At last here's the final chapter! I hope you enjoy. Thanks so much for all of the follows, favorites, and especially reviews! They all meant a lot to me. Please enjoy one more, and let me know what you think!

The black dress was nice.

She examined herself in the large mirror, turning her hips back and forth a little to see the effect, and the hem brushed around her knees. It was slimming and modest, and Christine smiled somewhat nervously at her reflection. It was today. After so long, and it was all happening today.

There was a slight knock on the door, and she turned as Erik stepped in, his yellowish eyes sweeping her up and down.

"What do you think?" she said, spinning around to show him. "I'm so glad it fits. I'm always nervous ordering clothes online, but I think this one's good, right?"

His lips tightened. "Why must you wear black? I told you that you needn't look so funereal."

She laughed. "Says the person who wears black every day. I want to look professional. But...y'know, still a little classy. Black's the perfect combination."

He didn't reply, but she could tell by his expression that he didn't agree. As he left his mask off more and more, she was learning to read the slight nuances and changes in his face that gave away his feelings, and she giggled a little and stepped forward to stand on her tiptoes and press her lips to his bare cheek.

"Besides, you're supposed to tell me that I look beautiful in anything," she said. "Haven't four years of marriage taught you anything?"

"I did not say you did not look beautiful," he argued stubbornly. "And you do look beautiful in anything. Especially nothing."

She rolled her eyes but ruined the effect by blushing. "Okay, I take it back; maybe you've learned something," she said. His lips twitched into a brief smile, and he leaned down and kissed her softly.

"I'm nervous," she admitted when he pulled away. "It's been so long…"

"You belong there now," he said, stroking her cheek. "It is yours."

"I dunno…"

To her surprise, he laughed. "My dear. Years of success—concerts, galas, operas, charity events...and you still doubt yourself?"

"I know," she said. "But...Erik, this is...it. What we've worked for."

"You are ready. Now is the time. Your voice is perfect, and you are...exquisite. Beyond sublime. The world will fall to its knees."

After a few moments of silence, she swallowed and tried to lighten the tense mood with another giggle. "You're dramatic. But sweet. Thanks." She wrapped her arms around him, grateful when he pulled her close for a tight embrace, and she stood there with him for a long while, simply listening to his heartbeat.

The music...the music in him. She could hear it still. She would always hear it, because it would always be a part of him. And her. There was nothing as important, nothing that held them together like the music did. Sometimes, during horrible days of misunderstandings and hurt feelings, she felt like it was the only thing that saved them. But it had never failed, and she knew it never would.

At last she sighed, nuzzling deeper into his chest. "I should go," she said reluctantly. "I can't be late." She leaned back to look up at him. "And you're sure you can't come with me? According to you, you basically run the place…"

"I would never wish to upstage Reyer," Erik replied, the corner of his lip twitching. "It would be unfair. Besides, he is the only one who knows that I am the genius behind all the ideas that he has. To spoil the secret for everyone else would be terribly rude."

"The genius who persuaded them to sign on the weird, flakey Christine Daae who ran away five years ago?" she said.

He paused. "You know I did not. I have promised you multiple times that I had nothing to do with it." Another moment of silence. "Though when the idea was proposed, I certainly did nothing to discourage it."

"Fine. I believe you." After a smile, she left the room and grabbed her shoes and coat. She picked up her bag and dug through it, frowning. "Erik?" she called. "Where did I leave the keys?"

She could hear him give an exasperated sigh from the other room. "My darling. They are undoubtedly where you always leave them."

With a little huff, she put her bag down and went to the kitchen, grumbling. They were supposed to be in her bag, but somehow they always ended up on the kitchen table, tossed there after walking inside the house. She grabbed them and went back to the front door, picking up her bag again. Erik appeared, and she stepped closer to face him.

"I'll be back soon," she said. "Are you going to work on your new piece?"

He shrugged. "Perhaps. If my muse cooperates."

"What do you mean? Your muse is always running crazy," she said.

"Indeed," he said, smirking a little, and she stuck out her tongue at him.

"I really have to go," she said, opening the door. "Behave while I'm gone. See you soon. I love you."

He reached out and brushed her cheek with his fingers. "I love you."

Trying not to grin too widely, she shut the door and set off down the small walkway.

It was a bright, cool autumn day, and she looked around, breathing in the quiet, still air. Their house was small, hidden slightly from the main road by the large trees in the front yard. It had been one of the things Erik had wanted—more privacy. After all, that was why they had moved. That and…

She shook her head, opening the door of her plain little black car and climbing in. To her relief, nothing had happened. She had not heard from or seen Raoul in years, and whenever she plucked up enough courage to ask Erik about it, he always assured her that they were safe. Everything was ready if something ever happened, but luckily, so far no drastic action had been necessary. It had been hard, leaving their little apartment and Mrs. Valerius only a year or so after moving in, but she understood the need, and their house was perfect for them. There were no neighbors to worry about seeing Erik or hearing his music, and she sensed that Erik was a bit proud of the fact that he had an actual house.

Although he was vastly different from anyone she had ever met, sometimes he was just such a man. She grinned a little at the thought.

They lived only twenty minutes away from the city, which was a good distance for the both of them. She had at first been nervous when he had presented her with a car, as she had never really dreamed of driving one—much less owning one, but he had made sure she knew it inside and out before she began driving it back and forth to the city for rehearsals and services, along with going to her father's grave and her visits to Mrs. Valerius.

It was a normal morning, and so she didn't have to wait in traffic too long before she pulled up and parked a couple blocks down from the Opera House. It gleamed in the sunshine, an impressive visual to any passerby. Christine could still recall things there so clearly: going there as a child with her father, auditions, rehearsals, lessons with Erik, the disastrous attempts at performing…

No. She squared her shoulders a little. Those things didn't matter anymore. With sure steps, she walked up the stairs and through the doors. It had been a long time since she had entered through the main doors. The little door in the alleyway had been like the front door to her. The entryway of the main doors was so overwhelming, however, that she paused, looking around again, taking in the architecture and demanding design. Would it crush her again?

"Ms. Daae!"

She turned to see Mr. Reyer approaching, looking almost exactly the same as he had those years ago when he had first welcomed her—perhaps a little thinner and more stressed, but nearly the same. Christine smiled and shook his hand.

"It's nice to see you again," he said. "When was the last time? A year ago, was it?"

She nodded. "The retirement gala for Mr. Poligny and Mr. Moncharmin."

"Right," he said. "How could I forget? That Tosca aria had us all in tears."

She smiled. It had been surprising and a bit awkward when she received an invitation to go and perform at the gala, but she had done it after consulting with Erik. The former managers had been nothing but polite to her, with no mention of her past at the Opera House, for which she had been grateful. She didn't need any more reminders. It was already embarrassing enough simply as an unspoken memory.

Reyer led the way, and she followed, beginning to recognize the hallways and rooms they passed, remembering and reconnecting things. They headed to the administrative wing, and they walked through the room full of broken instruments and scores and back to the manager's office.

It was different than how she remembered. The most obvious change was the fact that there was only one desk, now. The furniture had been rearranged, and there were now thick drapes over the large windows. Christine thought it looked nice—maybe a little pretentious, but nice all the same.

A tall man approached, and she realized that he was the new manager. She had been introduced to him briefly the year before at the gala.

"Ms. Daae," he said, extending a hand. She took it, and he smiled at her and gestured to a chair on the opposite side of a large desk. Reyer sat in a chair next to hers, and the new manager—Lefevre, Christine remembered—sat behind the large desk.

Christine remembered being intimidated by him a bit at the gala. He was friendly enough but had given off an air of severity, and as they sat there, she felt that her first impression was being reaffirmed by his dark business suit and neat haircut. Although Moncharmin and Poligny had been business-driven and such, they had given off a much more bohemian air. Lefevre would have fit in with strict stockbrokers or high-end lawyers, she was sure.

"Would you like something to drink?" he offered politely. She shook her head, and he smiled again.

"I'm glad you're here, Ms. Daae," he continued. "I've been waiting for this day for a year."

"You have?" she said, surprised.

He nodded. "I knew about you before I became manager here. I saw you a couple years ago in The Tempest. You were astonishing. And I knew right from the start that I wanted you to sing here."

"That's really nice of you," she said. "I'm really...honored to be offered the chance. I know that my...past here isn't exactly the best."

Lefevre waved his hand dismissively. "I'm aware that there were some odd circumstances here several years ago, in particular when you were here, but it's been...what, five or six years now? And you've certainly been busy and proven that you've got what it takes. And Reyer is onboard with the decision—he's usually always right when it comes to decisions like these. We'd be happy to have you here."

Reyer nodded, and she smiled briefly at him. They had a weird, unspoken, unacknowledged understanding to never mention Erik to each other or anyone else. She wasn't even sure if Reyer knew she was married to Erik...and she didn't really want to know. The less that people knew about Erik, the better. If Reyer thought Erik was simply a weird, devoted fan of hers, that would be just fine. And even if he knew that they were...together, it would be better not to perpetuate or encourage any rumors or stories. She had worked hard to keep Erik out of her public life over the years. Most people knew she was married, and those who did knew that her husband was 'shy' and 'felt uncomfortable in big crowds.'

Lefevre pulled out a few sheets of paper and pushed it across the desk. "Here's our contract. I've been on the phone with your agent a few times—everything's sorted. We just need you to sign it."

She picked up the provided pen, took a deep breath, and signed where required. Her name stared back at her in her loopy, girlish handwriting. Christine Daae. There it was. It was done. She wondered if it would be weird to take a picture of it so she could show Erik.

Deciding it would be, she instead passed the contract back over to Lefevre, who smiled again as he picked it up.

"Welcome back, Ms. Daae. I guess this will be your chance for redemption here at the Opera House."

"I guess so," she said. "Thanks again for having me back."

"We're happy to have you." He smiled, and it felt genuine, which relaxed her a little. "Now, we'd like to get you promoted as soon as possible. We're thinking really big. We want people to know that you're going to be singing here and that you'll be having your debut leading role."

They talked for a while longer, Lefevre and Reyer discussing ideas they had had concerning her start there and how they were to advertise. To her faint amusement, Lefevre pulled out a magazine from six months ago that she had been featured in, flipping open to the article. She had had several small interviews and short pieces written about her career in the past four years, and a couple of times they had even had her come in for a small, formal photoshoot. The magazine that Lefevre was holding had been her first major spread. Christine looked at the picture of herself, trying not to roll her eyes.

During the past couple years, Erik had collected every single thing ever written about her anywhere—newspaper reviews, magazines, columns, even going so far as to print off some online articles or informal reviews and photos of her. He had then proceeded to tack every single one of them up on the wall of the music room, as if it were wallpaper. The magazine spread was the centerpiece. He had been ecstatic about it. It was a large picture of her with a soft white background, dressed in a gorgeous silver gown and looking into the camera with wide eyes. The picture had embarrassed her when she realized that that was the one they were intent on using. But she had a suspicion that it was Erik's favorite picture of her—besides the one of their wedding day.

Now there would be more things for him to collect, as Lefevre seemed intent on getting her as much publicity as he could. She tried to reign it in a little, but Lefevre wouldn't budge; he wanted the entire city to know.

After a while, they wrapped up their impromptu brainstorming session, and Lefevre stood, saying, "Thanks again for coming in, Ms. Daae. I'll be in touch. Is there anything else we can do for you today?"

She shook her head. "Not today. Thanks again for...everything."

They shook hands once more, and Mr. Reyer shook hands with Lefevre as well before leading her back out of the office.

"People will be okay with having me back, right?" she asked as they walked, somewhat nervously. "I mean...what happened last time was just...horrible on my part."

"Everyone should be fine," he assured her. "Like Lefevre said, it was years ago, and there were extenuating circumstances. It happens to the best of us. But we've all seen your dedication over the past couple years. If anyone has a problem, they can talk to me or Mr. Lefevre, not to you."

She nodded. That comforted her a little. She had worked with many different casts over the years, and although she felt that her skin was thicker than it used to be, she still didn't like it when people were rude to her or gossiped about her. And the best productions she had been in had been with the casts she had felt closest to.

They passed through a hallway, and just as she was about to go through another door, a voice called out.

"Christine?"

She paused and turned around. To her shock, she saw Meg Giry standing there, staring at her in apparent surprise as well. There was a long pause. Mr. Reyer shifted awkwardly, and Christine cleared her throat.

"I can...um, show myself out," she said to him. "Thanks again. I'm going to talk to Meg for a minute."

He nodded and left without another word. Christine waited a few more seconds before walking over to Meg and wrapping her arms around her, hugging her tightly. Meg squeaked in apparent surprise.

"It's so good to see you," Christine said honestly as she pulled away. "It's been forever."

"It has," Meg said, an eyebrow raised. "Years. I've heard rumors that they were going to sign you on as the lead soprano, but no one ever really knew for sure…"

"It's done now," Christine said. "I just barely signed the contract."

"Congratulations," Meg said.

There was a pause, and Christine suddenly felt awkward. She suddenly had no idea what to say...after years of absolutely no contact...and with no proper goodbye, either. Meg looked uncomfortable as well.

"Thanks," Christine said at last. "Um...yeah. So. Meg...I just...I know this is kind of weird for both of us. And...I mean, I just basically left you all without saying anything…"

"You did," Meg agreed. "It was weird. And not very nice."

"It wasn't," Christine said, abashed. "And I'm so sorry. It was just...I can't even explain what happened."

Meg's expression darkened, and Christine amended hurriedly, "Well, I can try. I know I wasn't a very good friend then, either. I think I was still messed up from my dad's death and breaking up with my old boyfriend. I'm better now, y'know...Anyway. My...um, one of my friends got really sick right before Elektra opened. Like...he almost died. I—I had to go help him and be with him. And I was gone for so long...and by the time I was able to come back, it had been too long, and it was just all so...awkward."

"You could've called," Meg said.

"I know. I'm sorry. I'm not a very good friend. Things just got so crazy. I got married, and then I was performing all the time…"

"Married! So it's true, then?" Meg grabbed her left hand suddenly and examined the ring. "What? No diamonds? Is this your real ring?"

Christine was suddenly able to laugh. "Yeah, it is. I love it, actually. It's really...simple, and it's special to my husband and me."

"I'd heard rumors that you were married, but nobody ever really knew for sure," Meg said. "I guess nobody's seen your husband or something."

"Yeah, he's super shy." Christine laughed and brushed a few curls away. She had gotten more talented at brushing aside questions about Erik. "He hates big crowds and lots of people. But he's pretty great, still. How have you been doing?"

"Good," Meg said absently. "Just dancing, you know." She looked around and then lowered her voice to a conspiratory whisper. "Don't tell anyone this, but there's talk about making me a soloist!"

"What? That's amazing! I'm so happy for you! Congratulations!" Christine hugged her again, and this time Meg returned it.

They spoke for a while longer, and Christine could sense that although Meg was being friendly, she was still a little wary and hurt. Christine didn't blame her, though—after months of friendship, and she had disappeared without a word and hadn't contacted her once throughout the years. She immediately wanted to be better for Meg. This time she would do everything right.

"Maybe we can actually hang out sometime," Christine suggested. "And this time I'll be able to make it!"

"That would be fun," Meg said, smiling. "I could definitely use some catch-up on this whole married thing."

"Heh, yeah," Christine said, trying not to look anxious. One crisis at a time. If she was careful with how she explained Erik, she found that most people were sympathetic and understanding.

Wow, it sounds like he's had a rough life! Poor guy—no wonder he doesn't like being around new people.

He actually had an abusive childhood? That's so sad! I get why he wants to be left alone.

She never explained details, never divulged secrets, never said specifics...Sometimes it felt like she was lying a little, but she always told herself that it wasn't. Erik had had a horrible life, and she needed to be careful and keep people away from him. Although most everyone was understanding, she couldn't expect them all to be like Mrs. Valerius and accept him without ever actually meeting him. There was always the risk of people getting too nosy or too inquisitive, so she had to be cautious when first explaining him.

They exchanged numbers, and Meg gave her one last hug before they parted. Christine watched her go, unable to help but smile widely.

The large Opera House was mostly quiet, and Christine made her way back through the hallways, feeling a little overwhelmed by all that had just happened. She passed through a door into the main foyer and looked around. The wide doors leading into the theater seemed to call to her, and she took a few steps closer, looking around to make sure that no one saw her and reproved her.

She slipped in through the door, memories and feelings flooding to her. She had not overestimated her feelings; it was surreal to walk down the aisle, to see the cushioned red seats and inhale the melodies and songs and applauses of thousands of past performances. The stage was bare, and she shivered looking at it. Years...and perhaps now was finally her chance. The right time. The time she and Erik had been working for, waiting for.

Some dim house lights were on, and she paused for a few moments, simply gazing around, running a few fingertips over the back of one of the chairs. This was to be her home for the next while. For a moment, it was as if she could see herself over on the side of the stage, watching the rehearsals for Elektra with a sad expression...Meg Giry twirling up behind her…

That seemed like a completely different life to her now, a ghost of her past that she had long since laid to rest.

At last. Those two words came to her again. At last Erik would see her on that stage. At last she would be on that stage. It was a thrilling thought.

She walked a little closer to the stage and then realized that she was not alone. Clutching her heart and squeaking in surprise, she saw someone sitting in the third row, staring at the stage as well.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I just wanted to…"

She trailed off as she realized that the person was Carlotta Guidicelli.

Christine paused for several long moments, wondering if Carlotta would start yelling at her or say something unkind. But she didn't even look in her direction. Christine took a few steps closer and saw, with a pang of sympathy, that there were tears running down the woman's cheeks.

It took her a few moments to decide what to do. But she bit her lip and quietly approached, sitting down next to her, expecting to be told off or commanded to leave at any moment. But Carlotta wasn't even looking at her. Her gaze was fixed on the stage, and the tears were flowing freely.

"I...I always admired you," Christine said at last, trying not to sound awkward or afraid. "I always thought you were beyond talented."

They sat in silence for another minute. Then Christine said softly, "I know you probably don't want me here...I'm sorry. But I just wanted to tell you that I think your voice is beautiful, and—"

Suddenly, Carlotta stood, and Christine cut herself off. Without a word, the Spanish diva stepped out of the row of seats and walked up to the exit, leaving Christine to sit in abashed, confused silence for several long minutes before standing and leaving as well.

At home, Erik laughed when she told him of her encounter.

"I feel bad for her," Christine said. "She just looked so sad."

"That woman has long been overdue for a change of venue," Erik said.

"Yeah, but...she was crying. She was so upset."

"Do not fret. Soon she will find another place to terrorize. She will survive this."

Christine was able to laugh weakly at that, and although she still felt a little bad because of their encounter, she tried to keep things in perspective and not let it drag down her mood. This was it. She was going to sing at the Opera House as the leading soprano. Five years ago it had only been a wishful, far-off dream. Now it was here, on her doorstep, ready to be fulfilled, and the fact that it was Erik experiencing it all with her made it even better. Sometimes she could hardly believe how blessed she was.

With a small sigh, she scooted close and wrapped an arm around him, leaning against his chest and inhaling his familiar scent. His hands easily found their place, embracing her as well. Such acts of physical affection no longer startled him; he was able to now reciprocate it with greater ease, and she loved it.

His chest hummed against her cheek with his voice as they spoke, and she traced the buttons on his shirt. She couldn't feel his ribcage as distinctly anymore. Years of marriage had caused him to gain some weight, and although she would never admit it and felt a little silly herself knowing this, that fact always made her feel like a good wife. He would never fill out completely, and she had resigned herself to that, but not being able to distinctly see each rib on him was still a huge success to her.

The conversation turned slightly, and she found herself listening to an old Persian legend that he had learned during his time in Iran, and she smiled as she listened.

When he was finished, she in turn related told a few Swedish folk tales to him. Then she said, "I remember my dad always told me about this place on this beach of the North Sea where you could see the korrigans. We can go there next year and see! Do we have time?"

"My darling, it is your gift. You are to do with it what you please. If you wish to spend three months looking for korrigans on the North Sea, then you shall."

She laughed. "Maybe not three months. But at least one or two nights, maybe after we see my mom's grave and before we go to Paris. Do you want to?"

"It is your gift," he reminded her. "I will ensure that it happens."

Her dreams of traveling with him were finally coming true. He was going to take her on a three-month tour of Europe for their five-year anniversary, and she could hardly wait. She had scarcely believed him when he had initially suggested the idea two months ago, but he had been insistent.

"You must tell me where you wish to go," he had said, raising his voice in order to be heard over her excited squeals. "I will arrange it all. Now calm down, wife, you will fall over if you do not stop jumping up and down." Then she had jumped on him and had kissed him over and over, places from her childhood that she yearned to see again already crowding her mind.

But that was still some months in the future. Right now she needed to start focusing on her first season in the Opera House.

"You will sing for me tonight, yes?" he then said, running his fingers up and down her side.

"Of course. I always do." She glanced up at him, smiling. "And then we can go on a walk?"

"Whatever you wish."

These soft, intimate moments made everything else worth it. Her marriage was hard; she knew that. Although he was unaware of this, Erik needed a lot. He needed time and attention and constant reassurances. He needed touches and smiles and her voice and her unwavering loyalty. Sometimes she was stretched too thin. Sometimes he needed more than she was able to give at that time. But maybe it was only fair. Erik had accused her of wanting more than he was able to give—maybe they both demanded too much of each other.

Yet...for all the tears and fights and hurt that it caused, it pushed them as well. She was learning to be selfless in her love, and he was doing the same. They seemed to wordlessly teach each other the lessons they both needed to learn. She felt like a different person entirely than the girl who had tried to enlist the help of the Phantom all those years ago. She even felt different than the girl who had married him almost five years ago. And even though he still often said that he could never change, Erik had changed as well. The fact was before her. It was in every soft conversation, every gentle caress, every time he looked at her with eyes that expressed his unwavering devotion to her. Those spoke more to her than their arguments. They were more important than the slammed doors and tears.

She took his hand and ran her thumb over his ring a few times. "You could try again to make me dinner tonight, now that you know I actually don't like zucchini."

He repeated his argument he had given then, "In five years, you have never told me that once."

"I've said it plenty of times!" she said, poking his shoulder. "You just don't listen sometimes."

He rolled his eyes. "I always listen when you are speaking. I have told you that I would remember something like that. But very well, if you insist. I will try again—my chance for redemption, I suppose."

She paused. "That's the second time today I've heard that word." He gave her a confused look, and she clarified herself, "Redemption. I dunno. It's just a word you don't hear that much."

"Who else said it?"

"Mr. Lefevre. He said now I get a chance for redemption at the Opera House."

Erik scoffed. "You did nothing wrong then. Besides, if that truly were the case, you have redeemed yourself a thousand times over during the past few years."

"You have, too." Her reply came out automatically, and he raised an eyebrow at her.

"That is...an odd thing to say."

She shrugged, blushing a little. "Well, I think it's true."

He gave a disbelieving, skeptical, "Hmmm," but said nothing else.

Christine knew he would always have a hard time changing his perception of himself, but as long as she was there, she knew he would try. If not for himself, then for her. And she would try for him, because their marriage was worth every effort. He was worth every effort, and she knew he felt the same way about her. Even though they would never be perfect and never have a carefree, blissful marriage, she knew it would not fail. They were held together by a deep, untouchable connection that was strengthened by their music and love. The music had brought them together and their love was built on it. This was what she had always wanted, and after years of pain and heartache it was finally hers.

And after a lifetime of pain and heartache, it was his, too.

Fin