully, there weren't any bruises on her neck yet or she would no doubt have caused another scandal.

"Is everything alright, Babette?" she asked with a tired smile, setting down her baggage.

"Yes, it's just…" she paused, chewing on her bottom lip, "oh I do hope you'll forgive me. He's been coming every day and refused to be turned away today. He said you'd be arriving soon. God only knows how he found out."

Julianne frowned, her sluggish brain struggled to understand what was going on now. Her body ached worse than before and she only really wanted to sleep.

"Who is it?" she sighed.

"A strange little man, he is awaiting you in the sitting room, Madame."

Nodding to herself, Julianne strode into the room, eager to have this odd encounter over and done with. Yet something about the man made her slow down. His dark skin stood in contrast to his white hair and neatly trimmed beard. His crisp suit clashed with the well-worn hat he swept into his hands by a way of greeting. Yet the kind jade eyes that twinkled behind a pair of glasses instantly inspired trust. And just before he opened his mouth to introduce himself she realised who he had to be.

"I do apologise for inviting myself into your home, Madame Doucet," he proceeded formally, his French betraying an endearing accent, "but when I heard you would be returning today, I had to convince myself of your welfare."

"Thank you," she replied, gesturing for him to be seated once more while she remained standing, "I hope you have been offered refreshments?"

"Your staff is very hospitable," he smiled.

They both knew this was somewhat of a lie since Babette's discomfort could not have been more obvious.

"I have also come to offer an apology. You see, I did notice you lying in the torture chamber in Erik's house."

A sense of foreboding suddenly overcame her, as if it was best not to approach this subject at all. Glancing over her shoulder, she hurriedly closed the doors behind them.

"I had prayed time and time again that he would not go any further than he had already done, but Erik appears to be beyond help. Nonetheless, it would have been the right thing to help you, to free you but I know how skilful Erik can be with his blasted Punjab lasso and I did not wish to endanger you further."

She inclined her head, cautiously taking in his words.

"Did he harm you otherwise?" the daroga pressed on.

"No…" The little word squeezed its way past her lips as Erik's threat rang through her mind. He would kill everyone she had left and she would not be able to live with that. "As a matter of fact I rather enjoyed my time with him. It is true that his manners could use some refinement at times but on the whole he's a fascinating man, a natural entertainer." The smile was making her muscles ache. "I am actually thinking about visiting him again. He promised to tell me more about his travels and, truthfully, it is a great relief to have a friend away from the eyes of the masses."

"So in the end he did not hold you against your will? You would spend your time with him voluntarily?"

"We have reached an agreement, yes." She smiled and nodded happily.

To her surprise the daroga began to pale, looked as if he was suddenly feeling rather unwell. The hands that had been squeezing his hat now did so frantically and fear was so prominent in his eyes that she almost regretted her lie.

"Forgive me, Madame," he whispered, "but I must take my leave now. It seems I have made a dreadful mistake. Perhaps…perhaps it is not too late, perhaps it can still be rectified."

And without another word or another glance, he hurried past her and down the stairs. For a moment, only Julianne remained behind in the dimly lit room of the Rue de Vaugirard, her thoughts filled with ghosts and questions, her future bleak and her relationship with Erik destined to begin again where it had started months ago.