A/N: Last chapter.

We were not expecting the wave of fame that followed our first performance. People wanted interviews, pictures, signings, webcasts, podcasts, radio interviews. There was no end to the queries for social media.

Erik flatly refused any and all interviews and showings, preferring to be labelled instead, "The Phantom Director," as one journalist called him. But he encouraged me to go for the limelight.

"You are the star," he said, "you deserve this. The people need this, to see how wonderful you are."

So, I learned how to give interviews. It was a bit like holding court in the 1800's, and I adapted quickly enough. When asked about my career in the past, I told them about my singing and acting lessons, my high school plays, and my few years in 'budget productions of famous operas' aka the past. And I told them that yes, I was married to the director, and no, I wasn't hired because of him, but the other way around.

And in between the interviews, we practiced and rehearsed and performed, and Erik was somehow able to find energy to compose in the middle of the night. And in between all that, we researched options for reconstructive surgery. Money was no problem.

Finally, we found a doctor who could do it. "The only thing left will be some light scarring that will fade with time," the doctor said. "Your nose will be slightly crooked, but it won't be very noticeable." He drew a quick computer model for us on the screen. "What do you think?"

Erik and I shared a glance. He squeezed my hand tightly. "Let's do it."

The surgery was set for another two and a half months from that appointment, which gave Erik the opportunity to get a head start on the opera house's next production, which was Faust. He designed all the sets himself, giving it a haunting, solemn look, and impressed on all the actors and the ballet that Faust was about haunting the soul, and they were to act the part.

"You think I got through to them?"

Nicole smirked. "You terrified the ballet corps, dearest. I think you accomplished your mission."

He sighed ruefully. "What I wouldn't give for a dead rat and a ballerina's shoe."

She smacked his shoulder lightly. "Don't ruin it, now."

"Madame? Can we get your measurements, please?"

He watched her walk away with the costume makers, and turned to his assistant director to go over some notes.

The day of the surgery dawned, and I was terribly nervous for Erik. He was nervous as well, although he didn't want to show it. But when I took his hand, he refused to let go of me up until the point the nurse came in to put him under.

"Everything will be fine," I promised him, kissing his twisted cheek. "I'll be waiting for you."

He nodded, and gave my hand a final squeeze before he let go.

I paced a small track in the waiting room while I waited, and waited, and waited. They say a watched pot never boils, and they're absolutely right. At the rate time was going, I'd fossilize before the surgery finished.

Finally, a nurse popped her head in and told me, "Your husband is in recovery now. You can sit with him if you'd like."

"Yes please." I followed her to the recovery room and sat in the chair next to Erik's bed. Half his face was wrapped in bandages, and he looked just like he normally did, except he was very still. He was almost never completely still. Even in sleep he would move slightly, even if it was just his hands as he composed in his sleep.

It worried me, and I reached out to place a hand on his chest. The steady up and down of his breathing reassured me, and I took his hand. "When will he wake up?" I asked the nurse.

"In an hour or two, once the anesthesia wears off," she replied.

"Thank you." I leaned over and kissed his forehead. I played on my phone and kept an eye on him. I started humming the intro to Beauty and the Beast.

"Sing it, won't you?" Erik murmured dazedly.

"Erik!" I leaned over to smile at him. "How's my sleepyhead?"

"Groggy," he admitted, closing his eyes. "Face, hurts."

"I'm sorry." I leaned over to kiss his uncovered cheek. "The doctor assured me everything was fine. Now you're awake, they're going to keep you overnight just to make sure there were no complications, and then we can go home."

"And you'll stay with me?" he asked.

"I promise."

I stayed that night in the hospital, and at around midnight I crawled into bed with Erik to keep him from picking at his bandages. The doctors discharged him in the morning and we went home. The bandages would come off in a fortnight.

"You have two weeks of vacation," I said, settling him on the couch with a tome of natural history. "Enjoy."

He sighed. "Have a good day at work."

"Don't overexert yourself, and don't pick at your bandages." I kissed him on the head and left. "Love you!"

Erik's natural habitat was to be alone, in the dark, with a mask on. But knowing that underneath his current mask of bandages could be a normal looking face was driving him insane. He wanted to see what he looked like, he wanted to know if the stigma that had followed him his whole life was finally gone. It took all his self-control not to pick at the bandages. He couldn't stand the silence, so he called Nicole during her lunch break.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

"Ridiculous," he said frankly. "I can't concentrate, can't play, can't read-"

"You're on pain killers and you're nervous dear," Nicole replied. "Why don't you try and sleep, or watch some TV."

"TV," he grumbled. "There's nothing on. When are you going to be home?"

"I can come home early if you want. I don't really need to be here for the middle of the third act."

Her willingness to come home and keep him company made him feel ashamed at his own weakness. He was not a baby that needed coddling. "No, mon ange, I'm fine. I will just, take a nap."

She sounded dubious. "All right, if you're sure?"

"Yes."

"Okay. I love you."

He put the phone down and sighed, suddenly tired. He lay down on the couch and closed his eyes. His hummed rendition of Figaro trailed off halfway as he fell asleep. The next thing he knew, the smell of warm bread and garlic was wafting through the air, and the sound of Jeopardy was on in the living room.

"What is Tennyson?" Nicole said loudly, and then, "Yes! Thousand points!"

Erik smiled and got up. If she was home, he must have slept very well indeed. He shuffled out to the kitchen and hugged her from behind, pressing a kiss to her neck.

"Hey, you're awake," Nicole said, surprised. She turned to face him, her arms around his shoulders. "I was going to bring you dinner."

"How was rehearsal?" he asked, sitting at the table.

"Boring without you, monsieur director." She pressed a kiss to his hair and placed a bowl of soup and a piece of garlic bread in front of him. "Try not to chew too much."

"Yes dear."

The two weeks passed rather quickly for me, but for Erik the two weeks of forced inactivity were agony. He became a positive bear about everything and shut himself in the music room for days on end.

But finally a fortnight passed and we returned to the doctor's office. I held Erik's hand while the doctor peeled away the bandages. Erik's eyes were closed but I couldn't tear my eyes away. Finally, the last bandage was lifted away and the doctor nodded. "Everything looks fine. It's healing well and in a few weeks you'll get your color back."

Erik still had his eyes closed, his grip on my hand almost crushing. "Nicole?" he asked, his voice hushed. "How do I look?"

I reached out to touch the left side of his face. "Like my husband."

He opened his eyes to frown at me. "That's not a description."

"Then why don't you see for yourself?" I handed him a mirror from the counter, excited and nervous to see his reaction.

Erik slowly looked up into the mirror, his heart hammering nervously, and just stared. He looked normal. The left side of his face had been smoothed out, the side of his cheek filled in. He looked a little crooked if you squinted and there were fading scar lines but other than that... he blinked away the moisture in his eyes.

Nicole smiled at him. "Well?"

He could hardly tear his eyes away. "It's just right. Thank you doctor."

"It was my pleasure." The doctor then advised him on follow-ups. Remember o moisturize, don't pull at the skin, be very careful shaving, no exaggerated expressions for another few days, don't sleep on that side for a couple months, and avoid sunburn.

As they left Erik pulled his mask out of his pocket in preparation. He paused with it halfway to his face. He didn't need it. "I don't need it," he said aloud.

Nicole shook her head. "No you don't." She pushed open the front door and held out a hand. "Come on, let's go home."

He went out the door.

Nobody stared, nobody screamed, nothing happened. He was completely normal. It was disconcerting.

Nicole wrapped an arm around his waist and tugged him towards the car. "C'mon Erik. It'll take some getting used to, huh?"

"Quite a lot of getting used to," he replied, still in shock.

she leaned up on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "Now the only problem is you're twice as handsome."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Oh really."

"Really. I've decided you can't come back to work. All the women in the theater will fall all over you. You've got to stay home."

He smirked and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. "Oh really."

"Really," she affirmed, smiling at him.

He kissed her gently, cupping her cheek in his hand. "Now you know how I feel all the time," he murmured. "Je t'aime, Nicole."

"I love you too."

We did a few practice runs in public to get used to Erik's new appearance. The grocery store, the park, the library. No one gave him a second glance.

Erik was ecstatic and I couldn't be happier for him. After everything he'd gone through it was all over. He'd never have to be an outcast again, and just thinking about it made a lump rise in my throat.

After another few days it was Erik's first day back at work and he was terribly nervous. I couldn't blame him. The opera house was his domain, and now to enter it unmasked?

"I feel naked," he murmured as we climbed the steps of the opera house.

I squeezed his hand reassuringly. "I'm positive you have clothes on Erik. Promise."

He patted the inside pocket of his jacket. "I brought it," he explained uncertainly. "Just in case."

Of course, everyone knew already why he'd been gone for the last three weeks. When we walked backstage there was a stunned silence as everyone stared at Erik. Then the assistant manager said, "Welcome back Erik." He turned to the others. "Places people! We start up in five!" and that was that.

I gave Erik a quick kiss - he still looked stunned - and got into position across from the male lead. "Bonjour, Max."

"Bonjour. The director looks well."

"Yes he does."

Rehearsal went well, and afterwards I was dragged to a fitting. The ballet chorus was also getting measurements done for their costumes, and the place was filled with half-sewn skirts in different gauzy colors.

My skirt was full of pins and I was waiting for Mme. Verne to finish her notes and release me from my imprisonment when I realized one of the ballet rats was staring at me, her face scrunched up in a frown. "Something on my face?" I asked, giving the blonde child a raised eyebrow.

The girl, she couldn't have been more than twelve, blushed hotly and dropped her gaze to the floor. "No, mme," she murmured.

"Then what's wrong?" I asked gently. I wished I could kneel down to talk to the child, but I was still trapped in the dress.

"Well," the girl started, but was called away by the ballet mistress. She scampered away, shooting me a nervous glance.

I frowned curiously. What was her problem?

When I was finally released and back in jeans, I went to find Erik. We had reservations for dinner at Le Chat Noir and still had to go home and change.

He was done reviewing the schedule for the next day with his assistant, and we headed out.

As we were leaving the back way, I saw the little ballet rat again, with a group of her friends. She was staring at Erik, now. "Hold on," I murmured to him, squeezing his arm. I walked over to the little group. Her friends scattered, and I realized Erik had followed me over. "Why do you keep staring?" I asked the girl.

She turned red again and scuffed her toe.

"Are you star struck, petit fille?" Erik asked, surprisingly gentle.

"It's not that," the girl replied. "I thought you were Monsieur le Fantome and his Soprano, but..." she shot his smooth face a frown, "you're not. It was all for show."

"You know the phantom is just a legend," I said uneasily.

Her light brown eyes flashed defiantly. "No he's not. He was real. Is real, somewhere. My maman said so. And her maman before that, and before that."

"And who is your maman?" Erik asked indulgently.

"The former ballet mistress before she died," she replied, "Amelie Giry."

Erik turned white as his mask and I could feel the blood drain from my face. "Giry?" he asked. "You are a Giry?"

"Marie," she said, and gave a polite bow. "My great-great-great-grandmother knew the opera ghost, the real story, and we always knew he and his wife would be in the future because they'd-" she stopped talking. "Anyway, you're not them, I thought you were, but le fantome would not have a face like that."

Erik and I exchanged a glance. "And your papa?" I asked.

She sighed. "He left us when my maman got sick."

"And you are here on the full dance program?" Erik asked.

"Oui monsieur."

Poor child. She had no one. And she believed so strongly in the phantom... I gave Erik a Look.

"No," he said, recognizing my expression.

"But Erik," I pleaded," she's all alone."

"We have a reservation," he stalled.

"Since when do you care about food?" I retorted.

He made a face. "I suppose..."

I looked at Marie. "How many people have you told about the phantom's true story?"

"None. Maman always said to respect the phantom's privacy, and they wouldn't believe me anyway."

"Good girl." I looked at Erik.

HE sighed. "I see your point. Very well."

"Thank you dear." I held out a hand to Marie. 'Let's go to my dressing room to talk, shall we?"

Erik followed the two to the dressing room and they all took seats.

"All right dear, so you know how you thought we were the phantom and his wife?"

"Yes?"

"Well we are."

Marie looked skeptical. "You're not, you just said-"

"We didn't know you were a Giry," I explained.

"But-"

Erik pushed open the panel behind the mirror abruptly, revealing the tunnel.

Little Giry's jaw dropped. "What?"

Erik pulled the mask from his pocket and let her hold it.

She took it reverently, her eyes wider than her whole face. "You are... how, monsieur? How?"

"Time travel, little Giry," he replied. "Didn't your mother or your grandmaman ever explain it to you?"

She sat on the sofa. "Yes, but, how?"

"Science doesn't explain everything, dear," I replied.

She suddenly beamed at me. "No it doesn't." She threw her arms around me in a strong hug. "I'm so glad it's all true! You're here! And you're together! I love happy endings!"

I patted her on the back and she let me go, smiling sheepishly. I returned the smile. "Glad to know we have fans."

"Always, madame," she replied earnestly. She handed the mask back to Erik. "Thank you."

"Not at all," he replied smoothly, ever the gentleman. "Now, I believe we have dinner reservations? And you, mademoiselle, have your friends to get back to?"

"Yes, yes of course." She gave us a shy wave and left the room.

That night we had dinner in our living room and dined on cheese and bread while Erik called Nadir. "Did you know that Mme. Giry's orphaned fille is at the opera house?"

"Of course, monsieur," Nadir replied, sounding groggy. "She's on the full scholarship, non? That was the most I could do for her without raising questions."

"I see. Thank you, Nadir. Apologies for interrupting your rest." Erik hung up and turned to me. "Is it just me, or do you think there have been far too many orphans in our story?" he asked.

I smiled. "I agree. Far too many orphans."

Happy was the day when the famous Destler's adopted a promising ballet student, Marie Giry. It was no surprise that Mlle Giry grew up to become the star of the ballet in the Opera Garnier, and in ballets all around the world.

Nicole and Erik Destler, besides sponsoring and fostering several other promising young musical students, wrote, directed, produced, and starred in many operas of their own.

And when the couple was old and grey, they retired to a small house on the beach of Southern France near an old church that was supposedly haunted. And for the next twenty years, late at night, ghostly music could be heard echoing from the organ in the basement of the church.

The legend of le fantome de l'opera and his soprano lives on...

~Fin~

A/N: Wow, what a journey. Thanks for reading, everybody! Hope you enjoyed the story :)