Iiii... have nothing in particular to say! I know, we can all release gasps of shock and surprise. So this will just be a sad and small little author's note up at the top... just a mere three sentences... not even a paragraph...

Okay, I'll shut up. Onward!

XXXVI

Breakfast was a quiet affair. Though Erik had been quite tempted to deny his guest food, he realised he was more grateful for the man's understanding than he was angry for his whisperings with his wife.

And besides, once he had Christine to himself again, he could easily wheedle their topic of conversation from her.

He could be very persuasive.

As Erik and Christine cleared the dishes and set them into the basin to soak, she looked up at him and touched his arm lightly. "I am glad you have a friend. I should like one someday."

What hurt most was that she was perfectly serious when she made her declaration. His first reaction was to rankle and resentfully make a case for how he was her friend, and also inform her that the Persian was nothing more than an annoyance.

But as he looked down at her his ire melted away, and he began to recognise that a husband could not be all things to his wife. She needed her ladies to titter and giggle with, just as a husband needed other gentlemen to fondly bemoan the actions of their wives. Perhaps, if he would allow it, that could be the man still seated at his dining room table.

It was worth considering.

And when they both felt more secure—surer that the world could allow for good and sweet things instead of merely pain and horror—they would venture up above with their children underfoot, and Christine could make friends with all the wives that would be their neighbours.

It was a lovely dream, even if he felt a bit odd and frightened when he thought of it too long.

Not now, but maybe someday.

He took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, and leaned down to kiss her cheek. "Someday, my rose. When you are ready."

Her answering smile was slightly sad, but she returned the gesture all the same. "When we are both ready."

The Persian coughed quietly at the doorway, obviously tired of being abandoned by his hosts. "I will take my leave now, little Christine. Thank you for the lovely breakfast."

"You are welcome, M. Daroga. My husband does love to spoil me."

Erik was a bit affronted that his gratitude was directed at his wife when he had been the one to provide their bounty, but he remained silent—although he did still glare at the Daroga for his impudence. However, his Christine was infinitely worthy of praise and Erik allowed it with as much grace as he could muster, though that was mainly due to the fact that Christine had bestowed such admiration upon him.

As Erik rowed the man across the lake he considered interrogating him about what he and Christine had been discussing. Apparently his dilemma did not go unnoticed for the Persian laughed at him softly. "If Christine wants you to know what she asked me, she can tell you. I will not betray her confidence."

Erik growled lowly in this throat, but relented. He would rapidly lose respect for the man if he proved incapable of keeping his wife's divulgences. And Erik rather looked forward to hearing it from his wife's lips.

The Daroga grew serious. "It would be unwise to leave your lasso in the possession of the magistrate, Erik. Catgut is not a common item, and it could raise enquiries that you do not want."

He groaned, knowing the man was correct. "I do not relish the thought of leaving Christine at this time, even for such an important errand."

The Persian sighed and rubbed at his temples. "I would consider absconding with the evidence myself, as long as I have your word that the only murders you commit will be those that are directly related to your defence—both of your wife and yourself."

Erik was insulted. He wanted to rage and remind him that he had never killed merely for amusement and he hardly needed to make such a vow now. But the weary feeling was returning even after his morning nourishment, and as he looked at this man he remembered Christine's words. Perhaps he did want this man for a friend. And friends required reassurances, just as wives did.

"You have my word."

The Daroga sighed and nodded. "Good. Then I shall take care of it. You tend to your wife."

As if Erik needed to be told such a thing.

They exchanged awkward farewells and Erik hurried back across the lake, feeling confident that the issue of the lasso would be taken care of post haste.

Christine was in the kitchen taking care of the dishes. "You do not need to do that, my dear. It is your husband's responsibility to dote upon you when you are expecting." He came up behind her and wrapped his long arms about her middle, a hand straying to cover the swelling of her womb.

She hummed in contentment and leaned back against him, her hands soapy and already slightly pruned from their toils. "But my husband already cooked for me. He needn't do the washing up as well."

Christine tilted her head back and closed her eyes, obviously expecting a kiss.

He sighed deeply in resignation even as his heart warmed to see such trust, and she smiled as she felt the feather-light brush of his lips upon hers.

He kept his lips firmly closed and the kiss chaste, as he would allow her to be the one to press for more. On the days when her nightmares would return she would be rather withdrawn, flinching at any unexpected noises or actions, yet still would all but demand that she be able to keep him within eyesight. But she was improving, and as she opened her mouth and went up on her tiptoes in order to keep their connection as he began to pull away, he realised just how much.

"I am not going to let that man keep us apart, Erik. He already took enough from me. He is not going to make me cower from my husband and fear your touch."

She looked so sincere, and there was a ferocity in her gaze that left him almost breathless. Erik had always assumed that it was the man that held the most interest and sheer need for physical intimacy. But as his wife fumbled for a towel to dry her hands so as not to drench him in the lingering water, he realised that his little minx defied all of his previous assumptions.

Christine pulled away eventually, panting for breath as she did so, and Erik was behaving similarly. Her smile was rather triumphant, and she turned and wrapped herself in his arms, burrowing into his coat as was her wont. His fingers found their way into her hair and she sighed and nuzzled further, happy with the contact. "You are trying to distract me, but it shall not work."

In truth, it had almost worked as a very large part of him would like to completely forget the little interlude with the Persian and take her to their bed.

But he wanted to know of her conversation with the Daroga and he knew it would niggle and torment him until he did so.

She tilted her head up and her brow was furrowed in genuine confusion. "Distract you from what?"

He tapped a finger lightly on her nose and was pleased that whatever the subject was, she was not wilfully keeping it from him. "What did you speak of while I was fixing your breakfast?"

Erik put special emphasis on your so as to prick her conscience. If she had not requested nourishment—not that he would ever have denied her—he would not have had to ask.

Christine looked rather sheepish and began fiddling with his shirt buttons, her eyes downcast. "I merely wanted to know how you two had met, and if he considered himself your friend. I do not like the idea of you being alone, and I wondered if you were truly alone or if it was because you simply felt that way."

He could not help but bristle. "Is there such a significant difference?"

Her voice was soft and her touches meant to soothe, and when she placed her head against his chest and closed her eyes before responding, he wondered if he could ever manage to remain angry with her when she behaved thusly. "He worries about you. He says that ever since we married he has felt a tremendous relief that you had finally accepted someone as your companion—that you would not have to be alone."

Erik opened his mouth to retort that it was never by choice that he had remained friendless and loveless. People had spurned him, not the other way around.

But as he thought of her words earlier, he realised slightly begrudgingly that perhaps in his bitterness he had not been overly open to the idea of a companion either. Christine had been an enigma, and had she not related to him in such a fundamental way through mutual pain and agony, he doubted he would ever have intervened.

They shared a love for music, and despite his greatest efforts to the contrary, she had coaxed her way into his heart. He had no choice but to accept her, for to reject her in the slightest would be to shove away the remnants of his very soul—and obviously he proved incapable of doing so.

And as he allowed his arms to pull her closer once more, he realised he ached faintly even considering the pain that would have caused.

"And does he? Consider himself my friend?"

He could not explain why he felt so nervous at her possible response, but as she held him a little firmer, he felt comforted all the same. "He does. He would not come to check on you if he did not."

She peeked up at him and seeing that he was no longer looking irksome, she smiled and patted his chest lightly. "And now, I think I should like to see to something we have been delaying."

Erik braced himself.

"We have a baby coming, and I am only going to grow bigger and more uncomfortable as time goes on," Erik grimaced, "and I should like to have the nursery sorted before that happens. May we go shopping?"

He hesitated, remembering that it was midmorning and that all of Paris would be up and bumbling about as they went about their daily routines. He briefly thought of all the shadowy doorways he would be forced to contend with, trying to keep Christine safe while also keeping out of sight of any other patrons.

But then he remembered his surprise.

Erik had not wanted to raise her hopes so he had not mentioned one of his many projects that he had tended to while she slept. Regardless of the fact that he was sleeping more, it was absolutely impossible for him to continue sleeping as long as she did—for even in normal circumstances, she was fostering a new life, and he was most certainly not.

He took her hand and they went to his dressing room—that as of today would apparently be his no longer. The secret compartment opened to reveal the shelves of masks that ranged in colour and texture, and Christine looked at all of them with a sort of sad wonderment. On the far right was his newest creation, and she gasped as she beheld it.

It would cover his entire face all the way to his neck. It more resembled a prosthetic than a traditional mask, and as her fingers skimmed the flesh-like feel of it, her eyes welled with tears. "I am so sorry that such a thing should be necessary."

He placed a kiss upon her temple, feeling strangely touched at her words. She did not try to deceive him by offering false platitudes and wrongly trying to convince him that it was not needed and people would accept him for who he truly was. She too understood that people were cruel and that he would never be able to walk amongst them normally without blending in as inconspicuously as possible.

"As am I, my rose. But if it means that I may accompany you while we shop for our little one, then I am glad for it."

She nodded, and as her eyes strayed downward, she must have realised she was still in her gown from the previous night. "Oh! I must change!"

If she had not noticed soon on her own he would have nudged her toward doing so himself. While there was nothing overtly risqué about her attire, it showed far too much of her décolleté than he would like the everyday shopkeeper to be privy to.

Christine insisted that Erik bathe first, and by the slightly haunted look that overtook her features as she took in his crumpled appearance, he could do nothing but relent. After he took the first step into the warm water he knew that he was in appalling danger of refusing to ever vacate his tub again, and it was only knowing that his wife was waiting on him that made him scrub quickly and see to the rest of his ablutions before vacating the bath-room.

While she had insisted that she was not going to shy away from his touch, Erik did not wish to press. At any other time he would have mischievously suggested that they share the bath in order to prove more efficient. But that surely would lead to more intimate activities that required far more time than they could afford—especially as he intended to savour his wife very thoroughly when next she allowed it.

So instead he dressed and tried not to think about his naked beauty luxuriating a mere doorway away from him.

Clad in his trousers and shirtsleeves, Erik braced himself for the most important task. The left wardrobe door had a compartment that when pressed revealed a mirror. It would have been his preference to keep all looking glasses from his abode and for the most part it was unnecessary to check his appearance, but sometimes it was an obligatory evil.

Especially when he created a new mask.

It was one thing to work with a sculpted replica—it was another thing entirely to apply it to oneself.

This one in particular required much attention, and though he kept his eyes as focused as possible on the minute details of the task, it was unavoidable that he should catch the occasional glimpse of his own corpse-like appearance.

Memories assaulted him of the first time he had seen his own reflection, and to his surprise he did not feel the overpowering revulsion that used to accompany it. He was ugly, and that was the truth of it. But he no longer thought himself a monster. A monster could not love his Christine, and his Christine could not love a monster.

So simple, yet it still amazed him that it could be true.

What did startle him was his appearance with the new mask. He looked, not exactly handsome, but comely enough. Erik could not help but allow his fingers to glide over the dignified nose, and he assessed the reflection from all angles. Once his collar was buttoned and the rest of his attire set to rights—especially his hat—he would not be worth taking note of.

It was a curious feeling.

He must have been wholly preoccupied by his reflection that he was alarmed at the gasp behind him.

Christine was freshly pinked from her bathwater and she had donned one of her light summer gowns. She would be too warm for one of his heavy cloaks once they reached the above, and Erik decided that it would be far more sensible to simply tuck her into his side during the walk in the tunnels than having to carry hers while she shopped.

But any such thoughts were interrupted when she took a hesitant step forward, her eyes wide and slightly glassy. "You do not look like you."

He grimaced. "I look as I would have if I had not been cursed."

Christine nibbled at her lip and stepped closer still, her hands reaching forward to gently feel the texture of his superimposed flesh. She frowned, and he had to remind himself to allow her time for exploration and not interrupt it by smoothing out the small pucker between her brows with one of his fingertips.

"Will I do?"

She tilted her head to the side and stood on her tiptoes and waited patiently for him to lean down slightly so she could bestow him with a kiss on his covered cheek. It seemed more experimental than affectionate, and he watched her with bemusement as she pulled away. "I like the feel of you own skin much better."

And that was all. She took his hand and was happy to cuddle into his side as he took her up onto the sun-warmed Paris streets.

The only thing that seemed to draw people's attention—and even that was few and far between—was that Erik was wearing a cloak and kept his hat drawn low over his eyes. Christine garnered far more attention, and although he had to occasionally pat down some of his jealousies, Erik could rightly understand why.

She was glowing.

Each shop they entered seemed to only excite her further, and on more than one occasion she would thrust impossibly small items at him and exclaim at how perfect they would be for their baby.

Erik had not the slightest idea of why particular items seemed superior to their counterparts, but he wisely remained silent.

"Do you have a book on how to knit?"

He had momentarily lost track of her as he was distracted by a wooden carving that was either trying to be a horse or a bear—and failing miserably at either attempt—and when he looked back to his wife she was holding a pair of new knitting needles. "This mademoiselle says that I should learn to knit baby things for the winter, and I have no one to teach me."

That was one area that he could not assist her, but at the prospect of entering the bookseller he realised he did not mind admitting that something was beyond his repertoire. "I am certain we will be able to locate one of your liking. Are you finished?"

Erik had given her a small purse filled with coins, and while at first she had looked rather aghast at the amount, he noted wryly that she now had little difficulty parting with them.

By no means was she extravagant, and she often looked to him in order to approve the amount or an item in question, but Erik even found that to be completely unnecessary. If it made her happy and would prove useful when their small one came, he would voice no objection.

He would merely charge the managers more for his services.

It might be wise to do so in any case since they had disrupted the sanctity of his private box.

Christine was not in fact finished, and it was only after Erik had been laden with a few skeins of yarn in varying colours—he was intrigued by the few in inky black—she declared herself properly prepared and allowed them to leave.

They spent quite a bit of time at the bookseller's, much to Erik's enjoyment. Christine found many subjects that interested her, including one on the many techniques used for knitting and darning alike. Eventually she turned to him and asked if he would spend a few hours each evening teaching various subjects. "I would like for you to have an intelligent wife, and our baby should have two knowledgeable parents."

That was of course ridiculous as he valued her awareness and talents to no end, but he agreed all the same, only huffing for a short while so she would not think him too easily persuaded.

Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, they stopped at a woodcarver and commissioned a bassinet, a chest of drawers, and the rest of the furniture that would make up their baby's nursery.

Christine was delighted by their purchases and she hurried them along, regaling him with her many ideas of how to move his large wardrobe into their shared bedchamber.

Feeling terribly harangued and equally joyful at their uneventful outing, Erik pulled her close and silenced her with a kiss.

Sooo… Erik got his bath! And the Daroga got his breakfast. And Christine got her nursery! And most importantly, it didn't take that much wheedling after all for Christine to confess what she and the Persian were whispering about. Secret secrets are no fun! Secret secrets hurt someone...(mainly the Daroga, so it's good she talked about it!) Was it what you expected?