A/N: This is the penultimate chapter. I didn't intend to write the end of the story in this manner – not entirely, anyway – but after seeing the 25th anniversary gala at the Albert Hall and its particular staging of certain key scenes, I decided to change things a little. The ending is still how I envisaged it at the outset, but I included some additional story before it.

For what it's worth, these final two chapters were written in a crazy flurry of productivity after seeing the aforesaid gala performance, so I apologise if any of it seems rushed. This chapter is a rehash of a familiar – but hopefully favourite – sequence in the musical and is my interpretation / memory of how it was played in the gala by Ramin and Sierra. Obviously, you can picture whoever you prefer. ;)

Clearly, I did not manage to get the finished story up before Christmas as I had hoped, thanks to real life commitments getting in the way. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy this instalment, and I'll get the final chapter up before the end of the month.

CHAPTER VI

For too many months, Christine had tried valiantly to forget her last few moments in that dark and foreboding house, and the events of that fateful night, and for just as long, she had failed. As she had anticipated, the slightest reminder – in this instance, a melody which returned unbidden to her mind – was enough to hypnotise her into painful nostalgia.

She did not like to dwell on her actions in Don Juan; even now the memory of the performance was somewhat amorphous in her brain, and she could no longer recall the words she had spent so many weeks rehearsing. She had been aware of his presence almost immediately – no other voice in the world had such power over her.

Perhaps she should have stopped, raised the alarm as soon as the realisation had hit. They had not discovered Piangi yet, whatever had happened to him, but equally nobody seemed to have noticed the switch. Christine found herself entranced, unable to focus on anything but the duet and her own part in the drama that was unfolding. Before she knew what was happening the song was over; the cowl had been pushed away, the intruder revealed.

A deathly silence descended in the auditorium; in her periphery vision she saw the pistol glinting from the orchestra pit, the hand that clenched it trembling nervously; the assembled guards were readying to swarm. Erik began to flee the scene, but something made him stop. As the words she had spoken to Raoul on the rooftop came tumbling from the Phantom's lips, she was struck by a moment of blinding clarity; he had been there that night, echoing her name in the darkness... and the chandelier had been no accident.

Struck dumb with shock, she barely noticed the ring he was proffering until it was already on her finger, and only then did the enormity and danger of the situation dawn upon her. She was aware of a hubbub in the wings and murmuring in the audience. Her hand moved of its own volition to tear the mask from his face…

What had provoked her to do such a thing? Her thoughts had been so tumultuous that they were impossible to identify. Shoot to kill. Raoul's instructions to the firemen echoed through her brain; she had been too weary to protest as he formed his plan, hoping beyond hope that Erik would foil it by remaining invisible for the duration, as he was so adept at doing. Instead, he had made himself too easy a target. She acted without thinking, revealing that distorted visage to the world in the vague hope that it might cause a distraction – or at the very least, that Erik's self-protective instincts would cause him to disappear.

The thought had never crossed her mind that he might take her with him.

He dragged her once more to the depths of the building, through unrecognisable passageways; she knew they'd taken this journey once before, but had been too enthralled to take notice of her surroundings. In any event, she could not have remembered the way – the stone walls yielded no landmarks or discernible features, the light was too dim, the corridors too labyrinthine. His iron grip around her wrist did not falter, even when she stumbled: he merely pulled her roughly to her feet and continued blindly ahead. She stopped resisting when she realised the futility of trying; even if she managed to break free from his grasp, the possibility of becoming irrevocably lost seemed all too plausible, and there would be no-one to retrieve her but Erik.

Distantly, she could hear the hubbub of a gathering mob above their heads, but it was soon drowned out by Erik's furious raving. Anger poured out with every syllable, and when it was spent he could do nothing but utter a desperate plea: "Christine… why?"

Before then, she had never questioned his early life. He had fallen into hers as an Angel – a gift from her dearly departed father – and even when she had realised he was merely a mortal being like any other, somehow it had never occurred to her that he must have had a life, too: a mother, a childhood. He had not simply emerged into existence at her will, just as much as he would not disappear.

She had condemned him to death. The realisation came with a stab of ugly guilt in her heart. By revealing his secret to the world, she had done nothing more than bring havoc upon them both. The sins he had committed were too great, and the pleadings of an ignorant girl – whom only days ago they had already suspected to be entirely mad – would not be enough to redeem him in the eyes of an angry crowd.

They reached the house, and the world began to slow down a little. Fearful and breathless, Christine wore the wedding dress only to appease him, in a vain hope that it might quell his rage to see her in it. Of course, it fit her perfectly – how did he know such things? – and was truly exquisite. The expense he must have gone to… she did not like to think about it., feeling wholly unworthy of such lavish gifts.

When she emerged from her bedroom, he seemed calmer. There was, of course, one important item missing from her outfit: the flowing veil which he now held in his hands. As it came to rest upon her head, Erik seemed to taunt her, gesturing towards his face in an attempt to gauge her reaction. Her first sight of it had remained so burned into her memory that the reality was almost a relief; her mind had constructed a nightmare far beyond what was actually before her. Yes, she could look upon that face now without fear… but Erik was not the man she had thought, in all her innocent wonderings. He was certainly no Angel, no messenger from her father. He had brought her under his spell and she had been powerless to resist. The pure soul she had hoped for did not exist; at least, not in any place she could reach now that she had betrayed him so horribly.

Raoul's arrival caused both relief and alarm. Erik had become suddenly volatile and unpredictable. His sworn enemy had entered uninvited and Christine saw the flash of jealousy and rage as she made to run to her rescuer. Erik's arm shot outwards, barring her path, and his hand seized the area between her shoulder and neck in a vice-like grip, the long fingers almost strangling her. He released her only when Raoul had been granted entrance to his domain. She flinched in pain and Erik seemed surprised, unaware of what he'd been doing. All too soon, however, the brief remorse in his eyes was replaced by a menacing calm. Christine realised too late that she was to be Raoul's distraction, and the noose of the Punjab lasso was around his throat before she could blink.

At that moment, all thought abandoned her. There was a cacophony of voices as Raoul begged forgiveness for his rash bravado and Christine berated Erik for tricking her for so long, trying to make him see sense. It was useless; his own voice had risen above theirs and he had her by the wrist, making quite sure that she could not look away.

"You try my patience," he snarled. "Make your choice."

He pushed her away from him roughly; she lost her balance, falling to the floor. Raoul had stopped struggling against the rope, and was watching the proceedings with awed dread. Erik turned away from them both, and she could tell from the heavy rise and fall of his shoulders that he was breathing deeply, attempting to bring calm once more to his demeanour.

She had precious few seconds left. Erik's earlier words during their descent were making more sense to her now; all his life he had experienced nothing but rejection, pain and torment, from the moment of his birth. She had travelled with her father as a child, and knew well enough how cruel people could be to outsiders. If all he wanted was acceptance – if it meant saving Raoul's life, and perhaps more besides… then the choice was obvious even to Christine's addled brain.

She uttered some meaningless words of pity, but did not know if Erik had heard her. As she rose slowly to her feet and prayed for strength and bravery, it took every shred of her will-power not to turn around and look at Raoul. She had to focus only on Erik, or all was lost. He had become still, and did not react to her approaching footsteps. She placed a tentative hand to his shoulder and he stiffened in surprise at the contact, turning to face her.

Anything he might have been about to say was silenced by her kiss. She felt him hesitate, almost moving away from her, but her hand was resting on his arm and she found herself coaxing him gently back. His lips were warm, she realised with some surprise: his touch had always been so cold against her skin. After only a moment she pulled away, but she was not brave enough to meet his gaze, instead resting her head against his chest in a meek imitation of an embrace.

Beneath her ear, Erik's heart was beating so rapidly that she was suddenly afraid for his health. Lifting her head again, she found him staring at her in a state of confused, uncomprehending despair. As his ruined features searched her own for some kind of understanding, an unfamiliar jolt struck her heart. Her hands seemed to reach up of their own volition, gently caressing his face and bringing it once more towards her own. This time he did not try to pull away; Christine felt herself falling into an endless chasm. He was trembling, and as he began to raise his shaking hands she felt certain he would envelop her in those deceptively strong arms… but, soon enough, he covered her hands with his, lingering only long enough to ease them from his face and gently push her away.

For what seemed an eternity, they could do nothing but stare at each other. Erik's eyes searched hers for some kind of explanation, but she was utterly lost. His thumb caressed the back of her hand, but she barely noticed it as her heart hammered a merciless percussion. Then, some distant sound she herself had not identified seemed to break through his haze, and within half a second he was on the other side of the room, the lasso in his hand – and Raoul was free, very much alive and desperately confused by what he had just witnessed.

As Erik ordered them both to leave, Christine became aware of a distant, persistent murmur – the mob were closing in. Her emotions were so thoroughly wrung that she did not protest, nor question his demand, merely allowed Raoul to lead her away even as Erik's desperate roar rang in her ears. They were halfway to the lake when she remembered the ring. Raoul continued on as she turned back, her footsteps so light that he did not even realise she was gone.

She returned to find Erik sprawled on the floor, staring at the curious music box as it played. The miniature, curiously-attired monkey continued to play until its action had wound down, and as she took a step forward, every tiny sound, from her gentle footfall to the rustle of her dress, seemed to echo in the new-found silence. Erik was visibly shocked, but he regained some semblance of dignity to stand before her.

As she slid the ring from her finger and held it out to him, she knew that anguished, haunted, infinitely understanding expression would stay with her forever. She placed the ring in his palm and he wrapped her smaller hand in both of his, holding on for a few more precious seconds. He whispered her name; the truth she had long suspected was finally admitted, hanging in the air between them. She wanted to say something, but no words would form.

She heard footsteps approaching and felt herself panic; Raoul had realised she was no longer following and had returned in pursuit. Her heart was shattering into glassy shards, her emotions in shreds, knowing she could not reciprocate. It was too late; there was no time; she had ruined everything. All she could do was kneel at Erik's feet and beg forgiveness, kissing his hand in reverent adoration as if he were a saint. She turned away from him as bitter tears stung her eyes, pulling from his grasp, and made to leave once more.

Halfway to the door, she stopped, mindlessly repeating the entreaty she had made of Raoul – and Erik of her – though she knew not to whom it was addressed. Indeed, Raoul believed it was to him, as he coaxed her gently away from the house and towards the waiting boat. Erik called out a final desperate command, but she could not distinguish the words.

When she last heard mention of his name, it was in sombre newsprint. When she last saw his house, it was unrecognisably destroyed. When she last saw his face, it appeared before her in the waves like a ghost, and she felt her heart snap in two.

A/N: The next and final chapter will hopefully fill in any remaining blanks. For now, please leave a review if you enjoyed.