Author's Note: Well, it's official-my undergraduate courses are done, and summer has officially begun! And you know what that means...more fanfiction! :D For those of you who are still waiting for my sequel to "Becoming Family," I apologize for the delay, but I promise that I WILL finish it! I'm hoping it will be up by the end of the summer, but I make no promises, seeing as the last time I tried to set a deadline for it I failed miserably. :P

Anyway, about this piece...I'm not entirely happy with it, perhaps because it is (heavily) based on the Kay book, which-no offense-is not my favorite version of Phantom. (Don't get me wrong, it has it's good points-it's just not my favorite.) Or perhaps it is because it doesn't really have any good "fluffy" Erik/Christine moments. Either way, I just felt like this story needed to be written, so maybe you guys will like it better than I do.

I wrote this piece with my grandparents in mind, so Nana & Papa, this one's for you.

~CaptainHooksGirl~

A Mother's Love

Madeleine's shoulders tensed. One flour-covered hand flew to her heart; the other gripped the wooden spoon with an almost unnatural rigidity. She stopped stirring but she dared not turn around.

She had not heard the footsteps on the stairs—she knew she wouldn't. Erik was much too stealthy to give himself away, his slender form slipping through the shadows with the practiced agility of a cat. Even the creaky fourth step that moaned like an old woman under her light step was somehow silent under his. She had yet to figure out how he did it and—like most of his magic tricks—she doubted she ever would. But she didn't have to hear him to know that he was there. She could feel his eyes—those magnificent golden green eyes that seemed much too feline for a human face—burning a hole in her back.

"Mother, why are you making a cake?"

She sighed, staring into the batter. "Because today is a very special day."

Beneath the mask, Erik wrinkled his brow in confusion. "It isn't Sunday…is Father Mansart coming to say Mass again?"

"No." She dusted her hands on the cocoa-splattered apron covering her dress before finally turning to look him in the eye. There was a sadness those eyes, a sadness mirrored in her own but for quite a different reason. She sighed again. "Erik, don't you know what today is?"

The boy frowned, as if deep in thought. He knew something important must have happened today but for the life of him he couldn't remember what it was. Frustrated, he shook his head.

"It's…" she hesitated, closing her eyes. "It's your birthday."

"Oh."

If it had been any other child, Madeleine would have said that he looked as though she'd just spoken to him in another language but, in truth, he knew more languages than she did.

Erik bit his lip. "Mother, what's a birthday?"

The woman swallowed back the lump in her throat. How many times did they have to go through this? Was he torturing her on purpose? "A birthday is…is an anniversary," she paused, as if waiting for some sort of response. When there was none, she continued. "An anniversary…of the day you were born. It is an event that should be celebrated."

His eyes lit up. "Like a requiem?"

Madeleine's expression was pained. "Not exactly."

Even with the mask on, she could see his face fall. "Then there won't be a Dies Irae? Or an Agnus Dei?"

"No…but there will be a special supper."

Erik did not seem particularly enthused.

"And a present," she added hastily. "Someone brought us—you—a present."

"Will you give me a present too?"

"Of course." She tried to smile but it was strained. "What would you like?"

"I want two of them," he whispered.

Madeleine noticed that his gaze had shifted to his feet. Was that fear glowing his unnaturally yellow eyes? "Two what, Erik?"

He looked up. "I want two of them," he demanded.

Madeleine sighed in frustration. "Erik, I can't give you anything if you don't tell me what it is."

"Kisses," he whispered tentatively. "One now and one to save."

Madeleine turned away, stifling a sob. "Oh, Erik…"

The boy seemed suddenly startled, as if he'd committed some horrendous crime by upsetting her. "Why are you crying?"

"I'm…I'm not crying," she choked.

"Yes, you are!" he growled angrily. "You're crying and you won't give me my birthday present. You made me ask—you made me ask—and then you said no! Well, I don't want a birthday….I don't like birthdays….I hate them!"

He turned but before he had the chance to race back up the stairs, he felt a hand on his arm.

"Erik, wait!"

"LET ME GO!" He squirmed.

There were tears streaming down her cheeks. "Erik, I'm sorry I lied to you. I am crying, but it's not because of you."

Erik stopped struggling and looked up, confused. "It's not?"

She shook her head. "No."

"Then why are you crying, Mama?"

"Because…" she swallowed back another sob. "Because a dear friend of mine is very ill….and I don't think he's going get any better."

Erik scrunched up his wizened old face—a face much older than the heart behind it. If it had been ugly before, it was hideous now. "It's not Dr. Barye, is it? Mama, I don't like him."

The look in her eyes was heartbreaking. There was something she wasn't telling. Even Erik's five-year-old mind knew that. But he couldn't quite figure out what it was. Erik was usually good with riddles, but this one seemed to have him stumped. Something in the back of his mind kept telling him that he should know the answer, that the answer should be obvious. But it wasn't. And it frustrated him to no end.

"No, Erik. It's not Dr. Barye." She brushed a few tears away. "But come, now! Enough of this! You still want your present, don't you?" She forced a smile.

Erik's eyes lit up. "Oh, yes, Mother! You mean you'll really give it to me? I can really have a kiss?"

"No."

His eyes widened in horror. "But you promised—"

She placed a finger on his bloated lips. "You may have two."

Slowly, almost reverently, she lifted the mask and quietly placed it aside. She hesitated for a moment before softly, gently pressing her lips against the grotesquely shriveled, paper-thin skin of his right cheek. "There. That's one for now." She heard a soft gasp as she pulled away and placed another tender kiss on his left. "And one for later."

When she pulled back, Erik was the one with tears in his eyes. He lifted a bony hand to his cheek. "Oh, Mother! This is the best birthday ever!"

Madeleine wrapped her arms around her son, and he immediately stiffened, suspicious of her uncharacteristically open display of affection.

"Oh, Erik…I love you so much."

He wasn't sure if he believed her, but it sounded nice—even if it was a lie. It was the first time she had ever said it out loud, and if this was the only opportunity he'd have to tell her how he felt, then he'd take it. Terrified of her reaction, he gradually, he returned the hug, his skeletal arms locking around her waist.

"I…I love you too, Mother."

He felt a shudder pass through her body. "I know, Erik." Her voice was thick with emotion. "I know."

Erik yawned and suddenly realized that he was inexplicably tired, as if the walk down the steps had somehow drained him of energy. "Mother, I'm tired. Will you walk me up to bed?"

Her lips tightened as she glanced back at the bowl of cake batter and the single gift with a silver bow sitting on the table. "Of course."

Reluctantly, she followed him up to the bedroom and tucked him in, but when she turned to leave, she was met with a startled howl.

"The mask! Where is my mask?"

"I took it off when I kissed you, remember? Erik, you don't need the mask."

"Yes, I do!" he screamed. "The face! The face will come and get me! Oh, Mother, don't go! Don't leave me here in the dark!"

With a sigh of resignation, she crawled into the space beside him on the bed, and taking his left hand in hers, began to softly sing.

Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation.

Darkness stirs, and wakes imagination.

Silently the senses abandon their defenses.

It was a familiar song, a song he knew by heart…and yet, he could not remember where he'd first heard it. But it did not matter, for soon his eyelids grew heavy and his thoughts were overcome with sleep.

Christine looked down at their intertwined fingers, running her thumb over the cool band of gold encircling his fourth finger. In their fifty years of marriage, she had learned that love was rarely easy and never cheap. But she had never imagined that it would be so difficult to care for someone she loved with all her heart or that she could feel so far away from a man who was lying in her arms. She leaned over her husband's sleeping form and, for a moment, lingered over his lips. But right now he needed a mother, not a wife. And so she quickly changed her course of action and settled for another kiss on the cheek. She had promised him forever—for better or worse, in sickness and in health—and if she could not love him as her husband, she would have to be content to make up for a mother's love once so cruelly denied—even if she needed more.

Today was not Erik's birthday, but it was a special day nonetheless.

Fighting back the tears, she leaned her head against the pillow and, stroking the strands of silver that still clung to his skull, chanced a whisper in his ear.

"Happy anniversary, my love."

And, finally, she allowed herself to cry.