Welcome to the final chapter! Enjoy! Be sure to leave a review if you have read this fic through.

I am going to post a new E/C tomorrow. It is third-person, so a bit different from my normal stuff, but I like how it's turning out. I hope you like it as much as this one (maybe more?).

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CHRISTINE

I woke on clean sheets, which was a relief, but I also found that to be all that concealed me. Erik had set out a nightgown on the edge of the bed, however, and I pulled it over my head immediately. As I buttoned it, I glanced over at the cradle. Thomas was sleeping peacefully, his head turned to reveal his warped cheek and the gaping hole between his mouth and nose. He was practically bald, with a few brown hairs in the middle of his head.

I loved him like I had loved Viola the first time our eyes had met. He was just as fragile as her, but warm from being tightly wrapped in blankets. I reached out for him and pulled him tight against my chest.

"Good morning, little one," I whispered as I stroked his forehead. "How do you like the world so far?"

He yawned, then settled again. I placed my finger in his fist. My heart faltered with delight at the sensation of his fluttering pulse.

"Should we go find your papa?" I asked as I kissed his forehead. "He must be looking after your sister. Let's go see."

I swung my legs out over the side of the bed. My body had recovered surprisingly well, though I felt weighted down still. As I went out the door, I found Erik coming up the stairs, his eyes raw from crying. They widened in fear upon meeting mine.

"Christine," he said in a hoarse voice. "W-why are you out of bed? The midwife said you need to rest for a week before you can be up and about-"

"I feel fine. I was a bit hungry."

"Go lie down, I'll make you something." His eyes wandered down to Thomas and his lip quivered. "What would you like?"

"My dear, you don't look at all well," I said, reaching out to stroke his face with my hand. "Have you slept? After the ordeal last night, you hardly got any sleep."

"I slept when Viola did."

"Oh, where is our little girl? Is she playing?"

"Yes, downstairs."

"And she isn't affected by what happened?"

"I doubt she can understand it. She seems fine."

"Good... oh, good. I was rather hysterical last night during the birth over her. I knew you would find her, but the anxiety of it, combined with the pain, it was overwhelming. The midwife had to give me smelling salts- but it was all fine. It went very well. Very smoothly. He wasn't even all that early... But thank you for bringing her back safely. I knew you would, but fear is never rational..." I bit my lip. "How is Laura?"

"She is being tended to. Her husband is with her."

"Good... good, thank you... Now I'll do as you say and go lie down so long as you promise me an excellent lunch and to bring Viola up to see her brother," I told him, trying to be lighthearted.

"Of course," he smiled faintly.

I pulled his lips down to mine and sighed against him. "You're absolutely wonderful, you know. Don't exhaust yourself trying to be perfect. You already are to me."

"Lord above, my dear," he said tearfully. "How can you say such things?"

He turned on his heels and went downstairs. I bent over the railing to watch him go into the kitchen.

"Erik!" I called. "Erik, please, you're tired! I don't need anything to eat yet." My stomach protested this loudly. "Come rest with me. Bring Viola up so we can all be together. Please."

Silence. I exhaled angrily and went back into bed, my eyes stinging with tears. Thomas began to fuss from the commotion.

"Oh, shh, shh, it's nothing," I told him. "Nothing at all... D-do you-? Do you want to eat? We might as well try and see what we need to do."

I eyed his lip warily, but I unbuttoned my nightgown and held his mouth up where he ought to suckle. He showed little interest. I had to coax him, hold him ever closer to me. When he did latch, nothing seemed to come out. He didn't know what to do yet, either. I pressed down a bit on my breast and he began to choke on milk. It came up his nose. I wiped it away with my sleeve as he began to wail.

"Oh, no no no no, shh, maybe we ought to try with a... a-a cloth, or something?" My hands were trembling as I dabbed up a bit of milk onto a handkerchief and placed the tip in his mouth. He sucked on it, and so I continued this endeavor, though I knew he was receiving little. He was sated quickly, and fell back asleep.

How was I supposed to feed my baby? My whole body quaked with panic. What if he couldn't eat? What if he starved?

Erik came upstairs then, Viola on his hip. There was a bit of dried peas on her cheek that he had missed. His eyes were still watery and unfocused.

"Christine?" he asked in concern as he set Viola down on the bed. "What's wrong? Why do you cry?"

"H-he can't..." But I couldn't manage to say it. "I-I tried... f-feeding him... I-I tried and..."

"He couldn't... I expected so... I-I'm... I'm sorry, my dear."

"Sorry?" I sniffled. "Sorry for what? What are you apologizing for, or are you simply pitying me? I don't need your pity, I'm fine. We'll be fine. There must be ways to help this."

"It's my fault he's like this," he said, his eyes taut with pain. "It's my fault. A-all my fault, and I was too stupid to-"

"What are you talking about? Your fault? God made this baby, not you. If we're blaming anyone, it ought to be him, but why would I blame him for giving me an otherwise healthy baby boy? We only need to speak to a doctor about his condition. Th-that's all... I panicked. I shouldn't have panicked. My mind is so excited by everything."

"I should have-"

"Should have what? What could we have done to prevent this? Nothing."

"I've cursed him-"

"Cursed him? What on earth do you mean? Yes, he'll have more difficulty in life than most, but that doesn't mean he's cursed. He's going to be so very loved, and that matters more than anything."

He nodded weakly. I reached out and clasped his hand.

"It's going to be all right," I told him. "I promise... Viola, darling, do you want to see your little brother?"

Her eyes were wide as I pulled her closer to me. I placed her hand in his, but she showed little interest, and crawled away. Erik placed her on the floor with a toy.

"We may need to go to Paris," he said softly, "to see if they can perform a surgery to help repair his mouth. I know they can at least remedy the lip, but his mouth, I... I-I don't know what all they can do."

"Surgery on a baby?" I whispered in horror. "H-how soon?"

"Better to do surgeries younger than older. Children heal more quickly... Likely soon. But we need to go to Paris. In a week, when you are recovered, we shall go."

"But you are still a wanted man."

"I can disguise myself well enough, and... damn it, you can talk to the vicomte and have him turn a blind eye. I'm sure Madame Giry would be willing to help us as well, once you explain the matter."

"Yes... yes, I think so... All right. Help me not to worry. And no more blaming yourself. Babies are born like this all the time at no fault of either parent."

"But the side of his face," he argued. "It's like mine. No patches missing, but see how warped it is-?"

"I don't want to hear it. I want to ignore his face completely unless we are speaking to a doctor."

"Ignore it?" He sighed, "If that is what you wish... I'm going to send for a doctor now. Hopefully he can come soon, but we need one experienced in this sort of thing. After I make you something to eat, I'll go. Let me bring Viola's pen up here so she can play while you rest."

"Yes, thank you... I'm mostly tired is all."

"Then rest."

He bent down to kiss my forehead, then left. I sighed.

"Let's hope this doctor brings good news," I said to Thomas. "We've had too much bad of late."

His fist unfurled in his sleep, and I wrapped it again about my finger. He was very strong already. That comforted me.

The doctor came two days later. He refused to have me come out of my room, as I had to rest for a few more days, but he spoke to Erik downstairs and examined Thomas. Erik conveyed the conversation to me, and he also told me the proper way to feed him. The doctor had given him a type of bottle that would help. There were also many successful surgeries being performed in Paris on children with this sort of deformity. He said it needed to be done as soon as possible, then the second part when he was four months old.

"He will still have a malformed lip," Erik said sadly, "but it will only be short, with a scar, not with a gap. His mouth can be mended when he is three months old at the earliest, but the doctor advised four."

"How safe is it? Will it hurt him?"

"It shouldn't hurt him. They'll give him lots of anesthesia during the operation and then we can give him drops of laudanum while he heals."

I looked down at Thomas dozing in my arms. "I don't like the idea of it. What if it fails?"

"Then they do another. There is little risk. Only the lip is mended when he is this young."

"I don't want it to hurt him."

"It won't hurt him," he insisted, combing back my hair with his hand. "It'll help him."

"All right... All right, then we must go to Paris."

"We'll take the train this time. I doubt anyone is searching for me anymore and will recognize you now."

"I look different?"

"You act different. You hold yourself differently... but that is good."

"Good... Well, then, do what you need to... Could you get me a book to read? I'm so bored up here, and all this talk about surgeries is making me anxious."

"I'll find you something. Do you want something to eat, too?"

"I'm not hungry. Tea would be nice, though."

"Tea, then."

He leaned down to kiss me. I wrapped my arm about his head to pull him closer, and our lips parted. He leaned against my chest for a moment, breathing slowly, then he rose and left.

Everything unfolded as he had said, and quite smoothly, for once in our lives. We had Clarice watch Hazel while we were gone. We planned to stay for five months in Paris so we didn't need to come back to complete each operation. My stomach writhed every time Erik brought it up, though. To help this, he spoke about our trip to Paris as a vacation.

I visited Raoul the first day to be sure Erik and I would be undisturbed. Our conversation was cold, considering the last time we had seen each other, but he congratulated me on the baby and offered anything I needed. He also explained that the police thought Erik had fled to America with me, and that he had agreed with this idea. This mended our fractured friendship considerably.

"I'm engaged," he added suddenly, "if you're curious."

"Oh, how wonderful!" I replied with enthusiasm, my heart faint with relief. "Who is the lucky woman?"

"The daughter of some cousin of my mother's sister, something of that sort. She plays the harp fairly well, and she paints, mostly flowers, sometimes the ones I leave for her."

"Do you love her?"

"She is a very nice woman, very excited about the marriage and all. I like her, and my brother thinks highly of her. I think once we are married I shall love her very much. She doesn't have your spirit, though."

"My stubbornness, you mean."

He laughed, "Yes, that."

"Perhaps you will prefer that, in the end. But I hope you two are very happy together. I always feared you would become a bachelor like your brother, and I'm so happy you have someone now. She sounds very nice- very talented, too."

He nodded, nervous as a boy. "Yes, she is... Well, goodbye, then. I regret that the last time we met was... well... but at least it's all right now. Send for me if you need anything at all."

"I will. Thank you for everything you're doing... and I forgive you for the last time we met, you know."

"I didn't, so thank you."

"I wish you happiness."

"I'm glad you've found yours."

I smiled in reply.

After speaking with him, I went to see Madame Giry and Meg. Raoul had told them I was well, but they cried nonetheless upon seeing me, and so did I. The thought of leaving them was suddenly impossible, and I told them so, but that Erik and I couldn't live in Paris for very long. They asked to visit us a few times a year, and of course I said however much they liked, and gave them the address. We all then proceeded to coo over Thomas and Viola, the latter of which was basking in all the attention.

Erik stayed at our apartment while I visited them. It had two bedrooms and a small living room and kitchen, but it was cozy. He was doing fairly well with Thomas, though still full of guilt. His sleep was tormented, our kisses becoming distant, but he cared for me and the babies well. It was his joy in life to do so now.

The only trouble with the apartment was the lack of a piano. Erik insisted he was fine, as he had his violin, but I knew it wasn't good for him.

"I have little time to compose anyway," he argued, "with you and the little ones to care for."

"Perhaps not," I replied.

The operation was performed at the end of the first week. Thomas' lip was closed successfully, but as Erik had said, it bore a white scar and was a bit short. Once it began to heal, Thomas could instantly suckle much better, though still from a bottle, not from his mother. It was my milk, but it wasn't the same. I felt something had been taken from me.

"Once he has his mouth fixed," Erik insisted, "then he will be able to nurse."

I cried anyway over the matter. Four months was a long time.

Spring came. Paris became adorned with flowers and street vendors. We celebrated Viola's birthday with Madame Giry and Meg, who bought her a cake with blue iced tulips on top. Viola's eyes widened with delight once she brought the first fist of frosting to her mouth. Her gifts consisted of a white dress embroidered with flowers and a stuffed lamb with a bell inside. Needless to say, Meg and her mother had earned Viola's love.

Erik brought me flowers everyday, the brighter the better. He had taken up working at a restaurant, playing the piano in the evenings. They thought he had come back from war and that was why he wore a mask. Their acceptance surprised him. He didn't play for others, though. That was evident when I watched him. He played for his joy and mine.

The salary was quite good. Surgeries were expensive, after all, and Erik wanted to be sure we could maintain our way of life once we paid for them.

Thomas' operation was performed in late June. Viola and I ate ice-cream outside the hospital while Erik paced within.

"You like sugar, don't you?" I told her as I wiped her lip with a napkin. My stomach was writhing with anxiety. "Your papa is going to give you too many sweets once you're old enough to ask for them."

"Baba!" she said suddenly.

Erik had come out of the hospital doors. I stood up, Viola on my hip.

"It went well," he said. "We can take him home tonight. The only issue they told me was that he will have a lisp, but perhaps when he is older, with science progressing how it is, that may be remedied."

I embraced him. "Thank God it went well! Thank God, thank God! May we see him?"

"He's sleeping. I'll stay with him, you go back home. I'll wait for when they let me take him tonight."

"I'll visit the Girys then. Oh, I'm so relieved!"

We kissed in the middle of the street, forgetting ourselves entirely.

May 15th, 1900

ERIK

"What do you think?" Christine asked happily, showing me her sign.

La femme doit voter!

"It's very straightforward," I told her.

"It's a very straightforward cause. Nathalie is coming with me today, that's why I made two."

"Nathalie?"

"The one Thomas talks about all the time, with 'hair as golden as the sun?'"

"He was never a poet. He can write music, but certainly not lyrics."

She laughed. "Yes, poor boy. I think she likes him, though. Isn't that wonderful? Of course, he's so bright. Best in his class, they say. I wouldn't be surprised if he starts out making 1,000 francs a month. No girl in her position would scoff at that."

"His lisp, though, and his face. Young women are so concerned with appearances."

"Oh, but she's heard him play."

"You think a young woman will fall in love with him, then?"

"Of course. You don't think so? As bright and talented as he is, and as charming?"

"But he's shy. How would he even be able to ask for a woman's hand in marriage without tripping over himself?"

"Benjamin managed to ask you for Viola."

"I had pity for the imbecile."

"Oh, you," she teased, nudging my arm. "You're fond of him. Admit it."

"My hands were tied anyway, what with the baby."

She sighed, "It could have been worse, and I expected it of her. Nothing I could've said would've made any difference, and I said so much. She's so passionate. Ever since she was a girl she's been out climbing trees and picking fights like a boy. But I'm glad it was Benjamin who fell in love with her first and not some other boy. He's so good to her. Buys her flowers every day. She speaks so fondly of him... I'm excited for the baby to come, too, even under the circumstances. Do you think it'll be a boy or a girl?"

"A girl, I hope."

"I don't care either way... Oh, I'll feel so old, though! A grandchild!"

"You're only forty. Imagine how I feel."

She laughed. "I suppose so..." She glanced at her watch and gasped, "Oh! I need to leave. Clarice told me nine o'clock."

"When will you be back?" I called as she hurried out the door.

"Five, I should hope," she replied. "I love you!"

"I love you, too. Don't do anything but hold up that sign, though!"

"Twenty years of marriage and you hardly know me at all," she teased. "But I'll be a perfectly behaved protester, don't you worry."

The door shut. I chuckled as I went to put away the paint she had used. How long would it be until something actually came of her efforts? She was out once a week with great big banners and signs for "the cause." I estimated it would take twenty years at the latest. I hoped not, though. I wanted to see the accomplishment on her face, and in twenty years, I could very well be dead.

On that sad thought, Thomas came downstairs, his violin under his arm. He went over to the piano. I could tell he had put a bit of powder on his face to help decrease the warped appearance. He hardly ever did that anymore.

"Damn," he muttered as he rustled through sheet music.

"Thomas, your mother doesn't allow that sort of language," I advised halfheartedly.

"You'd be saying damn too if you were me," he retorted.

"Why would I be saying that?"

"Where the hell 's it?" he demanded of the sheet music.

"Thomas! What are you looking for?"

"The piece I wrote! Where did you put it? I left it on the piano, right here!"

"The sonata?"

"No, the waltz."

"I don't remember a waltz."

"It's important!"

I grabbed his shoulders. "What's wrong? You don't seem well."

"It's nothing," he replied, refusing my gaze.

"You just said it's important-"

"How did you get maman?"

I blinked, my arms falling to my sides. "Excuse me?"

"How did you get her?" He flushed with embarrassment. "All I have is my music, is that enough? I'm not... handsome, or-"

"I don't understand the question. Get her? She fell in love with me. I loved her before she loved me, and over time, that changed."

"But why did she love you? I mean, we're both... you know. How did she fall in love with you?"

"In all honesty... I have no idea. She saw something in me, I suppose, and we had music, that was what connected us. It just... happened. But my appearance didn't matter to her. She hardly cared after the first time we met."

"What was that like? The first time you met?"

I swallowed. "Not anything romantic at all, really."

"Did you meet on the street or something like that?"

"No. We met... beneath an opera house."

"That sounds very romantic."

"I suppose, when you say it like that..."

"Well, Nathalie likes romantic things," he continued, oblivious to anything but his lovesick heart. "That's why I wrote the song. I'm going to play it for her tonight, by her window, if I can find it... Do you think that will make her love me?"

"You can't make a woman love you. That's ridiculous. If she loves you, she loves you. If she doesn't, well... I don't know. I can't give you much advice on this matter. Your mother would be better."

"But you understand what it's like." He gestured to his face with his eyes downcast. "Did she ever not love you?"

"Oh, certainly."

"Really? Why?"

"Because I had... not done anything worth her love."

"Oh, so I need to earn Nathalie's love?"

"I suppose, in a way. But you're still very young, don't rush into things."

"I'm eighteen, Papa. Viola's already having a baby."

"Viola's different than you."

"Because she's pretty."

"Because she is a lovely young woman and Christine and I were afraid she would run off with some boy at fifteen, that's why. We were fortunate Benjamin came along before anyone else could. But you're not a young woman; you're a young man. You need to finish school and find yourself a job before you can go trying to find a wife. It's different for women."

"So you're saying because I'm ugly, I've got to go and-"

I grabbed him by the shoulders. "That word is forbidden in this house unless we're talking about the cat. What does beauty have to do with love? I love your mother more even now than I did when we first had you, and she is not as young as she was then, but I love her."

"She's still beautiful."

"Of course, but am I? Was I ever, in the normal sense? No, and yet she loves me."

"Have you met many women like that?"

"Of course not. That's why I married her. But they exist. There are good people in this world- a few, that is, only a few. You have to look very hard."

He sat down on the piano bench, his head in his hands. "How long did it take you to find maman?"

"Twenty years."

He looked up. "Oh, surely not that long?"

"It won't be like that for you, though. I have... reasons why I wasn't the most desirable partner."

"What reasons?"

"Reasons only your mother and I can know."

"Why can't I?"

"You can know when I'm dead," I said simply. "That's when you can know."

"What secret would you take to your grave? What, did you kill a man?"

He smiled at the joke. I did not.

"You didn't, though?" he asked, his eyes wide.

"I told you I wouldn't tell you anything. By denying something, that would hint as to what it is I did."

"Ha... You scared me for a moment there, but you're right."

I smiled uneasily, then patted his shoulder. "Now, let's find that waltz and practice it. Music can make anything beautiful, you know, even death... But between us, Thomas, I think Nathalie likes you. Why else does she spend so much time with your mother at those marches?"

"I thought she just liked them and needed someone to go with."

I shrugged, "Well, I know little of love. I would ask your mother when she comes home... Now, let's find that waltz of yours, but I think the sonata would be more fit for serenading a lady."

"But a waltz is so deeply felt."

"Yes, but I insist you play the sonata."

"Why?"

"Because it is your finest work. Doesn't she deserve your finest?"

He colored brightly. "Yes... I suppose I have to trust you on that... Would you... help me rehearse it, though?"

"Of course."

Fin