A/N: This story is pure fluff. EC, begins about a year after the night in the cellars. Mostly ALW with a bit of Kay and Leroux. Have fun :D And forgive me for the changes between first and third; Christine and Raoul are in third and Erik is in first, which may be confusing but that's how it happened. Fop-friendly.

Raoul

It was fitting to Raoul's mind that this ancient, beautiful city—Vienna, with all her old-world glory, the acknowledged music capitol of the world—would become known as the first truly great solo triumph of Angela Gloriosa, the Glorious Angel. Little did the world know that just two years ago she had been merely a chorus girl; that only last year she had stood in the deepest pit of the underworld and chosen her childhood friend over the beautiful, terrifying lover of her soul.

He wondered if she regretted it.

Things had changed, after that night in the cellar. They were not married; that was a dream he had given up long ago. Yet still, like a chaperon, like a brother—indeed, as a friend—he followed her from city to city, opera house to opera house, giving her encouragement and love and watching in wonder as she raised audience after audience to tears with the clear, soulful heartache of her high soprano. He had not had contact with his brother in Paris for six months at least; it was quite possible that the older Count had disowned him. But Raoul, though he knew—he knew, without a word between them—that she could never feel love for him beyond a gentle affection, found he simply could not leave her.

Raoul stood out of the way, in the backstage area of the Vienna State Opera, and watched as Christine, her hair held back from her face, prepared for her opening solo. A strange shiver passed over him, watching her; a powerful cloud of pain held ruthlessly under a veneer of cold indifference seemed to engulf the riot of motion backstage. Raoul took a deep breath and tried to ignore the chill running down his back; he had not felt such a powerful presence since . . . since . . .

Everyone else had paused, just for a moment, then shaken off the odd feeling and moved about their last-moment duties. But Christine was suddenly next to him, her arms tightly circling around his neck. He always kissed her forehead for luck before a performance, but now she was shaking, her face pale under her makeup. "Tell me I've been dreaming, Raoul," she whispered, lifting her head to meet his gaze. Her eyes were tearful. "Tell me its impossible, tell me that you felt nothing . . . Raoul, please, please tell me I'm imagining things," Christine pled, her vibrant voice shaking lower with each word. He hesitated, and in that moment she knew. "You felt it too. Raoul, he's here.What can I do? What if . . ."

What if he was furious with her? What if he had followed them to extract his revenge? Forcing himself to put his own fears aside, Raoul tenderly took her cold hands in his and stared straight into her eyes. "Then sing for him, Christine. Sing for him as you never sang before, even for him. Put your heart and soul into your voice for him, and if—not that I think it likely, but if—he is here, he will know what you are saying to him."

"I've been running from him for a year, every moment looking back, hoping and dreading that he would follow. . ."

"You can do this. Go, Christine. Sing for your Angel." She gave him a tremulous smile and kissed his cheek, then she was drawn back to her world, the stage full of curtains and attendants and above all, music. Raoul knew what he needed to do; if Erik was here, really here, there was only one place he would be. Turning away from the stage, Raoul began the brisk walk to box five.