Disclaimer: I am neither Andrew Lloyd Webber nor Gaston Leroux.

Author Note: Hi everyone! If anyone is still reading this story after the complete lack of updates then thank you! Life has been CRAZY BUSY recently but a recent Phantom-fest reminded me that I hadn't yet finished this story. To make up for the neglect, I am uploading two chapters today and possibly more if I get the time- fingers crossed!

Confession: I had already written some of these chapters and forgotten to upload them. Eek!

Not long to go now before the end! If you've stuck with me all this time, thank you so very much!

Thank you draegon-fire, Child of Music and Dreams, MarilynKC and M.G. for your reviews of the last chapters. Your thoughts on them were lovely to read :)

So, without further ado, onto the chapter- and the aftermath of those slow burning flames…

Thirty Five- Bridges Rebuilt

It was still dark when Erik awoke, although it was clear from the glow of the horizon that the sunrise was not far off. He shifted in the unfamiliar sheets, dazed for a moment and wondering how on earth he had come to be there- the memories of the argument came back in fragmented pieces and he groaned slightly as he recalled the words he had hurled at Raoul through the rain. He hadn't meant them, not truly, and perhaps it was testament of how much had changed between them all that Erik honestly feared losing that new friendship.

But even regret and misery had to come second place in his thoughts, at this odd hour of not quite darkness and not yet light. He turned, silently, in the sheets and his eyes came to rest on the sleeping figure next to him, and Erik- who was never without words, or means to express himself- found he could conjure no words to describe the moment. Tentatively, he reached towards her and brushed the bare skin of her neck. His fingers trembled, as if scared that she were just some heavenly apparition and not the real Christine Daae.

But she was real.

Her skin was smooth and pleasantly warm beneath the calloused tips, and that gave him the confidence to let his touch drift lower. Lower towards the collarbone, ghosting across skin that mere hours ago he had showered with kisses. Lower still, until he found her heartbeat. He did not need to feel his own to know that they beat in synchronisation- it would be impossible for it to be otherwise. Unfathomable as it was, he and Christine shared a connection, a pulse of life. Erik found he was smiling as he considered it- that she, who had always been the light in the darkness of his existence, had somehow forged that connection.

Erik had never truly understood it before- the difference between living, and being alive. But the night, and Christine, had changed that.

As the sky faded to lighter blue, the pink and orange of the sunrise bleeding across the wisps of cloud, Erik simply watched her. How her eyelids fluttered, how her chest rose and fell with each gentle breath- unlike that night in the gypsy clan, she did not thrash and scream with nightmares. Unlike that night below the opera house, he did not cower in the corner as she slept, terrified with the uncertainty of what to do now. He realised, with a jolt of shock, that he no longer felt afraid to touch her- even that night in the caravan, when his entire body had been pounding with desire, he had been afraid. But that was gone.

Who could have known that intimacy- of both bodies and minds- could be the cure to such a thing? That baring yourself so openly, making your imperfections known and your vulnerability clear, could bind you so tightly with another person you could no longer tell where they ended and you began?

Romanticised nonsense, Erik thought distantly to himself as he stroked the delicate planes of her face and felt her breath tickle his skin. But he was smiling as he did so.

It could have been hours or mere moments that passed, for Erik was so consumed with love and disbelief as he considered the woman sleeping next to him he lost track of mundane considerations like time. But where one moment he had been marvelling at her fluttering eyelids, the next they were open and looking straight at him with quizzical amusement.

For an agonisingly long moment, there was silence as they stared at each other. Then, Christine's face broke into a radiant smile and her hand went on top of Erik's- holding him to her heart.

"How long have you been staring at me?" she asked, her voice mock stern but failing to hide that undertone of delight.

"Oh, some immeasurable amount of time." Erik could be flippant about it, even though his heart was pounding in his chest and he could feel the heat of flushed cheeks on his face. His face- he realised with a start that he was not wearing his mask, that it was in fact discarded on the floor somewhere. The thought as to how it got all the way over there was nothing compared to the staggering realisation that she was looking at him without disgust. Her love had not been limited to those shadowy hours of the night, where everything seemed mysterious and all the more beautiful for it.

"Why?" she asked with one perfectly raised eyebrow, copying a tone that Nadir often used, which made Erik laugh.

"Mademoiselle, I think you are misinformed. I was not staring, but rather watching." He pulled her close and kissed her forehead, making her smile. "I had to make sure that you were real. That this- that this is not just some heavenly dream, that when I wake will be all the more painful for its perfection."

"This is real." She replied softly, placing a hand against the side of his face and smiling again. "And knowing that all those days of suffering and misery were worth something- that it eventually came to this- oh, Erik, I am so happy."

They lay together, nestled in the scratchy sheets and watching as the sun climbed higher into the sky, listening to the birds outside the window and the industrious clamour of people and transport that drifted up from the courtyard and the cobbled road. Erik had been quite content with their silence, stroking Christine's messy curls and feeling the warm weight of her head against his chest. It was romanticised nonsense again, and he knew it, but he was not quite ready to leave this untouchable moment of perfection.

He knew, though, that as soon as they dressed and joined Nadir and Raoul downstairs, it would be destroyed. By necessity- by the fact that they still had issues to discuss, and to argue.

"Where did you go?" Christine asked suddenly, as if responding to the thoughts whirling through Erik's mind, and he jerked in surprise. "When you left us, the night of Pali's death, I mean."

Erik was grateful for her tactful phrasing- left us, instead of the truth they both knew, that Erik had only been leaving her.

"Initially I didn't go anywhere. I rode perhaps a mile into the countryside, and raged at myself for what I had done and my inability to simply turn around and go straight back to you. I wanted to- I wanted nothing more. But I wasn't strong enough." He closed his eyes at the memory, knowing he never wanted to revisit those dark hours ever again.

"I knew you were going to go. From the way you kissed me, after the funeral- it was as if you were saying goodbye." Christine murmured and Erik nodded.

"I decided I would follow you to Paris, to make sure you were safe. I kept to the trees and kept considerable distance. But as soon as you were in Paris, I turned around and went back to the gypsies."

"What!" Christine scrambled up and turned to face him, her expression horrified. "Erik why on earth would you do that?! What if they'd decided to take you captive because of- because of what happened? Oh, you stupid, stupid man!"

Christine's lips had refused to form the name of the sadistic gypsy leader who had killed Pali. The mere thought of him still made her shiver- but the thought of Erik, depressed and likely completely uncaring of his fate, waltzing straight back into the clan they had effectively ripped apart from the inside out made her feel sick.

"I didn't really care what happened to me at that particular moment." He admitted freely, and Christine made an exasperated noise, getting out of the bed and going to the window. She started to tug a brush through her curls with vicious force.

"No, you never do." She muttered crossly. "That's got to stop, Erik. You said to me last night that you didn't want to die with me, you wanted us to live, and I'm going to hold you to that."

He nodded, mutely, and hoped she would come back to his arms, but she was still fuming.

"If it is any comfort, Rose said the very same thing." He continued, and Christine almost smiled at the thought of that remarkable woman whose stern words had certainly brought her considerable solace. "She also told me that if I didn't go back to you, I'd lose you. She meant through general anger, I suppose, but I imagined that it would be Raoul-"

The hairbrush was slammed down on the windowsill with a clatter, which made Erik regret ever mentioning that part of the story.

"I spent a brief time apprenticed to a stone mason, in my youth." He continued hastily, and Christine's expression showed her surprise at the sudden, seemingly random, change of narration. "I wanted to leave some sort of memorial for Pali- the gypsies don't tend to do such things, but I spoke with Rose and she agreed that Pali had been loved by more than just his gypsy kin. So I acquired some stone and engraved his name and placed it in the woods where we used to meet with you, Christine, to discuss our plans. I did this purely for my own peace- a place to mourn, a place to remember, I suppose wanting some memory of that wonderful man to be left for others to see-"

Erik stopped briefly and looked toward Christine, who was stood listening with tears in her eyes.

"That first night after it was finished, I went to sit by it. But when I reached the stone, I found that most of the clan was already there. And where I would have sat in miserable silence, bringing yet more gloom and misery to the place and Pali's memory, they were there with their fire, their colour, their vibrancy and it- it was so perfect. For a man who had lived to the fullest, who shone so brightly, there could not have been a better way."

Christine was truly crying now, wiping her eyes and yet smiling through the tears- which Erik was glad of, for it emphasised the point he had been trying to make entirely.

"Rose told me- that though memories may be painful, and we may wish to rewrite the past, there is always something worth keeping. And it made me realise-" Erik got up and went to Christine by the window, taking her hands and bringing them to his lips. "I should never have discarded our past. I should never have wanted to rewrite it- for it was beautiful. I don't deny that there are moments that will burn within my mind and haunt me forever, and there are things I regret and will wish I had never done, but there were moments of wonder and beauty too. And I think that our future could be very much the same- if you will consent to stay with me, Christine Daae."

She nodded, and kissed him, and she felt his shoulders shake with honest relief.

"But don't think this means you're forgiven just yet." She broke away muttering, and he laughed at her. "It's not funny! Thinking I would go off with Raoul- honestly, Erik! Next you'll be thinking that I wish to elope with Nadir!"

Such an idea sent Erik into hysteria. His laughter was so great, that Christine's exasperated scolding did nothing but make him laugher harder, to the point that tears flowed down his cheeks and his sides ached.

In fact, it was only when Christine- growling in her anger- pushed him backwards onto the bed and climbed on top of him, meaning to pin him there until he stopped being such a fool, that he became quite distracted with other sensations. As events rapidly became those of last night, Christine pulled breathlessly away from him, for just a moment-

"You're still not forgiven."

And Erik simply laughed, and pulled her close once more.

Nadir had just about decided to give up and go outside for a walk when Erik appeared coming down the stairs, closely followed by Christine. There was something different about him that Nadir could not quite decipher- it wasn't that he was holding Christine's hand casually in his own, oh no. That was obvious. It was something about his expression- or maybe his eyes. They seemed clearer, brighter, not shadowed with that usual doom and depression that seemed to characterise him.

In fact, when they reached the table and sat down, still chattering away softly amongst themselves, Nadir saw that his whole frame was visibly more relaxed. He looked happy. Such a thing was enough to make the Persian forget all his complaints at the late hour- it was nearing midday- or that he had been left alone without company for that entire time.

For once, he would say nothing.

Erik spoiled that resolve, however.

"Good morning Khan- or is it afternoon? I trust you are feeling sufficiently hard done by at your lack of company?"

"No, no, not at all." Nadir muttered, trying not to smile at the rare grin that broke out across Erik's face. "After last night, I was more than happy to spend time away from you all- I am simply getting too old for such melodrama."

"I would have thought that the Vicomte would be spending these dull hours with you." Nadir looked up at the badly concealed concern in Erik's voice- his subtle inquiry as to the whereabouts of their aristocratic companion were seemingly genuine. Nadir could have cursed them both, for all their rivalry and fighting, only now to become amiable.

All the aggravation that could have been spared-

"Where is Raoul?" Christine frowned, glancing across the mostly empty tables. "He can't still be asleep, surely."

"I haven't seen him this morning." Nadir started to get up, but Erik was faster, his chair falling to the floor unnoticed in his haste.

"I will go and find him." He muttered, striding off towards the door, and Nadir flopped back in his seat with a curse. It seemed to be a trend with the men infatuated with Christine Daae, that they spent all their time running away. Surely the Vicomte had learned that such a thing was stupid, if not downright inconsiderate, given the hassle Erik's own midnight flit had caused them.

Unless it was self-preservation- Nadir could imagine that very well. Perhaps Raoul did not want to see the woman he loved so clearly happy in the arms of another, even if the other was now a friend rather than a bitter enemy. Perhaps, they ought to let him go.

"Do you think he has gone, Monsieur Khan?"

Christine was looking anxious across the table from where he sat- she clearly cared about the Vicomte, even if it was not in the way that he would prefer. Nadir wondered, briefly, if Christine had ever considered how much easier her life would be if she gave up on such foolish men.

"Raoul? No. I don't think so. The boy is an idiot sometimes but having seen what happened when Erik did the very same, I don't think he would." He leaned forward. "Speaking of Erik-"

"He has promised that he will never leave me again." Christine's tone did not alter with the words, but her eyes shone. "But you know what else he said, Nadir? He told me that- that he had always thought of love as dying, and he gave the words from Faust; my spirit longs with thee to rest. But he said that now he realised- he did not want to die, but he wanted to live." She suddenly took Nadir by surprise, reaching across the table to take his hands in her own. "Nadir, you have known him longer than I, understand him more than I could ever hope- do you think this means that- that-"

"I do not doubt his sincerity." Nadir said softly, with a small smile, and the look on Christine's face as he said it-

Nadir suddenly felt as though their years of struggling and suffering had accomplished something. For to see that young woman smile like that, for Erik to speak of living and not death-

Had he not turned at that moment, Christine would have seen him weep.

"Running away, de Chagny?"

The voice took Raoul entirely by surprise, and quite irrationally filled him with sudden, burning anger. With a curse, he kicked his way out of the stall, ignoring the wary whickering of the horse he had just been brushing, slamming the gate and striding off out of the stables. He kicked a bucket for good measure, hoping it splattered all over Erik.

Damn him. Damn him for being so changeable- for hurling insults one moment and creeping in with apologetic humour the next. He would have ignored the wretch, had a hand not shot out and grabbed him by the shoulder, preventing him from leaving.

"Get off of me, Erik." He muttered, trying to shrug him off and failing. "And no, in answer to your question. I'm not running away- your own attempt at that and the hideous aftermath was enough to deter me, never fear."

"At least some good came of that miserable experience, then." Erik replied shortly, dragging the protesting Vicomte into the stables and forcing him to sit on the crates tucked away at the back.

"Yes." Raoul laughed harshly, plucking straw from his hair. "Yes, I suppose it did. Though surely I would be incapable of running away- as I am simply an incapable boy, am I not? I'm the utterly incapable, pathetic Vicomte whose sheer idiocy has never failed to bolster your ego- and don't pull that face, they are your own words Erik! Perhaps you should not say things if you cannot face up to the consequences of them!"

"Perhaps if you stopped your self piteous ranting you would see that I intend to face them!"

Raoul look up sharply, surprised by the words, but the cold expression did not soften. He wasn't even sure himself why he felt so hurt and infuriated this time- it wasn't as if he hadn't been on the wrong end of Erik's temper before. But, he knew, he had never so truly believed the insults as he did now.

The accusations of cowardice stung with renewed fervour- the idea that he had been the reason Pali had died simply mirroring a fear that had been festering and churning inside his heart ever since he had witnessed that awful scene. That was the ironic thing about friendship, Raoul decided bitterly- knowing someone so entirely meant you knew exactly what to say to inflict the most pain. And last night, Erik had done just that.

"For all the time I have known you, Raoul, you have been a threat. A challenge, a comparison against which my shortfalls and errors become hideously apparent. But the worst thing- the thing about you I have envied ever since you first swaggered into that opera foyer-" Erik suddenly laughed, shaking his head at his own foolishness. "You are effortlessly good. You always make the decisions that I know I ought to have made, and yet never seem to."

"And that is excuse enough for insulting and abusing me, Erik?" Raoul rolled his eyes, a habit so clearly learned from Nadir that it was difficult for Erik to remember the gravity of the situation and not mock him for it. "I would have thought that these trials we have endured, side by side I remind you, would be enough for such petty concerns to be overlooked. I have lost Christine to you- lost the woman I have loved since childhood! But am I spitting fire and tainting this friendship we have built? Am I reminding you of all your imperfections, and telling you that it is your fault Pali died?!"

At the mention of the gypsy, Erik's heart tightened.

"You are proving my point, Vicomte." He murmured, and Raoul stood up and a snarl.

"No! Telling me that I am morally your superior does not constitute an apology, Erik, not this time! You have treated me inexcusably-"

"Stop whining at me and let me finish!" Erik roared, seizing him by the shoulders and forcing him to sit back down again like a child. Raoul's face was so murderous, Erik thought he might punch him straight in the jaw. "What I am trying to explain to you, you miserable wretch, is that all those things I accused you of last night were in fact directed at myself! You stood by Christine, you endured her tears and her anger- you did everything I should have done, Vicomte, and I am tearing myself apart with the fact that I should have been in your place! It should have been me!"

"Then why didn't you?" Raoul's voice was monotonous. Erik laughed again, though the sound was harsh and empty.

"Because I was too weak. Too afraid, too-" he stopped, raggedly, and pushed the mask from his face, mismatched yellow eyes boring straight into Raoul's. The warped flesh didn't make him turn his head or quiver with disgust- it was so inconsequential to the man Raoul knew Erik truly was, that it didn't matter anymore. "I am truly sorry, Raoul. The anger I have for myself should have never been directed at you. I am- I am struggling with the notion that whilst you are the better man, you have lost Christine. I know what that must feel like-"

Raoul shook his head, standing up and gripping Erik's shoulder.

"I haven't lost her, Erik. She made a choice long before that night with the chandelier fall and we both knew it. She was always yours- you were both simply too blind to see it." It was his turn to laugh, though there was some humour in it, unlike Erik. "Why do you think I hated you so very much? An ugly, misanthropic madman should be no competition for the handsome, wealthy Vicomte."

Raoul's voice was light with teasing, though when Erik's eyes flickered briefly down to the mask in his grip, he felt a pang of regret for saying it. Perhaps Erik was in no mood for humour. With that in mind, Raoul decided they had played enough games- sincerity was indeed the only way, if he hoped that something of their fragile, tentative friendship might be restored.

"You've held her soul from the minute you first reached out to her, Erik. As for her heart-" he smiled suddenly. "I would think you've held it for just as long."

Erik was silent for a long time, staring thoughtfully down at the mask in his hands, before gently placing it back over the mutilated flesh of his face. He thought of Christine- the night of the chandelier and Don Juan, when she had emerged from the side of the stage and how her eyes had instantly locked onto his. Flooded with emotion and warmth- with love.

Could it be possible that they had both misjudged each other so catastrophically throughout their twisted time together? That, despite the confusion and darkness, there had always been something else- something so miraculous and beautiful, that neither had dared to accept its existence, until it was too late?

How awful that it took Raoul- Monsieur le Fop, the sworn rival, her ex fiancé- to point it out. Erik struggled not to burst out laughing.

"So what you are saying to me, Raoul, is that in some hideously ironic twist of fate, the Vicomte envies the Opera Ghost?" he eventually spoke, his tone dry and sardonic.

"And that the Opera Ghost envies the Vicomte." Raoul nodded, a small smirk playing on his lips. "But I would much prefer if we could simply be Erik and Raoul." He extended a hand towards the tall, shadowy man beside him, whose yellow eyes were glittering with dark amusement. "Shall we call a truce?"

"It is an uncomfortable, and to be frank, hideous alliance." Erik replied, the words an echo of that destructive meeting not two years ago, when the Phantom and the Fop had agreed not to kill each other- at least, not until Christine was freed from the gypsy clan. Raoul realised the familiarity of the words and grinned. "But an alliance all the same."

He took Raoul's hand and shook it, trying not to dwell on the fact that a rivalry which had governed his very existence for those years in Paris had now come to an end- in fact, Raoul knew it had ended when Erik had carried him from the Théâtre de Rue Marché, both of them drenched in blood, he stumbling with horror and close to collapse were it not for the steady hand gripping his arm. But he didn't say as much, simply cleared his throat and tried to return his mind to less emotional matters.

Of course, Erik had to ruin that attempt most spectacularly.

"You probably realise it already, but I did not mean it when I accused you of causing Pali's death."

"I know. The only person who we can blame for that is dead, and rightly so." Raoul shuddered a little to think of that awful scuffle in the manager's office, Emilian's eyes glittering with madness and bloodlust, and the look on Erik's face as Pali had died in his arms- "We ought to head back inside. Nadir will think we are conspiring against him- or that we have both run away and left him to deal with Christine."

The thought of it was enough to set them both laughing, the sound bouncing off the cobbles as they made their way back inside.