Here is the last chapter. Most of this has been written since I first began the story back in 2008 so I'm glad to finally be able post it.

Because it has been so long it might be best to go back and read the last couple of chapters for emotional continuity.

Due to time constraints this has not been beta read so please try to forgive any typos I have missed.

"He stepped down, trying not to look at her, as if she were the sun,

yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking."

― Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina

oOo

The Way We Are

oOo

It was the day – a bright, clear, winter's day in December. Only the chilly wind reminded the senses that it was not a simmering afternoon in late July. It had been a whole year since Christine had seen Erik or spoken to him. But her mind remained full of every conversation, look and touch they had ever shared. These last months had forced her heart to survive alone, to live off a painful epitaph of memories. She loved him, had perhaps always loved him. She had seen the light, woken from the deep reverie of denial. It was cruel and desperate that such an emotion had been concealed for so many years, only lifting away from her eyes when she had been too angry, too lost, to finally act upon it.

But, she supposed that much of their lives had been cruel and desperate – especially the way they had treated each other.

She had been sitting on the bench for hours and the day was now drawing to a close. She could feel the spicy chill of dusk approaching. The sun, though still shining, was low and cool. The cold had eaten through her clothing and her skin, and now festered inside her bones. She had started the day feeling ill with excitement at the thought of this reunion, but as the hours had begun to ebb away she only felt hurt and alone.

He was not going to come.

Christine could sit and stare at faces no longer; her heart was worn-out with leaping at the sight of every tall, dark haired man that passed. It was cruel of him to do this, to give her hope only to dash it away against the fierce rocks of rejection. Perhaps this was her final penance for leaving him all those years ago – to feel love so keenly but to be denied its light and warmth.

She was cold, she was angry and she was alone.

She stood up and began to walk away. Her soul a cold thing that she did not want to take with her. She could feel a garrotting chill shiver through her again and again. She could not supress the tears that sprang forth and made no effort to wipe them away. She was not ashamed of them and did not care whether people could see. She had lost the same man for the third time in her life – it was fitting that she should cry.

When she thought of Erik she felt whole, perhaps it had been folly to try and love such a man, to fool herself into believing she could help him to change. He was a man who had been so many things; he had had so many faces and been so many people. He was wonderful and terrible all at the same time. He had ruined so many lives and there was a side to him that frightened her… and yet, he was the only one who could make her soul fly.

She still hated his crimes and she loathed his temper, but she was addicted to the parts of him that ached and yearned for love. She wanted to cure his pain and drown with him…

She wanted him to come back.

A strange desperation made her turn back again, her heart whispering that perhaps it was not too late – that for them it was never too late. She saw an old couple veering towards her bench and quickened her step, her heels clicking purposely against the pavement. Possessively making sure she reached it before they did. If Erik returned and saw that she was not alone he might be driven away. Oh, God, what if he had passed in the few moments since her departure? One look would have been all he needed to see that she was not there, and he would think, oh, she could not bear to imagine what he would think! She sat down and put her face in her hands, she wiped away the cold, dry remnants of the tears that had dried on her cheeks.

If he should not come at all, what did it mean? That his love had finally died? That he had seen the light and given up on her? She sighed deeply – it would mean the end, the definitive, complete, end.

She looked at the pale blue sky, and briefly closed her eyes against the soft sun. It was a cold heat but she cherished it. She watched all of the people that strode across the path, some looked back, a few even smiled – perhaps they recognised her face from the stage. Or maybe they were just happy.

She looked around again and then halted, the blood rose as heat to her cheeks and ears, then drained away in a cold wave. A man had stopped in the path and was looking at her, his mouth was slightly agape, his eyes unmoving. His dark hair fell just below his chin. He wore a light brown suit, with a cravat that matched the marvellous sky. He had a small travelling case with him. A few passers-by had to quickly alter their direction so that they did not bump into him – stifling their exclamations and apologising in haste.

The man paid them no heed, his still, silent face stared only at Christine.

She stood up, so slowly that it seemed divine hands were spiriting her to Heaven. She felt strangely aloof, as though she was an apparition and he was looking straight through her.

Some children were screaming with laughter in the distance. High above birds were chirping away merrily. Moments passed, and people walked and talked, the soft murmur of their voices reverberating into the eternal past…and yet the two continued to stare. A soft wind blew Christine's curls into her face; the movement of her hand as it unconsciously wiped the hair away brought them both from their reverie. The corner of her mouth lifted into the slightest smile, and with that invitation the man began to walk towards her.

When he was almost near she could not look into his eyes, and sank down onto the bench, keeping her gaze in front of her. He sat down beside her and set the small case at his side. He rested his hands on his knees. Christine watched a squirrel bounce along the path and then scurry up a tree, the elation and relief she felt hiding under a rippling of nerves.

"You came back…" she said quietly.

She wanted him to say 'I will always come back to you, Christine...' But he said nothing. He began to gently push a stone about with his shoe. Christine watched, and then turned to look at him.

"I've missed you." She knew the words sounded hollow, but she had missed him, oh, how she had missed him.

"Really, Christine?" His voice seemed thin, almost like a sigh – his tone cynical and yet hopeful. Her eyelids fluttered closed briefly at the sound. Perhaps she had missed his voice most of all.

He turned to look at her then; his eyes were bright and alive in the daylight. They were such an odd mixture of hazel, ochre and gold, as if all the hidden treasures of the East had been buried in his eyes – eyes that had always, always loved her.

She nodded. "More than you can know."

She looked down at her hands that were clasped in her lap. There were so many ways she had imagined this moment, so many things she had said over and over in her mind. And now she could not recall any of it. In her daydreams he had fallen to his knees and cried to see her waiting there. She had been so swept up in the romantic notion of him that she had forgotten how taciturn he was, how sceptical his mind was of anything good.

"I came here a year ago, after I had seen your letter – but you had already gone. I was too late…" She noticed that his jaw set tightly at this, and he looked away from her. "I was wrong, Erik. I was angry and hurt and ... wrong. I came to find you, I did not want you to go anywhere... but I was too late. You had already left. I said so many things that day, things that I did not mean -"

"You said nothing that was not true," said Erik. "I am afraid most of it is still true – will always be true. For as much as I want to change, I cannot fix the past, I cannot undo the things I once did. That man is who I am, who I will always be. No amount of time will change that. I will never be a gentleman or a saviour – that is not who I am."

"I know that now. I will not pretend that I understand completely... it will take me time, and no words can soothe what you did or erase the images from my mind...but, I can accept you, Erik. I do accept you, just as you are."

He sighed. "Christine, do you even know what it is you say – what you promise? This is no fairy-tale. Do not say such things if you cannot mean them,"

The anger Christine felt was swift, and she could not hold back the angry sob that escaped her lips.

"Of course I know what I say – do not speak to me so, not after everything! You still think me weak, Erik, but I have changed. If we have been apart for a year it is because you made it so! You took away my chance to decide; you set the conditions once again and forced me into living a life of regret! And so I have taken this time to think about what I want, about what matters most in this life..."

She stopped and bit her lip, Erik's expression was one utter shock. Christine sighed – this was not at all how she wanted this to happen. When she spoke again her voice was soft, sad.

"I'm sorry. But you must cease in thinking the worst of me, I am no longer a child. There is so much I understand now that I did not before. That girl, the one who heard angels in her head, who whispered to the darkness to find faith – it was her who set me in chains. She encased her soul in cobwebs and denied the future, in the same way that you have denied the light..."

"For over ten years she dreamt in black and white, choosing to only see colour within music. But that girl is gone now, she died a year ago in this park – crying for a man she had forsaken twice. Clinging to a hope that he would return and save her from a life of regret … but, you see, her one mistake was believing in that angel. In believing that anyone could save her. Because she had to save herself. On that day I stood up with dry eyes and left her weeping on the path. I dusted off my skirts and I began to live again. I did not pull her up and take her with me. She is dead."

She felt his gaze on her, her skin pricked, but she did not turn to meet his eyes.

"She loved you – that girl – even though she found it hard to say the words…"

Her voice faltered and she looked at him with bright, imploring eyes. He was now looking away, at the stones on the path, at the patches of swaying shadow drawn by the birch trees: anywhere but at her. His face was pale. And she could see him mourning the precarious love a forlorn soul had denied him so many times. She took his hand and held tightly with both of hers.

"But, Erik, I love you, too – more than she did, more than she ever could."

She saw him struggling against her words, shuddering softly while his organs seemed to lacerate and writhe within him. Unable to accept her words but also unable to deny them. He rested his head in his free hand and Christine did not know what thoughts now plagued him.

In an insane moment of reminiscence she saw his face recoiling with shock when she had kissed below the Opera, tears and disbelief clouding the eyes that had only moments before mocked her with their spiteful vengeance. She took that moment and embraced it to her with this one, fastening them both to her heart so tightly that she would never forget.

She raised his hand to her lips and kissed it, he jerked at the touch, and for a moment it seemed he would recoil away from her – when at last his eyes found her face his expression was so tormented that she almost felt she was again leaving him alone in the dark, or that he would now leave her.

"Oh, Christine," was all he said. Then, slowly, he moved his hand around and interlocked his fingers with hers. Their palms pressed against each other.

She clutched his hand tighter and held it against her heart.

"Please believe me." She whispered.

With the backdrop of clear skies and trees she could see his features were more clearly than ever before. His gaze had lost some of its contempt, the soft lines around his mouth and eyes were now settled into his skin – no longer set in a deep frown against his mask. His mouth was no longer a grim line. He seemed to be at peace. Christine blushed and turned away.

"You are probably very happy wherever you have been living, you seem different… free. I would not want to pull you away from that, not if you are content."

He gave a small, disbelieving laugh "Content? I have been living, Christine. I have always lived... now I want a life."

Their eyes met again and Christine could not suppress a smile. Erik's grip tightened around her fingers.

"I have tried three times to live without you," he said, "apparently it cannot be done."

It took all of her strength not to throw her arms around his neck, to embrace and kiss him as her heart yearned to do. Shyness once again overtook her and instead she rested her head against his shoulder.

"I do not want you to have to try again, not ever. I've been blind, Erik, so, so blind for so long. I wish you had stayed, I wish I had not said those things that day – I wish so much was different. I do not want to blame myself, or you, any longer for what is in the past. Blame eats at the soul, and I am weary of it. So many years have already been wasted…"

There was a warm pressure on her scalp as he rested his head against hers.

"That is quite a promise, my dear, and forever is a long time..." he said.

"Not really, not when we have wasted so much time being apart."

He did not answer, but moved his face slightly and kissed her head, he lingered there for a few moments as if he was breathing her in. They were silent for a long time; the only movement was his thumb idly stroking her hand.

"Where have you been?" She said.

"Only a few hours away, in the countryside between Paris and Rouen."

"So close? I had imagined you had left France."

She felt him laugh slightly. "It seems I could not bring myself to go any further. I have been renovating a cottage and some outhouses for a cantankerous old farmer. Unfortunately, word has gotten around, and now I seem to be the friendly village architect."

"I find that hard to imagine," she said with a smile "...but it sounds wonderful."

"The farmer bequeathed me the cottage as payment for my efforts…it is a small place, but beautiful."

Christine found it a little strange to think of Erik living in the countryside. Working in the daylight, perhaps growing vegetables and wearing clothes the same as the provincial country folk… it made her smile.

"I would like to see your cottage someday."

"You will."

Two words was all it took to make her heart soar, she clutched at the feeling greedily.

"I did not think you would be here," he said after a pause. "I was prepared to turn around and go back the way I came... I did not expect this."

She moved her head to face him, still holding his hand tightly within her own. With her free hand she reached out to stroke his unmasked cheek. She saw his eyes narrow and his face stiffen, but then, slowly, his eyes closed he let himself lean into her touch. And she knew then that he belonged to her, only her. Something tightened in her stomach, and she smiled.

"I did not think you would come back, I have waited all day – I had almost given up hope…"

"Ah, it seems that countryside transport is somewhat lacking. You can imagine my derision at being so hopelessly detained. I thought every force on earth was conspiring against me getting here."

"It doesn't matter now, and in a way I suppose it is right this way."

He sat forward and stared at her in concentration. "What do you mean?"

"That you came back to me at dusk. We may be able to live together in the light – but we will only ever be alive in the dark. A sunrise might never be ours, but dusk always will be."

He frowned and looked away. "Christine, I wanted to save you from my darkness."

"You have. But I have my own darkness, too – I can't believe it has taken me so long to realise it," she bit her lip "it wasn't so hard to escape your darkness, Erik… It was my own that has kept me in chains. But I have stopped trying to escape, and now I find that I do not mind it. In fact, a little bit of darkness is surely a good thing."

He looked at her as if she was mad. "What are you saying?"

"Our love is what it is, Erik. And we are who we are. Neither of us is perfect. There will always be demons in the night and ghosts calling to us from beyond the grave…" she watched his frown deepen "…but I can face all of those things with you. We are both so flawed that surely between us we can be afraid of nothing!"

His jaw was set tight and his eyes were clouded with bewilderment. But she kept her smile wide, and slowly she saw the uncertainty drip away from his face.

"You are mad," he said with a bitter chuckle.

"Yes, perhaps I am. And that is why you must love me, I could never be this wild with anyone else!"

"Then, you will come away with me?" he said with a raised brow.

Christine was caught off guard, suddenly ambushed by his question. Her smile faded and she turned away from him and looked back towards Paris. The only home she had ever known – the city of a thousand memories, two great loves, and one ghost. Tears gathered in her eyes, but she did not want to cry.

"I don't know if I am ready to leave Paris." she said. "I do not want to run, to exist. I want to sing again, to be taken to supper and to go for walks in the park on a Sunday afternoon – a life, just as you said. And I think – in fact I have known for quite some time...that I want to do all of that with you. If you will stay?"

Erik looked at the floor, his voice full of some unnamed emotion. "I once thought as you do, while I was away I imagined living here, I saw it with such vivid detail that sometimes my real life felt like a mere dream. But it is not that simple. I am still a wanted man, Christine. What if someone should guess who I really am? Do not let yourself forget who I am – what I was."

"The ghost and the Phantom are both dead, forgotten by the whole of Paris – you are the only one who will not let them go. You were managing quite well to live here before, you told me you were going to stay – you even bought a house!"

There was a slight growl in his throat. "That was different; you did not seem to remember me and I was a love-struck fool desperate to do anything I could to be near to you. I wasn't thinking clearly!"

"What are you saying? That you are no longer that 'love-struck fool'?"

He levelled her with a stare. "You know I am. But while I was away things seemed clearer, I thought that if you were here it meant that you had chosen me, that you would come with me."

"I have chosen you, nothing will ever change that. But I do not want to leave Paris. My life is here – my only family is here. I don't want to leave them behind..."

Erik stood abruptly and walked away from the bench. Christine swallowed past the small lump in her throat, she slightly regretted her words but she knew she had to hold her nerve against him. It would be so easy to give in, to leave it all behind and follow him blindly into the unknown. But that was not what she wanted. Life would be more stable for them here, at least for now. She was sure that deep down Erik knew that too.

She turned to look at him. He was standing with his back to her, looking out over Paris.

Christine went to his side; she placed a tentative hand on his elbow.

"Erik, I do not want to quarrel, not when I have waited so long to see you again."

There was a deep line between his brows, a frown darkened his face.

"I am trying to assimilate this future you speak of so freely." He said. "I do not know if I will ever belong here, if I will ever belong anywhere."

"You could try."

He turned to look at her. "Yes, I could try. But you forget that this 'family' of yours may not accept me into your life. You are not the only one who is weary of blame. I do not want to live with those around us detesting me...I have had more than my fill of hate. I left a trail of debris behind me when last I was here – they will not thank me for coming back...and they will not thank you for asking me to."

"So your plan is to run?"

"My plan was to finally be happy. I want you, Christine, nobody else."

"You have me; I promise you that you do. You tried to make me choose between two lives once before..."

She saw him flinch at the mention of it.

"...and perhaps I made the wrong choice back then, we will never know for sure. But running away is not the answer now. People might be angry to begin with, but they also have a great capacity for forgiveness. Just look at the two of us...who would have thought that after all we have done to each other, we would be standing as we are now."

"I am not your doll, Christine. I am not a puppet to be dressed up and paraded around Paris as though the past did not happen!"

"No, you are a man grown! A man who only moments ago told me that all he wanted was a normal life... You might still be a work in progress, Erik, but that does not mean you cannot live." She saw him smirk slightly and shake his head. "Or is the problem that this new life is on my terms... and not yours?"

There was a slight glare in his gaze, and Christine knew that she had found the very root of his annoyance. It was not that he didn't want a new life – it was that, for once, it was one in which he would not be completely in control. He was afraid, she saw it.

Erik sighed and continued to look out over the grey silhouette of Paris. Christine saw his mind churn against the possibilities.

"Stop running," she said, "stay with me. I want you to stay."

He met her hopeful eyes with resigned ones. He grasped a lock of her hair and let it slide through his fingers, and then he gently touched her cheek. There was no coldness in his touch; it was as if the ghost within him had truly died. He seemed reconciled, defeated.

"Will you stay?" She asked hopefully.

One side of his mouth rose into a strange smile. "Apparently..." he said, "if it is your command."

"It is."

"Then is seems I am a resident of Paris once more…however, there is a problem."

"What?"

"I seem to have given my house away… along with a generous portion of my fortune. It seems I am to be a rather poor resident of Paris…"

Christine smiled. "You can have it all back – the house and the money both. I didn't ever go there nor spend a single centime; it was not your house or money that I wanted."

"Indeed? I will have to remember that."

Christine laughed and finally put her arms around him, hugging him close. He tucked her head beneath his chin and ran his hands through her hair. Christine breathed him in, he was here – he was really here. He felt cold and soft – just like the night.

After a few moments he spoke. Christine knew she would never tire of the sound of his voice.

"Will you would permit me to escort you home, mademoiselle – and consent for me to take you to dinner tomorrow evening?"

"Yes," she said, raising her head slightly to meet his golden eyes. "I would be delighted, tomorrow night…every night… I am all yours."

He kissed her forehead. Christine felt her body tingle and warm to his touch.

Erik was looking at her with an unspoken question in his eyes. They both knew what he wanted to say, to ask, but this was not the time. Christine thought she saw the exact instant that he changed his mind and contented himself with what they had at this moment. The rest would come in time.

She looked down at his small travelling case and laughed slightly.

"I do not think you will be able to begin a new life with the contents of that case alone!"

"Ah, as I said, I did not expect to be staying long."

"I can see that."

"I will fetch the rest in due course. But, for now, all thoughts of the future can wait…"

Christine nodded. She felt the foolish smile that spread over her face and made no effort to remove it.

"Come," Erik said, holding out his hand to her. Christine put her hand into his in the same way she had done almost five years before, only this time it was reality that guided her to him.

They walked for a while in silence, content only to be in the moment. Christine knew that that later, when she was alone in her bed, this would feel like a dream. The future before her was a beautiful, terrifying one. But Erik was right, the future could wait, she was happy now – they were happy now. That was all that mattered.

She realised that the wings they had given to each other: the Angel of Music, the guardian, the muse … these things had not entirely disappeared – they had simply become part of something bigger. They were the fabric of their souls, the bonds that bound them together. And she finally understood, without fear and without bitterness, that she needed this man as much as he needed her. She always had.

They were equal. She understood the light that she now saw in his eyes – and she knew then that she had been the one to help make him whole. She tightened her grip on his hand, and never once had the desire to glance back.

Real love is not only for the virtuous and the pure, sometimes love is at its most poignant, most incandescent, when it chooses to shine in the lives of the tortured and the dark. It can turn ghosts into men…and help lost souls find their wings.

They left the park together.

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That's it! I can't quite believe this story has taken me so long to finish. Big thanks to everyone that has read/reviewed/followed/favourited this story over the years, it has kept me going to know that people have enjoyed it. Your support means the world. I toyed with the idea of writing a little bit more (this was the main reason for the delay in posting) but in the end this feels like the right place to end this story -especially as this is always the way I intended to finish it. If I write any more about this particular Erik and Christine it will be as a short sequel.

I have some ideas for a new AU story – but whether I get time to write it, or a short sequel to IICF, remains a mystery. But one thing is for sure, I won't be posting anything until I have at least few chapters in the pipeline to avoid the same issues I've had with this story!

Anyway, thanks again and I hope you enjoyed the last chapter.