Wow chapter 25...I must admit I never thought this fic would go so far, and I blame the reviewers! Each and every one of you have driven me mad with pleas of not letting Erik die and what not…you are all driving me mad to the point where I just want to crawl under my bed with the dust bunnies and never see the light of day again! (end insane babble here)

Anyway please know that this is not the last chapter, but my fic is coming to an end…just thought I would give everyone a fair warning. So without further delay: here's chapter 25, I give props to Amy Lee whom I borrowed this clip of lyrics from…enjoy!

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"The worst is over now and we can breathe again
I want to hold you high, you steal my pain away
There's so much left to learn, and no one left to fight
I want hold you high and steal your pain

Because I'm broken when I'm open
And I don't feel like I am strong enough
Because I'm broken when I'm lonesome
And I don't feel right when you're gone away…"

As the final stifled musical sob escaped her throat Christine gently reached out with a quivering hand to touch her beloved's unmoving face. She rested her voice for a moment to adjust the blankets around him, making sure his bare chest was warm. She smiled sadly as she moved that cumbersome strand of hair from his face as she always did. As she observed the slow movement of his breathing and noticed the cold texture of his flesh she knew that perhaps she would lose him.

The thought tore a scream of anguish from her throat and she buried herself against his side, careful not to further injure him. She closed her eyes as she recalled the conversation that the doctor and Madam Giry had exchanged. She hadn't heard everything, but the expression on Mme. Giry's face as he spoke those final words to her said more than the young woman needed to know. She hadn't intended to spy, but the eager fashion in which Meg was trying to get her to exit the room made it plainly obvious everything was not as well as it should be.

Mixed emotions seized her heart when Mme. Giry had offered the theory that Erik was 'fine,' that it was just a mixture of malnutrition, exhaustion, and his injuries that produced his slumber, but Christine was no longer as naïve as she used to be. And as Meg had blindly lied to her about his condition and Mme. Giry had allowed her time alone with him, the painful clench of death laced itself upon her very being. In a way she was grateful for their protective nature towards her, but in this turbulent time weren't deceptions of hope and fruitless encouragement only more damaging?

She looked up briefly from her thoughts, wondering if she should sing another verse, another song, anything…

…I carry your voice with me always and it will insure I die with a smile…

Christine winced at the memory of his heart wrenching letter. A part of her hated him for it, hated Mme. Giry for giving up so easily and not finding another doctor, hated Meg for patronizing her…

But most of all she hated herself.

This horrible mess was all her fault! Christine violently shook her head back and forth to get rid of the possibilities that filled her mind of other things she could have done to avoid this tragedy. Her Erik was ill beyond measure and lying helpless because she was too inexperienced with life to think of a more positive solution! Guilt clutched at her heart strings and sorrow followed it, leaving behind a trail of withered joy. She was convinced she would never experience happiness again.

If only perhaps she had come up with a better explanation of Raoul's death than Erik wouldn't have felt the need to turn himself in…maybe if she had taken responsibility for the fire and claimed his death was self-defense…even if she had rescued Erik earlier…

She had failed him.

The look of hope, of adoration and pride on his face when he recognized her at the jail couldn't be denied. And while fear for her safety clouded his waking judgment, her love for him could no longer be questioned. It was an unspoken promise that their hearts permanently belonged to one another, and now the only thing Christine longed to do was keep that promise.

She remained at his bedside and wept silently over him, praying for his unlikely recovery and cursing herself. For if he should die it would be entirely her fault, and while she knew Lucifer would be awaiting her arrival in Hades, the human lifetime without Erik seemed more punishment than any demon could ever offer.

"Oh my angel," she whispered, then raised her voice and continued going with more urgency. "Don't die! If you should leave me, I shall perish with you."

He was so pallid, so utterly without color (even for him), and so still he scarcely seemed to be breathing. His weakened state forced Christine to more tears, until at last she calmed herself somewhat and leaned closer to him to whisper in his ear.

"I love you, Erik. Do you hear me my beloved angel? I love you-" She broke off to sob slightly, but continued after a few moments. "More than life, I love you. Wake up Erik, wake up and come back to me…"

Christine miserably laid her head upon his bed, whispering 'I love you, I love you' until she fell into a sleep filled with nightmares of a horrible existence without Erik.

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The bright moonlight highlighted the stain-glassed windows, and produced an illuminating effect against the chapel walls. The Young Meg Giry kneeled in respectful silence before the large crucifix on the wall. She frowned in her troubled thoughts before lighting yet another candle on behalf of her suffering friends.

She looked up again only when she heard the approaching footsteps of her mother. Meg smiled in a sad greeting and her mother did the same as she walked though the doorway. The older woman sat beside her daughter and together they silently observed the glimmer of candles before them, each consumed by their own thoughts.

"I have not seen you down here in a long time." Madame Giry said after a few minutes.

Meg looked at her mother sadly and began a simple explanation "Christine always comes here when she feels troubled, so I thought it best I take her place."

The older woman seemed to contemplate this answer for a few moments before responding, as if she were afraid of saying something wrong.

"I know you have not had the proper education most Catholics have had, but surly Meg you know that prayer does not make every desire into a reality."

Meg closed her eyes and shook her head in an annoyed manner. "Mother, surly you cannot possibly think I am that naïve? I am not so childish that I believe that every prayer I ever commit myself to will come true, I just- I just well I suppose I don't really know exactly." She paused to take a breath before continuing. "The man who lies in the fifth cellar of this Opera House is a murderer, a thief, and social deviant, but Christine loves him. Yet, despite the devotion they have for one another…I'm not sure if I believe he deserves to live

"Something like that is not for us to decide, Meg," her mother said softly. "Mortality is God's work."

Meg was silent for a moment more before responding. "It is difficult to imagine that Christine's angel and the ghost I once made up stories about are one and the same. I wish I had known then how important and how beloved this Phantom would be to her."

"I know my dear, I too have pondered how these series of events came to be."

The room was silent once more, as both women stared at the wax that dripped from the candles edges. They each observed a unspoken prayer, and several moments passed before Meg spoke up once more.

"I hope he lives, Maman…For Christine's sake if nothing else. I truly hope God feels Erik worthy of life and Christine's love."

The ballet instructor turned to her daughter and smiled sadly before reaching for her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.

"As do I my dear, as do I."

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Pain.

That was all he felt now.

Pain.

Physical agony beyond his wildest dreams imaginings filled every fiber of his being and the moment he attempted to so much as twitch his fingers he grimaced. The excruciating feeling in his limbs and joints reminded him of the events from his last moments of consciousness flooding back to him, and while his first instinct was to confirm Christine's safety, he found that even the simplest of moments caused a ache.

Christine.

His eyes flew open, despite their painful protests And as he adjusted to the candlelight of the room a slight movement caught his eye. The agony in his neck was unbearable but the familiar scent of his lovely companion forced him to ignore it to get a proper look at her. He smiled sadly, for her hair tangled around her face messily and her features were swollen and red from what seemed to be more than a lifetime worth of tears. With mush objection from his freshly dislocated shoulder and the sling that now sheltered it, he reached up to place his hands among the curls beside him. With her eyes closed, she looked somewhat peaceful but clearly she was incredibly distressed.

Erik opened his mouth but, while the words were formed, they seemed incapable of leaving his dry throat. Glancing to his side he noticed a glass of water by his bedside and despite the torture, the need for hydration won over. After getting over the obstacle of his bandaged ribs, and the various series of stitches that littered his body he set the glass back in its place, he traced one of his fingers along Christine's moist eyelashes.

"Christine…" he whispered with his raspy voice.

She awoke slowly, clearly confused by her surroundings, but as her eyes greeted Erik's, she quickly remembered and happily threw herself into his outstretched arms. Almost the moment they touched, she felt him flinch and heard him grunt in pain.

"Erik, my god Erik, I am so sorry. Are you all right? Can I get you anything? Where does it hurt-?"

Much to her obvious dissatisfaction, he chuckled at her hysterics, instantly regretting it as he clutched his side painfully.

"I heard you," he said with fatigue evident in his voice.

Gently, he reached his palm to Christine's face and held it there by cupping his hand with her own. "In the dark, I heard you calling me…" He trailed off slightly

but remained conscious. Christine merely cried tears of relief and whispered :

"Oh my love, the doctor predicts your illness to be fatal…I fear the next time the dark takes you from me it shall be the last."

He smiled at the sound of the term of endearment and stroked her cheekbone with his thumb.

"Oh Christine, I could never leave you. Never"