AN: Thank you all so much for your outpouring of love and support for the story. It makes writing worthwhile.
And to whoever wrote "argh. Raoul. You suck. The end." I really love you because I laughed hardcore at that. Because that kind of sums him up. Though he may get redeemed temporarily at least.
Paris…
"I'm sorry Raoul. It's not as if I can help such things…" Christine apologized.
"Damn you! Blood! Blood! Upon the sheets, upon yourself, reminding me that still your body is without a child."
"Raoul it's only been a few months since we started trying again. And Gustave. We have Gustave." He glared at her, then the child sitting in the bassinette with a toy rabbit.
He swallowed down his desire to call the child a bastard. "Yes…we have Gustave. But I want another. I want one of my—" He stopped himself short again, swallowing down the hate inside him. "We should have more than one. We should have another, and the sooner the better." He turned and stormed from the room.
"Please Raoul!" she called after him. "Please don't go to the bar!"
He turned on his heel and faced her. "Please what? Please what?" He came back and stared her in the face. "Please what, Christine?"
Her breath caught in her throat, and she shivered. "Please…stay here…"
"Why? So you can mock me with your child and your blood?"
"No Raoul. We need you…"
"You need nothing from me…you've always found whatever you needed elsewhere…" he turned and sped down the stairs, trying to keep from screaming or crying or showing any real emotion. "She needs nothing from me. She is content with the bastard. She would be happier without me. So she shall have nothing from me unless she can give me something in return. No love. No pity. No money. I shall spend it all before I let her grubby hands have a penny…"
New York…
"Meg!" Giry beat heavily upon her door. "Meg! You are late for your rehearsal! This does not look good to the others, Meg!"
No response.
"Meg! I swear if you do not open this door I will beat it in!"
No response.
A fear swept over Giry as she tried the knob and found it open. She burst inside, looking about the room for her daughter. Lying in the bath, blonde hair piled high upon her head, porcelain arm draped over the edge, fingers just touching the floor, was meg, the water: red.
"Oh dear Lord! God no! Please!" she grabbed the girl, dragging her onto the floor and putting a towel over her, looking for some wound, some sign she had injured herself.
Erik heard Giry's screeches and came running into the trailer. "What on earth is the matter?"
"No! No! You mustn't see her like this!" Giry tried to hold up on a hand to protest, but Erik was already standing over her shoulder.
"Oh God…Meg…"
"Please! Call for a doctor! She's still breathing!"
Erik rushed back out of the trailer and swung onto the backs of one of the horses, riding as speedily as possible toward the town.
"Meg, Meg, My poor little Meg…what have you done…?" She tried to dry the water and blood off of her, wiping her skin so gently and trying to warm her. She grabbed her dressing gown and put it around her, picking Meg up in her arms and lying her down on the bed. She felt so light, like she was a little girl again. Giry had not noticed how her bones had begun to protrude. She looked as though she hadn't eaten in months, her cheeks sunken in, her skin so pale…
Fleck appeared in the doorway. "Madame Giry. I brought what supplies I have. I passed the master as he stormed away looking for the doctor. But I have a few herbs and salve…" she set the bag down beside Giry and stood on the other side of the bed, looking at Meg.
"Thank you…" Giry choked out, still stroking her daughter's hand. It was not warm any longer. Yet Meg's weak pulse still beat, and her chest continued to rise shallowly.
"Are there cuts? I could apply it…if that's…" she asked with caution. What could one say? She, like the others, thought it must've been self-inflicted.
"No…I couldn't find any…"
"Then…?" Fleck inquired, trying not to press too much, but…the bathtub was so red. Where had it all come from?
"Meg had…surgery…a few months ago…I think something…went wrong…"
"Surgery?" Fleck asked back, looking at her. "How did we not know? How did you even afford-?"
"When she fell ill in rehearsal…"
"But she was fine…in a week…you said it was a stomach flu."
"It wasn't…"
"Then what was…?" Fleck saw the pool of blood beginning to stain her dressing gown right between her legs and gasped. "No…"
"One of our benefactors paid…"
"It was his fault!"
"No. No. He cares for Meg."
"It was. It must've been. Meg doesn't—"
"Shh…" Giry said, shaking her head. "It doesn't matter now. It happened. And she survived it…"
"Does she even…?" Fleck sat down and took her other hand.
"Know? No."
"You never even told her?"
"It would've just made it harder for her. This way is better. This way hurts her far less…"
Paris…
"Is there anything…anything at all I can do?"
"I'm afraid not. You conceived so easily before. I do not understand what could possibly make the difference. Or why the Viscount believes that another child is needed immediately."
Christine hung her head. "He seems…displeased with Gustave…" she was beginning to think she knew why. He could sense it. He could feel it. When she never bled on their wedding night…he assumed Erik had raped her. She knew that's what he must've assumed. And she never told him otherwise. Now…she was sure he knew Gustave was not his child.
"Well, there is no reason. He is a healthy baby boy. Especially considering how early he made his appearance into this world."
"Yes…he is healthy and happy…" she agreed, and swallowed down the lump in her throat. "Perhaps he wanted a daughter, not a son…"
"Well, you have a lifetime to have daughters and sons alike. I would not worry. If you have had a child, there is no foreseeable reason why you should not be able to have another whenever you wish." He smiled at her, patting her back comfortingly.
"And if we had not…?" she questioned, prodding a bit further, trying not to around suspicion but also trying to see if perhaps there was an answer.
"Well, my dear, I see no reason to wonder such things. Here is a beautiful baby boy, just as well as he can be." He picked up the stuffed Rabbit and handed it to Gustave who made little coos and ahhs at it. "But if you had not conceived I would say that three months is no real indication. Especially since your body is going through so many changes at the moment. I truly would not worry. There will be plenty of time for both of you."
She nodded and picked up Gustave. "Thank you. Thank you from both of us. I am sure that I am merely in my head about the whole ordeal. Raoul and I have a wonderful son, and we shall have more children when God deems it so…" If God deemed her worthy to be mother of his children. Oh if only she could have his child, he might love her again, stop drinking, stop hating everyone and everything. Biologically or not, Gustave was his son. Raoul was her husband, and Gustave was her child. He would have to adjust and stop being so obstinate. Perhaps, talking would be in order.
New York…
"She hemorrhaged. I stopped the bleeding, but…." The doctor shook his head, turning in to Giry. "She'll never be the same…"
"The same?" Giry asked, furrowing her brows together, questioning his tone and words.
"In order to stop the bleeding…I had to remove….some of her organs."
"Remove her organs!" Giry's hand flew to her mouth.
"Yes. Her…well…there were complications from the surgery. There was a tear from the removal and…I'm sorry, she'll never have children now."
Giry's body collapsed into itself, biting down on her lip and holding back the tears.
"Apparently something happened in the procedure that we did not expect. The small tear has been growing in size until it was too large to attempt to repair. If she had come sooner…"
"Come sooner? Come sooner? How would she have known? How could anyone have known?"
"She has probably had bleeding these few months since the procedure. Has she not complained of being tired? Been especially pallid? Disinterested in food? Fatigued?"
"Well…she seemed to be eating less…and she was pale, but it's cold. She doesn't exactly spend her days sunbathing. And of course she's tired…we practice twelve hours a day!"
"She's probably been anemic for weeks…and something must've happened in the last twenty four hours to rip the tear even more to bring this onset of—"
Giry shook her head. "Oh my God. Oh God. She fell. She fell yesterday in rehearsal. She slipped on an icy patch and fell. I made her get up and keep going…"
"It must've jarred her. Caused the rip. It's a miracle you found her when you did. She'd almost bled to death…"
"God in heaven. She doesn't even know what happened before. She must be so scared and confused…"
"At the moment, she's still unconscious. She may be for several days until her blood count is high enough, and we can get some fluids into her. Will your friend be covering this bill as well?"
Giry bit down on her lip, "He damn well better. He cost her…her future, her happiness, and almost her life. He damn well better."
Paris…
"Raoul please sit down."
"I will not sit down, Christine! You talked about our personal affairs with a near stranger!" He paced back and forth, ranting.
"With our doctor. And it was merely an inquiry. I was only telling you that he said there was no reason that we should have any problem—"
"But we ARE having a problem, Christine! There is a problem!"
"But Gustave—"
"Gustave! Gustave! Gustave! Always about the boy! Always about him! Not me! Him!"
"He's our child…"
"Is he? Is he Christine? Because you're my wife, but I sure as hell did not get to experience what it was like to have a true wife, did I Christine?"
"Raoul…" She reached out to him as he passed her chair.
"No! No!" he stood in front of her, pointing in her face. "Don't 'Raoul' me! Tell the truth, Christine. He defiled you! He stole that right from me! I never touched you, and yet you weren't pure for me, Christine!"
"Yes, Raoul…"
"So you admit it?"
"Yes Raoul…"
"So you admit you're a whore?"
"No Raoul. I admit I wasn't pure for you."
"Then he did…"
She lied. "Yes."
"Why that horrible bastard if he wasn't already dead I'd kill him with my bare hands!"
Christine shuddered. "But he is. He's dead, Raoul. He's dead. Let him lie dead. Let him not invade our lives any longer. It is only you, and I, and our child."
"Is he? Is he Christine?" Raoul screamed at her.
"Yes. Yes he is our child. And to think otherwise would be absurd." She stood and grasped his face in her hands. "This has to stop, Raoul. This suspicion. This disbelief. It has to stop. That little boy is our son, yours and mine. And I am your wife, no one else's. Whatever happened before is gone. It's gone, Raoul. And the only chance we have at happiness is if we bury it." There were tears streaming down her face. "Please, let us bury it…"
He reached up and touched her face, gently brushing it with his fingertips, and for the first time in a long time, looked at her the way he used to, like he loved her. "Oh Christine, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for having taken this all out on you. That monster has made me one too. I'll do better. I'll love you like we loved before."
"I love you, Raoul. I do. Please, all I want is to have you, the real, whole you, and our son. That's all I need in this world…." She gently kissed him. "If I can have that…I need nothing else…"
