Summary: Christine is dying and her Angel returns to her one last time.
A/N: The song thing in the middle somewhere is mine, but everything else belongs to Gaston. Oh, BTW, we're going to pretend that the Phantom is Michael Crawford. Because Michael Crawford is the only one to play me correctly. UNDERSTAND!
We're going to take the last scene of the movie (2004) and twist it around a bit, take a little Leroux and a bit of Susan Kay and you've got my Phantom world. Alright?
Christine DeChagny was dying. She was very ill, and in her weakened state, could not fight off infection. Comte Raoul DeChagny sat by her bedside, her icy hands clutched in his own trembling ones. The Comte was old now, febrile and weak, relying on others to care for him. Up until recently, Christine had been the one to care for him. But now she was dying. Raoul looked down at her wizened face, his mind flashing images of years past. The birth of their children; Charles, Raoul and Lotte. Christmas' long since gone. Nights at the Opera… These outings to the Opera had been Christine's joy. She had begrudgingly agreed to cease her musical career in pursuit of what Raoul liked to refer to as 'the duties of the wife of a Vicomte', namely caring for the children and looking pretty on his arm at dinners and balls.
"Comte, it is time for your dinner. Your children have come to see you." The soft voice of a nurse came from the hallway as she peeked her head in.
Raoul nodded wordlessly and stood up slowly, using his cane to keep him up. He limped toward the door, taking one last look at the sleeping face of his wife; he closed the door on the sight and walked down the hallway to the stairs.
Christine stirred in her sleep, moaning feverishly. Someone was standing over her; she could feel him watching her. Aged eyes cracked open and she gave a soft, wordless cry as she took in the sight before her.
"Mon Ange!" she whispered.
There he stood, like and avenging angel, tall and powerful as he had always been.
"Erik, my angel! What are you doing here!" she cried, trying to sit up.
He sat down on the bed next to her and put a firm hand on her shoulder.
"Rest, my love. I have come to say goodbye."
Christine saw nothing wrong with this, she even nodded seriously.
"I'm dying, mon ange. I can feel it." she murmured, looking into the eyes behind the mask.
"Oh yes? Me as well. The years have not treated me kindly." He suddenly coughed harshly, bringing a spotted and stained handkerchief to his lips. He drew it away, bloody.
"Oh mon ange…" Christine moaned. "How did we come to this? What ails you?"
He waved the question off.
"You are ill, my Christine. I have watched over you for many years, what has happened that had made you so unhappy?"
"I'm dying, Erik." she repeated, staring at him.
"Of what, ma petit ange?"
"Of love… I have been dying of love for many years, Erik."
She reached up and stroked his hair, which was greying slightly at the temples.
"I wish I had come to you sooner." she murmured tiredly.
Erik, in turn, lay a long fingered hand against her cheek. She turned her face into his palm, nuzzling gently.
"We could not be together in life, mon ange. Perhaps we could be together in death…" the ailing Comtesse said softly.
"Perhaps…" Erik replied.
The Phantom reached into his cloak and pulled out a small vial.
"Drink." He said quietly.
"Is-Is it poison?" she asked, somewhat fearfully.
He chuckled softly.
"No my dear. I wouldn't poison you. No, this is just something to ease the pain. I can feel you shaking."
She let Erik hold the small phial to her lips, the sweet liquid passed her lips and trickled down her throat. The warmth seemed to spread into her chest, numbing the pain that wracked her every breath. Christine licked her lips and looked up at her dark Angel.
"It won't be long…" she said, somewhat dreamily.
"No. It won't be long." he agreed, stroking her hair.
"Will you stay with me?"
"Of course. I'll never leave you, Christine."
He stayed with her, true to his word. Her breathing slowed, but her eyes remained open, staring at her Angel.
"Sing for me?" she whispered.
He nodded, tears leaking down his cheeks. Erik kissed her hands, clasped in his own, and began to sing.
"You're my dream,
My best obsession,
You haunt my dreams to no end,
Give in to me,
You're my best obsession, my one real dream,
Holding you close, I almost feel whole,
Happiness was a myth to me,
'Til I laid eyes on you,
We belong together, you and I
And even if we can't have each other now,
I'll find you again, someday, somehow."
By the end of the song she was gone. Erik held her still warm hand, feeling a tear snake it's way down his unmasked cheek. He kissed her lips on last time, arranged her hands on the coverlet and walked to the opened window. He took one last glance back to look upon her angelic face, still beautiful, even in her advanced age.
With that he disappeared. Over the ledge and into the garden where he fled the DeChagny Manor. Moments later, he heard a shriek resounding from Christine's room.
Days later, Erik went to the graveyard at Perros. He stood in front of the tall headstone marking the grave of his beloved ange de la musique. Her picture smiled down at him, beautiful and angelic as always.
He sagged weakly against the cold marble and withdrew something from his pocket. It was the ring. The ring he had given her, and which she had given back to him. Erik tied the ring around a single rose with black ribbon and lay it gently on the gravestone.
"By and by I come…" he murmured softly, touching the small portrait at the top of the stone. "Wait for me, my love…"
The former Phantom of the Opera struggled back to the road where a carriage awaited.
"It is done?" a female voice asked from within.
"Yes, my dear. It is done." He replied gravely.
"Then come inside, Uncle Erik. You are not well." Meg Giry insisted, her small, gloved hand extending out of the carriage.
He took it and climbed into the brougham.
"Le Vicomte will had a nasty surprise, I daresay…" Erik murmured.
"I daresay he will. Home driver" she said sharply to the driver of the brougham, who was peering into the carriage from his seat.
The man snapped to attention and the carriage started off.
He was sitting in a winged back armchair in Nadir's parlor. The mask was off and Nadir was serving tea. Erik felt odd, to say the least. Somehow all the pain of the years had dropped away and he was gently drifting on an invisible cloud. His time was coming, he knew it, and he welcomed it.
"I'm dying, Nadir." Erik said quietly as his oldest friend placed a sup of tea next to him on the side table.
"I know, Erik. I know. Stay with me a little longer?" the Persian asked in a nearly desperate tone. "I have so enjoyed your company, Erik. I hate to think you would die without having said goodbye to your conscience."
Erik chuckled dryly, fighting to keep his eyes open.
"Yes, my friend. I have and will say goodbye…. You know something? I never got to speak to my own son?"
"Son?" Nadir asked, confused.
"Charles is mine… My son… Christine's and my son… Such a handsome boy… Thank god he looks like her…"
"There's no time… Please, Daroga, you must look after my affairs for me. I've left the boy a substantial sum. Enough to keep him living comfortable for years to come. You will look after him?" Erik asked, his voice growing fainter.
"Yes Erik. I will look after him."
"Good…" he suddenly moaned softly. "Oh Christine…"
He could just see her, waiting for him with arms outstretched.
"Goodbye Daroga…" Erik whispered.
Nadir clutched his old friend's arm in a vice-like grip. Tears sparkled in the Persian man's dark eyes.
The Phantom's head slipped to the side lightly, a faint smile playing on malformed lips. The Persian felt tears slipping their way, unheeded, down his sunken cheeks.
"Goodbye, my dear friend. And may flights of angels sing thee to thy rest…" Nadir whispered.
He shut the mismatched eyes and turned from the body of the stranger who had become much like a brother. Erik, the Phantom of the Opera, was dead.
Hankies out everyone? I hope you liked it. If you didn't, I'll Punjab you. If you do like it, well alright then! Go forth and review.