Here we go; last segment! Thank you to my faithful readers (and most especially, my reviewers!), and those who have bought and reviewed copies too. I would not be writing these stories if it was not for you and your encouragements!

So, for now, one final... onward!

xxxii

So when she at last asked him for his phone, she was gratified when he did not argue with her, hesitating only the slightest amount before placing it in her waiting hand.

"I would ask that you not reveal our location to…" His eyes narrowed and he withdrew it, eyeing her suspiciously. "Who would you like to contact?"

Christine rolled her eyes. "Does it matter?"

Clearly, it did.

She didn't know if she should be outraged that he would prevent her from contacting someone, or sympathetic that he was obviously so new at what it meant to share a loved one with friends. She had no family left, she noted grimly, so at least there would be no argument over Christmases and holidays.

"It is not that young man, is it?"

Christine's mouth dropped open, before she forced herself to move forward. She took his face between hers, unmasked as it had been since they had come here—his face requiring the respite after so long in the confines of his prosthetic—and made him look at her. "Why would you even ask me that?"

His eyes shifted away from hers and he frowned. "You expressed that you had… feelings for him when first we made our acquaintance."

Christine very nearly rolled her eyes. "And who did I marry? Who shares my bed?"

Erik stood a little straighter. "Me."

"Only you. Forever. So even if I did call Raoul, nothing would happen. Okay?" Erik studied her for a moment, and she willed him to see her earnestness, to put aside whatever worries flooded his mind. "As it so happens, I'm calling Meg. I miss her, and even… even if we pick a new home far away from here, I'll still want to keep in touch with her. I hope you can accept that."

The call was more difficult to make than she had expected, and for once she understood Erik's difficulty when first he had taken her with him. Pieces of the truth had to be so carefully dissected, until finally it was easier to stick to fiction entirely.

A marshal had appeared at her door.

He had whisked her away in the middle of the night, and she had no means of contacting anyone.

And now that it was safe, she'd come home.

But perhaps one detail did not need to be shared, yet faced with the prospect of doing so, she found that she desperately wanted to tell someone. Anyone.

That she'd chosen Erik. And that through it all, she did not regret it.

"I married him," she blurted out, still getting a little thrill at the thought of it.

"You what?"

"I married him. The marshal," Christine clarified, hoping that it hadn't been a mistake to speak of it.

Meg was silent for a moment, and Christine prepared herself for hearing the countless reasons that to do so had been foolish, absurd, and rash.

Only to hear Meg sigh. "You get to have all the adventures."

And Christine laughed and remembered why she was so pleased to call Meg her friend. "An officer on the case was really sweet. I thought of you when I met him."

It felt good to talk about such things again, to indulge in the feminine chatter she had so taken for granted before her time with Erik. She loved him dearly, cherished the moments she had with him, but she was coming to understand that friendships were important as well.

And after hanging up, promising to see if she could get Officer Grady's number from Nadir, Erik came to sit beside her on the sofa, his expression thoughtful—and perhaps a little apologetic. "I do not mean to keep you all to myself."

Christine laughed softly, kissing his cheek. "Yes, you do. That's why you want to stay here. Don't want to find me any clothes." He had the good sense to flush, obviously seeing the futility in arguing with what was so readily apparent. "We'll figure this out, Erik. Figure out what works for both of us. You are my priority." She nudged him gently. "Husbands get that privilege, you know."

"I did not know that," he answered, most seriously.

Her poor Erik. Always trying, always just a little bit confused when it came to relationships. "Well, you'll have to trust me on that." She paused, looking at him a little closer, assessing. "Was it really so bad having me talk to her?"

Erik shook his head. "No," he admitted, smoothing his finger over her cheek. "It gave me time to tend to something."

Her eyes brightened. "Tend to what?"

Erik gestured toward the door of their bedroom. "It is waiting for you on the bed."

Images of skimpy nightgowns filled her head, and she very nearly gave Erik a swat for his presumptuousness—even as she got a little excited at the prospect of all that they could do while she wore it…

She hurried toward the bedroom door, stopping suddenly when she realized how wrong she had been, her hand coming to cover her mouth and stifle the startled gasp that threatened to emerge.

Erik came up behind her, his head coming to rest on the top of hers as he held her close. "It was your wedding dress, Christine. It was not right what was done to it."

Somehow, he had made it whole again.

She drifted forward, her hand reaching out to skim over the newly repaired bodice. She did not know how he had done it, but what once had been sliced through—what had been used to shame her as her breasts had been bared, her father's ring stolen—was now so carefully repaired.

Her Erik had done that.

For her.

"Thank you," she breathed, turning so she could throw herself into his arms. She kissed him, once, twice, trying to ignore the burning behind her eyes. "I didn't think…"

"It was your wedding dress," Erik said again. "A vision swathed in pink and atrocious footwear. My bride."

She didn't correct him, remind him that he had seen most of the dress only after they had returned from the little chapel, as she hadn't even taken off her coat at their wedding, so quick was he to escort her to the altar so they might exchange their vows.

Because maybe it mattered more to him what came afterward—the part where she surrendered to him so completely, where she bared herself, body and soul, and they became one in the fullest sense.

"You're perfectly wonderful, do you know that?"

His eyes glimmered and he had the audacity to look a little smug. "Perhaps."

And she should have smacked him, should have taken her dress and insisted that they now explore their newfound freedom by going above.

Except he was pulling her back toward the bed, kissing her, loving her…

But now, the day they would return to rescue the rest of her trousseau, her most treasured things, she donned it for the first time.

Only after Erik had convinced her to get out of bed, of course.

"You do not have to accompany me," he reminded her over breakfast. It seemed odd that he had a dining table so large when he had constructed his home simply for himself. But her Erik was rather odd, and she didn't want to question him.

"We're going together," she insisted, sipping at her tea and tamping down her nerves. Or attempting to. They were being wholly uncooperative, and she fiddled nervously with her toast. Nothing bad would happen—nothing at all, and she was silly to fret.

And yet she did.

Erik frowned at her, but did not suggest again that he leave her behind, for which she was grateful. There was no possibility that she would allow him to do so, but she hated how weak she felt in this regard. The Shah was in custody, and while Samuel was not, Erik had made it perfectly plain that he expressed no lingering motivation to do them further harm.

It was not that she did not believe her husband, but there was a lingering fear that she despised.

Erik had procured a coat and shoes for her, as well as new undergarments—from where exactly she did not know, though she was grateful to see that each of the articles still had the little bits of plastic attached where a tag once had been. The coat was warm, and the shoes were comfortable, and she wondered if this meant she would be walking back aboveground instead of being carried.

She was not sure which option she preferred.

"Are you ready?" Erik asked her, already buttoned up himself. He wore a mask, one of his simple, leather varieties, and it almost seemed odd to see him so covered up. She had grown used to their lazy days, and now to have to face the rest of the world…

She took a deep breath. "Yes," she answered him, glad that her voice did not waver—though Erik still did not seem wholly convinced.

"There is a stop I believe we must make before we depart for the airfield. Is that agreeable?"

Christine shrugged. "Sure. Where?"

Erik came forward and took her hand, leading from the room and out into the tunnels beyond. "You shall see."

Which made her want to pester him all the more, except that it was suddenly very dark and she would rather clutch onto his arm than pepper him with questions.

She was more than grateful when this time he brought a lantern with him, the light casting an eerie blue from the brightness of the bulb. From the numerous rats she saw scurrying away from them, however, she wondered if perhaps she liked it better when she had only her imagination to contend with.

The way he took them seemed longer than before, but she supposed that could have been due to the fact that she was forced to make the walk herself, the incline and steps at times steep and challenging. He held her hand through it all, bracing her if her steps were at all unsteady, offering on occasion to carry her.

"I can do it," she told him with a smile. The exercise was good for her, especially when she had done so little for over a week now.

When at last they emerged, it was not onto the street as before, but into the theatre itself—not at all what she was expecting. It was not a portion she was overly familiar with, but as he led her out of the small room, there was no mistaking they were indeed backstage. It was early yet, and there would be no one about for another few hours, and it felt strange and slightly exhilarating to be there all alone.

Until Erik's destination became all too clear, and she halted abruptly.

"No."

Erik paused, obviously not expecting her outright refusal.

"Christine," he began, but she cut in quickly.

"No! Why would we need to go there? Why would you even think that it would be a good idea?"

Erik sighed, bringing her unwilling hand to his lips and brushing a kiss upon her knuckles, his eyes beseeching. "Trust me. Please."

She wavered, her feet moving seemingly of their own accord, following her husband even as her mind rebelled.

Into the prop department.

Amongst the forgotten scenery.

Toward the very spot where a man's life had been extinguished.

Each step made her heart race faster, her breath to come a little shorter, and she was glad when at last Erik stopped, turning back to her and holding her face steady between both his palms, his eyes earnest. "Breathe, my Christine. You are perfectly safe. No harm shall come to you here." His voice was low and lilting, soothing in its measure as he coaxed and urged her to relax.

But a man had died here…

Death had come, had stared into her very soul…

Except… it hadn't.

Not really.

She blinked, staring back into the eyes of her husband. "Why are we here?" she croaked, her throat tight and uneasy.

He smiled down at her, brushing her cheek with his thumb. "There you are," he murmured, as if she had gotten lost somewhere along the way.

Perhaps she had. Lost in memory, lost in her terrors. But Erik had found her—though she begrudgingly acknowledged he was the one to have brought her here at all.

"Why are we here?" she repeated, needing to know.

Erik looked at the large scene beside them, and she tried not to think of how Buquet had looked strung up from that very structure—of how he struggled and gasped for breath even as Death… as Erik had stood at the base, simply waiting.

"Do you remember your nightmare? You said that you thought you would be his next victim." There was no mistaking the pain in his voice, as if the very idea of hurting her was repulsive to him.

She managed to relax a little.

"I remember," she whispered softly.

"That was not true," he told her firmly. "Not even then. In that moment. I want you to know that. You were never in danger, would never have suffered even the slightest mistreatment by my hand. I know… I know how frightened you must have been, to witness such a thing, but I need you to understand that you have nothing to fear from me. You never have."

A lump formed in her throat, and she swallowed thickly. He had told her this, and she had believed him. He had not meant her harm, had never desired to hurt her. But for him to speak the words here—for her to have to face that the man she had seen truly was her husband, was the man she loved so completely…

Some of the terror ebbed away.

Death was not some monster lurking in the darkness of her mind, waiting to drive away her sweeter dreams, her tender memories.

There was only her husband, fighting for his right to live.

And she needn't fear that. Fear him. Never had, and never would.

When next she looked at the scene, the memory was still there, terrible and dark in nature, but she seemed to view it slightly differently. The need to flee was dimmed, as if her body had come to accept that while something dreadful was occurring, it was in no danger. Not now. Not when she trusted the man beside her so implicitly.

"I'm ready to go now, Erik," she told him, her voice sounding calmer than she'd imagined it could while in this room. Except… she felt that. More at peace, more at ease, and she was glad.

It gave her hope that when she left this theatre, when she and Erik ventured out into the world, they could find that same assurance.

They had endured much, overcome much, and they were still here, still together, the future a promising thing.

Erik kissed her temple briefly, Christine winding her arm about his middle so she could walk with him closely, leaving behind the awful business that had made for their initial meeting.

She did not know where they would go from here—if they would find a home far away, if they would return to the theatre—she to her music and Erik to his amusement as the Ghost. But there was something tantalizing about the unknown, of the possibilities that lay before them.

For all she knew, perhaps the two of them would not be just two for very long. Perhaps even now their exploits had instead created three.

"I love you," she told him again, needing him to hear it just as much as she needed to say it. "I hope you know that. And know that, even now, I don't regret any of it."

He held her a little closer, even as he ushered her into the waiting car, holding her hand all the while—off to their next adventure.

Together.

They had Wellies to rescue.

"Nor do I, little wife. Nor do I."

Sooo... what did you think? A sweet ending for our couple? Think a bright future is on their horizon? Well... they're going to the west coast and not the sunny part, so maybe a drizzly future is a more accurate description. *sigh* I think I shall rather miss them.

I don't have another phantom story in the works (though I have a tidbit of an idea for one... which is more akin to my first two stories in terms of setting). But if you'd like to see what I'm up to now, you can go over to Archive of Our Own and look up my user name (still KittyPimms) and get a glimpse of the story I'm currently working on. It's an original, and technically a sci-fi, but I hope that doesn't frighten anybody off. This is me, after all, and I think after... four stories? (Or is it five?) you're starting to know me as an author.

So anyway, until next time! If there is a next time...