Christine smiled as she nestled her face against Erik's neck, feeling his pulse start to slow just as hers was. His hand was rubbing comforting circles on her back, both of them finally catching their breath.

"I love you," she whispered, for what felt like the dozenth time that night, but she didn't think she could ever say it enough.

"I love you too," he murmured, already half asleep.

"Goodnight, Erik," she closed her eyes, ready to follow him into slumber.

"Goodnight, pet."

Her eyes flew open. She craned her head up to stare at him, frowning, but he was seemingly already asleep. She had half a mind to pinch him for calling her that. She scoffed and lay back down, pushing his arm away from her.

Pet.

She wrinkled her nose. He had teasingly called her that so often that it had somehow slipped into his actual terms of endearment for her. But as annoying as it was, she had bigger concerns, and it was those concerns that floated through her head as she fell asleep next to her unsuspecting husband.

Christine never used to worry too much when her monthly courses were late. It was a fairly typical occurrence - too much dancing, too much stress, all of the other girls said such could be the cause of it. She had never had a reason to worry about it before. But now- with Erik- well...

He was surprisingly virile for a man of his age.

There had been a number of times her courses had been late since she had gotten married, but they had always come a few days later. When she missed one month entirely, she tried not to fret over it. When she missed the second month, her suspicions seemed to be confirmed.

And with mornings like this, her cycle two months and one week late, when she had to wiggle out of sleeping Erik's embrace at five in the morning with a great haste, she couldn't see any way to deny it.

"Christine?" he asked sleepily. "What's wrong?"

She practically jumped out of bed and rushed for the bathroom, retching.

Erik's eyes flew open at the noise, and he sprang out of bed with only a slight stumble.

He knelt beside her on the cool tile flooring as she spit the last remnants of her stomach contents into the toilet bowl.

"Oh, Christine, my dear, what's happened?" he helped her hold her hair back. "Are you ill?"

She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, unsure how to answer him. He was so worried for her, so concerned. She had managed to hide her morning nausea so well the past month, but it had been overpowering this morning.

"I'm sure I'm fine, Erik," she gave a wobbly smile, wondering just how much he knew about pregnancy and if he would suspect.

"Did Erik's cooking make his poor little Christine ill?" he fretted over her, handing her a small towel.

"It's not your fault, Erik," she assured him.

Well, she supposed it could be considered his fault in a way - he had been a very integral part of the process that had culminated in her on her knees before the toilet, after all - but if her memory severed her correctly, the only recent time that he had neglected to use a contraceptive was during an occasion that had been instigated solely by herself. She had practically ambushed the man at his piano, although this end result was not what she had been seeking at the time. No, her mind had been intent on only achieving a different goal when she had stood behind him as he played, running her hands down his arms (a gesture which had only confused him until she slipped a hand inside his shirt, kissing his neck - then his mind had suddenly caught up to where her intentions lay), a goal that was realized two times over on that sturdy little piano bench in the middle of the afternoon.

She didn't know how to feel about the situation. It was still a shock, in a way. She wasn't necessarily adverse to it, and she knew, of course, that it was likely to happen at some point - but after a little over two years of Erik's very frequent attentions that nothing ever came of, she had begun to assume that perhaps it never would happen after all. Perhaps he was too old, or perhaps she wasn't fertile. She realized, now, that neither of those was the case, and that perhaps the more likely scenario was that they had managed to skate by on sheer luck during the numerous occasions they had not used a condom (infrequent in relation to the times that they did use them, but frequently enough in the grand scheme of things to make her surprised that this hadn't happened before now).

Some days she felt overwhelmed and uncertain about it - days when nothing seemed to go right, when Erik was moody and she was impatient and the littlest thing would send her stomping off to her room to pout. What would it be like to have a baby added into this? A crying, tired and hungry baby on top of Erik's foul mood about a blueprint revision that had caused him to snap at her when she had brought him a plate of food insisting he eat it because he hadn't eaten in over a dozen hours (a meal she herself had spent hours preparing because she knew it was his favorite, a meal that had taken her several tries before she could get it right, a meal that had left her with a sliced finger, a burnt thumb, and a pile of wasted groceries from her failed attempts)? What would it be like, after all that, to have a little one who needed watching over? She curled up into her chair in her private bedroom and sobbed. She didn't know if she wanted this.

But there were other times she'd find herself daydreaming during mundane tasks, a smile on her face as she thought of the possible futures before them - would Erik teach their child to sing? Would she spend afternoons clipping freshly washed tiny stockings and nightgowns to the clothesline in the backyard? Would they visit the seaside and watch their child light up with joy as they collected shells together?

She hated to admit it, even to herself (especially to herself), but she would not always have her Erik. She fretted over him enough and always saw to it that he got enough sleep and food and fresh air, she corralled him into seeing a doctor regularly and his health was, for a man his age, quite good - but the simple fact of the matter was that he was at least two decades older than her, and even if he lived to an exceptional age, she would still likely be expecting to face a certain amount of years that he was not there. Years that might be made easier knowing that a piece of him still lived on in their child.

She wanted Erik's child for this reason and more, but she still felt uncertain if she was ready. It would interfere with her singing, at least for a while - was this really a good time to be taking time off? But, she supposed, no one was ever really ready to become a parent - sometimes it just happened, and even if it had been planned there was never really an ideal time. They were financially secure, they had more than enough room in their house, they both loved each other, his career was steady, she had achieved no small amount of fame - surely it could be worse.

She turned all of these things over in mind as days passed in a steady march of morning sickness and odd emotions.

She studied Erik's face sometimes, during the middle of the night when she would awake from strange dreams. There in the dim gaslight she could let her eyes roam over his deformity as he slept and let her mind wander over possibilities.

Would their child look like him? Surely it was possible. It might- it might look worse than him. Surely that was a possibility, too. But it might also be perfectly formed, as well. Inherited traits were such a tricky thing. Erik's mother had been beautiful, and, as such a vain young woman, presumably her husband had looked quite handsome (she wouldn't have hated Erik as much as she had if he looked like her beloved husband), and yet here was Erik. She herself hadn't gotten very many features at all from her Papa, instead looking much more like her mother.

She sat with her knees to her chest that night (a position she knew would she would soon be unable to achieve), watching Erik's steady breathing and staring at the strange flesh of his right side, his lopsided nose and crooked cheek and bloated lip and the way his hair simply didn't keep going on that side. He had had such a horrible time, all because of that face. Was it very terrible to hope that their child didn't have a face like that? Did that make her as wicked as Madeleine? She didn't want her child to struggle like that for all of its life. But it would be different, perhaps - she would love her child even if it had no nose at all, and it would have a Papa who looked just like it, it wouldn't have to grow up like Erik had, thinking it was a monster and all alone. But still-

"Christine, why are you staring?" Erik suddenly asked, his eyes still closed.

She nearly jumped out of her skin, her heart pounding in her throat. Apparently he hadn't been quite so soundly asleep as she had thought. She practically threw herself back on the bed, pulling the covers up to her chin.

"I'm not! I'm not staring!" she protested, feeling tears prickle in her eyes.

She always felt on the verge of crying lately, and she hated it, which only made her want to cry all the more.

He rolled over, confused at why she sounded so sad and embarrassed.

"Christine," he hesitated, and placed a hand over the right side of his face. "Why are you crying, dear? Is it my face?"

"It's not your face," she sobbed, throwing her arms around him and hiding her face in his neck. "I love your face, Erik."

He held her as she cried, utterly baffled.

She would count herself beyond blessed if her child looked like Erik, if she could have someone who reminded her of him after he had passed on. She hoped their child looked like Erik.

She had nightmares sometimes. She was used to nightmares, or so she had thought, but these were new and vivid and terrifying. As much as she wanted to wave them off as mere nonsense, she knew that they were her mind's way of bringing up what she was trying to avoid. What if something happened to her? What if Erik was left alone to raise the baby? What if it never even got to that point - what if something terrible happened to her and she died before the baby was even born? Poor Erik, all alone. But no - she was healthy, wasn't she? Surely nothing would happen to her. She was healthy and hardy and she could handle this! Her subconscious mind seemed to think differently.

They continued nearly each night and made her tired during the day. Perhaps the worst part was not knowing how to tell Erik what was wrong, leaving him to give her puzzled glances throughout the day as he tried to figure it out.

She approached him in the kitchen for a hug, which he readily obliged. Neither one said anything, and though he could tell something was off, he didn't press her for details, instead just giving her love whenever she asked for it. She couldn't get his opinion on the matter nor could she hear any comforting words about it from him, but at least being close to him made her feel better.

She closed her eyes and sighed, staying there with her arms around him. He was so much taller than her - would the baby be very big, too? Would she be able to handle giving birth to a child like that? Would they have to cut it out of her when the time came, and would she be able to survive that?

"What can I do for you, Christine?" he asked softly but earnestly. He didn't like that he felt so helpless in whatever she was clearly going through.

She just shook her head.

"Just be good to me," she said simply. "Like you always do."

He brought a hand up to cradle the back of her head in the way that she liked, the way that she had confided to him made her feel protected, and held her like that.

"You know you can always tell me anything," he whispered, and she nodded against him.

"I know," she said quietly.

But the truth was she really didn't know how to tell him. She knew that if she was uncertain herself, if she had any hint of a doubt that this was a good thing when she told him, he would instantly pick up on that and fall into any kind of terrible mood - he would blame himself and fall into a depression, lamenting her apparently lost future and a child cursed to existence because of him. No, she had to be happy when she told him, completely enthralled with the idea that she wanted this. Until then, she'd just have to wait and keep quiet, difficult though it was.

Erik could tell she was keeping something from him, but he couldn't put his finger on what. She was in the strangest mood, one he'd never seen her in before. It was as if she were very sad, and everything she did, even the things that made her happy, only made her sadder still. So many times he nearly asked her what was wrong, what had happened, but he stopped himself, uncertain how to bring it up.

At last he could take no more of her strange, silent suffering. He approached her about one afternoon as she sat on a chair in the solarium and stared wistfully at an open book.

"Christine," he breathed softly as he entered the room.

She looked up at him, an unfamiliar emotion in her watery eyes.

He almost buckled under the pressure, asking her about the garden instead, anything other than whatever this was.

"You know I love you, don't you?" he tried, coming closer to her.

"Of course I do," she told him.

"You can tell me anything, sweet," he continued, almost on the verge of tears himself. "If- if something is wrong, you can tell me..."

"I know," she stretched her arms out to him, and leaned down and hugged her. "I know I can, Erik. I love you."

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. I'm just fine, I promise," she sniffled.

He stayed there for a moment longer, embracing her. Neither one seemed eager to move. But at last he had to pull away, his expression uncertain.

"I'll just be in my office, okay?" he told her.

"Okay."

"You'll let me know if you need anything?"

"Yeah."

He gave her one last dubious look as he left to go back to finish his work. She was a constant thought in the back of his mind as he drafted and designed the rest of the day, but either she didn't need anything or she was afraid to ask, because he didn't see her again until that evening.

He skipped dinner as was his custom - it had been an argument between them, at first, his not eating dinner, until many apologies were issued on each side and the agreement was reached that he would eat three nights a week, as long as he could pick the nights. She no longer pestered him to look after his health and instead waited for him to join her at the table - or not. Dinner related things had gone much smoother after that. This evening he was too absorbed in his work and in his worries to even notice the dinner hour passing him by.

He rubbed at his face and set his reading glasses aside. Perhaps he should have carved out time to eat dinner with her, perhaps that would have made her feel better. He cursed himself for not thinking of it. Deciding to be done for the night, he left his office and began to look for her.

Christine stood in front of the long window, the curtain pulled back on its ties as she watched the last bit of light fading from the sunset. Erik came and stood right behind her. She had been in such a funny mood the past week, and so reluctant to even say what it was. It worried him, sometimes.

He kissed her cheek, drawing a smile out of her. He let his hands trace the shape of her as he nuzzled his face against her neck. Perhaps she didn't want to tell him what occupied her thoughts so. Perhaps she merely needed something to take her mind off of her troubles.

She grabbed his hand from her hip before it could quest too low and brought it up to her mouth, kissing it before cradling it to her cheek.

"Not tonight, dear," she murmured to him.

He breathed a little sigh of relief. She almost always wanted his attentions, unless it was her time of the month. That must be the problem, then - she always had odd little moods the week before her flow - this was nothing they hadn't dealt with before.

Still - his poor Christine.

"Oh, sweet-" he hugged her gently. "Do you need the hot water bottle? Are you having cramps?"

She shook her head.

"No, I'm fine," she turned to kiss him. "But you're so kind to look after me."

He scooped her up off her feet.

"Let's get you to bed, hmm?"

She clasped her hands around his shoulders, pressing her face to his chest to hide the tears that were suddenly leaking from her eyes.

"Your room or ours, love?"

"Ours," she said in a small voice.

She knew he wouldn't think so at first - he likely wouldn't think so for a long time - but she knew he was going to be a wonderful father. She pondered on it as he placed her into their shared bed, tucking her in and fluffing her pillow behind her.

Erik was a man with very many flaws. He was frequently moody, he was frustratingly particular about certain things, he could easily fall into obsession, and she often had the feeling that living a law-abiding life with morals was actually quite new to him.

But he was also attentive and caring, tender and sweet. He had made it his mission in life to look out for her, to protect her. She didn't see any reason why this same affection would not be extended to their future child, as well.

He left the room momentarily to change into his nightclothes, then returned in a moment, settling himself on the other side of the bed. She felt a wave of gratitude that he was joining her here, because she knew he likely still had work he could be doing. But here he was instead, with her, because he thought she needed comforting.

"Hold me," she whispered.

He turned to her and pulled her close to him, his chest pressed against her back. He snaked an arm under her, wrapping it around her shoulders, and she placed both of her hands over it, sighing contentedly as she closed her eyes.

Her breath caught in her throat when his other hand, after caressing her hip a moment, came to rest right below her navel, his thumb massaging the area.

"Are you sure you don't need anything?" he murmured.

She shook her head.

"No," she breathed. "Just this."

He hummed and pulled her a little closer, her body fitting perfectly next to his. Since she made no effort to stop him, he kept his hand where it was. She knew he was doing it because he assumed she was having pain there - he certainly had no other reason to rest his hand over her womb - but the unknowing gesture made her heart squeeze all the same. They drifted off to sleep like that, Christine feeling peace at last.

She awoke to find Erik playing with her hair, curling stray strands around his fingers. She smiled and stretched.

"How are you feeling?" his eyes darted nervously over her, trying to ascertain if she was about to get up yet.

"I'm fine, Erik," she chuckled, and threw the blanket off of her.

He held his breath and tried to look away as she stood, but his eyes still darted over her and her nightgown. She didn't need to glance at her garments to know that what he was afraid of seeing wasn't there.

"It's fine," she assured him, rolling her eyes a little.

He was always easily upset at the sight of blood on her, no matter the context. There had been more than a few mornings that she had woken to find the precautions she'd taken were not enough, or that her menses had taken her by surprise. She tried her best to hide any such stains from Erik, but didn't always succeed in that department. He always looked so mournfully at her when he saw, and she couldn't decide if it was endearing or pathetic or both.

Erik got out of bed as well, coming over to kiss her on the forehead. She felt a twinge of guilt at not telling him, at letting him think she was on her monthly when she wasn't. It felt like lying, in a way, and she didn't know how to feel about that.

But she couldn't tell him, not yet anyway.