Yay, a new chapter! And quicker than I anticipated. Mind you, I've had a horrible cold this week, which is actually where the idea for this chapter came from. This is me when I'm ill. I have man-flu, which I never actually thought was very fair on men. My other half just carries on when he has a cold, whereas I become certain that I'm dying and flop about in bed with the back of my hand pressed against my forehead like a damsel in distress. Although, this chapter goes with the stereotype rather than against it.

Thank you to everyone who messaged me regarding the note I left, wishing me better and congratulating me on becoming an auntie (I'm in love - she's the most gorgeous thing in the world, and so good as well!) - it left me with warm fuzzies :)

Well, here you go. It's essentially just fluff, because my poorly head isn't in the right place to write anything better than that at the moment, but who doesn't love a bit of fluff, right?

Oh, and before I forget - those asking about the Girys: They will make more of an appearance , I promise! (Next chapter, actually) :)

"So, Mr Muhlheim, if you'd just sign here and here, and date here... Mr Muhlheim? Mr Muhlheim, are you all right?"

"... Yes! Sorry, I was just... What were you saying?"

"You need to sign the contract."

Erik blinked. He felt rather peculiar. "Well, of course," he replied, with a small laugh. "We can't just buy land without the formalities now, can we Mr Burrows?" he said, looking from his lawyer to the short, mustachioed land-owner next to him, who was standing a little too close for comfort, as if he were worried Erik would somehow magically change the terms of the contract while he wasn't looking.

"Indeed we can't, Mr Muhlheim," Burrows agreed, staring at him through beady eyes.

With a flourish, Erik signed the document and then straightened up, his head pounding a little as he did so.

"Are you sure you're all right? You look awfully pale," Erik's lawyer said, again, directing a worried stare at him.

"Yes, yes, Mr Harper, I'm fine. Just a little tired - no doubt my wife will tell me off for working too hard," he said, through a forced smile - he could tell it was more than just being 'tired', and it troubled him.

Burrows chuckled. "If I had a wife as stunning as yours, I'd be tired, too, and not from 'working' too hard, if you know what I mean," he winked. Big mistake. Erik turned on him, and only just managed to keep his hands by his side as he glared at the shorter man, who seem to shrink even more, their faces barely an inch apart.

"If you dare speak of my wife in such a way again, you odious little man, I will have your head. Do you understand?"

"It..." Burrows licked his lips nervously. "It was just a joke..."

This time Erik did raise a hand, and grabbed Burrows by his collar. "I'm not laughing. Do. You. Understand?"

"Gentleman, please," Harper cried, anxiously hovering beside them.

Burrows nodded at Erik quickly. "Understood," he gasped.

Erik nodded, not letting his satisfaction show. "Good." He straightened up and smoothed down his jacket before holding a hand out to Mr Harper. "Good to see you again, Harper."

"Likewise, Mr Muhlheim. All the best to your family."

"And yours." Erik picked up his document folder, his copy of the contract now safely inside, and left the office, ignoring Burrows completely. Once outside, he took a deep breath and tried to clear his head. His nose felt strange and there was a slight pressure either side of it and in his forehead. He felt overly warm, and he loosened his neck-tie. Then, without warning, he sneezed. "Oh, no."

It was late April and the day was mild, the sun shining happily in a cornflower-blue sky. Christine was sat on a blanket in the garden, watching lovingly as Emilie attempted to crawl, pushing herself along with determination before rolling onto her bottom to sit up and smile at her mother, as if looking for praise. Christine picked her daughter up and held up above her head, smiling as Emilie laughed. "Who's a clever girl?" Christine cooed, and Emilie babbled in reply. "Yes, you are," her mother said, proudly.

"Christine? Christine!"

Christine's head turned at the sound of her husband's voice. He sounded flustered, and she stood with the baby in her arms and walked back through the French doors into the living room. "Erik?" she called back, wandering towards the doorway to the hall.

"There you are! Oh..." Erik said, and backed away as Christine went towards him.

"What are you doing?" She asked, confused, frowning at her husband's strange behaviour. "What's the matter? The deal didn't fall through, did it?"

"No, no, no," he replied, shaking his head. "Can you take Emilie away?"

"Whatever for?"

Emilie squealed and reached for her father, but he backed away further, and the little girl whined, her face falling.

"Erik!"

"I don't want her to catch what I have!"

"What are you talking about? Oh..." With a sigh of frustration, Christine carried Emilie off to the nursery and placed her down in her cot, much to the little girl's annoyance, and she began to snuffle, threatening tears at any moment. "I'm sorry, my darling. I'll be back, I promise, just as soon as I've spoken to your silly papa." She gave Emilie a kiss, handed her her favourite toy, a little brown bunny with big, floppy ears, and hurried back to Erik, who had entered the living room and had flopped, quite literally, into one of the armchairs, his legs dangling over one side. Christine looked down at him, waiting for him to open his eyes and acknowledge her.

"Don't look at me like that," he said, sounding forlorn and completely not himself, his eyes remaining closed.

Christine's expression changed and she felt a little guilty for snapping at him. "You sound terrible," she said, sympathetically, realising the reason for his behaviour.

Erik's nose twitched, and quick as a flash he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket just in time to sneeze into it.

"Oh, my love," Christine said, crouching down beside him. "You've caught Francine's cold."

"I'm dying."

Christine smiled. "I don't think you are."

Erik turned his head to look at her blearily. "I am. I never catch colds. I've had coughs, stomach upsets, headaches, but colds are the one thing I do not get. Well, apart from once, a really long time ago, and it was horrendous. All that sniffing and nose-blowing - it's disgusting, and my throat feels like it's about to burst into flames, and it's ridiculous, really, because it didn't hurt earlier, and then on the way home I just felt worse and worse..." he sighed heavily, and Christine had to bite her tongue to keep herself from laughing. Here was her husband, her brave, strong, genius of a husband, getting dramatic over a cold. She knew firsthand, of course, just how horrible colds could make one feel, but it was odd seeing Erik acting as he was. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset Emilie. Does she hate me?"

"She is a little disappointed with you, yes, but she just shook her head and said that men are a law unto themselves, which, for a seven-month-old to-"

"-You're making fun of me."

"... Yes. I'm sorry. Of course you don't want her to catch it." She bent down and kissed the top of his head. "Come on, let's get you to bed."

"I can't move."

"Yes, you can. I'll help you."

"Just leave me here..."

"Erik Muhlheim, get up those stairs and get into bed."

Erik pouted, but grudgingly sat up. "Bully."

"Remember when I had a cold, and you wouldn't let me out of bed for days, or even speak?"

"That was different."

"How?"

"..."

"Exactly."

"Fine."

"Good boy." Erik scowled at that as he slowly stood, and she had to hold back another laugh. She did soften, however, once the feeling had passed. He looked so sad, and his skin was almost as grey as his neck-tie. "Time for me to look after you for a change."

"You shouldn't have to, and I don't want you to catch it, either," Erik replied, as they made their way slowly towards the stairs.

"Don't worry about me, and why not? You take care of us all the time."

Erik opened his mouth to speak, but Christine cut him off, knowing exactly what he was going to say. "Don't say that's different." They continued on their way in silence, until Christine sat him on the edge of their bed and told him to get changed. "I'll be back shortly."

"Where are you going?"

"To fetch you some honey and lemon."

Erik pulled a face.

"It's good for you. I find it very soothing. Your throat will thank you for it." With that, she squeezed his arm and then left the room. Her poor Erik. She'd do her best to make him feel right as rain again in no time.

Erik dozed uncomfortably, and when he woke, he felt even worse. He kicked the blankets away from him stroppily and huffed.

"What are you doing?"

He jumped at the sound of his wife's voice, having been unaware that she was in the room with him.

"Sorry," she apologised.

"It's too hot in here."

Christine moved from where she had been standing by the door, and went over to him, placing a hand gently against his head. Erik leaned into the coolness of it. "You do feel a little warm. Maybe I should call the doctor."

"No, thank you. You said that horrible brown medicine he gave you made no difference."

"No, it didn't. I'll tell you what, if you become very feverish, then I'll call him."

Erik sighed. He wouldn't win, so there was no point arguing with her. "Fine."

"Stay covered up, though," she said, pulling the blankets back over him. "I know you're uncomfortable, but believe me, staying warm is best for you.

"My ears hurt. Why do my ears hurt?"

"That's normal."

"Oh. Great." Erik knew he sounded pathetic, of course he did, and he hated himself for it, but feeling this rotten was constricting and a waste of time. He wasn't used to being confined to bed during the day, unless... he smirked, then shook his head, then cursed himself when the movement hurt.

"What's wrong?" Christine asked, frowning at him worriedly.

"I... moved too quickly." That would teach him for thinking such things when he was sick. "I hope it doesn't last long," he moaned, quickly changing the subject.

"I'm sure you'll feel better in a few days, and within about a week you should be back to normal."

"A week?!" Erik flung the blankets over his head.

"Darling, don't be so melodramatic. And I thought you were too hot?"

"I don't care. It's disgusting, but I'll sweat it out if I have to."

Christine reached out a hand to stroke his head through the covers. "I'd expect this sort of behaviour from the children, not from you," she said, affectionately. "Speaking of which, I need to go and wake Gustave for dinner. I just came in to check that you were all right."

"Wake him?"

"Yes, he..." Christine sighed. "He came home from school feeling unwell. He's not as bad as you, although, unfortunately, I'm sure that won't take long.

Erik pushed the blankets away from him and tried to sit up.

"What are you doing?" Christine put a hand against his chest to stop him. "You're not going anywhere."

"Our son is sick," Erik said, guiltily. He felt terrible. His little boy. "I'll help you."

Christine took his face in her hands and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Don't fret. I have everything under control. Francine is feeling much better, so she'll be back tomorrow to help with the children. You'll just make yourself feel worse if you go rushing about, and then you'll be ill for even longer. Stay here. Mary is making a batch of soup, and I'll bring you some once I've seen to Gustave."

Erik's head swam from where he had tried to move. Frustratingly, he had no choice but to do as he was told, and he sank back into the pillows unhappily.

"Papa?"

Erik, who had been sleeping only lightly, stirred and lifted his head weakly, looking bearily towards where the small voice had come from. There, standing in the doorway, illuminated by the candle he was holding, was his son. He looked sad and exhausted. "Gustave." He pushed himself up a little and patted the space next to him. "Come here."

Gustave obeyed willingly, placing his candle down and climbing onto the bed, his arms reaching out to be held. Erik pulled him into him, rearranging the blankets around them both. Gustave might be nearly twelve, but he was still a child, one who was poorly and needed love and comfort. In his short time as a father, Erik had never aspired to be one who made his son become a man before his time, would never attempt to toughen him up by making him suffer alone or by starving him of affection. "Where's your mother?" he asked, hoarsely.

"Asleep in the bedroom across the hall. She said she thought it was best if you slept alone, but I couldn't sleep and I thought you might not be able to, either. I didn't want to wake her - it's after midnight."

"It is?"

"Yes. My nose is blocked and I can't breathe properly. Can you?"

"No. But, I'll make a deal with you. If you try your best to go to sleep, and I try mine, when we're both better I'll take you out for the day, just you and me, go anywhere you want. How does that sound?"

"Deal. Can we go to a baseball game?"

Erik furrowed his brows. "A baseball game?"

"My friend Johnny from school goes with his father all the time and it sounds brilliant. Can we? Please?"

Erik had never been into sports. He knew what baseball was, of course, but he'd never felt the urge to see a game. Still, he couldn't say no, no matter how much the thought of going pained him. "Of course we can."

"Ma'am?"

"Oh, Mary, what are you doing up?"

"I was just fetching a glass of water, woke up a little thirsty. Ma'am, are you all right?" Mary pulled out a chair at the kitchen table. "Here, sit down, you look like you're about to collapse."

"I'm fine," Christine said, wearily, although she clearly wasn't, and she knew Mary wasn't stupid. "I've just been up with Emilie - I think she's coming down with this cold."

"Oh, no, not her as well. Poor little mite. No wonder you're shattered. How are our brave boys?"

Christine smiled sleepily. "Asleep, thank goodness. Gustave snuck in with Erik at some point and the two of them are snoring loud enough to wake the dead. They're usually both so quiet."

"You're lucky," Mary said, pulling out another chair for herself. "When my husband was alive I never had a peaceful night's sleep. I got used to it eventually, found ways to help block out the sound. I couldn't sleep at all when he passed - it was too quiet. God rest his soul."

"I'm sorry. I can't imagine-"

"-and you shouldn't," Mary said, cutting her off and patting her hand.

But Christine could, because she had. Over and over. She didn't even know why she'd said it. "I wanted to warm some milk for Emilie. I thought it might help soothe her. She's sleeping for now, but she's been waking every hour. I must hurry and get back to her." Christine went to rise, but Mary stopped her.

"I'll do it. You sit here and rest for a moment."

She looked at her gratefully. "Thank you, Mary." Christine propped her head up in her hands and let her eyes close, and it seemed like only seconds before Mary placed a bottle in front of her and touched her shoulder gently.

"Would you like me to see to her, so you can get some sleep?"

"That's very sweet of you to offer, but no, you go off to bed. Besides, I don't want anyone else in this household falling ill."

"If you don't mind me saying, ma'am, you will fall ill if you don't look after yourself."

Christine rose, picking up the bottle and letting the warmth of it seep into her hands comfortingly. Mary was right, of course, but she wasn't about to give into her. She smiled at the cook kindly. "Goodnight, Mary."

Mary sighed and shook her head, returning the smile. "Goodnight, ma'am."

The next day, Erik felt even more horrid. He didn't even think that was possible, but, clearly, it was. The curtains were pulled tightly shut, for which he was very grateful, because he was sure even a small amount of sunlight would burn his eyes and make his head explode. A snuffling sound made him turn his head, and his eyes settled on his still sleeping son, who, even in slumber, looked very uncomfortable. Erik licked his lips. They were dry. In fact, his whole mouth was dry, so licking them made no difference whatsoever. His head ached, but he needed to use the bathroom, so he had no choice but to move. He also really wanted to brush his teeth. He felt completely vile. Erik sat up slowly, moaning a little as the movement made his head spin. He reached for one of the clean handkerchiefs Christine had left by his bedside, and blew his nose, sneezing whilst doing so, and he pulled a face of complete disgust. "Urgh." As quietly as he could, he slipped from the bed, walking heavily over to where his robe was hanging and tying it about himself. Everything was so much effort. He then reached for his mask and wig, but he really couldn't be bothered. He was sure Christine would have told the staff not to bustle about up here while he and Gustave were still asleep, so he was almost certain he wouldn't bump into anyone who wasn't his wife. He'd risk it. It also occurred to him, not for the first time, that they would benefit from having an en suite. He would have to fix that - he wasn't entirely sure why he hadn't already.

Once in the bathroom, he went about his business, and finished with a couple of splashes of water to his face. He looked in the mirror, studied his reflection, and glared at himself. As if having one side of his face ruined wasn't bad enough, his eyes were red, the same with his nose, and stubble was starting to poke through his skin. He ran a hand over the roughness of it. It would have to stay, because he thought if he stood there any longer he might fall over.

On his way back to the bedroom, he met Christine in the hall. She looked exhausted, and he frowned, concerned. "Not you, too?"

Christine yawned and leaned against the wall. "No, Emilie."

Erik closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. "You've been up all night," he croaked. It wasn't a question, he could tell just by looking at her.

"I got an hour here and there. It's not a cold," she quickly added, "I thought it was, but I've since discovered that she has another tooth coming through. I should have realised, what with all the lovely drooling she's been doing. She's not a happy girl. A teething baby is worse than having to look after both you and Gustave." She yawned again.

"I'm sorry," Erik responded, touching her cheek lightly with his fingers. "I've been useless."

"No, I..." Christine shook her head. "I didn't mean it like that. It's not your fault you're sick, it's just one of those things."

"And how about you, how do you feel? Apart from the obvious."

His wife took a deep breath and gave him a tired smile. "I'm fine. I promise," she emphasised, giving him a look to match the one he was giving her. "Anyway, Francine is with her, now, so I'm going to go and have a nap, just as soon as I've looked in on Gustave,"

"He's still asleep. Besides, I'll take care of him."

Christine raised an eyebrow. "You can't even take care of yourself." She fingered the collar of his robe. "You thought you were dying."

Erik saw the hint of a teasing smile on her face and caught her hand in his. "I am. I-" He coughed, the back of his throat suddenly ticklish, and once he'd started, he couldn't stop.

"Oh, darling! Come on, back to bed and I'll fetch you some water."

Yes, he thought, definitely pathetic.

"You're not, you're just unwell."

Erik gasped a breath. "I said that out loud?"

"Yes. Now come on - bed."

Christine wiped her daughter's face and pressed a kiss to her forehead, the baby calmer now she was biting down on her teething ring. She had refused it for most of the day, preferring to cry instead before finally realising that it was the very thing that had helped her before. Chewing on her fingers had simply not been good enough. Christine had been telling her that all day - not that she'd understood, of course. "There, now, isn't that better? Honestly, what I am going to do with you all?"

Emilie gurgled in reply.

"Indeed." Christine exhaled loudly and stood up from the rocking chair she was sat in, placing Emilie down in her cot and then moaning a little as she stretched, her aching limbs thanking her for it. An hour before she had been ready to tear her hair out. She'd gotten much better as the months had gone on, but she still wavered occasionally, still had to stop and take measures to calm herself if she felt things were sliding out of her control. Nothing had happened since they'd last seen Raoul at Phantasma that cold, January day, nothing at all, and although it had taken Christine a month or so to settle back into life enough that she could continue on as normal, she was now doing very well indeed. Except when things became stressful. It wasn't that she found herself sliding backwards completely, but if she found herself in a stressful situation that she couldn't control, she'd start to shake, start to cry, start to doubt herself again until she somehow, from somewhere, she found the strength to pull herself back together again. She'd managed that every time, and she'd always told herself to be proud of that, because it meant that she could cope after all. But she was prouder now than she had been before, because she'd had to handle it without Erik by her side. At first she'd felt ridiculous, getting stressed over things people just got on and dealt with every single day, but he'd soon shown her that, actually, the fact that she never fell completely to pieces, the fact that she was able to pick herself up before she got into too much of a state, was progress, and nothing to be ashamed of at all. Now he was the one who was unwell, and their children as well, and they all needed her and she couldn't fall apart, even if she wanted to. She almost had until Emilie had stopped pushing away the teething ring and taken hold of it instead. It was as if she had been able to tell that her mother was on the verge of tears. Christine had been beyond relieved. It had meant that she could calm herself down, that she wouldn't have to wake Francine and get her to take over. That she hadn't failed.

"Hello."

Christine turned towards the doorway of the nursery to see Erik leaning against the frame. She hadn't even heard him open the door. "I suppose I should be used to you silently creeping about," she smiled.

"I don't 'creep'," Erik pouted, walking towards her.

"You look a little better."

"I feel a little better. Sleeping all day has done me some good, even if only by helping my headache. My throat still hurts and my nose is still stuffy, but..."

"But what?"

Her husband hung his head a little. "I don't think I'm dying anymore."

Christine laughed. "Well, I did try and tell you."

Erik sniffed, and studied her face. He frowned. "Have you been crying?"

"No," she replied, with a shake of her head.

He cupped her cheek and gently ran his thumb under her left eye. "Your eyes are red."

"I... I nearly did," she admitted, "Emilie wouldn't settle, and I was trying to do a hundred things at once, but I'm all right now. I have everything under control."

Erik stared at her a little longer, and just as Christine was about to squirm from the intensity of his gaze, he nodded, satisfied, and turned to face Emilie's cot. She smiled a dribbly smile at him from around her teething ring, and he gave her a little wave. "Did you get much sleep earlier?" he asked, turning back to Christine.

Christine flopped back down into the rocking chair. "A few hours," she said, tipping the chair back and forth, "but Emilie woke me with her crying and I felt guilty letting Francine deal with it on her own. I know she helps a lot with the children, but she's not exclusively a nanny, she never has been. I sent her on a few small errands instead, just to get her out of the house. She's been cooped up all week."

"I know. But, Christine-"

"-No 'buts'. I know what you're going to say, and I'm fine, really. I know I'm doing a lot, I know I'm tired, but I will be fine. How do you think other women without help manage?"

"Sorry, but you know I worry after... I just don't want you getting that exhausted again."

"Erik, children get sick. Grown men get sick." She got up once more and draped her arms loosely around his neck. "I'm no more tired than anyone else would be in this situation. I won't hear another word about it. Now, what are you up for, besides pestering me?"

Erik smiled and removed her arms from him, holding her hands in his instead. "I'm a little hungry. I just wanted to check on you both, first."

"Mary made a beef pie for dinner, there's some left, unless you want something a little lighter?"

"I don't think my throat can manage more than soup, I'm afraid."

"Well, I'll go down with you. Hang on a moment." Christine went over to Emilie, who was starting to drift off, checked she was all right, then ushered Erik out of the room and closed the door quietly behind her. "How's Gustave?"

"Back in his own bed and reading. I've no idea how - my eyes are so sore I can barely focus."

"Did he say if he was hungry? He managed a little dinner earlier, but I worry he's not had enough to eat today."

"Oh, erm, that's probably my fault. No, actually, it's definitely my fault."

Christine looked at him suspiciously. "Go on..."

"Well, you see, he has eaten today..."

"Yes...?" She crossed her arms over her chest. She had a funny feeling she knew what he was about to say, and she wasn't annoyed, not really - she couldn't blame him for wanting to do anything that might cheer their son up a bit, but still, she wasn't going to let him know that until he admitted to it, and besides, she enjoyed playing him.

"Don't be mad, but..." Erik stopped again, looking unsure, as if he was wondering whether to change his mind and lie. In the end, he didn't. "I sent Jane out to get some cough drops, and might have also asked her to bring back some pear drops and chocolate peanuts for Gustave."

Christine kept her expression blank and her voice neutral. "'Might' have?"

"Er, well, no, I did."

"I see. So Gustave didn't finish his dinner because he was stuffed full of candy?"

"... I love you?"

Christine burst out laughing, promptly putting her hands over her mouth when Erik glared at her. "I'm sorry. It's just that when you do things like that it always reminds me of just how much you've changed, and how lucky we are. Not even two years ago you are I were worlds apart... And now you're sneaking in treats for our son to cheer him up because he's sick and looking like you're about to bolt because you're worried I'll be mad at you for it, when really it just makes me love you all the more."

Now it was Erik's turn to laugh. "Very nicely saved, Madame Muhlheim."

"Merci. Although, next time..."

"Next time I won't let him eat so much that it spoils his dinner."

"Thank you. I don't suppose there was a little box of violet creams included in your order of goodies?"

Erik smiled mysteriously. "Perhaps."

Christine grinned.

A week later, and the household was back to normal. Erik was back working on his plans for Phantasma's extension, which was due to begin at the end of the coming season, Gustave was back at school, Francine was looking after a much happier Emilie and Christine was having a well-deserved rest, sitting on the beach at Coney Island with a book in her hand, the salty breeze gently blowing through her hair and the sun warm on her face. May had started well, and even though at this time of the year she knew the weather could turn at any moment, she was simply enjoying being on her own for a little while. The beach was fairly quiet, with only the locals milling about rather than hoards of visitors from the city and beyond, and she secretly wished it could always be like this, but then, that wouldn't be good for business. Christine sighed contentedly and flipped over to the next page of her novel, shifting her position slightly on her deckchair. So involved was she in the story that she didn't hear her husband approach, didn't notice him until a single yellow rose appeared in front of her face, and she jumped slightly before looking up to see him smiling down at her.

"Sorry."

"Is that for me?"

"Is there anyone else I should be giving roses to?"

Christine took the flower and smiled prettily back at him. "Thank you, darling, it's beautiful."

Erik crouched down beside her, leaned in for a kiss, and as their lips met, something wicked invaded Christine's senses, and she pushed him, just enough to knock him off-balance so he ended up sitting on the sand. She giggled at the look on his face, then pressed a kiss to his cheek. Erik tried to look put-out, but didn't quite manage it, and he ended up shaking his head at the look of childish glee on his wife's face.

"I was trying not to get myself covered in sand."

"Well, it's a good job it almost matches the colour of your suit, then, isn't it?"

"Haha. I only came to ask if you wanted to join me for lunch," he said, pretending to sulk.

"It's lunchtime already?"

"Yes, thankfully."

As he was looking toward the ocean, Christine took the opportunity to look him over. He'd clearly been working hard - his neck-tie was off and the button on his collar was undone, his jacket discarded in favour of just his waistcoat and rolled up shirtsleeves, and she couldn't help but admire the strong arms she loved so much, momentarily letting the girl in her slip through, as it often did, until she felt a blush begin to colour her cheeks and she snapped herself out of it and moved to put her book away, placing the rose carefully alongside it in her small bag with the top poking out so it didn't get crushed.

"Well, let's go, then."

Erik stood and brushed himself down, unaware of the close attention he had just been receiving, and held out a hand to help Christine up. She thanked him with a kiss and he smiled at her.

"That's better." She took his other hand and linked their fingers together, and he turned his head a little so he could lean the unmasked part of his forehead against hers, and they just stood there for a moment, gazing at each other, before walking hand in hand towards the boardwalk.