A/N: THANK YOU SO MUCH to everyone who left reviews and messages after the last chapter! Honestly, it made me so happy to hear from you. You were all really up for the confrontation scene - and you shall have it! I must admit I ended up re-working it massively and it is now in two parts, I will try to upload the next chapter ASAP for you! This chapter is definitely the calm before the storm, so to speak... :)

As always - please drop me a review to let me know your thoughts or just to say hi , it is HUGELY appreciated and I always reply! xxx

Charles was his son.

He was the boy's father.

He had fathered a child.

A son.

With Christine.

Christine had given birth to his child.

Christine and he were parents.

They had a son…

Erik's addled brain carried on like this for some time as he tried to fully assimilate the enormity of this new information. In a frighteningly short space of time Charles had gone from being an unavoidable nuisance to being revealed as his own flesh and blood: his offspring, his progeny, his child, his son… The idea was so bizarre it felt like some kind of madness to Erik. How could he deserve such a wonderous gift? How could it be?

Unable and unwilling to sleep, Erik had done the only thing he could think of – he had got dressed again and gone straight to the de Chagny residence to see Christine. It was still within the early hours of the morning, not that it mattered a jot to Erik. He slipped around the back of the property and nimbly picked the lock of the French doors, moving silently through the house like a shadow until he finally found himself in Christine's bedchamber, gazing on his beloved as she slept.

Standing by her bed Erik was struck by how enchanting she was even in slumber; he watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest beneath the coverlet, his eyes taking in the softness of her expression, her lips slightly parted and her brow smooth and unfurrowed. How relaxed and carefree her sleeping face seemed. It made his heart lurch to realise that in repose she looked more like the gentle Christine he remembered from their early days at the Opera than she had since he had reappeared in her life. All urgency to speak with her faded at the sight of her - he would not wake her and disturb her rest yet, it seemed too cruel to steal her from her dreams so early.

Instead, Erik settled himself upon a plush velvet chair in the corner of the room and simply watched her adoringly for a while; the mere sight of her, the sound of her breathing went some way to soothe his jangled nerves.

The Christine he saw before him was a mother. In the six years since he had parted from her at the Opera House she had grown and changed - her tiny, delicate body had brought forth a new life. He wondered what she had looked like, pregnant… her belly rounded with child – with his child. Erik's stomach did a flip at this thought. Chagny had no doubt kissed that belly, erroneously believing it was his seed growing within. Ha! Erik smirked unpleasantly to himself. He could not help but feel a childish sense of victory over his hated rival. But the smirk quickly fell away and was replaced with a scowl as he realised that the de Chagny boy had been there to watch as Christine expanded month by month, perhaps had felt against his hand the tentative kicks of the babe within Christine's womb. All those things that Erik would never feel or know, pleasures he had unknowingly given away, because he had been too stupid and cowardly to let her stay. Again, he felt the sharp stab of guilt and winced in the knowledge that his sacrifices had achieved very little and his beloved Christine had borne the brunt of his mistakes. What might their lives have been had he have kept her by his side? Could they have raised the child together? Could they have been happy?

Christine sighed in her sleep and shifted position, her head turning on her pillow towards Erik. His expression softened as he focused his gaze again on her pale features. How he adored her. He could look at her for hours and never tire of doing so. Dragging himself back unwillingly from his reverie he gathered his thoughts once more. Perhaps it was time now, before the servants woke, before the child woke. He needed to see the answer in her face. It wasn't enough to believe. He needed to be sure - to see the truth of it in her eyes.

It was barely five am. The soft light of the morning was already filtering into the room, Erik wanted more than anything to simply slip into the bed beside Christine and hold her sleeping form in his arms, to feel the warmth of her body, her heartbeat against his skin. What unparalleled bliss it would be to wake next to her each morning, to take his place at her side without fear or subterfuge.

It suddenly rankled with Erik that he was back again lurking in shadows, a mere ghost gazing at the living. Erik allowed a quiet hiss to escape his lips. It would not be forever. It would not be for long. She was his – the boy was his! His plans were underway. Patience… he just needed patience.

~xXx~

It was barely five am - still far too early for Christine to be awake yet something had roused her… no, not something – someone... with a sudden thrill she realised that Erik was in her room. She did not need to see him to know he was there - she could sense him, the weight of his gaze was almost palpable, his heartbeat somehow echoed within her own.

"Erik?"

Christine pushed back the covers and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, breathing his name as quietly as she could, knowing he would hear. As she stretched and yawned he stepped forward from out of the shadows.

It was unusual for Erik to appear at her home like this, he was normally very precise about their rendezvous, preferring to exercise caution and to keep clear of the de Chagny property unless absolutely necessary. She wondered if this visit was connected with his meeting with Charles the previous day, or if he was concerned about the appointment of the music tutor. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes Christine tried to gather herself towards some semblance of coherent thought.

"Erik - is something wrong?"

Erik did not reply. He seemed unusually unsettled, radiating tension and moving around the room before perching on an upholstered stool opposite Christine. His long fingers were steepled together and he sat with his eyes closed, frowning to himself, lost in thought. He clearly had something on his mind.

"Darling please, if you need to say something-"

Moving like lightning, the words were hardly out of her mouth before he was kneeling in front of her where she sat on the bed, holding her face between his hands, staring intently into her eyes.

"Tell me, Christine – Charles… is he…?"

Ah, so it was this. She held his gaze and nodded.

"Yes, Erik. Charles is your son. Our son."

Erik looked stunned, staring at her silently for some time before he leaned forward to kiss her deeply, a tumult of thoughts and emotions going through his mind as he processed her words.

He looked agonised, then wonderstruck, then angry.

"Oh, Christine – Forgive me! How could I have been so irresponsible? So careless? I did not think! It never even occurred to me that I might… that you… "

He tailed off breathing heavily, furious and shocked at the realisation of his own oversight.

"I did not think it even possible… If I had known… If I had realised..."

His hands fisted into the material of her nightdress and he pressed his face into her lap, unable to manage his thoughts. So, it was true. His beloved Christine... he had indeed sent her back to the Vicomte with his own child inside her. Erik had made her leave and she had been miserable. She had endured so much - all he ever seemed to do was make her suffer.

Christine stroked Erik's head in her lap, as he breathed raggedly. She shifted forward till she could embrace as much of him as she could, gently kissing his head and rubbing his back as soothingly as she could. In a tired voice she whispered softly to him.

"Erik, you cannot think on it. You could not have known… and I do not regret it. You must understand - having Charles kept me sane. He was a little, living part of you when I believed you dead and gone. He… kept me on this earth when there was nothing else to."

Erik let out another low, agonised moan.

Christine's breath hitched in her throat as, unbidden, a flurry of different feelings and memories swelled up within her, pounding her brain for release before she regained control and swiftly pushed the rising emotions back into their little box. She patted Erik's back again.

Erik let out a long sigh, then looked up at Christine's face wonderingly. He spoke softly, his voice hesitant.

"He is just like you, Christine. So beautiful. A truly exceptional child. I never thought… never imagined… that anything so perfect ..." His expression clouded and he winced. "It is good that Charles believes the Vicomte is his father… he should not know the truth. Please, Christine, let us pretend his father is simply an inbred idiot rather than a grotesque, murdering mad man, can we?" He twisted his lips into a grim smile but Christine saw the pain and fear in his eyes. This, she thought, was a discussion for later. Much later. Certainly not now when it was barely even five in the morning and he was rambling and she was barely awake and had not even had her morning coffee. She smiled forbearingly and kissed Erik's head.

"Oh, Christine…You have given me a son and I have given you nothing but misery…"

Her words, when she replied, were quiet.

"It matters not, Erik. Please, please let us look to our future together – as a family, my Angel."

Erik looked up into her impassive face. He had expected tears, he had expected… something more. She was so calm and resolute… but her eyes were guarded. It was unsettling.

Christine smiled as she stroked Erik's cheek.

"I love you, my angel. We are together now. The past is the past. We both have things we regret but it does no good to dwell on them."

Erik loved Christine from the depths of his soul through every fibre of his body. He craved her love, forgiveness and compassion above all else, but while he felt calmer at her words, they did not reassure him as fully as they should have...

Not a man who knew or cared much about others, Erik had accepted early on in his life that most people were cruel and loathsome beings, often unfathomable and usually beneath his interest. But Christine – Christine he knew. He had worshipped and adored her from afar; watched her for so long – he had secretly and obsessively catalogued her and her every movement for years. He knew her childhood hopes and dreams, her nightmares; the way she liked her tea, which hand she held her teacup in, the particular way she would hold the spoon. He knew her shoe size and dress size and ring finger size; He could recognise the first signs that indicated a headache was approaching for her before she knew it herself. He knew the tell that showed when she told a lie, the little unconscious twists she gave to her fingers when she felt anxious. He knew from her posture and gait if she was happy or sad before he could even see her face, he knew from her expression when she was thinking of her Father. He had understood her secret longings even when she could not recognise or accept them herself… Erik had stared into those beautiful eyes for so many years through shadows and mirrors and moonlight that now, as he looked at her, he could sense that something was not as it should be. There was a strange sense of emptiness at the heart of her that he did not recognise. It made Erik even more desperate to hear her sing. He ached to share their music together. Whatever else happened, the music was always where they were the most attuned, a place where they connected beyond mere words or looks. She could not hide from him there.

Rising to his feet at last, Erik drew Christine up with him into a tight embrace. He buried his face into her neck, feeling both utter joy to be holding his darling Christine - mother of his child! - And also a pang of anxiety.

"When will you sing for me, Christine? I must have your voice, we must continue our work." He pulled back to gaze at her longingly, his fingers gently stroking her graceful throat. A thought came to him.

"Tomorrow is Sunday..." He began, hopefully. "Will everyone be attending church, Christine? I do wonder… if you might find yourself with a terrible migraine tomorrow morning, my dear? Perhaps you might dismiss the servants early and allow your Maestro to call on you?"

Christine closed her eyes and allowed herself to become lost within Erik's arms, loving the feeling of strength and safety they offered. Nothing else mattered when he held her. Here, with her face pressed to her Angel's chest, breathing him in, she could relax for a moment, allow herself to believe that everything would be right, that their story could have a happy ending. When he was away from her it never felt sure at all. How desperately she missed lessons with her Maestro! Music might well be the thing to soothe her nerves. Gently stepping back from him, Christine was quick to agree to his suggestion.

"Yes Erik, I can plead a headache on Sunday morning. The servants have a day off and Charles will attend Church with Marie. I will ask her to take him to the bandstand in the park afterwards as he loves to hear the music. The house will be empty and we will have a few hours together at least, my Angel."

"I long for Sunday already." Erik replied warmly.

All very calm and civilised... Erik was close to prostrating himself on the floor and kissing the hem of her dress back there but he held himself back. Good man! Christine has been rather quiet, though... but not for long. I will try to update soon.

By the way, the new image for the story is a photo of my POTO T-shirt, bought many years ago on my second or third visit to Her Majesty's. The mask still glows in the dark though I think it qualifies as 'vintage memorabilia' by now!

xxx