On a cold early morning in September, little baby Jack decided that six in the morning was much too late for sleeping in and announced this with screams loud enough to wake the dead.

Christine cracked open an eye and groaned quietly. More on autopilot than actually coherent, she shuffled to Jack's crib where he kicked and cried with piteous distress. She had read that a baby's cry was biologically designed to be specifically piercing to its mother. While she relished the closeness of her bond with her son, she really wished he didn't want to test it before dawn. Blessed quiet returned only once they settled down into the comfortable nursing chair and Christine began Jack's morning feeding. Tired as she was and wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep for another hour or four, she couldn't help but smile while she gazed down upon his round, plump cheeks, and large, content blue eyes as he latched like a champ.

Jack was the perfect little baby. He rarely cried except when hungry or tired, and he had the sweetest little smile when he heard her voice. He even had a nose, as Erik had pointed out with undisguised relief in the delivery room, much to the amusement of the nurses and doctor.

Had that really been three months ago? It seemed only yesterday that he had entered this world seven and a half pounds, fifteen inches long, capable of little more than grunting, sleeping, and eating. Now, somehow, he was thirteen pounds and steadily growing, with a thick tuft of soft, dark hair she loved to muss every chance she got. She honestly couldn't believe how big he was getting. He could make eye contact and he smiled at her every day with the gummy, toothless grin that she adored.

She read that he would be recognizing her now, too. Perhaps he was even beginning to love her.

When Jack's feeding slowed and his eyes drooped, she tugged him away to rest against her shoulder. As she gently patted his back, she listened to the deathly silent house around her.

It was like this during the day, too. Erik, who seemed to believe that babies were irritable little creatures who slept constantly, no longer played music even during the day, and thus eliminated her only reliable indicator of his mood or location. On the other hand, save for Erik's periodic checks on mother and child where he assessed supply levels and took shopping requests, it was as if she and Jack were the only people in the universe. That, at least, she hadn't minded so much. It let her play at her own kind of pretend fantasy: one where she had her baby but without the complications of a husband. Or, if she felt daring, she was merely a housewife tending to her child while her real husband was away at work.

But, despite his new silence, the man of the house never stayed out of her thoughts for too long. If there was one thing she knew about him, it was that she shouldn't trust him when he went quiet.

Christine set Jack back in his crib beside her bed, and crept out of the bedroom as silently as she could. Padding across the hallway, she hesitated outside Erik's room. Last night, she had heard him stumble his way upstairs to bed for an early night; but it was equally possible he had later escaped to the solitude of the basement as he frequently did on nights when Jack simply wouldn't sleep. Holding her breath, she pressed her ear to the door. When she heard nothing, she carefully pushed open his door and set her eye against the crack. Her heart pounded.

In the dark of his room still untouched by daybreak, Christine spied Erik sprawled face-first atop his bed in his jeans and hoodie from the previous night. The mask lay on the bedside table next to an empty bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon and a smudged glass. The thick air reeked of musk and alcohol; he'd been here a while. Out of habit, Christine watched anxiously for the rise and fall of his chest until she was satisfied he was still breathing.

"Erik," she whispered.

No response.

She called his name again, only a little louder.

Still no response.

Out cold.

Christine hesitated. What were the chances he'd be awake before noon at this rate? Not likely. In the meantime, she could do exactly what she wanted.

It'd be hours before he caught on… and it would be too late if and when he did.

A giddy feeling washed over her as she eased the door shut and snuck back to her bedroom.

Jack was dozing when she returned, but that did not stop her from picking him up again to remove his pajamas and thread his chunky limbs into proper clothes.

"Come on, pumpkin, it's time to go," she whispered when she was done and placed a kiss on his cheek.

/

Several moments later, dressed for the day, Christine crept as quickly and as silently down to the main floor as she could with a sleepy, bobbling baby in her arms. Not that she expected a creaky step or two to wake Erik in this state, but she didn't dare risk it—not when she was so close to a modicum of independence.

Trepidation mounting with every step, Christine made her way to the kitchen directly. Her heart leapt as she approached the sink. Dirty dishes from dinner the night before covered the bottom, still miraculously untouched and unwashed.

She grinned.

What Erik didn't know couldn't hurt him. And honestly, given how drunk he was last night, it might not occur to him he didn't do them.

Jack was finally awake by now and cooed a bit as she secured him in his carrier with his teddy bear. She set him on the breakfast table just on the edge of her vision before running a sink full of hot, soapy water. Slipping on a pair of rubber gloves, she set to work with gusto.

Three years of Erik cooking and cleaning for her and Christine couldn't help but notice just how tired she was of her husband treating her like a pet. It felt good to contribute to the household for once. She wasn't a fragile little child, after all.

When she was smaller, she'd spent many rainy afternoons kneeling on a kitchen chair doing the dishes while her father worked or slept. He used to tell her it was the division of labor. Dad paid the bills, bought the clothes, did the cooking, and got her to do her homework. Christine swept, did dishes, and got up in the middle of the night to turn off the TV, screw the cap on the vodka, and get Dad safely to bed. Later, when she lived alone, she did everything herself. To do nothing at all felt lazy.

"You needn't trouble yourself over those..." a hoarse voice insisted from behind her.

Christine glanced over her shoulder at Erik with a smile as bright and innocent as he was rough and hungover. Unshaven and still dull-eyed, Erik stood at the entrance to the kitchen, ears pink and his hands curling over the back of his neck, looking remarkably more like a man surveying the extent of a trashed hotel room than one finding a few dishes in the sink.

"They were there," she said, keeping her voice low. "Thought it'd be best to get them out of the way."

Erik walked towards her and leaned against the counter, casting a glance in Jack's direction, who was contently chewing on his teddy's furry ear. "I should have done them last night, I apologize. Please, don't worry about them. I'll finish up."

She didn't stop. If anything, she scrubbed a pot more enthusiastically. "It's fine, there aren't many."

"That isn't the point..." he protested and lightly rested a hand on her shoulder. "Please, I insist."

Christine shrugged it off gently. "You always do them."

"Why is that a bad thing?"

Since the beginning, Erik's obsession with cleaning up after her seemed to border on the fetishistic. Anytime he had visited her apartment, if left to his own devices for more than a few minutes, she would always find him in her kitchen scrubbing out old coffee mugs in her sink. Or wiping down her counters. Or taking out her trash. For reasons she couldn't pinpoint, it made her deeply uncomfortable.

Christine shrugged again. "It's not a bad thing. But I can manage it."

"There's no question of that, but you shouldn't have to. Let me finish them. You're busy enough as it is with Jack..." Again, he touched her on the shoulder, a little more firmly, but it didn't deter her in the slightest.

"He seems pretty happy to me, don't you think?" She glanced over at Jack and made a face, hoping to keep him amused. He made an inarticulate sound of delight.

"I don't know. I suppose so." If Erik couldn't dissuade her from dishes, he apparently found it necessary to stand by and supervise. He stared dejectedly at the baby. "I'll... make your bed."

She gave him a strange look. "Okay. Thanks. I guess."

He seemed to deflate a little at her response. "I'll work on the bathrooms, too, today."

Christine cleared her throat awkwardly. "Uh... fine?"

"...take out the trash, too..." he mumbled in defeat, watching her from the corner of his eye.

"Why're you telling me?"

"So you know it's been done and that I haven't been neglectful. I... shouldn't have had that wine last night, I'm sorry..."

"Oh, shush," she said, uncomfortably turning away from him and his vile morning breath. There were a hundred far more important reasons why he shouldn't be drinking, and yet this was the one he mentioned?

"No, it's important. Can I at least help you dry them?" He wrung his hands anxiously. "You shouldn't have to do everything."

"I'm fine, thank you," she said, pausing only to capture the tea towel and throw it over one shoulder before Erik could think of taking it. "I'm not doing everything. Just this."

"Why are you being so stubborn?" he asked quietly, sounding almost hurt. He went to sit at the kitchen counter to stare gloomily at Jack instead, who returned his stare wide-eyed.

Satisfied, Christine scrubbed the last plate, put it in the dish rack, emptied the sink, and removed her gloves. She turned around to stare at Erik, arms crossed over her chest. "I'm not being stubborn. I didn't sign up for a live-in slave."

She watched Jack make a bold grab at Erik's mask. Erik automatically shifted his seat over a couple inches out of reach. He glanced back to Christine, sullenly. "What's wrong with having a live-in slave? I'm more than happy to do it."

"I don't want one. It's weird."

"Why is it weird?" He sounded defensive and handed Jack the bear to distract him, but this worked only for his hands. Jack continued to stare openly.

"Because that's not how marriage is meant to work. One person isn't meant to be a slave."

Erik propped his chin up on one hand against the counter, pointedly watching her instead of the baby, who had just thrown aside the bear and resumed reaching for his father's black leather mask.

Like mother like son, Christine thought grimly.

"I still don't see how that's a bad thing," Erik muttered. "Nobody likes keeping house."

"You do. And I thought you weren't going to wear that thing around him."

Erik shrugged his shoulders and adjusted his hand so his long fingers obscured the mask from Jack's view. "It's something that needs to be done. It's not a matter of liking it."

"Don't ignore me. Take it off."

"I feel more comfortable with it on, thank you," he said shortly. "He won't recognize me otherwise."

"He won't recognize you anyway. You're never around."

"He recognizes you."

Christine paused, placing the tea towel on the bench. She moved over and lifted Jack out of his carrier. He gave a slobbery grin and commenced chewing ineffectively on her chin. "I act like his mom and I'm with him all the time."

"If he won't recognize me either way, then I'd rather keep it on." His gaze traveled from the unattended tea towel towards Christine, then casually stood up.

She scowled. "If you're so intent on being a slave, you could at least do what I say." The scowl was replaced by a grin as she kissed Jack's forehead.

Erik glared and wordlessly removed the mask, setting it on the counter, revealing where the scowl had gone. At the same time, he slunk to the sink to dry the few dishes that remained, putting his back to them both. "I don't know why the mask bothers you so much," he grumbled.

She stopped playing with Jack. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Finishing." He didn't turn around, tossing cutlery into the drawer.

"Stop."

Erik ignored her, setting plates in the cabinet. "No point in stopping now."

She moved over, detaining him with one hand. "Stop."

He didn't look at her, but at least set down the towel, a deep frown fixed on his lips. "Let me be useful."

She didn't try to meet his eyes. "You are."

"You don't need to do dishes. There's no reason to start now. There are plenty of things I'm sure you'd rather be doing."

"That doesn't stop me wanting to." Her voice was cold again.

Erik glanced sullenly in her direction, not making eye contact, before putting his back to them both again. "You're a little ridiculous sometimes, you know? You must be the only wife in the world who is displeased her husband would rather do the dishes."

"You're ridiculous," she snapped.

"How? I took off the mask like you asked." He sounded irritated, though his voice was quiet. He reached for the last glass, wiping it down. "This is almost done. Besides, Jack is happier being held. Look at him."

"You look at him."

Once again, Erik looked pointedly over his shoulder for a few seconds, scowling at them both, before pushing the glass into the cabinet and hanging the tea towel over the oven handle to dry. "There. Happy?"

"No."

"Then I don't know what to tell you, Christine," he said with a loud sigh of annoyance, turning around to grab the mask from the counter. Keeping his glare lowered, he stared at the floor and held the mask in both hands. "Anything else I can do for either of you or have I fulfilled my purpose for the afternoon?"

Christine glanced at Jack, then to her husband. "So you'll do dishes but you won't sit with your family."

He shrugged. "Do you actually want me to?"

She shrugged back. "Do you actually want to do chores?"

"Not particularly."

She sometimes wondered if he enjoyed being difficult. She couldn't exactly hold it against him—she'd be lying if she said that she didn't enjoy it occasionally too. But the thought of him staying obstinately distant, and Jack never knowing what it was like to have a father, even with a… fairly suitable candidate in the house, disturbed her. She couldn't have it that way.

Her face cracked into a smile. "Sit with us."

Erik didn't return the smile, though he did slink to a chair and casually rested his chin in one hand against the table to obscure his profile or lack thereof. He fell silent, staring off at the wet, empty sink. Then, after a moment, he mused sullenly, "do you think he's too young to sit through a film?"

"It's worth a shot," Christine said with a frown. She adjusted Jack's position so that he was facing Erik. He reached out with one fat arm, fascinated.

Erik tentatively poked Jack's palm with one, long finger. He side-eyed her while Jack beamed. "Would you like to sit through a film?"

"Which one did you have in mind?"

"I don't much care for Disney, but... perhaps one of those? We ought to get some anyway for when he's older… They seem to be de rigueur for childhood."

At this her smile was genuinely real. "You'd do that?"

"What, watch an animated film?"

It faltered a little. "Yeah."

"I could think of worse hardships." He gave a bland half-smile. "I ought to see a few of them anyway, so I know what he's watching."

She reached with one hand-carefully-to punch his arm. "Why, 'cause you care?"

Erik shrugged his shoulders, pulling out his phone. "No, because I never much developed a taste for Disney films. Mother hated them and they lost their appeal when I grew older... If I am to be expected to socialize with Jack, then we ought to share a common body of cultural knowledge. He's a bit too young for Persuasion or Der fliegende Holländer, I suppose."

"Maybe a little." Christine smiled a little at that and, with a little difficulty, retrieved her own phone as well from her pocket to examine streaming options herself. Jack immediately aimed a slobbery hand at it. "What about... Dumbo?"

"Absolutely not. That one I have had the misfortune to see and hated it."

"I wonder why," Christine said with a wry smile.

"Beauty and the Beast?" Erik glanced at her with narrowed, speculative eyes. "Or is that a little too on the nose do you think?"

Christine's answer came swiftly. "We're not watching that. Even you can't be that self-indulgent."

That wasn't even to mention having to sit through watching Belle taking care of her strange, idiosyncratic father. There were a lot of things she'd intentionally and inadvertently shared with her husband over the years, but how much that movie made her want to cry wasn't about to be one of them.

"Touchy." A pause. "WALL-E?"

"No. And that's not even Disney."

"But, Christine, it has robots."

"Exactly. How about Tarzan? That was really cute."

"I'm too hungover for Phil Collins."

Jack reached up and tangled a hand in Christine's hair, and she absently kissed his fat little fist.

"What about Hunchback of Notre Dame?" Christine asked, glancing up from her phone. "Have you seen that one?"

Erik shook his head, frowning. Then, after a moment, he read off his phone, " 'A deformed bell ringer falls for a beautiful gypsy girl and lives happily ever-after? Hey, it could happen.' " He gave a shrug and glanced to her. "You know I'm not very fond of these types of stories…"

"The animation is really lovely… and you have to hear the music at least once in your life."

"I don't know if I should trust you. Your taste in music has always been suspect." The corner of his mouth quirked upward.

Christine squinted good-naturedly. "So if you don't like it I'll let you complain the rest of the day."

Erik's budding smirk grew.

/

A little after lunch, the three of them settled down to watch the movie.

Perhaps it was the presence of Jack, but somehow they managed to get through the film without interruption—miracle of miracles. Christine had been reasonably absorbed by the movie, glancing down occasionally to check on Jack, who was slipping, as babies did, in and out of sleep. When he was awake, he was fascinated by the flickering movement on the screen, and he seemed calmed enough to stay still from his mother's narration ("Now that's Frollo, and we don't like him, because he's mean and yucky.").

Erik, on the other hand, satisfied the minimum requirement of 'sitting with his family', keeping at least one cushion's length between him and them. All throughout, he slouched with his arms over his chest, one hand against his cheek to casually hide as much as his bare face as he could. The glass of wine he'd finished somewhere near the middle had done nothing to change the scowl that had fixed itself upon his face as the film progressed. And by the end, he had nothing to say, folding his arms over his chest and staring at the credits as they rolled.

"Did you like it?" Christine asked, glancing over at him while Jack chewed on his fist.

Erik shrugged his shoulders and reached for the remote to flick aimlessly through their streaming selections. Without the mask, the gloom and irritability in his expression had nowhere to hide. He didn't look at her. "No. It was fucking stupid."

At this, she looked markedly unimpressed. "Do you mind not saying that when your son is right here?"

Erik rolled his eyes and sighed, finally looking in her direction. "I bet you liked it."

Though she could hear the challenge in his voice, her expression softened. "Yes, I did, actually. Is there a problem with that?"

"Oh, it's just a little predictable is all. The music is acceptable, I'll give it that much, but that's its only redeeming quality."

He sat up a little straighter, eyeing his empty glass, but Christine reached forward and took it before he could do anything with it. "It's nice. Kids' movies are predictable. That's their job."

Erik grumbled and looked back to the screen. "Oh, yes, my favorite type of predictable ending. The attractive, blonde, handsome fellow gets the girl while the poor ugly bastard whom she sees more as a friend is left more alone than before to—oh, look, a direct-to-home-video sequel where they pair him up with a badly-animated consolation prize." His lip curled in disdain. "Let's consider something else to fill his head with."

She raised an eyebrow. "Okay, I think maybe somebody is reading into this a little too much."

He turned to stare at her full-on. "You didn't see it?"

She glanced down at her lap. "I saw it, but I think maybe you're taking it a little too personally."

If anything it was a little flattering for Erik to compare himself to Quasimodo, who by all appearances was someone willing to sacrifice everything for the person he loved. She had a sneaking suspicion that he wouldn't appreciate her pointing this out. Perhaps it had been too much to imagine Erik would accept the film's happy ending.

Erik laughed hollowly. "It's a little difficult not to. You know, next time, we should watch something about a young girl coping with the death of her adoring father and badly integrating with her adopted family. Then we'll see how a little too close to home it hits you. Cinderella, perhaps."

Her mouth hardened into a line. "That isn't funny."

"Isn't it? But don't worry, I'll be certain to make comments to remind Jack which characters we're supposed to like and dislike all the same," he continued with an empty smile.

She rolled her eyes. "So we'll be promoting Frollo as a kind and benevolent man of faith from now on, will we?" Her gaze turned steely. "Or, since you seem to want to role model parenting, maybe we can tell him what a great son Norman Bates is. I'm sure you'd agree there."

Erik's jaw tightened and his face went pale. "Excuse me?"

Her eyes remained dark and hard. "You heard me."

"That's... that's not even close to the same thing. At all." His eyes flashed. "But what would you know about it? Some of us didn't fight for our parents' approval."

Christine glanced almost nervously at Jack. "Some of us took active steps to do the opposite, apparently."

Erik seemed to have forgotten Jack was there at all, gaze frozen on Christine; his expression of shock yet to resolve into one emotion or another. He ran a hand anxiously over his face. "I would have done anything for Mother. And I did. I did everything she asked me to, no matter how uncomfortable. You can't tell me you didn't disappoint your father at least once in your life."

She raised an eyebrow. "I disappointed him a lot. That isn't what I'm saying. I didn't persist in doing stuff that involved the police as a teenager." Jack was fussing now that his movie was gone, and Christine lifted him up and pressed his chest against her shoulder, cooing reassurances.

"In my defense, what I did wasn't explicitly illegal at the time, and I certainly didn't do it to spite my mother. I loved her..." He shook his head and looked away, gritting his teeth. "Anyway, it doesn't matter anymore. The point is, I sometimes think you're a little quick to judge and I really wish you'd stop."

"There are a lot of things I wish you'd stop doing. Getting what you want is a rare thing."

"Oh, like what?" Erik sneered and rolled his eyes.

"Being a stunning jerk, for one," she hissed in reply.

Erik threw his gaze to the ceiling with an aggravated sigh. "What, so I can't express my dislike of films anymore? Noted. If all Disney films are like this, perhaps we should forego the rest of them entirely. Pixar, too. Dreamworks..."

"You're such a drama queen sometimes, you know that?"

"And you're impossible to please!" he snapped, getting to his feet and snatching up the empty wine glass from where she had set it out of reach. "Let's hope Jack learns the knack."

Christine got up after him. Jack was whining now. "You're upsetting him," she grumbled.

"What do you want me to do about it?" he asked with a sharp look over his shoulder as he walked into the kitchen, eyeing the liquor cabinet with some serious thought.

She followed him—clearly the logical option—gripping Jack all the tighter against her. "Don't use that tone around him." The baby was a little more settled now that they were moving.

"What tone would you have me use?" he sneered, pulling out the half-empty bottle of rum and pouring a little in the bottom of his wine glass. "I'm sure he's tired anyway. Babies need a lot of naps, don't they?"

She watched him coldly. "You would know for sure if you actually paid any attention to him."

"We watched a movie together, didn't we? What more do you want me to do?" He swallowed down the rum and set the glass by the sink.

She saw him grab his mask sitting on the kitchen counter, and she set her free hand on her hip. "Don't you dare," she snapped.

"I'm tired of flaunting this." He gestured sharply at his face, narrowing his eyes. "Do you mind?"

She narrowed her eyes right back at him. "You haven't been flaunting. You won't even look at him! What are you so scared of?"

"I don't like being looked at." He slipped the mask back into place and ran his fingers compulsively over the edges. "Least of all by you. I'm more comfortable it with on, alright?"

Her gaze grew markedly more judgmental once the mask was on. "No, it's not alright."

"And why not? I don't demand you... you..." he stared at her, flushing, "go topless or something like that. I'm sure you don't like much being stared at, either."

Her face flushed with embarrassment. "That's completely different. I'm not staring at you, and if he is, I promise he's not thinking about how gross you are. He's just interested."

Erik straightened with triumph and leaned against the counter. "It's exactly the same. It's not decent to go barefaced when others are in the house. And one day, not too far in the future, he will inevitably notice and I don't like having those conversations with children. I'd rather wait until he's old enough to understand."

She scowled at him, face still red. "You're going to give him a complex! Kids don't grow up with their parents wearing masks. That's freakin' weird. Don't do that to him. I don't give a crap about it, and neither will he."

"It might have escaped your notice that I am freakin' weird and he'll inevitably develop a complex or two on my account no matter what. Because if I'm not covering my face at home, I'll be wearing a different one when we go in public, and I don't see an easy way of dealing with it unless you're suggesting I dispense with my masks and faces altogether."

He crossed his arms over his chest, returning her scowl before letting his gaze fall on Jack. The baby stared back with a look that was a strange mix of confusion and delight. Again he reached out with one arm, fingers grasping in Erik's direction. Erik watched this interest with discomfort, but made no effort to approach or indulge him.

"That's all easier to explain if he knows your face from the start," Christine said. "He'll realize it's not normal, but at least he'll know you have one. Why are you so scared of letting him know you?"

"How much do you remember of your mother?" he asked suddenly.

Christine frowned, stepping closer and adjusting Jack so he would be able to touch Erik if he reached out. "Not a lot, I guess. Why?"

"Do you miss her?"

She chewed on her lip, shifting her weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably. "Yeah. Why?"

"You miss someone you didn't know well, let alone even remember?"

She turned away from him slightly, suddenly guarded. "Why are you asking me this?"

"Because I never knew my father, therefore I don't miss him. Jack is going to lose his father. Do you really want to hurt him like that?"

She glanced at Jack, then at Erik. "I wouldn't choose not to have known my mom at all, even if it meant not knowing her. If you and I... if things hadn't..." She cleared her throat. "If we had gone our separate ways and never saw each other again, would you want to forget me? Would you wish you never knew me?"

"With the amount of pain that would cause, yes. I would eagerly forget you and everything else in the most effective way possible," he said in a strangely flat and distant voice. "I'm tired of missing those I love. Jack is going to suffer because of me, no matter what, so I want to lessen the effects as much as possible."

She raised her eyebrows, genuinely surprised. "... Bad example... but it won't hurt him less not to know him. He's going to be a strong kid. He'll move on. Don't deprive him of a father for seventeen years. That's much crueler."

"We've already had this conversation. He'll have a mother and that's all a boy needs." Erik's eyes were dark and stared at the wine glass by the sink. His voice hadn't lost that hollow quality. "I'm done talking about this. He'll get used to the mask the way you have. There is nothing I can do for him while he's so small."

"You can let him hold your hand for two minutes," she snapped, taking another step closer. Jack was making small noises with the effort it took to strain against her to reach for Erik. "I'm used to the mask, but I'm also used to you. It doesn't make a difference to me."

Erik glowered sullenly at Jack and reluctantly held out a bony finger for him to grab. Jack made a happy whimper and grasped Erik's finger, staring at the tip of it, fascinated, before dragging it straight to his mouth.

"It makes a difference to me," Erik muttered, face wrinkling as the baby chewed on his finger. "I've always worn one around family as long as I can remember. I'd prefer to continue."

Christine was sighing with frustration. "I know you'd prefer to. But it isn't the best thing to do. Don't you want to teach him to accept himself the way he is? Imagine if you'd had someone to teach you that."

"I've accepted myself the way I am, thank you very much," Erik snapped. "He's a perfectly healthy, normal-looking child. He'll be just fine. Now drop it."

"Don't look at him that way," she replied just as harshly, giving Jack a smile as if to make up for using such a stern tone around him. "And I'm not going to drop it—don't tell me you expect me to believe you. I've never seen someone so uncomfortable in their own skin. Like, ever."

Erik rolled his eyes and relocated his glare towards the back window. He tugged his finger away from Jack but without any real strength, to see how long he would hold on. "You know, after I left home, I didn't actually cover my face in public. At least until my late twenties anyway. A bit of a rebellious phase, I think. I don't know if I ever told you that. And I certainly don't wear masks and faces when you're not around. I've accepted the way I look, but I am also so sick and tired of being gawked at. You would be, too."

She softened at that. Jack hadn't let go. "No, you didn't. But... he doesn't..." She sighed, agitated. "If he stares it's because he thinks you're interesting. Not because he's judging you or something."

"I appreciate the difference, but it still feels the same," he muttered, and rubbed his thumb over the soft back of Jack's hand, before pulling his finger away and shoving his hands into his pockets. "I've said all I have to say about this. The mask stays. I'd like to be comfortable around family for once, if it's all the same to you."

Christine sighed. "It's not, but I guess I'm not in control of you. That's not how this works, right?"

"No, it isn't." He glanced to her. "Are we done now? Have I performed enough paternal interaction to satisfy you?"

She looked affronted. "Don't you want to... oh, never mind. You're excused."

"Don't I want to what?" He turned away to pour himself the last glass from the open wine in the fridge, then set the bottle among the several others in the recycling bin.

She shook her head. "Don't worry about it, master. You go get pissed."

"Master, is it? I thought I was your live-in slave." He squinted at her and sipped at his drink. "Don't I want to what?"

"You're versatile," she hissed, rocking Jack in an attempt to send him to sleep. "Nothing. Didn't you want to leave?"

"Fine, be that way," he snapped, walking away from the kitchen towards the basement. "I'll be downstairs if you need me."

She watched him, opening her mouth as if to speak and closing it again. Reluctantly she took a few steps to follow. "Don't stay down all day."

"Why not?" He stopped at the door, regarding her warily.

She cleared her throat. "Just don't. Please."

"Give me a reason."

"Don't..." she mumbled, moving Jack so he was more squarely in front of her chest. Like a shield.

Erik took another sip of his wine, expression blank. "That isn't a reason."

"What do you want?" she muttered sullenly.

"Nothing I ever expect to receive," he said quietly, "but for now I'll content myself with asking for one thing: a single reason why you don't want me to spend the night alone in the basement. What difference does it make to you?"

She shrugged. "Because I don't want to spend the night alone up here. Happy?"

Erik watched her thoughtfully, then sighed quietly to himself. "It'll do. I'll be up in a few hours. I have some work to do."

Christine nodded, frowning. She sniffed. "Fine." She and Jack watched him in silence.

In return, Erik's blank gaze flit between the two for a long second, then he quickly turned away and disappeared quickly down the stairs, the wooden panel sliding back into place behind him.

A/N: Hey guys! As ever we're so sorry that updates are taking so long, but so grateful that you've all stuck around so long to still be reading. We're currently trying to establish a more concrete schedule, so hopefully in the coming months you'll be seeing a little bit more of us. Knock on wood.

Hope you all had a holiday break and a wonderful New Years! :-)