AN: Short. But as we come to our conclusion, I just wanted this up for today. At this time, it's uncertain whether there will be more chapters of this. There is more in my head, but too many threads to worry about after six years.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! I'm thankful for everyone who read and reviewed this story over the years. Every review, follow, and favorite meant so much to my little writer's heart. This story was never far from my mind, and I hope it became as dear to you as it did to me. So, I hope you're all with family and friends today, and eat well.

In the end, this chapter came to the conclusion I barely knew I was writing when I started in 2011:

We make our own destinies. And if you are truly meant to be, you will find a way to be. And if you were not, there was no shame in loving each other, brief though it may have been.

Au revoir.

"Erik, everything will be fine."

A particularly nasty gust of wind flung the lightly fallen snow away from the gravestones before them, sending the early winter chill into their skin. Christine felt her lips tighten in displeasure, wishing that the unfortunate weather would cooperate with her for once.

Erik tightened his grip on her left hand, their gloves crinkling together as she pulled him through the front gate. "Forgive me if I'm less confident, my love." The bits of snow beneath their feet crunched noisily, making their slow gait more pronounced than she suspected Erik would have preferred.

Their winter coats kept them warm enough for short trip they intended to take from the carriage to the grave. She was fortunate that most of Paris left the cemeteries well enough alone, or Christine feared Erik would've marched them right back to the carriage to try again another day. Or never, as the case might have been. Either way, their first foray out into the world with Erik's new, more flesh-toned mask was always going to leave her instructor coiled like a spring.

"No one paid attention to my separating from the ballet dancers after we returned to the Opera from mass. The patrons were not around to see me leave in the carriage." She patted his hand. "This will be far less eventful than our last trip here, mon ange."

His Adam's apple bobbed in his neck as Erik's throat clicked, jaw tightening while he allowed himself to be led. Indeed, this trip to the cemetery was already off to a far better start than the first time that they had arrived together, one in the shadows and one nearly blinded with grief. And it had been Erik's manipulations that led Raoul to the cemetery, and Erik hurling fireballs at the ill-prepared Vicomte, not the other way around.

At least this time, Raoul had not been gifted the position of her valiant defender, and had no reason to steal after her. She herself had glanced over her shoulder and out the carriage window during their journey, half expecting her former husband to appear and cry out no, Christine! Wait! In the weeks since his outburst in the opera, in the weeks since her ankle had healed and her ring had sat proud and glittering on her finger, Christine had feared that another reckoning was on the horizon. The Vicomte cast dark looks at the rafters, and his eyes followed her with a mixture of despair and fury. But then the days had passed, and Raoul had started to appear less frequently. He ceased to mention the opera ghost, and hadn't sought to speak with her in private again. For all the pain he'd caused her, Christine still felt a gripping ache in her chest at his lackluster approach to this new life, and his continued confused gaze when he saw another's ring adorn her finger.

And right now, the graveyard was still silent, save for the wind and their footfalls.

Several rows of tombstones lined the way to her father's ornate grave, more artfully crafted than anything she would have been able to afford on her own with its dramatic violin and wreath. Her father's admirers and patrons had been more generous to the elder Daae in death than they had been with his pay in life. Even the burial plot itself had come from his adoring public, rather than the few francs he had managed to save for his daughter's wellbeing.

She inhaled shakily, reading the familiar name and dates before leaning down to place the small bouquet of simple flowers she had purchased for her father. The colors stood out starkly against the snow on the ground, winter's return to Paris blanketing the world in its first layer of white.

"You already know Erik, Papa." Christine began quietly. "We wanted to come here in person to thank you." Christine swallowed a little heavily, and felt Erik shift beside her. "To thank you and the powers that be, for this second chance." She bit her lips, the words she thought so often and so carefully sealing in her throat to form a lump. "I swear we will not waste it."

Erik said nothing, and when she turned to him Christine saw his exposed right eye staring blankly at the grave, moisture surrounding it.

"I swear it," he vowed, soft and fierce, bringing their still clasped hands up to his lips. She felt his mouth press firmly against her fingers. "Nothing and no one will harm you again, not while I live." Erik let out a stuttered breath before speaking again. "And I will be at your side, for as long as you wish me to be there."

Christine gave him a small smile before turning back to her father's marker. She brought the free fingers of her right hand to her lips, pressing a devoted kiss to them before laying them against the stony violin. "My angel of music and I are together now, Papa, just as you always promised me." Christine leaned back, letting her side brush against Erik's and bringing their hands over her heart. "We're going to be wed in the new year. And soon enough," the words choked her, making her push against Erik for greater support, "soon enough we can look after our baby boy ourselves. So, please give him our love until then."

Erik trembled minutely against her, his breathing losing rhythm while she looked at the grave a little longer. Visions of her flaxen haired boy, her soon-to-be husband, and their house in Paris danced in her head.

When at last she lifted herself away from Erik's side and turned to him, Christine brought him only a few steps away from the grave before taking both his hands in hers. Halting them, she faced him, meeting his beautiful but haunted eyes.

"Did you notice it, Erik?"

He blinked, hands squeezing hers and face helplessly open.

"Notice what, my love?"

Christine smiled, equal parts wistful and whimsical.

"Nothing, Erik." She nodded her head toward the cemetery gates, and again to her father's grave. "Nothing happened." His eyes searched her face, and she released his left hand to cup his cheek. "You came with me to the cemetery to visit with my father, and nothing happened." Her thumb swept across his skin. "Because this life is different, mon ange." Her fingers clasped his face a little tighter. "It is different. And it's ours."

Erik's lips parted as he stared at her, throat clenching while he blinked rapidly. A small sound escaped him before Christine found herself buried in his arms, her face tucked against his shoulder while he whispered into her hair.

"I love you. My Christine, my beautiful, beautiful Christine. My angel," Erik pressed a burning kiss against her temple. "I love you." Christine smiled more fully, pressing herself against him as far as she could.

At least for the moment, the wind around them seemed to fade away.