The shutting door echoed in the silence. Christine fell to her knees as the air left her lungs, she forgot how to breathe.

It can't be… the tears sprang in her eyes and in a sudden rage, her fist pounded on the floor, her scream piercing. "It can't be true! It can't! I don't want it! I don't want it!"

She just got back onstage and was free of Raoul. She was happy.

And this… she thought savagely, would ruin everything. All of it would be ripped away again.

The tidal wave was too much, she couldn't breathe. Everything fell into a fog. Giry shouted out to her when she collapsed whispering, "Don't let it be true."

It was raining the next day. With her forehead against the window she felt the rains chill and heard it hitting the glass. The rain spattered on the roof and ran down the gutter. She already knew how the streets would smell having been washed. Yet she couldn't see it, just misshapen blocks against a gray sky.

Giry approached marked by the echoing taps of her cane. Her stride much slower than her brisk pace. The woman was rarely ever hesitant. Yet she paused at the door.

"Don't tell them..." Christine said when Giry finally opened it, "wait until the season is over."

"We will have to. There is no one to replace you. Beth will alter your dresses as necessary and will keep your secret." she said looking at her. Christine was still in her nightgown, and hadn't moved from glaring at world in hours. "You will no longer stay in the dorms."

That caught Christine's attention, her hardened gaze move to Giry's direction.

"And where will I stay?" She challenged.

Giry tapped her cane in obvious answer, "It will be better hidden if you are not always at the Opera, especially when you begin to show."

Christine grimaced before lying back against the wall with a tired sigh, "Then what?"

For once Giry had no answer other than, "I don't know."

…..

In the coming weeks, Beth surreptitiously adjusted the dresses, letting out the different sections and tightening others to hide the weight gain. Christines glow was simply attributed to being free Raoul and his problem.

Christine and Erik's secret meetings were put to an end. Giry wanted to make sure their star was getting the rest she needed and Erik couldn't argue against a private bedroom was better than the dorm.

So instead, they settled on having meetings to discuss changes and adjustments for her need. Of course, once Morine got wind of such changes, she enforced these meetings involve the Director, Giry and her on the reasoning that the changes affected everyone, even if it was simple as changing one floor pattern marker. Morine infuriated Erik when she suggested Christine really ought to make such complaints to the Director instead, Erik had bigger things to worry about.

"Do not ever speak for me, Morine," Erik hissed at her.

"Yes husband," she said casually with a shrug and smug smile as they watched a practice.

Erik ignored her, focusing on Christine, particularly the way she moved. She still had the grace of a dancer, yet her movements were slow and deliberate. Each one calculated. He had noticed it just recently and thought it could be because of the heavy dress wore, but Christine refused any suggestions of a costume change.

It was odd. But so was her manner, her emotions swayed from standoffish to demanding when they were alone. Sometimes she was truly upset over simple problems or simply overwhelmed. Erik didn't know how to soothe her in those moments. She wouldn't say anything, and Giry and Moine's constant presence didn't help matters.

Damn them both.

…..

Christine was folded over in her chair with her head against the cold vanity. She slightly shifted her legs, so her stomach no longer pressed against them.

It was another bout of nausea, then she felt it. Giry warned her what it would be like. But actually feeling that first movement of the thing inside her made it real. A new wave of devastation washed over her.
…..

The season was swiftly coming to an end. She felt it every time she stepped off the stage as her exhilaration was replaced with impending dread. She didn't partake in the show celebrations either, choosing to go back to the sanctuary of her dressing room.

But there was a blonde head next to her elbow the moment she was backstage, whispering, "He's here."

Christine didn't need to ask with, already familiar with this dance.

In the past Raoul would be backstage, sober and aimable socializing with other patrons and the owner. But with Erik…

"Who is he with?"

"His father and they're looking for you. They also delivered flowers to your dressing room."

Christine shook her head, she didn't want to see them. She started to struggle against the crowd, "Take me to the dorm."

They were halfway there when they heard someone called Christine's name. "Tell them I am unwell," she said, before disappearing behind a door leading to a hallway of storage and offices.

Meg knew she'd be alright. Christine quickly headed down the familiar path she had taken many times during late nights. Just like then there was a light under the door.

She quickly opened it, not caring if Morine was possibly there. She was hiding from her insane husband after all.

Erik looked up at her startled and relief flooded his face. He couldn't be out there, not with him there. The old familiar desire for homicidal rage was too tempting.

She was pressed against the door, a scowl on her delicate face. Hard to believe she was on stage a short while ago. There was a click of the lock and she came to his side without a word.

"Christine…"

She silenced him with a kiss as she slid into his lap and reached over to shut off the lamp. "We're not here," she whispered.

And there were no more words.

….

Raoul kept coming, night after night. Flowers over filled the dressing room. Morine arranged to have them decorate the foyer of the theater after Christine refused the deliveries.

Raoul couldn't banned due to his father contributions. Erik suggested the theater could survive, but Christine refused, knowing her last day on stage was drawing closer. She still didn't have the nerve to tell him.

She also refused his suggestion to hire a guard for her door. He huffed in defeat, dropping into his chair. "Fine! But at least take this." he said, sliding something across the desk. She picked the leather package, feeling the heaviness and coldness of metal. She pulled out the knife and looking at him.

"Keep it in your dressing room just in case."

…..

Raoul was a crafty bastard. Christine wanted to wipe the smug smile he probably had on. She stood on Monsieur de Chagny's left as Raoul stood on his right. She smiled as needed and laughed, but didn't actually pay attention to what he was saying, wondering how the hell she ended up there.

Oh yes, the bastard came early and Monsieur de Chagny was excited in wanting to see the preparations. It was too early to make them wait for the theater to open. So here she was standing somewhere backstage with her father-in-law.

She could feel Erik's gaze on her from somewhere in the distance. Everyone knew that to approach meant getting stuck in a lovely but long conversation with the old man.

Christine was subtle in her hugs with him as to not let him feel her stomach that was rounding out. It was small enough to hide easily under the layers of her dresses. But she worried that it would still be noticed, Erik hadn't… but she purposely hid it by distracting him, keeping her dress on and kept his hands OFF her growing waistline.

She jumped when a hand went to her said waist earning an uneasy laugh from Raoul, "My wife is daydreaming."

She glared at him, stepping away. "Pardon me, I must be getting ready now."

She abruptly turned not waiting a moment further.

She shut the dressing room door and locked it. Her hand went immediately to her stomach when she felt a kick.

She felt the shape through her dress, pressing the fabric down on top and below to reveal the bump.

There were only two more shows left.

Tears sprang in her eyes and fell, she buried her head in her hands. "I don't know what to do…"

And I'm frightened.