Christine clung to Erik's arm as they approached the party. She knew he was itching to leave as soon as he could.
"You look very handsome," she told him as they entered.
He looked away, still peeved at having to come. At least, Christine mused, he had dressed up for the masquerade, though she wasn't sure how to take his "Red Death" costume. It was certainly... something.
Her own dress floated around her, a celestial princess, and did its best to hide her current condition. She wanted him there so he could write a check to help pay for the damage he had caused to the stage, but also so that if someone realized that opera star Christine Daaé was with child, they could see both the ring on her finger and the man she had come to the party with. But it was more than that - she knew, also, that as time progressed and things became more obvious, she would have precious few opportunities to go very much of anywhere. This might be her and Erik's last party together for the better half of a year.
Erik separated from her as soon as he could, and she knew it was because he was self conscious about being seen with her, even though his skull shaped mask covered his entire face. She didn't have long to be disappointed over it, however, as guests were soon recognizing her or else attempting to recognize her. Everyone was eager to see all the costumes of the performers and find out the secret identities.
Patrons and ticket purchasers all greeted her and exchanged polite words. She was sweet and polite to each one, welcoming them to the opera house and doing her best to play the perfect host. If the fundraiser failed, after all, she would have no job to return to when the baby was older.
The evening was going quite well when suddenly, towards the end of the party, Carlotta spotted her and bustled over. She was dressed as some sort of spider.
"Christine!" Carlotta smiled widely, intruding on her conversation with a handful of guests. "How are you, Christine?" Carlotta turned towards the guests. "Did you know? Christine is going to have a baby!"
The guests, three men and two women, all smiled awkwardly, embarrassed. Christine felt her face go red behind her silver mask. Carlotta smiled bigger than ever.
"Her first child!" Carlotta continued. "But certainly not her last, I've seen how she looks at her husband!"
Carlotta laughed airily.
"Just the one," Christine squeaked out. "I'm quite dedicated to my art, I assure you!"
"Are you still going to sing, er, after?" One of the men asked, curious.
"Oh, of course! I wouldn't dream of not coming back after. I would set my watch by it."
She glanced at Carlotta, who was resting a friendly hand on her shoulder.
"I have two small ones at home," one of the women offered. "They're such a handful, but you'll love them more than anything."
"I'm sure I will," Christine agreed.
"She must enjoy her time now, no?" Carlotta said, taking it upon herself to straighten out Christine's tiara. "You must take as much as you need to rest and relax and enjoy being fat and happy while you can before the baby comes and keeps you up all night!"
The little group laughed lightly, but Christine froze inside. Fat? The conversation moved on, but her own mind was still reeling. Fat!
She pushed it aside for the last handful of conversations with a few other guests, but once Erik rejoined her from wherever he'd been sulking, the thought came back.
It replayed itself in her mind as the carriage took them back home. She was quiet the entire ride, and it made Erik worry.
"You pushed yourself too hard," he fretted, taking off his mask. "Come here."
She let him pull her to him, resting her head on his shoulder as he stroked her hair.
That night as she changed out of her costume and into her nightgown, she stared hard at herself in the mirror. She pinched her arms and prodded at her neck and glared at her thighs. Was she-? No! Unless? She had had to get all new clothes recently, but that was because of the baby, not because she was-
She groaned, then left the bathroom to crawl in bed with Erik.
The next morning he cooked breakfast for them both. He set her plate in front of her, three eggs and three slices of toast with a great amount of jam and butter. She glanced up at him, her gaze cold. She never used to eat this much for breakfast, but ever since learning of the baby he had been insistent that she needed to eat more 'for both of them'. If she was fat, it was because he had made her so!
She sighed, firmly resolved to not eat all of it, only for her willpower to waver halfway through. She ate all of it, then secretly fumed.
That afternoon, she decided to confront him about it as he was reading on the couch. Surely she was imagining things! She wasn't fat! She was the same always! Right?
"Erik," she approached him, sitting next to him on the couch and leaning against him. "Do you think that- that I've, well... gained weight?"
Erik was silent. It was a trap, as certain and cunning as any ever laid for him by the Shah or Sultana. If he said yes, she'd likely have a fit. But if he denied it, she'd be within her rights to accuse him of lying.
And it would be a lie - she was growing another human inside of her, how could she not gain weight? He was in equal turns intrigued and terrified of her changing body - her ever growing abdomen, in which he could sometimes feel the movement of which he was certain could only be a monster like himself, was not a favorite of his most of the time, but he had very little complaint about her more ample bosom. The rest of her had filled out a little more as well, not as noticeable as certain areas, but his hands had mapped her entire body often enough to know when it was different. Different - but not in a bad way.
He could tell he had been staring at her too long without an answer and she was starting to get annoyed. He slipped an arm around her and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
"There is merely more of you to love, my dear."
She squealed and pushed him away, running out of the room as best she could in her state, leaving him flabbergasted on the couch. He had, evidently, chosen the wrong answer.
Her anger didn't last long, however. She was relatively fine by that evening, and that night she wanted Erik in the same room with her. There were surely worse things, she decided, than being fat.
As they settled down to sleep, Erik found Christine's constant twisting and turning was preventing him from fully falling asleep.
"What's wrong," he murmured into his pillow.
"The baby won't stop kicking," she said, sighing, and turning once more.
Erik rolled over and put an arm around her, pulling her close, his chest to her back. He pressed a hand over her belly.
"Sleep little one," he said firmly. "You are disturbing your mother."
The movement slowed, then ceased. Christine smiled, overjoyed that Erik had addressed the growing child directly, even if it was just to chide it.
Their days went as normally as their days could, all things considered. When the sun was up, Christine had plenty to occupy her mind with. But it was at night that everything else whittled down to one singular concern - the baby, and their future.
"We're going to need to pick a name soon," Christine said one night.
Erik was pretending to sleep, but Christine knew he was just avoiding the conversation.
"I was thinking," she pressed on, "that maybe... maybe we could name the baby after you."
His shoulders stiffened.
"No," he said, giving up all pretense. "No absolutely not."
"Why?"
"Because I said so, Christine. Any other name."
"We can't a baby be named after its father? Even a middle name? If it's a girl, it could be Erika."
"I refuse."
She huffed and rolled over, pouting. The gears in her mind started to shift.
"That's fine, Erik," she said after a while. "Maybe we can name it after Raoul instead."
Erik shot up and looked at her, but she kept her eyes closed, trying not to let him see her smile.
"What the devil is he in on this for?" he demanded.
She shrugged, still not looking at him.
"You said any name but yours," she reminded him.
Erik was silent, sitting up in bed. He stared at her suspiciously.
"A middle name," he muttered, scrubbing a fist over his face. "Erik or Erika, if you wish to curse the poor defenseless thing so."
"Thank you," she said softly.
He grunted.
Upon further discussion in the daylight, it was agreed that if the baby was a boy, they would name it after Christine's father, with Erik as a middle name. They couldn't decide on a girl's name, with Erik insisting that 'Christine' was more than adequate, a suggestion which made her nose crinkle.
"Erik, we are not naming the baby Christine Junior."
"Terribly hypocritical of you, my dear."
As the weeks wore on, Christine became more reserved, more distant. She was just as sweet to him as ever, but she was fatigued more often, and in bad moods from various aches and pains. She'd have her tea in her bedroom instead of at the table with Erik, sometimes even her meals. Erik hired extra help around the house, someone to tidy and to cook while he was working and she was resting.
His work was a fitting distraction during this time. It helped for the most part - it was difficult to worry over her and work at the same time, though sure enough he found a way to do both. He understood that she needed and wanted more rest, but he fretted over the idea that if he lost her during this, then all their most intimate moments, their best times together, were already in the past. She had even begun sleeping in her own room, alone, on a regular basis now. He missed her.
Certain days of the week he would give the cook and the maid off, and he would take care of the house and it's tasks by himself. Cooking, especially, was one of his favorite things to do when it was for her.
Erik frowned at the food he had set on the table. It would be cold soon - Christine was normally always here by now.
He set up the stairs to find what had happened to her.
"Christine?" he called as he approached her room. "Christine, breakfast is ready."
He stood in the doorway. She was there, standing by the window, her arms wrapped around herself as she stared out the rolling hills beyond the house, her face set in a scowl as though the whole world had wronged her. Her tangled curls were pulled back, and she was still in her nightclothes and dressing gown even though the morning was swiftly turning to noon. Her eyes looked puffy and red, as though she had spent a great amount of time crying, or perhaps a short amount of time crying intensely.
"Aren't you going to dress and come down for breakfast?" he asked.
Her glare deepened, and still she stared out at nothing.
"No. I'm not going to dress and I'm not going to come down for breakfast," she said firmly.
Erik was at a loss. Was she feeling nauseated again, perhaps? He could make toast for her again, if that was the case.
"Why ever not?" he asked gently, taking a step inside.
The hard resolve of her face suddenly crumpled and tears began streaming down her cheeks once more.
"Because none of my shoes fit!" she sobbed.
She practically threw herself on the bed.
Erik stared for a moment in horrified stupidity before springing into action. He crossed the room and sat down next to her on the bed, petting her hair soothingly.
"Oh, my poor Christine," he crooned. "My poor sweet, it's alright. I'll buy you new shoes, love. I'll buy you any shoes you want."
She sniffled and rested her head on his thigh.
"You will?"
"Of course. I can go to the cobbler today, in fact - right after breakfast."
She nodded slowly. She had stopped crying, but her eyelashes were still wet.
"But I'm not coming down for breakfast," she said quietly.
"You need to eat, my dear," he reminded her.
"Erik!" she cried, sitting up suddenly. "I am not leaving this room without shoes!"
Her voice bordered on hysterical, and even as wondered at the strange woman his wife had become, a little voice in the back of his mind reminded him that he was the one that had caused her to be like this.
"You don't have to leave, Christine," he rushed to assure her. "I will bring your breakfast up to you."
It was a very sorry state of affairs, he thought, that he should somehow be the stable one in the relationship. Christine has always been the one to temper out his moods, the one to always run steady. But now she was increasingly, well- turning into him. He was swiftly learning what it was like to live with himself, and found his appreciation for his wife growing all the more. She truly was an angel. On normal days, that is. Currently, she was much too Erik-y to be an angel, though she was close just on account of the fact that she was Christine.
They were both on edge lately. The baby was liable to come soon, and Erik didn't like thinking about it. Would Christine hide her revulsion very well, when she saw the infant at last? Would it be so malformed that it didn't live very long? Question he didn't want to know the answers to.
She seemed to be feeling the anxiety too. She was in a foul mood much of the time, and he'd learned to let her little snappish remarks and pulls away from him go without comment. She loved him, for now at least. She was just nervous. He could understand that.
She surprised him one morning by joining him in the kitchen as he was about to prepare breakfast. She went right up to him and put her arms around him, hugging him close.
He put an arm around her, pleasantly surprised, and pulled a pan out of a drawer with his free hand. She hadn't been this sweet with him for months, and he had missed it, though he had been understanding of her desire for space. She had been feeling uncomfortable for some time now, it was only natural that she behave so prickly with him - one only had to watch her attempt to walk from one room to the other to see how uncomfortable she really was. But this - this was nice. He squeezed her a little.
"What would you like for breakfast, love?"
She shook her head.
"I'm not hungry this morning," she said in a small voice, and it was true - she was too nervous to eat.
"Will you help me braid my hair?" she asked suddenly.
"Of course," he walked with her to the sitting room, relishing the feeling of having her close and not pulling away as she had so often done in recent months.
He settled her on the couch before telling her to stay put and then left to get her brush and comb. Her eyes strayed to the clock on the mantle and she kept careful count of the seconds, frowning.
He returned swiftly enough, but still she stared at the clock, her hands over her midsection.
"One braid or two?" he asked as he sat behind her, pulling her out of her thoughts.
"Two, please."
He nodded and began to brush out her hair before parting it down the middle. Once parted he made short work of braiding it, a skill that had surprised and delighted Christine when she first found out about it. She had, eyes shining and lips grinning, asked where he had learned such a thing, and he hadn't the heart to tell her that he was so skilled at it due to all the time he had spent braiding silk and wire for his Punjab lasso. Still, it was skill she had often asked him to indulge her in every now and then, and he always readily obliged.
Her breath hitched and her shoulders stiffened. Erik's brow furrowed and he paused.
"Did Erik pull poor Christine's hair?" he murmured.
She shook her head.
"No," she said quietly. "You didn't. It's okay."
He studied her for a moment before continuing his work. Something was off about her, but he couldn't put his finger on what, exactly.
She chewed anxiously at her lip. The midwife had told her it would help if her hair was braided, when the time came. She had let it grow long once she realized how Erik liked it, and it would be a shame if it were to get tangled or knotted during labor and have to be trimmed - she hadn't gotten it cut in years, and she hoped to keep it that way.
He started on the other side. She stifled a little squeak, and thankfully he didn't notice. She glanced at the clock. Yes, the pains were definitely much closer together than they had been earlier that morning, or the previous night. It had been easy enough to dismiss them as mere cramps the last night, but when they had started to wake her and she could no longer sleep, that had been harder to dismiss. She had hoped that the light of day would drive her fears away, but the pain had only gotten worse as time went on.
He finished and ran his fingers down one of the long braids before patting her on the shoulder.
"All finished," he smiled.
"Thank you, Erik," she turned and gave him a wobbly smile. "I love it- ah!"
She doubled over and winced.
"Christine! Darling, what's wrong?"
Her hands clutching at her waist gave it away. She looked up at him with fear in her eyes.
"I- I-" she couldn't even say it.
She wasn't ready! This was happening too fast!
Erik grew very still.
"Christine," he said quietly. "Are you having contractions?"
She nodded, tears forming in the corners of her eyes.
"For how long?"
"Since yesterday," her voice wavered.
Erik felt like a bucket of cold water had been dumped on him. He licked his dry lips and tried to think.
"Let's get you to bed," he grabbed by the shoulders and pulled her up. "I'll go call the doctor and the midwife."
She whimpered, wanting to protest him leaving her, but she knew she needed the doctor and midwife, and there was no way to alert them without Erik going to the only room with a phone and alerting them.
He helped her into her bed, making certain she was comfortable, fussing over her pillows and blankets, and then he took her in his arms and kissed her.
"I love you, Christine," he whispered as he hugged her. "I'll be back in just a moment, okay? I love you."
She felt terribly alone as he left to make the calls. Every fear she'd had during these months came back in full force, in waves, and with each pain her mind reminded her of everything that could go wrong and how inescapable it all was.
At last Erik returned, sitting on the bed next to her and holding her.
"I called them both, they're on their way," he told her. "They'll be here soon."
She nodded, silent.
Her husband seemed likewise consumed with his own worries as he gently rubbed her back in silence.
Erik could scarcely believe it was happening. After this moment, everything would change and things would never be the same again. They would have a child. Even if everything went perfectly well, this meant Christine's time and energy would be directed towards this new being, and not on Erik. If things went a little less well, Christine might hate him. She might leave him. He couldn't blame her. Would she truly want to raise a deformed child? His own mother hadn't. If things didn't go well at all-
Christine squeezed her fists in the fabric of his shirt.
"I will love it no matter what it looks like," she murmured as though she could his mind.
"You say that now," he whispered wearily.
It seemed that an eternity stretched on before the midwife and the doctor arrived.
"Good morning, good morning," the doctor greeted them. "There is no need to worry, monsieur, I assure you we have everything under control. If you would please step outside now, we will let you know when the child has arrived."
Erik hesitated, squeezing Christine's hand. Her eyes widened.
"No, please," she said, "I want him here with me."
The doctor tutted, the midwife shook her head.
"This is highly irregular-"
"I won't do anything you say unless Erik stays the whole time!" Christine said, on the verge of tears. She clung tightly to Erik.
"I'm not going anywhere," he said softly to her.
The doctor and midwife glanced at each other.
And so Erik was there the entire time, sitting with her as she squeezed his hands tightly, as she rested her increasingly exhausted head back on his chest. He watched every single thing the doctor and midwife did, heard every word they said, heard every cry that came from his wife. He didn't know how long it lasted - too long, surely. There was so much blood. Was there always so much blood? He felt like he was in a daze, like everything was no longer real.
He started to feel sick as he watched, as Christine looked up at him with pleasing eyes and he was incapable of helping. The cold fear approached that she was actually dying and they just didn't want to tell him.
And then it was over. The baby was crying, but he couldn't bring himself to look in the direction of the little bundle in the hands of the midwife. Despite being seemingly over, somehow it wasn't. All of the reading he had done did nothing to prepare him for the reality of the situation.
"Congratulations, monsieur and madame, it is a boy," the doctor said graciously.
Erik scrunched his eyes shut. He didn't want to look at it.
"He is in good health," the midwife assured them as she handed the baby to Christine.
"Oh, Erik," Christine breathed. "Look at him."
Erik choked on a sob, still not opening his eyes.
"Look at our son," she insisted softly.
His hands were sweaty, clammy. This was the moment of truth. He would have to come face to face with what he'd cursed Christine with.
He opened his eyes and glanced down.
His heart stopped for a moment, the little creature looking odd and reddish. But after the moment of shock faded, he realized that there was nothing wrong with the child at all, besides whatever was wrong with every newly born person. He let out a gasp of relief. The baby looked like any other baby, didn't it?
He looked up at the doctor and midwife for confirmation; they were both smiling at the scene before them.
He looked back down at the baby - his baby - Christine's baby. It was perfect. Hot tears rolled down his cheeks and he held Christine close, rocking them back and forth slightly as he cried into her hair. Of course the child was fine, of course. He should never have doubted his little wife. Only a garden as pure as Christine could grow something as perfect as this, even with him as the father.
"He's perfect, darling," Christine whispered, her voice hoarse from the ordeal.
"You'll want to feed him now," the midwife said.
Erik sniffled hard and reluctantly let go of his wife, leaving her to be guided by the midwife as the doctor took his arm and pulled him aside.
"Looking a little green there, my fellow," the doctor chuckled.
Erik stared at him. His wife had almost died, why shouldn't he look ill!
"Everything went very smoothly," the doctor continued. "If she takes a turn for the worse - fever, more bleeding, and so on - give me another call right away. But I don't think there's anything to worry about."
More bleeding! Good heavens! How did she have any blood left to bleed?
"She'll need to rest up as much as she can. Peace and quiet and all that. She can resume her wifely duties after about six weeks - give her time to heal first."
Erik wasn't even blinking, his face slack and blank. Wifely duty?! Erik would swear a solemn oath to heaven that he would never lay another finger on her as long as he lived if this was to be the outcome of such activities.
He nodded, only vaguely hearing.
The doctor continued with a few other instructions, and then a bit of small talk as though Erik hadn't just been traumatized by what he'd seen.
At last they both left, and Erik was alone with Christine and the baby. When he returned to her room after seeing them out, he paused a moment before going up to her bedside. The doctor had insisted that mother and baby needed time by themselves, but Erik didn't want to take his eyes off either one. Surely his presence wouldn't disturb them too much.
"He is so small," Erik whispered as he watched little Gustave sleep in her arms.
"Hm. Not really," Christine said quietly.
Erik shook his head.
"He is. He's so small there's almost nothing to him."
"He's kind of big, actually."
He clicked his tongue.
"I don't see how you can say that. Look at him. He's so tiny."
Christine stared across the room at the wall.
"Erik," she said evenly. "I want you to think about where he just came out of. I can assure you, husband mine, that he's actually big for a baby."
Erik considered, and relented.
"Is he entirely normal?" he asked after a moment.
She blinked.
"Yes, as far as we can tell, I suppose. They both thought he was fine. They said he was healthy. That's all I care about."
"How do you feel?"
"So tired," she sighed as she rested her head back on her pillow, then smiled. "But so happy. So many things. I can't believe it. It's wonderful and scary and-" she shrugged a little. "I can barely describe it."
He brushed a stray hair away from her face.
"Do you mind if I stay the night on your divan?"
"Not at all. Wouldn't you rather-?" She nodded to the side of her, on the bed.
"No. No, the divan is enough. I just want to be near, in case, you know... emergencies."
"I don't think there'll be any emergencies. They both told me everything went as well as it could."
Erik pressed his lips together. Had it really?
"Okay," he said. "But still-"
She chuckled softly.
"Of course you can stay, Erik."
He didn't sleep well that night. He stayed up as long he could, watching Christine and the baby sleep. When he did manage to sleep, his dreams were filled with the image of her blood and the imagined feeling of her grip on his hand getting weaker and weaker. He woke with a start after those. He woke each time the baby fussed or Christine moved.
At last, as the sun was rising just over the horizon, he fell asleep, into a dreamless slumber.