Christine thought that he was probably lying when he said a few weeks. She thought that he was probably lying when he said he would bring her back. If it was just a vacation, four suitcases packed with everything from their closets and the two boxes filled to the top with music didn't make a whole lot of sense.

She thought that he probably lied about a lot of things.

Instead of telling him that, or calling him a liar, she made sure that she took the painted rock that marked the tiny makeshift grave. It wouldn't matter anyway. One way or another, he would put her in the car and there wasn't a whole lot she could do about it.

She wasn't sure that there was really anything she wanted to do about it.

Every time she looked at the rock she wondered what she had been trying to paint on it. The lines were wavy and if she meant to put any words on it they were smudged and illegible. She had done it shortly after he had stuck a needle between her toes for the third time. She knew that he let her pick it, but she hardly even remembered doing it.

She didn't barely remember losing the baby.

Sometimes her opinion could change three times in an hour. One moment she was grateful, the next she resented him for it.

Like most things, it didn't really matter.

"Where do you want to go, kitten?"

It was a funny thing to ask when they were already three hours down the road. "I don't care," she answered, staring out of her window.

"Alaska."

She blinked, pulling her feet up on the edge of the seat.

He sighed. "I don't want you to be miserable," he said. "I would take you anywhere. There has to be some place that you have in mind."

"It doesn't matter," she answered quietly. "As long as you don't leave me I don't care."

He was quiet for a long time after that.

Traveling wasn't so bad. It kind of reminded her of the beginning, before she was all completely broken, before Raoul, when it was all happy and nervous excitement. Erik let her pick anything she wanted from the gas stations when they stopped. It was the only time that he really let her load up on sugar and pop and potato chips.

It wasn't a whole lot different than the first time except that when they stopped, he didn't try to hide the reason from her anymore. They would pull off somewhere quiet and sit for fifteen or thirty minutes until he pulled himself together enough to get back on the road. She was pretty sure it wasn't very safe - she would definitely need at least a few hours before she could drive - but it didn't really seem to affect him as much as it did her. When they stopped at night, he didn't bother getting two rooms anymore. She thought that he probably knew it would be a waste because she would just end up in his anyway. She was pretty sure he didn't sleep much but she didn't mind. He would quietly prop his laptop open on his knees and let her rest her temple on his thigh. With enough of the sweet drug, the click of the keys didn't even keep her awake.

He would always bring breakfast to the room for her. One morning he took longer than normal. When he came back he pushed a large pill into her palm and handed her a styrofoam cup full of orange juice. "I want you to take that for me, kitten."

She stared at it in her palm. "What is it?"

"Emergency contraception," he answered. "I think we were both a little... worked up last night. I'll be more careful, kitten. I promise. Please take it."

And she didn't remember. Sometimes it was fuzzy. It was the first time that it was completely gone. The only reason she even believed him was the familiar dull ache and the stickiness on her thighs when she woke up.

He must've taken her confused silence for protest because he sat gently on the side of the bed and ran his hand over her hair. "One day, Christine. I promise. But not today. Not when we're living out of suitcases and in a different city every night."

She took it silently, tilting her head back and forcing it down her throat even though it seemed to stick. He kissed her forehead gently and thanked her.

Christine wasn't sure which one was a lie - that he would be more careful or that he would let her have a baby one day - but she was pretty sure at least one of them was. Finding out which wasn't worth the fight.

She never told him that she didn't remember it. It would've been more concerning if she didn't know for a fact that he would never let her out of his sight again.

"I'm going to take you to a jeweler today," he said softly when she took another drink of the sour orange juice, trying to get the feeling of the sticking pill out of her throat. "A little later today, when you're feeling up to it. I want you to pick out a ring that you actually like."

"My stomach hurts," she mumbled, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand.

He sighed. It was the first time that she could remember him actually sounding sad. "Then let's get you some breakfast, kitten. It is about time, isn't it?"

She was perfect in every way. She was compliant and soft and did everything he asked of her without question. If he said to sing, she would sing. If he told her to sleep, she slept. If he asked her to open her legs, she was more than compliant. Sometimes she was particularly receptive; other times she would close her eyes and he knew that she was somewhere else entirely.

He had considered, on multiple occasions, asking her where it was that she went when she closed her eyes. If he was honest, he was afraid to. A few short weeks were enough to show him exactly why the boy had been so concerned about her. It was almost like every bit of spark, every touch of soul and fight, had been sapped from her entirely overnight.

Never did he think he would say he missed her rebellion and fighting, but truth be told, he did. She hardly resembled the girl that had fled from him months before and he knew that it was his fault entirely. Even apart he found ways to break her.

Not once did she ask where they were going. She offered no suggestions. There were hardly any questions at all. She seemed content to simply exist alongside him and it was entirely concerning because he wasn't even sure that she wanted to exist at all.

He had taken to locking away the drugs. She had never used a needle herself, but he wasn't convinced that she wouldn't try. Every time she was bare before him he searched her skin thoroughly for any marks or nics that could even be interpreted as purposeful. He never found one, but it didn't stop him from looking.

For the first time, he honestly started to believe himself when he told her that he loved her. It was the only explanation he had for the sudden gripping terror that he would lose her to herself.

The ring she chose was pretty; expensive, but pretty. He nearly had to force her to choose one. All she asked was which one he liked the most. He had to refuse to give an opinion until she picked. Once it was on her finger, she refused to take it off again. The only time he ever saw it leave her hand was when she showered. She even slept with it.

"I'm taking you to Chicago," he informed her one night, climbing into yet another hotel bed beside her. Her hair was damp, her skin still pink from her shower, and he pressed his chin against her temple, disguising his attempt to steal her warmth with a long press of his lips at her hairline. "I found a pretty house, just on the outskirts of the city. I think you'll like it. Do you want to see it, kitten? I think the page is still open."

She only shook her head and he sighed, resting his open palm over her stomach. She was always warm, so warm, and even though he knew his own temperature bothered her he found it difficult to resist the temptation to touch her. There was a strange sort of comfort in it.

"That's okay," he said softly. "I wouldn't want to ruin the surprise anyway, I suppose… It can get cold but I will keep you safe from the winter. We can get you a nice fluffy hat and a coat or two without holes… does that sound nice?"

"Yeah," she whispered.

She didn't mean it. He knew that. There was no point in trying to drag anything out of her. It simply didn't matter. She didn't seem to care about much of anything.

When he buried his mask against her neck and kissed her throat gently, she sighed. "It's a good place to build your career," he murmured against her. "Opportunity at every corner."

She shivered and sighed. "I don't want to do any more shows."

"Okay," he said softly. The truth of it was, he was glad she said it. He wasn't quite ready to grant her the freedom that would yet, not when he had only just gotten her back. "No more shows, kitten. We will start recording instead. You didn't mind that, did you?"

"No," she breathed as his lips brushed against her throat. "It sounded pretty."

"That was just you, Christine," he answered gently. "Your voice honestly is lovely. I've never lied about that."

She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, but she said nothing.

She voiced no complaints when his hand slid under the edge of her shirt. She only sighed and relaxed into his touch.

X X X

The house was small. One bedroom, an open floor plan, one bathroom. It seemed frivolous to search for anything more. Christine wouldn't need her own bedroom. If anything, separation only seemed to make her more anxious.

Christine seemed wholly unaffected by much of any of it. She stood in the center of the empty living room silently with her arms crossed over her chest.

"There's no piano," she commented after a few long moments of silence.

"There will be," he reassured her. "That's easy enough to remedy."

"... There's no furniture," she pointed out, finally looking at him.

There was something sad in her eyes. There always was when she was in a halfway lucid state. "There is a bed," he said. "A dresser, too. I thought that perhaps - I never did let you do anything in the old house. I thought that maybe if you weren't too averse to it we could pick it together. Did you notice the flower boxes out front?"

She rubbed at her tired eyes and nodded. "They're pretty," she said eventually. "Erik, what will we do without a piano? How can we sing?"

"I suppose we will just have to be a bit more creative, at least for the moment."

That seemed to satiate her, at least for the moment. He helped her to hang their clothes in their now shared closet and she didn't say a word about it. The only complaint she seemed to have at all was the lack of a piano. He wasn't sure whether he should be relieved or disheartened by that.

Regardless, she let him press a gentle kiss to the top of her head and even though she didn't return the words, she almost seemed to relax when he mumbled that he loved her.

He thought that maybe content could be enough for him, even if they never did quite reach happy.