Author's notes: This is not the last chapter, there will be another short one to iron out a few details. Thank you so much for reading, and those of you who reviewed. I would especially like feedback on this chapter. It took me awhile to do and I'm pretty proud of how I wrapped some things up, but please, let me know! Thanks!

Intoxicated by Eriks Music- You know, there are Raoul-bashers and Raoul-tolerators, and I'm in the middle, but I have never, EVER met a reader who liked Carlotta, and you're not the one to break that theory, lol.

Sleepy Angel- As always, thank you for the kind review. I'm glad you liked it!

Disclaimer: As much as I wish they were, the POTO characters are…you guessed it…not mine :-)

Christine rushed off the stage, pleased with her performance. She stopped to brace herself against one of the walls that made up the wings, catching her breath. Whatever virus she had contracted had not fully taken its leave, but at least she didn't seem to be throwing up as much. Only a little nauseous…

Christine instinctively cringed as Carlotta approached, bracing herself for some petty insult concerning her performance. She wasn't afraid of Carlotta anymore, though M. Romano was conceding more and more to her diva-like demands, Christine was a star here in her own right and did not fear retribution as much as she had in Paris. Still, Carlotta never let an opportunity for ridicule pass, so when the diva simply brushed past her with a simple smirk, Christine wondered what the matter was.

Maybe another little interaction with her 'ghost,' she thought wryly. I have to speak to Erik about this…I really must.

Her breath returned, Christine continued down the corridor to her changing room. She never waited for Erik backstage after a show, but instead went to her room, where he was always waiting, having had time to make his way back before she did. As she approached the door to her room, she felt an arm on her shoulder, and assumed Erik had been detained and was just arriving. As she moved to turn into her husband's arms, she stopped short as she heard a noise from inside her room.

Only Erik and I have a key, she realized, and quickly spun to find herself looking at Raoul. She gasped and pressed one hand to her mouth as his eyes took her in, looking at the details of her costume and coming to rest once more on her eyes, as if he were searching for something.

"Raoul!" she gasped rather loudly, hoping to alert Erik to his presence. "What are you doing here?"

Raoul's face twisted in confusion as he beheld his ex-fiancee.

"Why- I am here because you asked me to come!" he said, bewildered.

At this statement, Erik stiffened. He had heard Christine's exclamation and had taken himself away from the vanity drawer he was trying to fix for her. As his hand reached the doorknob, he heard Raoul's comment and froze.

Surely he is mistaken, Erik thought, reflecting to himself that it was a wonder he did not immediately assume Christine was going to leave him. He decided to wait, and see what Christine said before leaving the room. Perhaps Raoul would simply leave…no, you know that isn't going to happen, if he came all this way, he must want something, and yet the boy sounds as confused as she! Erik knew the real reason he was waiting was that, though he knew he could best Raoul in any challenge, he was not in any hurry for the boy to realize that he was still alive, if he could help it. Thank God I planned to take her out to dinner afterwards, he thought with a wry smile.

"I never asked you to come!" Christine said indignantly. "I believe you told me you wanted nothing to do with me…I believe what you said was that I was crazy, that I should be locked up!"

Raoul shifted uneasily. Whatever Christine was playing at, he didn't like it.

"I received a letter," he said angrily, "a letter in which you begged me for help, begged me to come- I didn't even know what was the matter, and yet I came all the way here! And this is how you receive me?" My God, he thought to himself, she really has gone mad.

"This is how I receive you?" she protested. "I have no idea why you're here."

From her position behind the curtain, Carlotta shifted uncomfortably. She had thought that this ghost, or whatever he was, would have come to Christine's "rescue" by now. She had envisioned two possible outcomes. One relied upon the idea that Christine was not really married, but somehow held captive by whatever force was routinely making her life miserable, in which case, she would be glad to see Raoul and happy to be spirited away, leaving Italy for Carlotta to conquer. The other involved the idea that Christine was happy with this ghost-thing, with whom she would then run away, thinking it was unsafe to stay if Raoul had found them.

Now, she worried they might piece things together if she left them alone, and so, accusingly, she stepped out from behind the curtain, making both Christine and Raoul start.

"She's the one behind this!" Carlotta screamed. "Christine! I've said it before and I'll say it again, but this woman has run off on you for the opera ghost!" Carlotta smirked as Christine instantly paled, but Raoul, his attention fully on Carlotta, did not notice. "And now that ghost is making us all miserable!"

Gentleman though he was known to be, Raoul's fists tightened at the mention of Erik. Behind the door, Erik tensed, waiting for the proper moment.

"Christine?" Raoul demanded. "Is this true?"

"Of course it's true!" Carlotta howled, "And this is my proof!" When she thrust the wedding invitation into Raoul's hand, his face tightened as he took in the elegant script that invited someone to nuptials that had taken place months ago.

"Erik…" he growled. It was not the loss of Christine as much as the thought that this man had won. For though he still loved her, he had realized, watching her sing that evening, that the stage was the only venue in which she would be truly happy, and as he realized that, the boyish love that had longed so desperately to tie Christine to his side had slowly evaporated. Erik, however, was another story. "Christine…how…?"

Christine did not answer, but nearly fainted when she heard the dressing room door open. Raoul and Carlotta both stared, waiting to see the person that was currently backlit by the dressing room lamps, and therefore, utterly unidentifiable.

"My darling," he said in a thick Italian accent, "I was beginning to think you had been spirited away by one of your admirers."

Carlotta let out a demented scream at this, for the man who stood before her, who took Christine in his arms and kissed her gently, was not only not French, but wholly normal looking.

"I'm sorry," Erik continued, "I do not believe I have met your caller. A friend of yours?"

Christine was silent, and then managed to stammer,

"Yes…darling…this is Raoul de Chagny, a…childhood friend from Paris."

"How rude of me," he continued smoothly, reaching out to offer Raoul his hand. "Omar Girard. Have you any interest in the opera?"

"Some," Raoul continued with difficulty.

"Stop this!" Carlotta screamed, rushing forward to grab Erik by the lapels. "This is not her husband! This is not the opera ghost!"

"The opera ghost?" Erik said with a laugh. "Darling," he said to Christine, "I thought you said that was a Parisian myth!"

At this, Carlotta screamed and began mercilessly pummeling Erik with her fists, and consequently summoning security, the same police who had been summoned by Carlotta on an anonymous tip that something nefarious was going to happen at the opera.

When Carlotta turned on Christine, her eyes full of hate and demented anger, she lost control completely, screaming obscenities, kicking, scratching and biting until the officers were able to pry her off Christine, Erik holding his wife back from her and trying his hardest not to get involved and uncover his identity. Raoul stood aside, completely dumbfounded, and Carlotta was dragged away, screaming incoherently about voices in the walls and floors running with blood.

In the silence that followed, Raoul cleared his throat uncomfortably, somehow speechless by the sight of Christine in the arms of another man. Christine saw this and went to Raoul.

"I still don't know why you're here," she said.

"Nor I," he retorted. "Though I'm beginning to forge a few connections between this," and here he produced the typewritten letter, "and a certain screaming diva."

Erik tried not to smile. Perhaps this was not going to be so troublesome after all.

"I…" she trailed off, trying to explain Erik's presence without having to tell a lie or, indeed, fully explain.

"Christine," he said, "perhaps this was for the best. I never did apologize for my actions that day at Nadir's home. Nor could I admit that perhaps you were right." Christine looked utterly confused, so he continued. "Perhaps it is better we remain friends…and, though I know you did not plan it, I am grateful for this opportunity for closure. Can you forgive me?"

Erik knew that as "Omar," he should act surprised at this allusion to his wife's "unknown" past, but found that he did not have to act. He was wholly surprised on his own.

"Raoul…I forgive you," she said. "I do love you…as a friend. I am sorry I couldn't be honest with you, but for a long time, I don't think I was honest with myself."

"That's all right," he said. "We all have our secrets." He cast a look at Erik, a look that Erik could not decipher. "I- I am to be married."

Christine felt relief.

"I am glad," she said.

"Perhaps, if it is all right with your husband…" he trailed off for a moment, "we could keep in touch?"

Christine glanced at Erik, who was standing as she'd never seen him before…slack-jawed, at a total loss for words.

Well, almost.

"I think that would be appropriate," he said. And then he mentally cursed himself…not because of his permissiveness, but because he had forgotten he was supposed to be Italian.

"I amhere foranother week," Raoul continued, "It seems my fiancée has always wanted to explore Italy. Perhaps we could arrange supper sometime."

"That would be nice," Christine said, though momentarily queasy at the idea of food.

"Wonderful," he said. "It was nice meeting you both. Goodnight, Christine…Erik."

And, raising one of Christine's hands, he met it briefly with his lips and turned to meet Isabel, who waited in the foyer.

With a smile, Christine reached up and touched the prosthetics on Erik's face.

"I haven't seen these in awhile," she murmured.

"Well," he said gallantly, "I thought I'd take my wife to dinner."