Disclaimer: Phantom and all its stuff belong to some corporation by now, blah, blah, blah.
Let us disregard that silly little ending where Christine and Raoul get married... they are wrong for each other, Erik is infinitely better...
Part 1
Christine was still lying in her room when he returned home. The servants had doused most of the candles. Erik was very pleased with his "normal" mask, the servants hardly noticed anything. The red pigmentation cream he designed was also making his skin a good beige, and he hoped to finish the false nose (and a way of permanently attaching it) before Christine's next birthday. Erik had just returned from the market, finding some good parchment paper. He loved walking in the crowds, even though he knew they would be less kind if he went without his mask. With luck, after the preparations were final, he could attribute his sunken eyes to illness. People had pox scars; no one thought more of it.
"Sir, she is still resting. Madame was quite ill to the stomach when you were out, and your dinner is in the warming cabinet. She said she cannot join you for dinner," the little maid Elle informed Erik. He dismissed her for the evening, though she lived with them. Elle was probably the one person Christine trusted almost as much as Erik. As he hung up his cloak and hat, he smiled to think of the true woman Christine had become. A far cry from the whiny, flighty girl he had first escaped from the Opera with. Two months after Erik's supposed death, Raoul (out celebrating at his bachelor party) had caught a stray duel bullet with his chest. He died, and since Mama Valerius had died (in heavy debt, with little inheritance for Christine) a month before, Christine was alone in the world. The Paris Opera would not renew her contract, they were afraid Erik would return. So Christine found a job as a chorus girl in a small theatre near Lyon. She took in sewing so as not to starve. The daroga had mentioned to Erik that there was a lovely mademoiselle singing in a particular theatre. He had gone to watch the performance. Christine was two years older and ten the wiser. Eventually, she did love him, mostly after he told her nearly every detail of his past. They married in a small church six months ago. And they sang, of course.
"Christine?" Erik called softly in their dimly lit bedroom. The pale figure on the bed stirred and sat up. Christine smiled at him, but Erik took in her form with alarm. Her hair was limp and ragged, and she was very pale. He sat beside her and took her hand.
"Christine, you didn't eat today." She let go of his hand and stood. "I don't want a lecture, Erik. And I'd like to get back to sleep."
Erik stood. His long, narrow form towered over Christine. "I'm sorry, my dear. But if you don't feel well, you must see a doctor."
She hugged him. "Of course. I know you only want to help, I've been feeling terribly of late."
He looked at her again, more carefully now. "What pains you, Christine? There have been reports of a fever in the city."
The smallish city, more of a large town really, that he had chosen to flee to was about twenty miles from the French south coast. Not close enough for any flood, but near enough to spend pleasant summer weeks there. Erik's allowance from the Opera had obviously not been spent in his time there, and he was confident it would hold the (m in considerable luxury until their deaths. Just to be safe, he still demanded an allowance ("insurance", the managers called it), albeit a smaller one. But there would be no purpose to that entire if Christine succumbed to illness and died.
"I can't place the feeling. No pain, just... weightiness. More on my heart than my body."
She smiled frailly at him. Erik felt uneasy, something he never liked feeling.
Christine stood on her toes and kissed one masked cheek. "Go eat, Erik. I'll see the doctor first thing tomorrow."
Erik was hunched over the piano in their parlor when Christine came in the next day. The piano was not the organ he had been forced to leave at the Opera house. Still, any music he could make was good enough. But he had been working on a piece for days, and he just was not happy with it. Christine came in the hall and followed the sounds of music and cursing in Persian to the parlor.
"Still that piece, Erik? You are a terrible perfectionist," she called cheerfully.
He laughed out loud.
"Yes Christine, and hear how you turned out!"
Before turning back to the piano, Erik filed the moment in his memory. Such a perfect exchange, as any happy normal wife would tease her happy normal husband.
Christine sent the servants, except Elle and the cook, home for the night. She asked them to prepare Erik's favorites and to set the best china out. Christine hoped this all would go over well.
When he sat to dinner, Erik noticed the places were set widthwise across from each other, instead of the proper lengthwise. The gaslights were out, but several candles were lit. He had seen Elle be ushered out by Christine. Christine was already seated, in her most flattering dress.
"Are we celebrating, my dear?" he asked, a little suspiciously.
"I hope so. Erik, would you do something for me?"
"You know I would do most anything for you, Christine."
She did not falter as she issued her command. "Remove your mask, please, Erik."
He looked straight at her, startled. "Why, Christine? I'm not through with the... alterations, why on Earth do you want-"
"Erik, you know how I love you, but save the litany and remove it, if you please."
He reached to the sides of his face to break the seal and remove the mask slowly, still unsure. Four months ago, when Christine had asked him not to wear it to sleep, he didn't mind. Erik had made sure to go to bed after Christine had turned out the gaslights. This annoyed her, but she made no mention of it.
He removed his mask, Christine rewarding Erik with a smile. His face did not bother her, and she was ashamed to think of how she recoiled long ago. Once, she had even told him of her worry that if she was considered beautiful, could that render her ugly inside? Erik had assured her not, and she was almost half sure his voice had choked when he did.
"Before we start, I have one more thing to ask of you."
If Erik had been less of a gentleman, he might have asked what else she wanted him to take off.
"Erik, you must not hurt yourself."
"Why would I, Christine?"
"I'm not sure how to say this... but there will be someone else in the house in awhile, dear."
Erik looked quizzically at her.
"What I mean, dear, is I am going to have a child. Your child, of course, our child-"
But Erik did not hear any more, the former Phantom of the Opera had fainted.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Author's Note: People have pointed out that a lot of my stories have to do with character's pregnancies. I can only explain this: someone in my large family seems to have a baby every month, and I have seen every kind of hysteric related to the miracle of life, but also the happiness thereafter.
But you d-mn well better review it, any suggestions, flames, and if you love it, that' good too
Let us disregard that silly little ending where Christine and Raoul get married... they are wrong for each other, Erik is infinitely better...
Part 1
Christine was still lying in her room when he returned home. The servants had doused most of the candles. Erik was very pleased with his "normal" mask, the servants hardly noticed anything. The red pigmentation cream he designed was also making his skin a good beige, and he hoped to finish the false nose (and a way of permanently attaching it) before Christine's next birthday. Erik had just returned from the market, finding some good parchment paper. He loved walking in the crowds, even though he knew they would be less kind if he went without his mask. With luck, after the preparations were final, he could attribute his sunken eyes to illness. People had pox scars; no one thought more of it.
"Sir, she is still resting. Madame was quite ill to the stomach when you were out, and your dinner is in the warming cabinet. She said she cannot join you for dinner," the little maid Elle informed Erik. He dismissed her for the evening, though she lived with them. Elle was probably the one person Christine trusted almost as much as Erik. As he hung up his cloak and hat, he smiled to think of the true woman Christine had become. A far cry from the whiny, flighty girl he had first escaped from the Opera with. Two months after Erik's supposed death, Raoul (out celebrating at his bachelor party) had caught a stray duel bullet with his chest. He died, and since Mama Valerius had died (in heavy debt, with little inheritance for Christine) a month before, Christine was alone in the world. The Paris Opera would not renew her contract, they were afraid Erik would return. So Christine found a job as a chorus girl in a small theatre near Lyon. She took in sewing so as not to starve. The daroga had mentioned to Erik that there was a lovely mademoiselle singing in a particular theatre. He had gone to watch the performance. Christine was two years older and ten the wiser. Eventually, she did love him, mostly after he told her nearly every detail of his past. They married in a small church six months ago. And they sang, of course.
"Christine?" Erik called softly in their dimly lit bedroom. The pale figure on the bed stirred and sat up. Christine smiled at him, but Erik took in her form with alarm. Her hair was limp and ragged, and she was very pale. He sat beside her and took her hand.
"Christine, you didn't eat today." She let go of his hand and stood. "I don't want a lecture, Erik. And I'd like to get back to sleep."
Erik stood. His long, narrow form towered over Christine. "I'm sorry, my dear. But if you don't feel well, you must see a doctor."
She hugged him. "Of course. I know you only want to help, I've been feeling terribly of late."
He looked at her again, more carefully now. "What pains you, Christine? There have been reports of a fever in the city."
The smallish city, more of a large town really, that he had chosen to flee to was about twenty miles from the French south coast. Not close enough for any flood, but near enough to spend pleasant summer weeks there. Erik's allowance from the Opera had obviously not been spent in his time there, and he was confident it would hold the (m in considerable luxury until their deaths. Just to be safe, he still demanded an allowance ("insurance", the managers called it), albeit a smaller one. But there would be no purpose to that entire if Christine succumbed to illness and died.
"I can't place the feeling. No pain, just... weightiness. More on my heart than my body."
She smiled frailly at him. Erik felt uneasy, something he never liked feeling.
Christine stood on her toes and kissed one masked cheek. "Go eat, Erik. I'll see the doctor first thing tomorrow."
Erik was hunched over the piano in their parlor when Christine came in the next day. The piano was not the organ he had been forced to leave at the Opera house. Still, any music he could make was good enough. But he had been working on a piece for days, and he just was not happy with it. Christine came in the hall and followed the sounds of music and cursing in Persian to the parlor.
"Still that piece, Erik? You are a terrible perfectionist," she called cheerfully.
He laughed out loud.
"Yes Christine, and hear how you turned out!"
Before turning back to the piano, Erik filed the moment in his memory. Such a perfect exchange, as any happy normal wife would tease her happy normal husband.
Christine sent the servants, except Elle and the cook, home for the night. She asked them to prepare Erik's favorites and to set the best china out. Christine hoped this all would go over well.
When he sat to dinner, Erik noticed the places were set widthwise across from each other, instead of the proper lengthwise. The gaslights were out, but several candles were lit. He had seen Elle be ushered out by Christine. Christine was already seated, in her most flattering dress.
"Are we celebrating, my dear?" he asked, a little suspiciously.
"I hope so. Erik, would you do something for me?"
"You know I would do most anything for you, Christine."
She did not falter as she issued her command. "Remove your mask, please, Erik."
He looked straight at her, startled. "Why, Christine? I'm not through with the... alterations, why on Earth do you want-"
"Erik, you know how I love you, but save the litany and remove it, if you please."
He reached to the sides of his face to break the seal and remove the mask slowly, still unsure. Four months ago, when Christine had asked him not to wear it to sleep, he didn't mind. Erik had made sure to go to bed after Christine had turned out the gaslights. This annoyed her, but she made no mention of it.
He removed his mask, Christine rewarding Erik with a smile. His face did not bother her, and she was ashamed to think of how she recoiled long ago. Once, she had even told him of her worry that if she was considered beautiful, could that render her ugly inside? Erik had assured her not, and she was almost half sure his voice had choked when he did.
"Before we start, I have one more thing to ask of you."
If Erik had been less of a gentleman, he might have asked what else she wanted him to take off.
"Erik, you must not hurt yourself."
"Why would I, Christine?"
"I'm not sure how to say this... but there will be someone else in the house in awhile, dear."
Erik looked quizzically at her.
"What I mean, dear, is I am going to have a child. Your child, of course, our child-"
But Erik did not hear any more, the former Phantom of the Opera had fainted.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Author's Note: People have pointed out that a lot of my stories have to do with character's pregnancies. I can only explain this: someone in my large family seems to have a baby every month, and I have seen every kind of hysteric related to the miracle of life, but also the happiness thereafter.
But you d-mn well better review it, any suggestions, flames, and if you love it, that' good too