Hey everyone! This idea really came about a few months ago. I was looking over my stories and realized that children have never been the focus of any of them. The focus has always been the EC relationship. So I wanted to try a story that was really just about Erik as a father and Christine as a mother. It was written very quickly, so take it as you will. I hope you enjoy, and I also hope you review!
Peaches
Mia really was an accident.
There was no other way to describe it.
Before their marriage, Erik had assured Christine a hundred times over that he was incapable of producing children. They basked in newlywed bliss for nearly eight months before the news.
It shattered Erik and overjoyed Christine. When she asked him why he was so upset, he snapped irritably,
"Do you think I married you so I would have to share you with a snot-faced brat?"
It made her laugh, and she assured him that any children of theirs would never be brats, and they certainly wouldn't be snot-faced.
"That's right," Erik said gloomily one evening. "Because it won't have a nose."
It was a chilling prospect, but Christine wouldn't let it upset her. Before her marriage, she had resolved to herself that she would never be a mother if she married Erik, but the chance was here at last; she seized it with full gusto. She read pregnancy books, ate only the best foods, and she even announced her plans to step down from the stage for at least ten years.
Ten years? the world howled. Why ten years?
Even Erik was upset by the news. All of their hard work was going to waste, he told her.
"I want to be a mother first," she said. She would not back down on the issue. "My career will always come second."
When the news of the famous opera singer's pregnancy was discovered, the press hounded her mercilessly, trying to discover the identity of her mysterious and obviously reclusive husband. Erik, alarmed, seized her and moved far away into a pretty house in a quaint little town. Christine soon fell in love with the house and the area and decided she never wanted to move away again.
It was a good town for them, full of the things they needed. It also had a private, expensive hospital that Christine went to for her regular checkups. She was able to hear the heartbeat in her belly and spent nearly an hour that night describing it to Erik, who said curtly, "I know what a heartbeat sounds like, thank you very much." But he kept a firm hand on her stomach that night, as if willing himself to feel it as well.
"It's a boy," Christine announced one morning. She was busy eating a peach at the kitchen table. Erik looked at her from over his newspaper. His cat, Ayesha, was curled up beside him, purring contentedly.
"Is it now?"
"Yes," she said confidently, returning to her fruit.
"It's too early to tell with an ultrasound, though," Erik said. Despite his standoffish behavior toward her pregnancy, one morning he suddenly knew everything there was to know about the months ahead.
"Oh, I know. Call it mother's intuition."
He raised an eyebrow at her. "All right."
She went in excitedly for her appointment, shivering pleasantly at the sticky goo they spread on her little belly, and she smiled as the image came up on the tiny screen.
"There's your baby, Mrs. Vautour," said the pretty ultrasound technician. "Do you want to know the sex? You're far enough along that we can tell."
"Yes, please," she said eagerly, smugly.
There was silence as the technician moved the little machine over her stomach. She peered at the screen for a minute. Christine looked too, though she really couldn't tell what was there. It was only when the ultrasound technicians would outline her baby that she could see it—other than that, it was nothing but a blurry image of blacks and grays and whites. Finally the technician spoke.
"A girl."
Christine's heart did a little jump.
"What?"
"It's a girl. Congratulations! She looks perfect, everything looks fine."
"I—um—can you check again, please?"
The technician frowned a little but did as requested.
"Yeah, it's definitely a girl. Is something wrong?"
"No, no, it's fine…I just…It's fine."
She went home, shocked. Somehow the vision of a little boy had fixed itself in her mind, and it was not easy to transform into a girl. She had spent hours daydreaming about it, a little boy she could love and scold, a boy to build genius structures with blocks and a boy to grow up and be tall and strong. She tried not to think it, but the word disappointed hissed through her head as she walked inside. A girl, she told herself firmly. You will love your girl. All the boy names she had been musing on slipped from her brain, and she drew a blank as she considered girl names.
Erik appeared as she hung up her coat in the closet.
"Well, Mrs. Mother's Intuition?"
Christine glared. "Shut up."
He smirked at her.
It was the middle of the night, and Christine crept into Erik's study, heading over to his desk and rifling through his drawers, taking great care not to knock things around with her belly. She had thought long and hard, and it was the only plan she could think of.
Erik always tried to be well-meaning, but sometimes—well, he wasn't. He worked himself into frenzies over normal things.
And Christine was sure that labor was going to be those normal things that he went crazy over.
She didn't want her masked husband terrorizing the doctors and nurses; she didn't want him throwing things out of frustration or demanding that Christine's pain be stopped in any way possible. She considered for a second of politely asking him to stay home while she was in labor, but she actually laughed out loud at the idea.
Finally, she flipped through some papers and found was she was looking for. Carefully memorizing the number, she left the room and slipped back into bed, snuggling beside Erik, who was snoring softly.
She made the call the very next day, getting away from the house by claiming that she was going to go look at some baby things at the store. Quickly, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed. It rang, and she hoped fervently.
"Hello?"
A tired-sounding older man with a slight accent answered it.
"Hello? Nadir Khan?"
"Yes…Who is this?"
"It's Christine."
There was silence. Feeling a little nervous, Christine said,
"Christine Daae—I mean, Christine Vautour." It was Erik's pretend surname, strictly for marriage and performance purposes. He said he actually didn't really know his real surname, for his mother had never told him. Christine had never thought to press him.
"Yes, I know. Excuse me, I'm just—trying to get my bearings, I suppose. Christine…Christine Vautour. Yes. All right. May I help you with something?"
"Actually, you can, if you're willing."
"And what is it?"
"It's about Erik."
"What? Erik? Is he all right? Has he done something to you?"
"No! Well, yes, actually." Christine laughed. "I'm pregnant."
Again, silence. Then Nadir Khan cleared his throat.
Christine suddenly felt extremely stupid. She had only met Nadir Khan once or twice. Erik had always called him 'old friend,' but, then again, Erik was always a bit cynical. Was Nadir Khan actually Erik's friend? Or was he simply someone that Erik knew from long ago?
"Congratulations, then," Nadir said stiffly.
"Thank you, we're very excited," Christine gushed, unable to help herself. There were so few people that she could say this to that she was willing to say it to someone she hardly knew.
"So what would you like me to do?" he pressed.
"Oh—yes, sorry." She blushed and was glad that they were talking on the phone. "Anyway, I'm not due for another two months, but I've been thinking about it…And I realized that it's going to be really…hard for Erik when I'm in labor."
"I'd imagine it would be," Nadir said.
"Obviously I can't be there to help and control him. I wish I could, but I'm going to be a little busy. I know it's really impertinent of me to ask—probably downright rude—but if you would please…if you could, I'll give you my due date…if you wouldn't mind…"
"You want me to come over and control him while you give birth?"
It sounded terrible spoken out loud. "Yeah," she whispered. Her blush deepened, and she said quickly, "You'd be welcome to stay with us; you don't need to buy a hotel room. I can pay for any plane tickets or gas money. Really, it's at no monetary expense to you. Erik says you're his oldest friend; he wouldn't let anyone else do that to him. Please…?"
"I—well…" She could tell he was thinking quickly. "If I come, I make no promises," he said quickly. "I'll do my best, but I'm sure you know that Erik really can't be controlled by anyone. If he wants to terrorize everyone in that hospital, he's going to."
"I know," Christine said. "I think he'll be fine, he just needs a little help. And of course you two wouldn't be in the same room. Just sit him out in the lobby and let him rip up some magazines or something. And be far enough away that he can't hear anything."
She heard him sigh. "When is your due date, Mrs. Vautour?"
Christine had read extensively about labor and tried to prepare herself for the pain.
But no number of books could prepare her for it.
Even with the epidural, she screamed and cried and wailed for hours, clutching the sheets between her white knuckles, groaning through the pain coursing through every inch of her body, inside and out.
It wasn't so bad at the beginning. She had been at home when it started, and Erik drove her to the hospital, his knuckles ghostly white as they tightly gripped the steering wheel. Christine was actually feeling all right. She was able to hobble inside the hospital, and they wheeled her away to a room, where she was hooked up to a bunch of machines and told to breathe for a while. Erik sat on the edge of the bed and held her hand. The nurses looked alarmed by him, but they made no comment as they bustled in and out occasionally, checking numbers and such.
"I'm fine, Erik," she kept telling him. "Really. I feel fine."
The room had been decorated a little for the holiday season; a tiny plastic Christmas tree was on the bedside table, and an ugly wreath hung on the door. Erik glowered at it all and remarked on the poor taste of the hospital. Christine, smiling a little, murmured her agreement.
But inside her heart was racing. Where was Nadir Khan?
Her due date had been bumped up just a little, three weeks before Christmas, and she had made sure he was aware. Still, she kept staring at the door, willing him to come.
"What are you looking at?" Erik asked, turning to glance at the door. A doctor and nurse rushed past, but that was it.
"Nothing," she said hurriedly. "I'm just wondering where Nadir is."
She knew Erik wouldn't believe Nadir Khan just happening to be in the same hospital at the same time that they were, especially considering he lived several hours away. Christine had persuaded Erik to allow him to come, saying she would need extra help over the next few weeks with Christmas coming up, and that Nadir was one of the only people Erik tolerated, and that it would be much easier for everyone if he came. Besides, someone needed to feed Ayesha while they were at the hospital.
"He's always late to everything," Erik said, turning to look at her. "You don't look well," he continued instantly. "You're pale."
She rolled her eyes. "Erik, I'm about to have a baby. I don't think I'm going to be looking that good for a few days, at least. Sorry. Ouch!"
A sharp pain bit its way through her, and she winced. Immediately, Erik's hand tightened on hers. A brief flutter of panic went to her heart, but before they could say anything, someone said,
"I'm sorry I'm late. This hospital is a maze, you know."
They both turned to see Nadir Khan, looking tired already. Christine smiled warmly, and Erik inclined his head just a little. Nadir took each of their greetings with good graces and came a little closer.
"Feeling all right?" he asked Christine kindly. "You look well."
Another few shots up of pain went up her, and again she shouted, "Ouch! Ouch!"
"Should I get someone?" Erik asked anxiously. "You're in pain—I'll go find the doctor."
Christine didn't let go of his hand. "Erik, please, sit down. Ouch! It's fine. I think they're just the—ouch!—contractions coming. It's normal. Ouch!"
He looked suspicious but did as she asked. She kept a firm grip on his hand. A dull ache was beginning to spread from her stomach to her mid-thighs, but she tried to keep pained expressions away from her face. Nadir kept conversation flowing between them, seeming unusually cheerful. Christine was grateful for it, but Erik didn't seem to be listening; he was staring at her intently.
Finally, finally, a bed was wheeled in, and a nurse said,
"All right, Mrs. Vautour, we're going to take you to the L&D now. Everything on your chart is normal. You're doing fine."
Awkwardly, she was shifted into the bed. She pressed Erik's large hand to her lips, gave a meaningful glance to Nadir, and let herself be wheeled out of the room. She heard Nadir saying,
"Erik, old man, why don't we go see if we can round up some eggnog and then—"
The door shut before she could hear anything else.
Even for a while after that, she felt a little smug. It hurt, yes, but it wasn't anything she couldn't handle. She'd let out occasional gasps or yelps at a sharp jab, but she was feeling pretty good. She was just considering calling a nurse to go find her husband and bring him. But then the pain started coming, worse and worse, and soon it was tears out of her eyes and long moans. The pain throbbed through her, leaving nothing untouched. She started screaming soon, but no one tried to stop her. She just screamed and screamed. She could not comprehend the idea that many women did this several times. Once seemed enough to kill anyone.
She was terrified at the same time. Surely there shouldn't be so much pain! Something was going wrong—something terrible was happening, even though the doctor kept reassuring her that everything was going perfectly and that she was doing an excellent job.
"I just need you to push," he kept saying.
"What do you think I'm doing?" she shrieked at him. He smiled a little at her, and it enraged her.
When it was all over, she gave an exhausted sob and slumped back onto the pillows. It was hard to keep breathing. Every inch of her was still in pain and was now shutting down with fatigue. A nurse came over and gently dabbed at her sweat-drenched forehead.
"You did wonderfully, Mrs. Vautour," she said kindly.
Christine stared at her incredulously. Apparently the nurse was too used to this to care, because she merely smiled at her and left.
A few moments later, they brought the shrieking infant over to Christine.
"You have a beautiful daughter," the doctor said, placing her into Christine's trembling arms. Christine stared down at the thing that had been inside her for the past nine months. It was small and pinched and completely red, its mouth wide open and screaming. After a few minutes they took her away and cleaned her up a little more before wrapping her in a soft pink blanket and returning her to Christine.
Christine began to cry, furthering her emotional and physical exhaustion. Her baby was nestled against her, kept warm by Christine's hot skin. It was a tender, exquisite moment that she had never before thought she would experience. She smiled at the squirming, whimpering infant before closing her eyes.
She hadn't realized she fell asleep until she woke up sometime later. She was in a different room again, and it worried her. Even so, she suddenly felt ten times better, and she looked around. A nurse was there, scribbling some things down on a chart.
"Where is she?" Christine demanded.
The nurse smiled, set down the chart, and brought Christine the baby. She was asleep, her cherry-red features relaxed. All of the slime had been wiped off, and she had pitch-black hair. Christine felt it softly. It was like peach fuzz.
"How long has she been asleep? How long have I been asleep?"
"You've been asleep about twenty minutes," the nurse said, picking up her clipboard. "Your daughter fell asleep only five minutes ago."
Christine stared at the infant. Another nurse entered and said, "Excuse me, Mrs. Vautour. Your—um—your husband is very—anxious. Can I let him in or…?"
"Oh yes!" Christine looked up immediately. "Please, please let him in."
Erik was allowed inside. He rushed to Christine's side and looked at her anxiously, putting his hands on her forehead and peering into her eyes. He looked alarmed.
"Do you need anything?" he asked urgently. "What is it you need?"
Christine's eyes were heavy again, and she said, "Just look at your daughter, Erik…"
He finally dragged his eyes to the bundle in her arms, and she saw a flurry of emotion in his eyes. There was a deep silence for a few minutes.
"Is it…supposed to look like that?" he finally whispered. "So…ugly?"
"All babies look like this when they are born!" Christine said, managing a little smile.
He nodded solemnly and stared at the newborn. "But look at that, Christine," he said. "A nose, full cheeks, clear, distinguished features: she is perfect."
Christine smiled, closed her eyes, and was again asleep instantly.
There was no way she could open her eyes. She pulled herself into consciousness, but her eyelids were weighed down, unable to move. She tried to make a sound, but nothing came from her throat. Sounds came to her ears: a soft, rhythmic beeping; the occasional rustle of distant footsteps; a telephone ringing; and her own deep breathing and pounding heart.
After supreme effort she managed to grunt out something like, "Mmhrr?"
A creak sounded, and she felt her hand being taken by something hard and cold.
"Christine?" a voice whispered.
She knew that voice well. It gave her strength, and she finally cracked her eyes open.
A yellow light shone from the corner, illuminating the little hospital room. It was obviously very late, but Christine could discern large white snowflakes steadily falling outside the window. Her husband peered at her anxiously, holding her hand and running his fingers down her cheek.
"How are you? How do you feel?" he asked.
Christine looked around again. "Where is she?" she asked immediately. "Where is she? Where did they take her?" She made to sit up and look, but Erik sat down and pushed her back.
"Calm," he said soothingly. "She's being injected, examined, pricked and wiped down."
It sounded terrible when he said it like that, and Christine's brow creased with frantic worry. Erik looked around, raised his mask just a little, and pressed his soft lips to the crease on her forehead.
"What are you talking about?" she whispered. Her voice was tired and sore from all of the screaming and crying she had done. He took a glass of cool water from the bedside table and helped her manage a few gulps. As she was choking it down, he said,
"Someone assured me it was routine—vaccinations and such to prevent future problems and tests to see if she has anything wrong with her right now. I'm quite sure you know that I wouldn't have let just anyone take your child."
He took the glass away and set it back down on the table.
"She'll be back soon, won't she? Oh, Erik, did you see her? She's perfect. She's beautiful. Did you hold her? Our daughter, Erik!" She was grinning ear to ear. "It's…this is the happiest I've ever felt."
She waited for him to respond with something similar, but he was silent and looked at the window, his eyes blank. The silence between them was unbearable to Christine, who gently squeezed his fingers, trying to get some response out of him. He then pressed her hand to his mask, and she felt his mouth under it. He was not smiling.
"Is something wrong?" Christine said. "Erik?"
There was another silence, and he suddenly shut his eyes and let out a shuddering breath. Christine could feel the heat on her palm.
"You cannot understand," he said softly into her hand. "You always knew—you always knew that you would be a mother someday. You cannot possibly imagine…what this feels like to me."
"Tell me," she coaxed.
Slowly, his eyes opened, and he looked at her. "I'm terrified," he whispered. "But happier than I have ever been in my wretched life."
She smiled again, and, slowly, she felt his mouth curve into a smile to match.
Caring for a baby was a lot of work, as Christine found out within a week of their return to the house. And the older her daughter got, the more work it was. While she was still just a newborn, she woke to eat and then went back to sleep. It was a simple but necessary routine. However, she grew and began demanding more. There was less sleeping and more crying, more screams for attention.
But for every shriek, there was a beautiful moment of bonding between Christine and her daughter. (After consulting book after book, she had decided on the name Damiana; Erik said he couldn't care less what she was called, which hurt Christine's feelings slightly.)
"Mia," Christine cooed at her, watching her flex her tiny fingers; Mia had just discovered them a few days ago and was fascinated. "Mia, my love…"
The baby gurgled happily, her face scrunched up with pleasure as she continued to waggle her fingers.
"You have ten fingers, Mia," Christine sang, and she counted them out on her daughter's hand. "Look, right here…"
"She doesn't understand you."
Erik was watching the scene, looking amused.
"I know," Christine said, glancing at him and then returning to the baby. "But it's good to talk to her. I've read that it helps a lot just to baby-talk her and give her attention. She can focus on my face now. Come try it. She's so cute!"
She shifted over, but Erik didn't move, still watching with an eyebrow raised.
"Your Papa is grouchy," Christine cooed to Mia, who was looking at Christine fully. "He's just a mean old man who's afraid of you! But why should he be? You're so precious, baby. Aww…"
"Stop it!" Erik snapped. "You're making me sick."
"Go away, then," Christine said, not even bothering to look at him. "Go be a grouch somewhere else. You're not going to ruin this for me. I'm having fun."
He hmmphed angrily but didn't move. A short while later, Ayesha crept into the room. She lightly jumped onto the windowsill that was next to the bassinet, and the Siamese cat peered into it interestedly.
"Look, a kitty!" Christine said. "Look, Mia. Isn't she pretty?"
Mia screamed in surprise when she saw, which alarmed Ayesha, and she jumped off and ran to Erik, kneading her claws on the hem of his pants, looking for reassurance that this new threatening presence—another thing that Erik would pay attention to besides Ayesha—would not stay long.
Christine laughed, and when she looked, she saw that the corners of Erik's thin mouth twitched.
Whenever baby milestones started happening, Christine was overjoyed. It seemed that her daughter was perfectly normal. She smiled when Christine's baby book said most babies started smiling. Mia began to be able to support herself more at the appropriate time. She slept the average amount of hours at night (though both Christine and Erik agreed that the average was still too few). She began to eat more solid foods when appropriate—her favorite thing was mashed peaches.
And through this all, Erik opened up a little more every day. He was less averse to holding her and touching her. There was an obvious upswing in interest over what she did every day. And when she was old enough, he played for her and sang to her.
But when she started teething, it was a difficult matter entirely. She wailed at all hours of the day and night, and there was little Christine could do about it. She tried to soothe the pain by giving Mia food like carrots or letting her gnaw on things, but Mia didn't want them. The thing she liked to chew on most was Erik's fingers. Christine did not like it.
Erik would bounce Mia soothingly on his bony knee, and she would grasp his large hands, putting one of his long, white fingers to her mouth. She would then chew steadily, drooling all over his hands. Erik never pulled away, not even when some of her teeth grew in and it was obviously painful. More often than not, her little sharp teeth would break his thin skin. He would patiently pull his bloody finger away and give her another one. Christine nearly cried once when he had to say no to her requested piano concert; his fingers hurt too badly.
"I don't want you to do this anymore," she said, looking at his raw fingers. She kissed them softly.
But she found him the next day in the bathroom, rinsing off the blood from his new wounds.
"She was crying," he said simply, as if that settled it. He hated hearing her cry. And so the matter went on until she had her teeth.
But each night—whether the day had been good or bad—Christine was able to curl up next to Erik and feel loved and protected. She would smile at the thought of her little family and grasp Erik's hand steadily, knowing that he had given her her greatest joys.
And as she began drifting off to sleep, one of her 'greatest joys' wailed loudly from the other room.
Erik pushed her slightly and said, his voice drowsy, "It's your turn."