A/N

: Just FYI you'll definitely need to read parts 1, 2, & 3 first to understand this…trust me! Please give feedback. I love it. Enjoy…part 4 in my Phantom of the Opera continuance! (and also check out my Erik/Christine 'tribute' video on YouTube!! URL on my profile page.)

She hadn't minded being possessed by him, by someone, by a man. And she was furious with herself over that.

She'd always, ALWAYS told herself she did not want to be owned by anyone.

But then he virtually had, and she found it…enjoyable. He'd all but taken over her completely, just what she'd said would be more repulsive than anything else, and she hadn't disliked it, not one bit.

Christine had actually, truthfully, beyond any inkling doubt hoped to belong to him. And now, even knowing she'd made the correct choice, the one she should have made, the one which logic agreed with, she wished she'd listened to what her heart was really telling her. But she hadn't. She'd ignored it. And now she had to live with that, every single day.

They had both savored the sensations that being together brought them.

He had felt her tremble, felt her darker side begin to give in…he'd experienced her ecstasy right along with her…he'd shared her dream and he'd been with her while she floated, fell…

They had made each other's song take flight.

His music had caressed her and he had seen her love it. He had seen her pleasure.

And still, she had left him.

But before that, she had released him from his chains. She'd unlocked the prison of his mind, and shown him the better side of life. The side full of love and joy.

She'd been his light, while he'd provided her with the dark.

And of course, you can't have night without day. You can't have one without another.

You cannot choose just one. You cannot separate the two—they're bound, permanently.

Forever.

His face had poisoned their love.

But what she'd said had disturbed and troubled him ever since she'd said it.

His soul was what she had found distorted.

It was him that was the problem. Not his horrid infection. He was responsible for instilling her hatred. Which caused him to hate himself even more, though that had always seemed impossible before. Because now, not only was he the monster he'd always been, but he'd also pushed away the one person who'd seen past that—he'd caused the only person who'd ever loved him, the only person who'd even looked twice, to despise him. Just thinking of this face, self-hate burbled up inside him, boiling to the top and threatening to make him implode.

She had said she'd hated him.

Her idolization of him had fallen, their hopes shattered. Hers and Raoul's? Hers and his?

She'd given him her mind, so blind and unsuspecting, and what had he done in return?



He'd soiled it. Ruined its purity. He'd destroyed her, the Christine everyone had known.

But then she'd told him he was not alone, after all. She'd shown him she was there, by his side.

She had…loved him?

And, regardless of his horrendous past, that had changed him.

He had let her go. He wanted her to go on, to live. He'd always known she could not live with him. Yet could he deny his false hopes? Of course not. No matter how absurd, he had them.

The angel in hell.

That's what he'd been, to both of them. Himself and his love. His only love.

Did that mean his soul could be saved?

Was there forgiveness out there, for him?

He knew the answer already.

Not unless she gave it first.

She held the key to redemption. She held the key to releasing his past.

He had seen her look back at him, as she sang her song of the future.

He'd sung that it was over.

But perhaps…he was mistaken?

He had deceived her…he had made her hate him…but perhaps…maybe, just maybe, she could find it in her heart to forgive…

She had known he would hold her captive. But she knew that there was more than murderous thoughts in his eyes, and his mind. There was adoration. Love. Even he was capable of it.

He'd cleared her ears to a whole new way of being.

She loved him despite herself. Despite her reserve. Despite the fact she longed to escape his stare. Perhaps she had because she did not want to see the good there—before she'd seen it when it wasn't so apparent. She wanted to convince herself she'd imagined it…she wanted to make it possible for herself to truly hate him so that she could move on.

She still loved him and she always would. She loved both of those men, and she always would. Oh, God…

The curtain was drawn. The show had begun.

The audience was pleased, as they all knew they would be. They'd been warned of the change in male lead, being told it would be "last night's actor's understudy," and they were perfectly fine with this. Plus, they could not be upset. They'd come to see Christine and they were seeing her. Just as she was every other night. This was the Christine Daaé they all knew and cherished. Unnerved by even the biggest disturbance in the crowd. Focused solely on her part, no one else. Strong as stone, closed off from the world; the complete opposite of anything soft. No weaknesses, no exposure of the slight chance of their existence. She showed, as always, absolutely no signs of helplessness.



She was not susceptible to anything, or anyone; and her voice was strong and strong-willed as they'd always known it to be. Her voice remained constant, full, loud…

And then it came time to be the heaven scene.

"The lost one," Christine sang confidently. "The one that I have missed."

The understudy—the back-up plan—came on stage, and Christine felt a surge of relief wash through her. He would not ruin this. He was in the dark cloak as Sorrin was always supposed to have and the actor last night had had, to symbolize his arrival in paradise from hell on Earth.

The man's thick accent came—obviously imitating the German understudy from last night, as to not totally confuse the audience. Still, there was something…familiar…about that voice.

More than that, though. Under the accent…there was…something there…Christine couldn't put her finger on it, but she continued on, appearing as steel, as always.

Christine counted down in her head, to make sure the man made no mistakes. He should reveal his face and we'll begin the second finale song in...3...2...1.

She turned away from him, as the script dictated she should do. She heard the cloak be thrown off, and started counting again, speaking in her mind as her character. I will turn and see my—Priscilla's—lover, in 3…2…1…

She twirled to face him and choked on her breath, stifling a powerful gasp. Only one thing registered in her mind:

Mask…mask…mask…

No. Her mind said sternly. Don't mess up.

And so she continued to sing, more hesitantly now.

The audience stared intently from their seats. Why the pause? Why the downfall in her voice?

Sorrin's Understudies Understudy moved to his second position, at her side, and she turned her back to him, Priscilla's movements so heavily engraved in her brain they could not be forgotten, even now. His hands slid onto her shoulders, coming down to hold her hands, and any possible remaining speck of uncertainty or disbelief was erased entirely. The lightning bolts winding down her spine, taking their time and yet still so extraordinarily electric, told her all she needed to know. It was him. Him.

Erik. The Phantom. My Angel.

They both continued to sing their character's parts, but Erik felt Christine relax. He had been worried. Whenever he had watched her, he had seen her tense and impassive. She was…emotionless…dispassionate…she had seemed so detached and unresponsive to anything that came into contact with her, and her composure was unnerving.

She, in turn, felt his body tremble as tremors shot through him at an astounding speed.

She could feel his hunger, just as he felt her thirst.

They continued to sing, going through the opera's moves as planned. She turned to face him, her hands still in his.



Christine gazed into those solemn eyes as she felt her heart break.

So grave, She thought. So somber. She remembered that when she'd met him, his eyes had been dead. Now, they glistened. He'd been in disrepair, then. Now, somehow, he was not. It was possible, finally, for the very first time—he was fixable now.

Erik looked back at her—those big, touching eyes which seemed to reflect the entire world. Seemed to house everything good inside of them. He felt his heart beat faster. He wanted her to know it, too.

Slowly, he brought her hands up to his chest, placing them right on his heart.

Her eyes slowly closed, her mind drifting right in the middle of song, her beat synchronizing with his. She felt herself begin to weaken. She felt her breaths begin to grow short, shallow.

It was time for the finale. It was time for the near-kiss. But Christine was still wavering, weakening…

The audience was, truthfully, a bit scared.

Who was this man who made the stone-faced Miss Daaé turn to mush? Who was this man who made their brick wall melt?

Their stoic beauty was appearing so utterly helpless, so feeble and powerless! This man was…changing her, he was…taking over her…

This woman, who had before been so perfectly un-susceptible, now appeared to be the most vulnerable young-looking girl they'd ever seen. Her eyes softened, nearly dissolving. Her body began to collapse in slow-motion, the man's arms being the only things which supported her, keeping her upright. So many of the audience members were returning from last night's performance, eager to see it again, so eager, in fact, they were crammed into much too small a space. And now, look at this! It was not in the script.

This was turning out to be the most perplexing night in the history of all Opera. For them, at least. For New York.

Erik unhurriedly and carefully brought his hands up to Christine's lolling head, cradling her face in his palms. She drew a breath silently, as her breathing became more rapid.

Closing his eyes, the Phantom drew her face towards his.

The curtain closed…

Softly, with more delicacy and tenderness than Erik knew he had, he guided Christine's relaxed lips towards his as the audience's confused applause crashed around them loudly.

Their lips barely touched, but it was enough to make Christine feel completely exhilarated. She was stunned. But she was in a state of pure bliss and elation. The Phantom knew; he read it all over her face; he felt it coursing through her veins; he felt it swell inside her bones.

Christine's eyes snapped open, and, not allowing herself to think about the regret she would feel later, she dashed off, holding in her tears. She didn't care about an encore. She just needed…What did she need?

Erik followed her without a thought, darting through the crowds backstage. He did not call out. He simply pursued her.



Christine flew to the large door leading to the sun room, practically exploding with bewilderment. She quickly went behind the randomly placed wall used to block the sun in daytime. The Phantom silently drew nearer, pressing himself up against the opposite side.

The moonlight shone in, reflecting off of Christine's curls. She hadn't thought she'd lost him; not for a second. And even if she had, she never would have been able to ignore his being there. His absence always left a vacancy in her. That vacancy was filled as she leaned against the wood, facing the moon which flooded the room with silvery light. She knew he was there, just out of reach, just beyond the contact of touch. She felt that he was there, even though he was out of sight. She'd developed this sense long ago, so long ago, in fact, it hadn't been used in what seemed like forever—and so her body tingled, with the returning familiarity.

Turning back to the wooden separator, she put her hand on the cold oak. Judging by the shiver sent down her spine, his hand must be directly on the other side.

And it was.

They stood there, their hands pressed up against a piece of wood, the only thing visibly separating the two of them from each other. He stood in an identical position to hers, almost mimicking her, his hand pressed up against the wood at his thigh just as hers was to her own thigh, and he sensed her separated touch just as well as she did his.

Without a sound, Christine began to cry. Soon, she was weeping, and not as noiselessly. Tears streamed down her face, streaking her make-up and staining her cheeks. Her hair stuck to her chin where the moisture had collected and her ribs hurt; she was wheezing. One soundless tear rolled down the Phantom's normal-looking cheek, pooling by his nose. Her sadness made his loss be felt even stronger. He put that wet cheek up against the wall, and, wordlessly, Christine did the same, pushing her soaked cheek against the wall as well. Her fingers stretched out, as if they could touch him, and connect them physically somehow.

His voice came, wavering, through the divider, causing a new set of tears to erupt from her eyes.

"Did you think of me?" He sang in a whisper.

Christine nodded, as if he could see her, squeezing her eyes shut, as if it would make all this suffering disappear.

Secretly, she hoped it would not; but she would never admit that, not even to herself.

She felt a sense of gratefulness when she realized he hadn't vanished.

She automatically considered herself broken once more, and it made her angry—she had started to fix herself, just begun the process, and here he was, tearing all of that progress down.

But then he sang again, and she could not stay irritated. Her lividness melted, trickling down her face, carried by her tears, and turned into affection, despite herself and her pleas with her heart to resist him.

"Did you think of me?" He started once more, his voice stronger now. "Think of me fondly, once we'd said goodbye?" Christine's heart sped up. "Did you remember me, once in a while? Did you truly try?" His voice broke, but only gained more power. Slowly, he started to wind his way around to Christine. "Did you find, that once again, you longed to take back your heart?" He paused, but only shortly. "Or…did you not? Did you dream of me, and wake up with a start!" His voice was booming by now. But he slowed, his face peeping around the wall, hesitantly, and he met her eyes. "Please tell me, tell me, Christine, did you once more 

long to be free? But most of all," He slowed, softening. "Did you find a moment, to spare a thought for me?"

Christine and Erik were only inches apart, but, steadily, she started backing up, pressing her back against the cool glass of the sun-room wall.
They sang in unison. She knew the original words, which she had sung back in Paris, and she knew just how they would be altered at this very moment.

"I wish we'd said, our love was evergreen, or as unchanging as the sea.

But though we didn't, did you still –stop-… Remember…and think of me?"

Christine wiped her tears, stepping closer to the Phantom.

"I swear to you, I never faltered, never failed to reminisce." She pronounced the syllables one at a time, reaching out to graze his face with the face of her hand, slowly, and his eyes blinked drunkenly, dragged-out and unwilling to reopen as if he was afraid she would no longer be there.

She choked on her next words. "I could never forget, never forget."

Her hand dropped. "But, tell me, now, I must know, how did you think of me?

Did you think, of all the things, we have shared, and –seen-?

But most of all, did you think…think of what we might have been?"

"Every day." He whispered, speaking normally. But, in an instant, his voice was once again rising, singing, filled with reserved passion. "I remembered you, remembered you waking, so silent, so resigned."

Christine joined him, feeling his next words waft into her mind. She shared them.

"I imagined you." They sang together. "I tried too hard to put you from my mind!"

Her voice rose, going back to her early days in opera. In Paris.

"I recalled those days, looked back, on all those times, I thought of what we would never do…

I quickly learned, there would never be a day, when I wouldn't stop…to think of you."

Her Angel's voice, and meaning, expanded in energy. "I can promise you, swear to you, every moment, single mo-ment, I will always be thinking of you."

Christine smiled desolately. But her warmth was there. He saw it. It was only hidden by her despair. She sang again, and now, he was assured—he heard it in her voice.

"Just as music is my lifeline, it wouldn't be without you. For every word, of every song, brings you to by mind…therefore, inside my head, you will always be lurking, such a flawless find…"

The Phantom's voice came forcefully, sounding wistful. She heard the remembrance in his tone.

"The sound of your voice…and the way you made my eyes shine—for once in my wretched life!"

Now Christine's smile was relieved. He was there.

"Erik, I thought of you, all my busy days. Erik, I never forgot your power…nor did I forget your ways!" The Phantom shared her secret smile. His voice went down to a whisper.

"Christine. Christine…as if I had any other memories, to relive.

Christine, did I think of you? I had no choice.

For each breath I took, you were the motive.

Each movement fueled by your kiss."

Both of their songs came together, fused into one, as they began to croon in harmony.

"Did you think of me?"



Phantom started to say, "Yes, I thought of you," Only one second after Christine.

He murmured, "Every moment that I lived…" But she did not hear. She was already back into her thoughts. He sang again, to show her he was not gone just yet.

"Christine…" Her eyes snapped from their downward position, up to meet his, and they locked, two souls gazing intently into one another, unguarded, finally, and really seeing one another, fully.

"Angel…" Her smile sounded in her voice.

They were barely breathing now, holding each other gently and with hesitance. Erik wiped the one stray tear that still ran down Christine's cheek, and, to his astonishment, felt one solitary tear streak down from his eye. With ardor, Christine stood on her tip-toes, in her dark blue ballet shoes, and kissed the tear on his face, removing it with her baby-pink lips.

Their voices came, now, together, with fervor—

"Our love was bound, to be like evergreen…

For I thought of you, each moment…" Their voices sounded like sighs. Their lips moisture was heard as they barely moved their moves to sing.

"That you thought of me…!"

As they ended their eternally-strange duet, the Phantom brought his hands to the small of Christine's back. She could not believe he still had the same affect on her—she started to release any piece of her that contained caution, timidity, reason, or logic. She just let herself go; she gave herself up to him. Without a second thought, almost. His hands had the ability to make her forget.

Desire flooded her. His fingertips hovered over her spine, and she tingled with anticipation.

No! She thought. This isn't right. You can't do this…not now…

Her mind was telling her "no." That there'd be no getting out of this, after that.

But it wasn't just her body telling her yes. It was her heart, too.

Christine looked to Erik's face and was instantly mesmerized.

His face was…full of…remorse. Could that be?

She could read his question, all over his face. She answered it.

"You didn't make a mistake." She swallowed, gazing intently at his expression, painted with something akin to shame.

"But you didn't want me then." He murmured. "Why would you want me now?" His last words were strangled and full of that ever-present self-loathing.

"I always wanted you." She said in a soft, barely-audible whisper. "And I want you still."

You saved me from my solitude. He yearned to tell her one of his many honest truths. He put one of his hands around one of hers, and clutched it as if for dear life itself.

She longed to tell him her single most truth—I'll want you always.

A/N: I hope you liked part 4 in my PHANTOMMM story! Yeah, it's realllllllyyyy long, trust me. The longest thing I've ever written, jeez. So, anyways…PLEASE give feedback, it's so majorly appreciated (seriously, I eat it up!) And part 5 is on the way. The story is now completely finished and seriously, as I said before, the longest thing I've ever written, to be honest...which is a tad pathetic (that the thing I write the most of isn't even technically mine)…so I hope you like to read! It's kind of complicated, too…maybe a tad too long…eh, oh well. PLEASE GIVE FEEDBACK. Oh, and sorry about the weird writing for the "song" things (more like a shitty reprise, but whatever). That was me attempting to write it as I'd heard it in my head...trying as I DIDN'T know how to show which parts needed emphasis in my vision of it...I know it wasn't too great. I'm not a song writer, huh? Oh, well. I did my best! : Hey, I wonder if anyone even reads my stupid, rambling author's notes? I guess it doesn't matter...sorry. I'll stop now. Still in the process of learning to control my over-talking (or, typing??).