A/N: I've had the next two chapters written in segments for almost two years now. I wanted to post them both together but figured it wouldn't hurt to go ahead and both this one rather than keep you waiting. It is long :)

Confession! I didn't realize this chapter was soooo long...so I'm giving you sparklers instead of fireworks here. Making you wait a tad longer was not my intention! But I *promise* you that the actual fireworks will be in chapter 40!

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Christine looked out over the enormous Christmas tree in the national park behind the White House. The national park that just so happened to double as her back yard. What a thought. Even on the holiday itself, people were out by the gate taking photos with loved ones. Christine had been in more photos the previous year than in her entire life. Almost all of them of professional grade. She had allowed herself to be photographed time after time in front of festive trees that held little warm feelings. Before that year, she could not recall the last time she had smiled in front of a Christmas tree. How could things appear so fine on the surface when inside, this day above all others, was by far the very darkest of the year.

Christine and Erik truly were good partners. Neither of them seemed to want anything to do with the holidays, but for the sake of appearance, they continued to stand beside one another for a sake that neither of them understood. The White House staff had made the necessary accommodations for a Christmas tree in their private quarters of the mansion. They had both been asked if they preferred their own decorations or the ones in storage. Neither of the two spoke very quickly. it was Christine who mumbled something about multi-coloured lights. "I know it's not in style," she had said looking to the floor in embarrassment, "But it's all I can remember having in my house growing up."

Erik hadn't said anything. He only nodded so that the staff knew where their headway was. Their tree had no ornaments, except for a single star topper that Meg had requested. Sometimes Christine would stare at how its color reflected around the dark Yellow Oval Room when all the other lights had been turned off. Sometimes she thought she felt Erik eyes watching her from the Center Hall, but whenever she turned around he was nowhere to be found.

The day before, Meg had come by the White House with her mother. Meg had told Christine that she had tried to keep her mother in Annapolis and that she would take the train up, but all year her mother had been looking for an opportunity to meet the President. Christine, of course, went through the trouble of arranging a private tour of the White House and Meg made a point to regularly catch up with nearby staff and security to ask if they had holiday plans. Christine couldn't help but laugh to herself as Mrs Barnes continuously rolled her eyes. Christine knew that Meg absolutely reveled in showing her mother just how well she was doing by not following her mother's track in life.

After lunch, Erik opened up a few minutes of his schedule at Christine's request. After first greeting the secretary to check that he was still available, Christine then greeted the two security guards stand outside of the Oval Office before leading Meg and her mother inside. Erik appeared consumed by two different computers along with a notepad between the two. In hearing footsteps at the door, he looked up and Christine noticed a tired coldness around his eyes. With a long blink, he looked back up and it was masked again. So many masks he wore. A tired half-smile came to his revealed face as he stood to look at Christine. Was that a smile, too?

Introductions had been made and the stone-hard face of Meg's mother actually broke into a smile as she shook the President's hand. The four of them sat down at the sofa's that mirrored each other in the room. Erik went into the general placated topics where he asked about how Mrs Barnes was doing, her dance studio, and how the economy was treating her. In response, Mrs Barnes was a little too honest with how things "used to be better" and "people used to spend money before they felt unsafe."

"You live in Annapolis, Mom," Meg countered, "You're fine."

"There are homeless in Annapolis, but I never took you to those places. People are living out of their cars. I'm afraid to go shopping sometimes. There needs to be better security. They need to be told to park somewhere else."

Christine stiffened. She knew all too well there wasn't always a place to park especially in nicer cities. She didn't know if Meg had ever mentioned her stent of living out of her car. She didn't know why Meg ever would. It wasn't something she shared lightly and despite having moved from being homeless to being employed, saying you did not have a home to go back to was still seen as some kind of crime. Christine wondered if it was something that emitted from her sometimes. Did she somehow smell of homelessness and poverty? Were her achievements nothing to be recognized? And why did Mrs Barnes need to bring that up now? As if it would change the agreement she had already made with Erik?

Meg continued to counter each of her mother's arguments, but Christine started to feel Mrs Barnes eyes on her. After everything that had happened, she would still never be good enough for her daughter. She was still the lower ring of the artistry class, a silly girl with an appreciation for the humble playing of a violin. Charles Gallagher would have steered her away from this conversation. He would have told her not to listen to ballerina's who had the bar too far up their back ends. He had made the occasional homelessness they faced a game that consisted of camping with large fires and too many marshmallows to count. Stories would be told and Christine would laugh until she fell asleep curled up in a sleeping bag under the stars. Such stories would never be told again.

The prickling of Christine's eyes shocked to a pause as she felt a hand fall over her own. She looked down to see Erik's hand comfortably blanketing her own as it lay on her leg. Her gaze followed the black sleeve of his arm until she met his own mismatched eyes. His half-smile reflected the general public mask he showed, but his eyes seemed to show concern. With a gentle squeeze, he looked back at Mrs Barnes who had just watched their interaction with a keen eye. "It is important to regularly hear the opinions of the public," Erik said without missing a beat, "Homelessness is a very serious issue that does not have a simple answer to combat it. Fortunately, for all of us, Christine is assisting me in devising a program to help these unfortunate people reintegrate into society. You see, Mrs Barnes, I have seen homelessness first hand, and I'm of the belief that it only makes me more fit to hold such an important position for this country."

There appeared to be plenty of words that willed themselves to be said behind Mrs Barnes shocked and somewhat appalled gaze, but rather than let any of them out, she only looked back down at where Erik's hand rested.

"So it is real," Stated Mrs Barnes, "Your relationship, that is."

"Mom," Meg said through her teeth, "What are you talking about?"

"Just something I had been wondering about." She stood and stuck her hand out to Erik, "It was a unique experience to be here today, President Underwood."

Erik took her hand and shook it firmly, "A mutual perception, Mrs Barnes."

Meg and Christine stood to mirror them.

"Come, Meg, we had better be making our way back to Annapolis."

As Meg's mother made her way to the door, Meg mouthed the words, "I'm so sorry," back to the couple standing by the couch.

Christine shook her head and simply said, "Have a nice Christmas."

"We'll see," Mrs Barnes said before leaving the room. Meg took a moment to pop back in to hug Christine.

"Please call me back for something official." She whispered into Christine's ear, "I can't stay there till New Years. I'll commit murder."

"I'll think of something," Christine said back, "Good luck."

"You too," Meg pulled away, "It doesn't matter what it is, but I hope you do something good for yourself this year."

"Don't worry about me," was all she could say.

"Meg!"

"Coming, Mom!" Meg looked back at her friend, "I mean it. Love you, chica."

"Love you too, Meg."

And with that, Meg had crossed the room and shut the door behind her. Christine sighed and turned back to Erik who was already halfway back to his desk.

"Thank you for doing that, Erik," Christine said quietly.

"It's nothing, Christine." He said with a wave of his hand as he sat.

"So," she said slowly, "We're creating a program to end homelessness?"

His eyes looked back over the notepad, "I was going to send you the second draft and ask for your thoughts. We can get through a few more drafts then introduce it to the Senate. It's not likely to pass as too many Republican buyouts are supported by private corporations that bank off of the homeless being in jail, but, if anything, it will annoy them and I do enjoy that."

Christine smiled to herself, "I would like that. Not to annoy them, but a bill to try and fight homelessness. Maybe offer safer shelters and programs to help manage money and time."

"And raise the minimum wage," Christine saw Erik smile slyly, "Oh the Republicans are going to hate this bill."

"They will. But I'm glad you're still trying for it."

"Only with your help, Christine. I can't do it all." He waved his hand, "You'll have to carve out time in between your music and language studies, but I'll allow it."

"How kind," she replied dryly, "I'll start getting ahead of things now."

"Christine," he waited for her to look back at him before he continued, "There is money set aside for the First Family to have a large dinner on Christmas Eve and Christmas. There would usually be a large group gathered here those nights. I hope you do not mind I arranged to have that meal's funds donated to an organization that supports women's shelters in and around D.C. I meant to tell you earlier."

"Erik," Christine smiled and took a step towards the desk, "Erik that's perfect."

He nodded, "Their representative was very appreciative. She may have been crying over the phone, but I can't know for sure. She said she wants to send a picture, but that it would be safer to send an audio clip as many of the women are in hiding from abusive domestic situations."

"Erik… did you talk to her yourself?"

"My secretary arranged the transfer, but I made the secondary call."

"That's so kind-"

Erik waved his hand, "It's the end of the year and the money is budgeted on a year-by-year basis. Couldn't have the money going to waste when it's only the two of us eating."

Christine smiled, "You would have figured something out."

"Consider it a gift. And if you would still like to have dinner with me we can have something upstairs."

She nodded, "It's been a while since we've had dinner."

"I know," he said simply, "Do you accept?"

"Yes,"

"Very well, then. You choose the menu for the twenty-fourth and I'll choose the menu for the twenty-fifth. Does that sound agreeable?"

She appreciated how he avoided saying the holidays. They were just days after all. "Very agreeable."

"Good." They held each other's gaze only for a moment before Erik continued in a business tone once again, "I have many things to complete before everyone else in the office leaves for holiday. I was lucky to keep the ones I have thus far in and I'd like to let them go early today. Be sure you have memorized the songs I left out for you by tonight. Turning the pages will become tedious and won't allow you to focus on your voice."

Christine rolled her eyes a little. Still the same Erik.

By the time Erik made his way to the second floor of the living quarters, it was well into the evening. He hadn't remembered when his timer had gone off to signal seven forty-five and when he finally looked over the to the time he nearly threw his computer across the room. It was getting close to eleven in the evening. He had let his work overpower his desire to be with Christine and music all because of a damned holiday where he would be ready to work like any other day even when no one else seemed to care. The world never stopped turning and there was no time off for a president. No one seemed to understand that but him. Time was running out on his term already.

Erik had not expected to find his betrothed laid out on a Yellow Oval Room sofa that faced the piano. A half-empty glass of water lay on the glass coffee table before her. She was resting on her side with a pillow tucked up over her arm and under her head. Her clothing consisted of what he figured was one of her favorite casual appearances which consisted of one of her father's old button-up work shirts and a pair of yoga pants. Beneath her resting arm appeared to be one of the pieces he had picked out for her. Never in a million years would Erik had ever imagined that this was the only picture he ever wanted to come home to.

Rather than wake her, after all, he was the one who was nearly three hours late, he quietly made his way over to the piano that shared the farthest window with the dimly lit Christmas tree. Both he and Christine agreed that the color scheme of the lights made it look like a gaudy mess, but after he once saw her look at it several times with a far-off expression in her eyes, he did not bring it up again. She only ever mentioned it again to remark how it brought a nice smell to the room.

Before he let his fingers fall to press on the piano's keys, he took another look at the woman who shared his space. How much had changed in only a year? The image before him of living where he sat was merely a far-off ambition. What was not on the table was someone that mirrored absolute perfection. He had completely beamed at seeing her reaction to his donation to the women's shelter. Granted, he could not let her see that, but within him, his collective thoughts were bright. He could never hope to express to her how much she meant to him, merely because, he was convinced she would have to be insane to feel the same way towards him.

There was a shame within him that he could not shake. The feeling that she could be out to live a normal life with a lover who could actually love. She would always be able to set out and do whatever she wanted. It was only he who needed her so badly that it hurt. He found himself regularly distancing himself from her in fear that she might use her power against him. It was too much to bear. He was already in the White House and doing everything he wanted, but his wants had changed along the way. Why did it mean so much to him to have her happy with his donation? Why did the thought of her not being there when he came home threaten to uproot every sane fiber within him? What was this all about and why would she choose to stay with someone who had such little power next to her?

Erik's eyes refocused from their glazed thoughts and moved back over to Christine. How could a woman like that be so dangerous? He watched as air slowly moved in and out of her lungs. Lungs that he helped to mold. As she breathed, the papers were slowly slipping to the inside of the couch and revealed that the fabric of her top two buttons were being stretched as the excess fabric of the large shirt caught in between the cushions of the couch. He caught the design of dark navy lace woven over pale skin. There appeared to be no underlining or padding it was clearly just her.

He nearly threw the sheet music on the piano across the room in frustration. That feeling. That awful feeling that he had pushed aside so well for decades was stirring beneath where he sat. As if the power she had around him to very well control him were not unfortunate enough she also flared up desires that he would rather have extinguished for good. His own undergarments seemed to grow tighter between his legs and he took some minutes to gather his breath and remind himself just who he was and just what he looked like under his mask. She would never accept him. Nor should she. He was a monster in and out.

"Erik?"

He looked up to the tired voice. Christine had twisted her head to the arm of the couch to look up at him. The music was back up under her arm and he could no longer see what nearly undid him.

"Erik, are you alright?"

"Yes, Christine," he all but growled.

She seemed to shy away at that and curled into herself a little, "Are you…mad at me? I didn't want to bother you with everything going on and I thought about texting you but then I didn't."

He sighed, "No, Christine, I am not mad. I was just thinking of something else."

As his tone changed she seemed encouraged and sat up with her legs tucked up under her, "Do you… want to talk about it? If you can, I mean-"

"No!"

Erik saw her eyes widen and he took another deep breath. She could never know what he had just been thinking.

"No, it's nothing, Christine." He looked back up at her and continued, "I should have been up sooner and missed my alarm. I didn't mean to keep you up."

She gently smiled, "Well, you obviously didn't keep me up. And it's not like I have any plans tomorrow."

He stood, "Would you like a glass of wine? We can rehearse another night."

She stood too, "But I've been working really hard on this one." Her grasp on the music in her hands tightened, "I'm ready, really. I haven't been asleep long. I'll just need a quick warm-up."

Erik watched her, transfixed. A year ago and she couldn't bare the idea of singing and here she was requesting to do just that after he was the one to wrong her. He remembered the times of having to blackmail and beg her to simply breathe without having an anxiety-ridden fit. Could she see what he saw in her when she did things like this? Could she ever possibly know what she meant to him? She couldn't and he shook his head at the thought that he may have somehow revealed his inner thoughts to her within his expression. He looked away and moved back to the piano.

"If you insist." He heard her thick socks pad across the carpet to the hardwood under the piano. He chose not to look, "But I expect this to be appropriately worked on. If you will not accept my offer of another day to study then I had better notice that you don't need it."

"I've got it, just wait."

Erik did a poor job of hiding his smile at her confidence.

"We'll see." He laid his fingers over the keys, "Let's start with middle C going up."

While Erik was sure Christine lied to herself on many points, he found her rather incapable of lying to others. She had been practicing. Or was it possible she was merely growing and becoming that much more advanced than a year prior? He could only imagine what she might be like in ten years. She would be incomparable to any on earth.

Ten years.

Why would such a large number resound in his head? Hadn't he asked her to commit to only four with him so that he could be re-elected? Why would she ever want to stay any longer than that? She would have to be insane. He would have to drive her to absolute insanity. He would have to break the bird he had caged and taught to sing. Erik was reminded over and over just how much Christine did not need him. She likely was out of options and couldn't figure out why not to marry him when he was offering her fortune and an easy retirement anywhere she wanted after only four years of accompanying him to political functions, smiling, and not destroying his career.

And how he knew just how much she hated it all of it. She, like he, much preferred the inner workings of how politics ought to run in a democratic nation. Christine cared about people and about good bills running through Congress that would actually make a difference. She seemed uninterested in just how much she could purchase on the debit card he had set up for her. The only time it ever seemed to be used was when Meg was involved and purchasing something for an event. Otherwise, Christine only ever seemed to use her finances from her personal account. An account that he would never let run dry. Even so, the most expensive thing she had purchased in months was eating out at a fondue restaurant in Bethesda. He later found out the establishment had given her a meal for free so she offered to pay it forward for a single mother who was there with her daughter for her birthday.

Christine was perfect. In too many ways she was perfect. And he would only ever be exactly who he was.

"Erik?"

He looked up from the music.

"Are you…okay?"

"Yes," he mumbled.

"Um," she fidgeted, "Well okay, it's just that you've been sitting there staring at the pages for a little while."

He stood, "Excuse me. Would you still want a glass of wine?"

"Sure… if that's okay?"

Erik looked back at her. She was doing that thing she did when she crossed her fingers and pulled her arms in to make herself smaller. He was crushing her somehow. Just as he always did. She had just been soaring through the voice he had brought from her. They had been entrapped in music for hours at that point and he let his thoughts destroy all of it.

"If you'd rather go to bed that's okay," she backtracked.

"No, Christine," He sighed, "I have little to sleep for."

"Oh," she looked down.

Rather than sit in the uncomfortable moment he had created he went to the kitchen and procured two glassed of a rich spice wine he had been gifted by the Danish Embassy. As he let the drink breathe, he too took a moment to collect himself. He had concluded long ago that there were very few times when he wouldn't rather have Christine in his company. She was intelligent and oddly wise while also managing to be patient and acutely pointed. It was only in times where they seemed to have nothing to do but exist in one another's the company that he knew he was the one to deprive the soul of what ought to be a civilized conversation. He had imagined their original agreement in marriage to be that of agreeableness where he would come back after a long day to hear her sing and then she would insist on going to her own bedroom to get away from him and that would be it. However, as time passed, he found her out waiting for him to return and she never seemed too quick to hurry to her own chamber. What had changed?

Erik's thoughts were stirred by light fingers on the piano. Quietly, he took the wine bottle from the countertop and corked it, then he took the two well-filled glasses to the opening of the doorway of the Yellow Oval Room where he could lean against the siding. With thin long fingers, Christine moved her way through the basic notes of the song. her back was straight, her shoulders relaxed, but her face seemed to be thinking a lot about where the next note of the song would come from. After hitting the wrong key, she sighed. A moment later, she looked back at him with doe-eyes.

"I didn't realize you had finished pouring."

"You drew me out," he answered matter-of-factly.

She looked down, a faint pink spreading over her cheeks, "I know I'm not very good."

He chose not to say anything about that.

"What was that you were playing?" he asked as he made his way into the main room.

"Merry Go Round Of Life," She looked back at the piano, "I heard it the other day and I can't get it out of my head. It's from a Japanese film."

Erik set the drinks down at a side table he kept next to the piano specifically so that drinks would never be placed on top of it.

"Play it again," he said as he chose to look at the keys rather than her when they were so close.

"You can't seriously want to hear me play again."

He sat down next to her on the bench and she only moved over enough to let him sit. It was not a move to necessarily be so close to her, but once he had made it, he realized just what he may have done. Rather than let the thought simmer for either of them, he continued, "Play the melody."

"Okay," she said slowly and began the tune. After a few notes, her breath faltered and she hit the wrong note. Clearly flustered, she stopped. "I'm not good-"

"Breath," he cooed, cutting her off, "Don't think about me being here. Don't think about anything. Just breathe."

Her eyes dropped as her chest grew and fell with air.

"Play."

The tempo was slow at first, but it allowed him to get a better idea of what the notes were meant to be all along. When she repeated the phrase, he joined with light accompaniment with both of his hands an octave lower than hers. His sound started lightly, if not whimsical, like the tune encouraged, but eventually grew so that she would have to play louder and stronger to be heard. She did not disappoint. The song grew between the two of them and he moved his way up and down the keys, but never too close to where he knew her fingers would go. Finally, after several new phrases that had not previously been there, they ended the song without a word to stop them. They had both felt the end and knew to let it go and that was it.

"Wow," she said heavily, "That was… so much better than any version I have ever heard."

Erik snickered a little at the thought before handing her a glass of wine and taking a sip from his own glass. The spice in the wine broke up the dark sweetness in a way he found enjoyable.

"I don't know how we would fit piano lessons into our current schedule," He said casually looking away from her, "And I don't believe I could stand you learning bad habits from another teacher."

"Maybe once they've stopped needing you as President you'll have more time."

Christine had said the words so effortlessly! Did she have any idea what she had just implied? That was time beyond the agreed-to terms. She couldn't possibly want that. Before Erik's mind could spiral, she commented on the wine once she had sipped it. "Is this the spiced wine?"

"Do you like it?"

"It's delicious." She looked back at the glass, "Weren't we supposed to wait on drinking it?"

Erik looked down at his watch. It was well after midnight. "It's Christmas Eve now. Close enough. Besides, if we waited to drink every bottle of wine we received as a gift from each embassy on Christmas we would likely need to visit a hospital before the day ended."

At first, she laughed, but then she stopped. Something was wrong.

"Christine?" he asked, quietly.

"I don't even want to think about it," she whispered.

"About what?" he bent down a little to meet her eyes and she closed them.

"About anything bad that could happen tomorrow or on… The more involved I get with people…the more I…" she winced, "I don't want to think about it."

A lock of her hair had fallen out of the messy bun that she had not managed to restructure after she woke up. It hung in front of her face and Erik thought he would go mad if it wasn't moved somewhere else. He wanted to see her eyes. He wanted to tell her that she had nothing to fear so long as she could somehow trust that he had taken every measure to ensure that no one close to her would be under threat the next day. Strangely, the words were lost on him. All he found himself able to do was to move that lock away from her face and behind her ear. The action seemed to startle her and she looked up to meet his eyes.

God, she was beautiful. It wasn't just the light angles of her jaw, the natural curve of her cheeks, or her symmetrical features. It was her eyes. Her eyes held so much and he wanted to peer into them until they released everything that he could never understand. His thumb ran over the lock he had placed behind her ear until it slowly, lightly, reached the tips of the strands. Something about her hair deserved to be treated more gently than anything else he had ever touched. Then he was sitting there, close to her, with his hand hovering near her shoulder. They were so close. Just existing with their glasses of wine still in hand. Somewhere. Somewhere he didn't dare to wish for.

"I'll play for you," he said, trying to hide anything he was feeling, "Would that clear your mind?"

Painfully, she smiled and stood. He wanted to reach out after her as she walked toward the sofa. There was a coldness that surrounded him whenever she walked away. But she needed him, if only for a few minutes. He could play for her and make her forget for a little while. That would be enough.

Eventually, after playing whatever came to mind, both composed by others and himself, he let the tune fade away. All that was left in the room was heavy regulated breathing coming from the couch. He waited. Nothing. She must have been asleep. He reached out to the glass he had neglected and took a sip before looking over to her. Why did she choose to stay? Granted, he had been trying to soothe her with music, but why wouldn't she eventually pad off to her room?

When he finally looked back he noticed that her glass was a few sips away from empty. It sat on the table just before her next to the music she had stacked neatly beside it. Her head rested on the arm of the furniture with the rest of her body tucked up to herself as if she wanted to make herself as small as possible. She might have been cold even though he never felt it. Not wanting to disturb her, he made his way to the spare bedroom where he had left the quilt Doug had given him many years ago in a closet. Once he had opened it, he was surprised to find it missing.

Christine made a small sound in her sleep and Erik turned to see her wrinkle her nose only to relax it again. He had a thought. Then another, Couldn't be.

Without a sound, he made his way to the door of her room. He had never entered without her permission, but he had to know. She had her own blankets in there. She could buy new ones if she wanted but she insisted on keeping a deplorable looking blanket that was an awful teal color and swallowed her up whenever she wrapped herself in it. It had been a gift from Meg after her apartment had been bombed. Erik would never admit it, but he liked what Meg did for Christine. Even if it drove him mad.

The door was opened a little and a lamp was on near the bed allowing Erik to see where he was going. He thought of first going to the closet but stopped when he found the quilt - his quilt - wrinkled up next to the bed on the opposite side of where she must have sat down earlier. Why would it be on the bed? Why would it be waiting for her at all and disheveled as if…recently used. Reality dawned on him. He had not made it to their music lesson on time, but she waited for him. Instead of curling up with a gift from Meg, she chose something of his. Why wouldn't she have been angry at him? Why would she want him after he left her alone for so long with what must have seemed like very little regard?

Not wanting to encourage the action, or worse, accept the thoughts that came with it, Erik looked around the room in hopes he would find the teal monstrosity. He looked to the closet then thought better of the action. He didn't want her thinking he was rooting through her personal things. The quilt caught his eye again. Better that than nothing. Without another thought, he made his way back to Christine with the quilt in hand. Very lightly, so as not to wake her, he placed the thick material over her body all the way up to her neck. She didn't move. Good.

At first, he turned to go back to his room but stopped before he passed the door. As he looked back, he could see her blonde hair beginning to free itself from the messy bun and run over the quilt. He looked back at his door but slowly turned towards her again. He made his decision and concluded she could never know. Tentatively, Erik made his way over to the sofa that mirrored hers. Then, quieter than the concept of quiet itself, he lowered himself to lay on his side to face her from across the coffee table. This distance would have to do. It was too close as it was without a wall between them. And she could never know. He could not sleep there. Not with his mask on. But he could stay there a little longer with her face resting four feet away. That would be enough. That would have to always be enough.

The early light from behind the tree met Christine the next morning. The glass she had left out the night before was gone, but the music was still there. What surprised her the most was the quilt she found tucked around her shoulders. Erik would be in his room by that time, she wondered to herself, but this was his doing. Her face grew hot. He had found the quilt in her room where she had left it. He would know that she had wanted to be in it, wanted to find comfort in something of his even when he wasn't around. And then he had given it back to her. As if…as if accepting that but not rubbing her face in it. Had his action been truly kind?

She couldn't think of it. Couldn't bring herself to think of it. Instead, she scooped the quilt up into her arms, fiddled awkwardly to get the music between her fingers, and moved as quietly as she could back to her room, shutting the door lightly behind her. The pages fell in a heap to her dresser by the door. She squeezed the quilt to her chest and sighed. That would be enough. That would always have to be enough.

That Christmas Eve was like nothing Christine had ever experienced. When she finally showered, dressed, and made her way out to the common area of the mansion, it was already closer to noon and Erik was sitting at the dinette reading The New York Times. Two other papers, clearly already having been sucked dry for information, lay, shuffled, on the table just at the tip of his long reach. Christine did not immediately say good morning as she knew better than to expect him to snap out of work-mode so quickly. It was only once she reached the unground coffee beans that she winced.

"Um, sorry, but-"

"I ground some this morning, Christine," He mumbled, not looking at her.

At first, this concerned her. She knew that he ordered his coffee from a small Sumatran coffee business on the H Street Corridor, and while she appreciated his support of an immigrant business, she much preferred her French Roast. However, as she noticed the color of the ground beans in the French press, she realized it was her blend and she began to heat enough water in the kettle in the nearby kettle. Part of her wanted to think that the exchange had been thoughtful, but it was likely to do with practicality. Better not think about it.

Once the water was in the press, Christine took out her favorite peppermint-flavored cashew creamer from the fridge. Meg had gotten her hooked on the stuff and the sugar was a welcome boost in the morning. With coffee prepared to her liking, she took a granola bar from a nearby cabinet and sat across from Erik. Her eyes ran over the headlines of The Herald and then Politico. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

"Do you have plans today?" Erik asked from behind his paper.

Christine sipped her coffee and smiled a little to herself at the taste on her tongue before answering. "Nothing," she said sadly, "Wish I did, but I don't want to do anything for the holiday."

He lowered the paper and she saw his mask reflect the bright light from the lighting. Pulling what he had apparently been looking for from the glare, he put the paperback in front of him.

"I received a copy of the British Royal Opera's Madama Butterfly. Would you like to watch it?"

She shrugged, "Sure. What are you going to do today?"

"I'm going to watch the British Royal Opera's, Madama Butterly."

The heat grew in her cheeks, "Oh."

"Nice of you to join me." He put down the paper and muttered, "Enough of that."

"Did you want to watch it up here?"

"No," he clipped straightening the papers only to drop them in the recycling under the sink, "I want to watch in the screening room. I have yet to use it for anything recreational."

"That's too bad," she commented honestly.

"Too much to accomplish and the hours grow shorter the longer I'm here. Finish your coffee and we'll have lunch there."

Christine decided to take her coffee with her instead of feeling like she had to chug it all at once before leaving the kitchen. As she moved to the opening towards the den, she looked down at her comfortable cozy clothes and fuzzy socks and sighed.

"Something the matter?" Erik asked. She could feel his eyes on her but chose not to look at him.

"It's…nothing."

"Liar," she heard him get up from the table and move a little closer, "Tell me."

She looked back at him, "Do you think there will be many people around today?"

"There had better not be," Erik said under his breath, "This is the first Christmas Eve in history that the President has told everyone to go home on a paid holiday just so I might be left alone for a little while. The only people in here should be security and some unfortunate secretaries and they are all getting a bonus for working a holiday."

"Wow," she said, "I imagine it will be pretty empty then?"

"If it's not, someone is getting fired."

Christine winced, but relaxed when she realized he was joking…mostly anyways.

"I should still change though," she offered to look back down at her yoga pants and her father's loose button-down shirt.

"If that's what you want."

She looked over at his clean-cut designer clothes, "But you always look so put together."

"And you agreed to marry me. As far as I'm concerned whenever you decide to look decent for the cameras is more than I deserve." He smiled a little and the gesture made her feel warm, "Wear whatever you want. It's your house too after all."

Christine smiled to herself then looked at him with mischief in her eyes, "What about the 'teal monstrosity' blanket Meg bought me?"

"Are you afraid you'll get cold down there?"

"No, I just like it."

"If you insist," he said with a wave of his hand.

She beamed, "Then I do."

He walked over to the sink and began to wash his own coffee cup, "Very well, go and get it and meet me at the door."

At getting the rare opportunity to feel like she might have a home to live in rather than a place of work, she delightfully sprang towards her room for the blanket. However, once inside, she saw the quilt from the previous night on the bed. She knew that the teal one was folded away for the time being. It would be easy to get. She kept it at a height where it could be easily pulled if she found out Meg would be visiting. What would it mean if she came out with Erik's quilt instead? It wasn't that it was as warm or as comfortable, but there was something about it that made her feel safe. Was it possible that he knew that though? What would he think?

Without letting the thoughts spin out of control, she huffed and went over to where she had some plain chestnut slippers out. She slipped her fuzzy socks into the thick material of the slippers. It was one of her favorite feelings. Placing what was left of her coffee down on the nightstand she took to haphazardly folding up the quilt. Once finished, she stuffed as much as she could under her arm and got hold of her coffee with the other. Doing what she could to scrape the anxiety from her mind, she walked out to the East Sitting Room toward the stair landing where Erik was waiting. He seemed to take in all of her at once only to settle on the quilt. His brow furrowed a moment as if confused, but she didn't let him speak first.

"It was already out," she tried to say as straightforwardly as possible, but her nervous smile wasn't helping, "You know, as you, um, know and it works so yeah, okay, we should go."

She made her way to the door and all he asked was, "Are you taking your coffee?"

"Oh!" She looked at the cup, "Um, no, no, I'll just uh… Hmm, okay, I'll be right back."

As she began to move away, she felt the quilt being taken from her. She looked back.

"Wouldn't want this to get wet," he said nonchalantly looking at the material, "How would Doug ever forgive me?" he added melodramatically.

"Right," she smiled, "Thanks."

Christine rushed away to the kitchen and caught her balance on the sink once the cup was laid within it. What's wrong with me? she thought as she stared at the cup, Why am I acting so nervous?

"Are you alright, Christine?" Erik called from the other room.

She quickly popped back out, "Yes, sorry, I didn't mean to make you wait."

"No matter," she made her way up to him and he made no move to hand the quilt back, "Are you feeling alright?"

"Yes, I," she looked up at him and smiled genuinely, "It's hard to remember the last time we had a day that wasn't prescheduled. It's nice."

He seemed to think over her words only to reply, "Yes, nice."

They seemed to have another one of those rare moments where neither knew what to say. She found herself wondering what he was thinking and why he wasn't moving. Why would he just want to stand there, like that, with her? The questions started to grow and she finally looked down at how she appeared and said, "Do you think we'll see anyone on the way down?"

"We will. Do you not want to?"

"Will they hate me for looking like this?"

"For looking human? Hardly. They'll love it. But here, take this," he handed Christine the quilt, "I can't be seen holding this. If it gets back to Doug I'll never hear the end of it. He, however, would be thrilled to somehow find out you wound up with it."

Erik said that in such a way that it made her wonder if Doug would be the one "thrilled." What did Erik think about her having the blanket? Was it all practicality or did he care that she chose it over Meg's? Christine second-guessed herself and concluded that the idea would make her full of herself. Rather than focus on it any further, she took the quilt and stuffed it back under her arm.

"Any way that you know of that would let as few people as possible see us?"

"If you insist," he said the words casually, but Christine was sure she saw something close to a glint of intrigue behind his eyes. "Follow me,"

Within a second, she saw Erik transform a little. Rather than tall and brooding, he leaned a little lower and as he opened the door she didn't hear the knob at all. Once the door was opened wide enough, he motioned she step past him against the wall. Curious, but without question, she did so and he silently shut the door. Similar to how she had seen undercover cops move in movies, he peered around the wall over the banister to check the surrounding area. Suddenly, he looked back at her and pointed to something directly below. He mouthed the word, "Hawthorn," and she recognized the name as one of their guards. She nodded in understanding.

Erik continued to move with expert stealth as he made his way to the stairs. She watched as he put each shoe down with the ball of his foot down first. She copied the motion as best she could. He was already halfway down the stairs where the lower staircase met the upper when she was only halfway. A flat hand was held up to her and she understood him and stopped. She looked to where he was looking, but couldn't see from her angle. She waited until he waved her down and stood so close to her she could feel his breath in her ear.

"He's walking away but that means someone else will be coming from the west side shortly. Stay close and we'll see how far we get before someone spots us."

Christine smiled out of gratefulness but equally from the sudden excitement of the game. They would have to make it down the Center Hall and through the East Garden Room before they could reach the Family Theater. Prospectively, it was a short distance when compared to how large the house felt to her. However, there were plenty of cameras along the way. Erik seemed to fly from corner to corner to corner whereas Christine felt like some kind of package-in-tow that managed to hit every edge along the way. At the door of the theater room, Erik pressed himself against it as if he were about to raid it. He looked back to Christine and then looked past her. His hand raised flatly towards her and she took it as a symbol to stop before crossing into the East Garden Room. She then pressed herself into a nearby corner.

"Good afternoon, Hawthorn," Underwood said just as the guard passed into the room, "At ease."

"Good afternoon, Mr President," Greeted the guard who appeared to be in his mid-thirties. Christine had never had a long conversation with him, but she knew he had a young family at home and had been a marine, "I was notified of Ms Gallagher being seen acting…suspiciously. I was not made aware that you were down here. Have you seen her?"

Without acknowledging her at all, Underwood replied, "She and I have a bet on who could make it down here first. You must forgive her, she has no training in stealth."

Hawthorn responded slowly, "I mean no offense, but my daughter likes to do the same thing with me around the house."

"She is how old now?" Underwood asked nonchalantly.

"Almost six. She wants to be a spy one day. She's getting better at hiding."

"Perhaps she could teach Christine a thing or two."

"I don't know about that, Mr President," he chuckled to himself.

"Thank you for checking in," Erik responded, "I am sure Christine will turn up shortly."

Hawthorn nodded then leaned in closer to the President. Christine peeked out to look as she could not hear him speak. Erik simply nodded in response. Hawthorn then saluted before moving away. Erik then looked over to where Christine was.

"You can come out now, dearest," he said with a slight smile.

Christine stood up from the nook she had been crouching in and sighed, "He knew I was here didn't he?"

"Why would you ever imagine that?" he asked sarcastically.

"Right," Christine said with her head hanging low. "Well, you're right. I have no stealth training so I tried my best."

Erik opened the door for her as she walked across the room, "If you wish we can add stealth onto your regular training with Clara."

"That kind of sounds fun. Sort of like hide-and-seek?"

"Something like that. Except if you're caught you get murdered."

Christine's expression dropped as she looked up at the President.

"A joke, Christine," he said straightforwardly, "but what is hide-and-seek but ancient training for the hunt?"

"I guess…"

"Here, dearest," he motioned inside once he turned on the lights over the seats, "Can't have security thinking I refused to let you win the 'bet' after you 'tried' so valiantly."

Christine scowled as she made her way inside.

After an afternoon of opera, Christine and Erik made their way back upstairs just as the sun had set. Christine insisted on preparing grilled cheese, tomato soup and a salad for them for dinner. While Erik had never been particularly interested in any of those foods before, when she had told him it had been a favorite meal of hers that her mother had prepared when she was young, he agreed to try it for her sake. Once the food was cooked and dishes had been taken from the stove and placed in the deep sink, Erik sat down as Christine placed a plate and wide bowl before him. He had already poured himself a glass of Scotch.

"Mom would have given me milk but I think I'll stick to water," Christine said as she turned around to set a plate out for herself. Before sitting down she poured herself a glass of water. "By the way," she added from the refrigerator, "The cheese is made from cashews. I actually couldn't taste a difference so I'm really looking forward to the sandwich. I think it's going to be good."

When she returned to sit across from Erik, she noticed that his sandwich has been cut into small pieces. He looked up and waited for her before continuing. Trying not to make a scene of his choice to cut up a sandwich, she nodded in encouragement and turned back to her own sandwich. Before looking back at him she had already dunked her grilled cheese into the soup and taken a bite.

"Oh my god," she said once she had swallowed, "I think I actually got the recipes right."

She looked back to him and watched as he carefully took his mini-squares of grilled cheese, dipped them lightly into the soup, and ate from the fork. The act was so carefully planned that she found herself fighting off a smile. When he looked up to her and saw her expression, he scowled.

"Is there an issue, Gallagher?" he asked coldly.

She immediately dropped her grin, "No, sorry."

They continued to eat in silence as a thick cloud of Underwood's notorious anger mixed with annoyance filled the dining room. After a few more bites, Christine stole a glance up to Erik. He continued to eat so very carefully. She wondered if he was worried about dropping pieces into the soup and would - for some reason beyond her understanding - would be angry or embarrassed about fishing out the bread. However, that didn't seem to be it. What would turn his mood so quickly?

"Does it…taste alright to you?" she asked cautiously.

"Delicious," he spit back.

"If you don't like it you don't have to eat it," She responded honestly, "I promise I won't be upset or anything."

"I said it was delicious." He looked up at her with piecing here, "I know you heard me."

"Right," she looked down, swallowed, and continued slowly, "Did I do something wrong?"

She heard him grimace, "Have you ever witnessed me eat a sandwich?"

"No…" was her slow answer.

"This is how I must eat." He responded coldly, "I will now allow you to lose your stomach over a potential sighting."

Christine kept her head low as her mind ran away with her thoughts. Finally, the realization struck her as Erik stood to take her plates and bowl to the sink. Her stomach sunk, "Oh Erik, I'm so sorry, I didn't even think-"

"Of course you didn't," he turned to her, "I've been so careful as we have shared such quarters. One sight nearly drove you away. Rightfully so. I had to drag you back and trap you as I did. I'll be damned if I allow that to happen again. I refuse to lose you now."

Christine looked back at him with horror. Who was this monster that revealed themselves when threatened with the reveal of his full face? She had not seen him so cold to her since that day and for so long she never wanted to ever bring it up in fear that this would happen. However, something had changed since then. A year ago, she did not care for him and was not invested in his life as she was now. While her deeper feelings were mixed up and confused, she could easily admit that she did care for him now if nothing else. His tone hurt her, but this time, she realized that the slightest of gestures from her had hurt him even worse. Before she could say anything, he walked out of the dining room and into the West Sitting Hall.

"No," she whispered at first but then found the strength to leap from her chair, "Erik, no, wait!"

As she barreled out of the room once she lost sight of him, she had not expected him to have stopped in the middle of the hall. Christine collided into his chest. He held her away from him by her wrists and steadied her balance. There was no affection in his reaction and his grip was tighter than she would have liked. He looked down at her with anger in his eyes but somewhere behind that emotion, she knew that there must have been hurt.

"Erik, I…" she continued to look up into his mismatched eyes as she had trouble with her words. What could she possibly say?

After seeming to lose his patience, he let go of her wrists with a scowl, "No lesson tonight. The opera this afternoon was enough."

He turned to enter his bedroom across the hall. Not knowing what else to do, Christine reached for his hand. When she touched him he froze.

"Let me finish, please?" she said from behind him.

Erik did not turn.

"This afternoon was nice. I was looking forward to tonight. I'm sorry for making you feel bad. You're right. You had been doing everything to…to stay covered, I guess? I wasn't thinking and I"m sorry. Please, can we talk about this? I don't want you feeling like…like you have to trap me or that you're going to lose me or whatever you said. You don't have to do any of that. I'm staying and well…" she felt encouraged as he turned slightly towards her, "I care about you, you know? Like, I do. Can we at least admit we're friends or something? And friends…friends talk about things, right?"

"Friends," he scoffed at the word.

"I mean it," she insisted and pulled lightly on his hand, "You've always talked about partners and that's such a business term. I think we can be friends too. That's kind of personal, right?"

"We can be whatever you want to be," He said coldly, "I do not see why adding a title changes anything."

"Well, it doesn't really," she said awkwardly, "But as friends, we should talk don't you think?"

"About how I eat my sandwiches?" he looked away again.

"No," she took a breath to steady herself, "About the…mask."

He turned and peered down at her, "I do not believe myself interested in hearing your thoughts on the subject."

Despite how little he was making her feel, she kept eye contact with him, "Not my thoughts. Yours."

His eyes narrowed, "You're not a shrink."

"No," she kept her eyes up and tried to smile encouragingly, "But I'm a friend. And I care about you. And I don't want what happened to be between us. Can we…" she took a breath to steady herself, "Can we please talk about what happened? I don't want you to resent me like this. You don't have to."

Erik kept his eye contact with her and seemed to be searching for something in her eyes. She tried to respond non-verbally with encouragement In turn, he sighed and looked past her. She noticed that he had not removed his hand from hers. Finally, he spoke, "What is there to say?"

"Have you…" she thought of her words very carefully before continuing, "Have you thought about what happened that day?"

"Of course I have!" he barked making her cringe.

"Please," she insisted, "Please do not yell at me."

Rather than respond, he inhaled then exhaled a long time as if he were doing one of the breathing exercises he had taught her.

"Do you believe me yet?" she asked quietly, "That it was an accident? I didn't even have my glasses on."

"I don't see why these details matter."

"I would have never done something like that. We didn't know each other well but I even cared for you some then and I wouldn't have done that. Even if I didn't care at all I wouldn't have done what you accused me of!"

He stepped towards her as if he were to strike her, but he did not raise his arms and so she assumed the move was to threaten alone. His teeth were grinding on each other and he peered at her with such hatred. Throughout her terror and uncertainty, she continued to stand tall and stare straight back into his eyes. He was hardly inches from her. She could feel his breath over her face. Her stomach seemed to jump within her over something she had to keep stowed away and she bit the inside of her lips as a way to distract herself from the feeling. His eyes flashed down to her mouth for just a moment before he turned away from her with a growl.

"I know," he said.

"You…you do?" she asked in shock.

"Of course I know. I've replayed the event over in my head thousands of times."

She noticed he continued to keep his hand in hers. Her words were quiet and careful, "Then why would you blame me?"

Erik looked past her as if he was seeing those few minutes playing out just over her shoulder. He sighed and she knew she was reaching him, "I should have never blamed you, Christine. We both know that. I was…afraid."

"That's hard to believe," she gave him an encouraging smile.

He looked back at her quickly as if to retort her words, but softened when he saw her, "It is true. Too much was at stake and continues to be at stake. I am monster enough as it is but that is something I can control. This," he motioned to his mask with his free hand, "Despite my best efforts is something I cannot seem to control. When you saw all I could imagine were all the things I would have to do to keep you under my hand."

"Was that the point of asking me to marry you?" she asked slowly.

"No. I'll admit that I had thought of putting you in prison or mental facility somewhere."

Her eyes went wide at that.

"It was an option," he shrugged and she was reminded of just how much power he possessed even a year ago, "But I couldn't stop imagining your sad face and good instrument wasting away due to my mistake. I considered putting you on house arrest until you broke, but it was Walker who had the best idea. He didn't know you at the time, but he said he needed me to clear my image with a good wife. You were…the only person - even then - that I could imagine being a good candidate. And yes, once I thought things through I concluded that keeping you tied to me would be the best way to avoid you speaking out against me."

"Do you still believe this now?" she asked skeptically.

"No," he almost rolled his eyes at the concept he was about to reveal, "Now I am certain you could take me down from anywhere you choose and in under one hundred and eight characters."

"Do you think I would have to?"

He looked back at her and said seriously, "Why else do I feel I'm treading on glass whenever I'm around you?"

"Erik," she said and squeezed his hand just enough to show him the depth of her words, "I'm not going to tell anyone what I saw. I never even mentioned it to Meg. It was an accident on both of our parts and… if you ever want to consent to show me on your own time, I'll be okay with it."

He looked to her and winced for only a moment before letting his stoic expression return. She could feel an added pressure as he finally turned to fully face her and continued to hold her hand up between them. "It is my wish that you never see. However, I fear that with our residential closeness that what happened before may somehow happen again."

"And if it does, will you promise not to be angry with me?" she implored.

"I ask that you walk away," he said quietly.

"If that is what you want."

"It is,"

"Okay…but please, I hope that maybe one day you'll believe me on this, I already see you for all I know you to be. Your face is never going to change that."

Her words seemed to affect him greatly for she saw an expression that was unfamiliar to her cross his eyes. Before she could note its significance, he pulled the back of her hand to his lips and kissed her. His kiss was hard and full and she could feel the smooth material of the mask as well. As quickly as it had happened he had let her go and was walking towards his bedroom.

"Goodnight, Christine," was all he said before quietly shutting the door.

Buckle your seat belts before moving to the next chapter ;) And while you're buckling, please review!