Here we are at last, at the End of All Things. I hope you have enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it. The Phic does well ending here, and I will not add an epilogue unless the Third Estate of France makes another Tennis Court Oath, which is probably not likely. Merci beaucoup, Cheries. Je t'aime. And if you didn't get it in the other chapter, toujours means "always" in French.

Claimer: I OWN A COMPLETED PHAN-FIC!

.o.O.o.

Christine was swimming towards wakefulness when a hand encased hers. A face made of two halves met her opening eyes. Erik's cheeks were red and swollen with tears. Fresh sobs skewed his mouth as he stroked her arm. She stiffly righted herself against the pillows. "Mon ange?"

"No," he wept, "no, you mustn't call me that. You must listen, Christine." Her eyes flitted to see Raoul and cobwebs in the corner. "The Vicomte and I have discussed many things, and I've come to a conclusion." His voice broke. "Business and Love can never mix. The Opera Garnier… is a business."

"No." She shook her head. Had Christine woken from one nightmare to the next?

"It is, and you cannot live with me anymore. My love and the Vicomte's love for you, we're destroying the theatre. You will only be happy if you can dance and sing on that stage." Raoul stepped cautiously forward. Erik bitterly chuckled. "Ironically, the Vicomte has been persuaded to annul your marriage; he understands that we two must sacrifice our feelings so the arts may embrace you."

Christine began to cry in short, soft gasps. Her life was ending; that was the sole explanation for this breaking inside her chest. Erik, with a look of regret and trepidation, sat on the edge of the mattress and coddled her against his chest. "Christine, I love you. This is the only way I know of protecting you from this world. Be happy. Find someone who can give everything to you. Then I will be happy."

"No." Christine pulled away. "You wouldn't be happy. You're sobbing at the thought of it." He made to flee the chamber, but she gripped his arm. "You wish to protect me? Lend me your embrace. That is how you give everything to me. At least pretend you still love me. I once told you that you were not alone. You cast me away then. If you do again, I will not be pleased; I will die."

Wearily he removed his wrist from her grasp and trudged to the door. His hand was upon the knob when a rapier glinted against it in the firelight.

"Raoul!" Christine gasped, leaping out of bed.

"Le t me say my piece, woman." He held up a warning hand and glared at the man before him. "How does it feel to have the lower hand, Phantom? Listen, you tyrant, I've complied with the annulment and all else you've thrown at me. But I know Miss Daaé well enough to realize she is stubborn. She will refuse your rejection. You love her, you prick." His nostrils flared. "It pains me to say it, but you love her more than I ever did. I saw the fame; you saw the angel. And I wish I could say any passerby in the streets of Paris would be better for her, but I'd be wrong."

Erik turned back towards the room. His jaw had softened from its earlier clenching. "But the Opera, she needs it. You and I, there's too much conflict…"

"And she'll have the Opera." Raoul sheathed his blade. "There shall be no more scandal. Already I've written to the papers, paying them to set this all to justice. The affluent society will flock back to the Garnier in no time." Raoul cast his eyes over Christine as though only now seeing her for the first time. "The managers told me my patronage was no longer needed unless I refuted any claims of relationship with their diva." He smirked, pain of competition obvious on his countenance. "Does it feel nice to win, Ghost?"

The nobleman turned with much promise to Christine. "Little Lotte, I know you've not enjoyed obeying me in the past, but I command you now to choose. You are a free entity again. Make your desire now, before me. It will give me peace. This… man… or anyone else in the world. Tell me."

Christine raised her eyes to her soon-to-be ex-husband. "Pardon me for this insolence, Raoul, but Erik. I need Erik."

Sparks popped on the tinder. Monsieur le Vicomte coughed then swept a caricature of a bow. "As you wish, my lady. Now, I must head back to my family's estate." He exited with haste.

The singer took a few timid steps forward, fearing a cringe or word of caution from her former tutor.

"You know, we could move into a flat if you wanted to leave the cellars." Erik murmured. Christine giggled as he grinned in relief and spread his arms. "Mon ange…" She beamed and in return threw herself against him.

Erik found this embrace betwixt Christine and the wallpaper was quite needed. "We have much to discuss, Angel." He murmured into her curls.

She squeezed him tightly as though at any moment he would vanish. Of course, he could in no way blame her. "Oh Erik, I know. That frightens me."

"There is no reason for it to." He smoothed away the tears on her upturned cheek. A whisper soothed her ear. "You are not alone."

Christine laughed as she had in her era of innocence. Her hands reached up to remove the mask. Erik did not move but to caress her waist. "And neither are you. Toujours."