There was an unease that settled into Christine's eyes, an uneasiness and nervousness that he had nearly forgotten of her. And so he resolved himself to pass their first night in the grimy hotel in an uncomfortable way.

His mask securely in place and the gas lamp at Christine's bedside burning on its lowest setting he held her close in the uncomfortable bed, stroking her hair slowly, intrigued by the way the light glinted off of the ring he dared not remove.

She curled closer to him, her eyes flitting about the room at the unfamiliar, flickering shadows and the bulge of her stomach not offering her a comfortable position. His lips pressed to her forehead gently and his breath ghosted over the skin of her face, offering her a strange sort of comfort.

"There's nothing to be afraid of," he murmured gently to her.

She nodded against his chest. "I know," she said.

He pulled her closer against him and sighed. "But you are still afraid."

She shrugged quietly and he watched her as she chewed her bottom lip. He brought his hand to her face, using his thumb to pull gently on her chin until she finally released the captive lip.

"What are you afraid of Christine?"

She let out a sigh against his chest and shrugged a shoulder. "A lot of things," she finally said.

He resumed his gentle petting of her hair and regarded her face carefully. "Do you regret it?" He whispered.

Her face scrunched up in confusion. "Regret what?"

"Running away with me," he kept his voice gentle, continuing the soothing motion of his hand.

She looked thoughtful for a moment but eventually she shook her head. "No," she said. "I don't think so."

His thumb brushed her temple as he looked into her eyes. "Are you happy Christine?"

"Are you?" She retorted, pulling away and meeting his eye curiously.

He nodded carefully. "I should think I am."

She bit her lip and nodded, settling into his chest again and letting out a huff of breath. "I am content," she said at length.

He pulled her closer against him, resuming his careful petting of her. "I do love you Christine," he murmured, looking down at her, the way she curled against him, the bulge of her stomach a striking contrast to the slim build of her body. Her small, thin and pale fingers twisted in his nightshirt. It was an endearing sight, one that he was grateful for every day.

"I know Erik," she said softly, reaching over and capturing his hand in hers, pulling his arm tighter around her. "And I am rather fond of you."

He swallowed hard as she pulled closer to him, resting her forehead against his throat. Her warm skin and breath felt like fire against him, it seared him. It was all too much. He swallowed again and took a shuddering breath.

"But you don't love me," he managed to force out, somehow keeping his voice even and calm despite the tremble he felt in his very soul.

She made no response aside from a soft sigh and he felt his heart tear in two at that. Half hopeful, half despair. Then again that was what made up his life at this point, wasn't it? He wondered which would win out this time and he couldn't quite decide which he preferred. The hope - the hope would kill him. He was sure of that. The despair - well, he was used to it. It would almost be like welcoming back an old friend, and oh, to be able to bring up that cold barrier again! How he longed for it.

As it was he lay there in silence, forcing his fingers to continue with their soothing petting. He pressed his lips to her forehead and a contented sigh escaped her lips as she curled only closer still to him, pressing her ear over his heart.

He found himself wondering wether she would ever truly be his. He watched the ring on his finger as he carefully stroked her back. He watched the way the light glinted on the cool metal, the way she shivered under the gentle brush of his hand. At first - at first it hadn't been so bad. Erik was good at pretending - he had to be to find any kind of happiness. But the charade was growing tiresome, the constant game of make-believe. Her smiles, the way she played on his heart. Husband, wife, love, fondness. The words tore at him.

And the best part, he thought with a strange twist of humor, was that even as he feel apart and lost his mind here she was, curled so close, completely clueless about what she was doing to him.

And he couldn't help it. His lips pressed lightly to her forehead.

"Goodnight Christine," he managed to whisper.

She snuggled into him and his hand finally came to rest on her hip, pulling her as close as he could. She sighed and gave him a soft smile. "Goodnight Erik."