Christine was sitting in her rocking chair, knitting a shawl. She was humming to herself. Somewhere there was music playing.
"Gustave," she said suddenly, "go tell your father it's time for dinner."
Gustave, a young man now, scratched his head and wrinkled his nose.
"What father?" he asked.
The music ceased.
"Erik," she reminded him, sitting still.
"Who is Erik?" Gustave shook his head. "I don't know who that is. I don't have a father."
From the corner of the room a tall, shadowy figure with yellow eyes darted out and down the hall.
Christine awoke from her nightmare with a gasp. There was a cold sweat on her brow. She looked over to the bassinet where little baby Gustave was sleeping, and she breathed a sigh of relief. It had only been a dream.
Still, it was a warning, she was certain of that. If Erik continued his current path, his child would hardly even know who he was. Erik, the ghost. Always in the background. That wouldn't do, she refused to let it happen.
She confronted him that very afternoon, calling him into her bedroom.
"Erik," she evenly as she stood in the doorway after he'd entered, blocking his only exit. "Why don't you love your son?"
"What the devil? What are you talking about, woman?"
"You don't even look at him," she pressed.
"Yes I do!"
"Oh? Do it. Do it now."
Erik's jaw tightened and he swallowed hard. He placed his hands on his hips, staring down his wife. She stared back and jutted her chin out, undaunted.
He glanced in the direction of the bassinet.
"There," he said as though the action had harmed him. "I looked at him, are you happy?"
"No. Erik, please - I'm afraid Gustave is going to grow up and not even know who you are."
His stance softened at her pleading words.
"Christine," he said gently. "Don't you think, maybe - maybe that might be best?"
She put a hand over her mouth, tears pooling in her eyes.
"I'm sorry-" he said quickly.
"I want him to have his father. I want you to be a part of his life. You're going to regret not being there for him, one day."
He ran a hand through his hair, turning an anxious look at the bassinet.
"I don't know how to be there," he said, pain in his voice. "What if I try but I ruin everything? What if I ruin him?"
"Erik, please," she pouted. "Just start small. Just hold your son."
"What if I drop him?"
"You've picked me up plenty of times, I'm sure you can handle a baby..."
"I'm going to hurt him somehow, Christine, I know it."
"You won't," she assured him. "You're always gentle with me."
"That's not true and you know it," he protested, tears beginning to form in the corners of his eyes. "There have been dozens of times I was too rough you, times you yourself said that I hurt you. Didn't I leave a bruise on your arm not even a year ago?"
She stifled a sigh and reached a hand up to caress his face.
"You're overthinking it, Angel. Look - just sit down, okay?" she led him to the couch where he reluctantly sat down.
"I shouldn't do this, Christine," he sounded uneasy as she walked over to the bassinet and picked Gustave up.
"You shouldn't sit on the couch next to your wife?" she clicked her tongue, sitting down beside him.
They sat like that a moment, Erik nearly ready to flee as Christine cooed to the baby who saw fit to put his hand in his mouth.
"Look how my arms are, Erik," she said presently.
Erik pressed himself back into the couch as though she were holding a bomb and not a baby.
"Look how his head rests right in my elbow," she went on. "If you keep his head supported, everything will be fine."
He nodded stiffly, understanding the concept but not necessarily agreeing to do so.
"Now, hold out your arms," she looked at him expectantly.
"Christine, no- I can't-"
She scooted closer to him, preparing to put Gustave into his arms - Erik didn't want to hold him, but he couldn't very well let Christine just drop the child into his lap, could he? Of course he had to hold out his arms now!
Erik shrunk away from the little bundle in his arms, holding his breath. Christine arranged Gustave just right and then pulled away.
"Hold him closer if you don't want to drop him," she raised an eyebrow.
He tentatively brought his arms in. Seeing his mother moving away from him caused Gustave to start to fuss, a frown forming on his little face as his chubby hands reached for her.
"He doesn't like it, Christine, look-" Erik whined, his brow knitting.
The baby squirmed, trying to reach Christine, and Erik instinctively tightened his grip, not wanting him to fall. Part of the blanket that Gustave was wrapped in fell over his face.
"You have to take him back now, Christine, really-" he brushed the blanket away from his face with a finger, only to suddenly freeze as still as a statue when Gustave reached up and wrapped his hand around Erik's finger.
His breath caught in his throat as the baby - his baby - looked up at him curiously. He had stopped fussing, too entranced by looking at Erik to remember that his Mama was no longer holding him.
"He's- he's not frightened-" Erik breathed, incredulous.
"Of course he's not frightened," Christine sat next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. "You're his Papa, he loves you."
"He loves me?"
She nodded.
They sat way a moment, Gustave finding the edge of his blanket and playing with it.
"Take off your mask," Christine said presently.
"What?"
"You can take off your mask," she said gently. "It's okay."
"I'll- that will horrify him... He'll be scarred for life..."
"He doesn't know the difference, Erik. You're just... you. He won't think anything of it. Here - may I?"
She hovered a hand near his mask, and he hesitated before relenting with a single nod.
Better to get it over with, really. Let Christine see that he shouldn't be anywhere around the boy after he bursts into tears at the sight of him.
With his acceptance, she carefully removed his mask.
Gustave looked up at the motion, wanting to see what was happening. He merely looked at Erik, his blue eyes studying his face without a trace of fear, his hand still gripping Erik's finger. His attention wandered back the corner of the blanket, which he pulled and fussed over, bringing it up to his mouth.
Erik pressed his lips into a thin line, his eyes beginning to water. He bounced him gently in his arms a moment, Little Gustave laughing at the movement. It was suddenly too much for Erik. He made to hand the baby back to Christine, and, realizing what was wrong, she quickly took him. With the child safe in his mother's arms again, Erik sprang up from the couch and walked to the far end of the room, a hand pressed tightly over his eyes as he tried to stifle his sobs.
His son accepted him - he had a son.
It was the start of a new era, a new understanding. Christine finally felt that they were partners in raising the baby, that Erik had her back in every way no matter what. He watched the baby while she took naps, while she was relaxing in the bath. She was terribly grateful for those moments alone to refresh, and to know that while she did so Gustave was bonding with his father. Erik no longer shied away from picking him up, from talking to him. Things began to feel like less of a struggle, knowing she wasn't alone in this.
There was only one thing that troubled her. Despite gaining an ally in raising their son, she still hadn't regained her romantic partner.
She looked at herself in the mirror and tried - and failed - to button up her old dresses, and she fretted to herself about it all. Was this why Erik was no longer interested in her? She felt it was going to drive her mad, the simple not knowing. If she knew, she could try to fix it, try to remedy the situation! But to not know? It was almost unbearable. The only thing worse was the thought of directly confronting it and hearing rejection from him directly.
She ordered new nightclothes, scandalous ones in scandalous fabrics and cuts. She bought new perfumes and items to style her hair. She stood in those scandalous nightclothes, curls running down her shoulders, smelling like flowers and musk, inside the doorway of their shared bedroom. Erik had never, in the past, turned down the opportunity when she had offered.
Except for now.
He glanced in to the bedroom, his eyes lingering on her form - and then went to his own private bedroom instead.
She squeezed her hands into fists around the flowing fabric of her nightgown, hot tears rolling down her cheeks.
It was a fluke, she told herself, and nothing more. Perhaps he'd been busy that day, too tired to do anything more. Maybe he had a headache.
But the same thing happened each night, for a full week.
She had so many questions and no answers. How should she even go about bringing something like this up with him?
A few days after she'd given up and retreated to staying in her own room at night, she thought she had half an idea, and attempted to bring it to fruition over breakfast.
Christine poked at the eggs on her plate with her fork, glancing every so often at Erik, who was absorbed in reading the newspaper.
"I was thinking of getting my hair cut soon," she said presently, and he peered over the top of the paper, eyeing her hair.
"Just a trim?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"I'm thinking of getting it shorter."
He shook out the paper and folded it, shifting uneasily on his chair.
"Just a few inches?"
"To here," she pointed to an area just below her ears but above her shoulders and watched his face grow pale.
He swallowed hard and searched for words that eluded him.
In all the time he'd known her, she'd never cut her hair. It currently hung down past her waist. Why was she going to cut it? Was it too much upkeep, now that she had an infant to look after? He could hire a nanny to help out! Didn't she know how much he adored her long hair? Didn't she know how many times he'd stood behind her mirror, aching to run his fingers through those locks in a way her bodiless Angel never would be able to?
"Why?" the words came out a little blunter, a little louder than he intended.
Her eyes widened.
"Because I want to."
"But why?"
She looked down her plate, frowning. What reason could she possibly tell him? Because I want to know you still love me - because I want to know if you're still attracted to me. Because I want you to tell me to not do it, and that you love how I look.
"Would you prefer that I not, Erik?"
His jaw tightened. Not even a week ago she had come to him with a bit of gossip about one of her friends whose husband dictated what she was and wasn't allowed to do with her hair, her clothes, her makeup, and Christine had remarked to him how awfully grateful she was that he wasn't the type of husband to try to control her so. Yet here she was now, acting as though she needed his permission to cut her hair... What was the woman playing at? Was she trying to goad him into a fight? He slapped the newspaper down on the table and stormed out of the room, confused over her intentions and upset at the thought of not being able to touch her long hair.
Christine felt conflicted. On one hand, he had definitely seemed upset that she was going to cut her hair - but now she realized the fatal flaw in her plan. Was he upset that she was about to destroy the one last shred of beauty she possessed? She needed to speak frankly with him, difficult though it may be.
She paused outside of his composing room, and sure enough she could hear the sounds of him pacing around inside. But just as she was about to push the door open, Gustave awoke from his nap and began to cry. She sighed and went off to tend to him.
"Gustave, don't cry," she shushed as she entered the room. "It's alright, dear."
He reached his little hands towards her, and she picked him up out of the crib and hugged him close, patting his back until his cries ceased.
"You hate waking up all alone in a new room, don't you?" she cooed and smiled wryly. "You're just like your Papa."
When he had settled down, she spread a blanket out across the floor and placed him in the middle of it. She brought a few of his toys and placed them around him, then sat down on the blanket with him. He reached for the ear of his stuffed rabbit doll, bringing it to his mouth to chew on.
Christine began to sing an old Swedish song her Papa used to sing to her as a child, and Gustave looked up, entranced. She smiled as she continued singing, but she kept her voice soft, not wanting Erik to hear her. She could just picture him drawn to the room by her voice, suddenly bursting in through the doorway, interrupting the moment between mother and son, and saying, you sound a little flat on that note, Christine, please try again and make certain it's correct this time. She rolled her eyes at the thought of it.
She shook Gustave's rattle and made his stuffed rabbit dance around for him as he laughed, and she smiled at the scene before her, but her mind was very far away.
She had known, of course, that one day she and Erik wouldn't be physical with such frequency anymore - lives got busy, especially after children, and the flames of passion naturally waned after a while, but... Surely they still had a few years of passion left? She wasn't even thirty yet. Was this one of the drawbacks of marrying a man so much older? Was she just supposed to be content with her new lot in life? She had assumed that when those flames died down, it would be a gradual process over the years - not a sudden and immediate stop to their intimacies. Logical evidence pointed to him purposefully abstaining, not a mere side effect of age. There was nothing to be done but confront him directly.
Erik eventually settled into playing an improvised dirge on the organ, something he soon realized was, in fact, a lament for the apparent loss of Christine's beautiful hair.
It would grow back, he knew, but it would take ages to do so - it had taken ages to grow to the length it currently was. The sudden thought that she might get it cut again to keep it short struck him like a lightning bolt and he nearly fainted. It was her hair to do with as she pleased, but-
He really did love her hair.
He considered, for more than a few moments, asking that if she was going to get it cut short, if he could perhaps be the one to cut it... or at least, if he could have the hair that was removed. It would make a very excellent wig for a mannequin, really.
He noticed, a little absently, that after some time Christine had opened the door appeared in the doorway, holding tight to the frame as she watched him. He continued to play on.
She eventually stepped into the room and stood closer to him, her arms wrapped around herself as she listened to his music.
He paused in his playing, wondering if she wanted to say something to him, but he didn't turn around.
She opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again. She couldn't ask if he still loved her, no, that wasn't the problem here. Of course he loved her. Of course he did! She felt loved, but she didn't feel... desired.
"Erik," she said in a small voice. "Do you not find me attractive anymore?"
He was silent a long moment, trying to make sense of her question. Did he not- what? The words made sense, but not in that order.
He turned to look at her, baffled.
"What?"
"Do you not-" her voice faltered, her courage gone. Hot tears spilled down her cheeks and she wiped hastily at them, embarrassed.
She suddenly saw the appeal of Erik's signature move - in that moment, she wanted nothing more than to simply turn and run and never speak of this again, pretending it had never happened and that nothing was wrong. How could she blame for having done that so often in the past when the weight of a perceived rejection hung so heavily on her in this moment?
"Christine, oh Christine-" he held his arms out, gently pulling her to sit beside him on the bench. "I'm so sorry, my poor sweet - I never meant for you to feel that way."
She still couldn't stem her tears, and she kept her hand over her mouth to quiet her sobs even as she leaned into his embrace.
He knew what this was about - of course he did.
"Of course I still find you attractive, pet," he murmured. "You are an incredibly attractive young woman."
"Even- even after-"
"After?" he asked gently.
She pressed her forehead against his shoulder, too shy to actually have him look at her while she spoke.
"After- after having a baby," she sniffled. "I'm- I'm not quite the same."
"You are the same, Christine. You just look a little different, but you are still you."
She was quiet a long moment.
"You are still very beautiful, Christine," he said softly, and picked up one of her hands. He brought it up to his face and kissed it. "You are the most stunning person I have ever laid eyes on and nothing will change that."
"This is t-the most you've touched me since t-the baby was born", she stuttered, her tone bordering on accusing.
"I know," he sighed. "Believe me, I know."
"Then why?" she glanced up at him with teary eyes.
"You've been so busy, Christine. So tired. You haven't-" he paused, not wanting to give her the wrong idea. "You haven't even had the time or the energy to sing. It felt presumptuous to think that in your limited moments of rest that you should be spending them with me in that way... You're worn out most of the time, sweet, I didn't want to add to that."
He watched her brow furrow as she thought about his words.
"Do you mind that I don't sing anymore?"
"I miss your voice," he said carefully. "But I know you do not owe me your song, and I understand why you don't feel like singing at the moment. Gustave takes up so much of your time, and you're a wonderful mother to him. I couldn't ask for more, Christine."
She nodded.
"Is that the only reason, then?" she asked in a small voice.
Erik was very quiet for a moment, and hugged her tighter. His voice, when finally responded, was barely a whisper.
"Christine, what you went through to bring our son into the world - I don't ever want you to have to go through that again. I was so frightened I was going to lose you..."
"But you didn't. You didn't lose me," she squeezed his arm. "I'm right here. The doctor said everything went fine-"
"That was it's like when it goes fine? What about when it doesn't go fine? What if there's a complication next time? I can't-" he swallowed back tears. "I can't risk you like that again."
"Oh, Erik," she breathed.
"We were lucky. We were all very lucky that time, but I am not so foolish as to think our luck will continue to hold out. Gustave is perfect, and you are fine, but Christine - that won't necessarily be the case with any future pregnancy. I am very sorry, but I cannot put you into that situation again."
She bit her lip.
"Would you be mad if Gustave wasn't perfect?"
"No," he answered quickly, then paused. "Only at myself..."
He thought of his own mother, and how she treated him. It hadn't been his fault his was so ugly, and he couldn't imagine treating his own poor child so terribly, even if they were very ugly.
"Only at myself, but never at him. I could live with a less than perfect child, Christine - but I could not live without you."
"Mm," she ran a hand through his wig. "Any child of ours would be perfect, Erik. You're perfect, did you know that? Looks don't change that."
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
"Regardless, my dear, I am loath to put you in such pain again."
They were both quiet as he held her, and suddenly it occurred to him that perhaps was being presumptuous after all in simply deciding something like that about their future without even asking her how she felt about it.
"Did- did you want to have more children, Christine?" he asked softly.
She had considered this herself on a number of previous occasions, and her thoughts on it were still the same.
"I love Gustave, and I wouldn't trade him for the world... But... more children... That would make it difficult to go on tour, would it not? When I'm singing again."
"You, ah, you wish to sing again?"
She could hear the absolute hope in his voice.
"Not right away," she explained. "But when Gustave is a little older, yes. If I have another baby, then I'll want to wait to before singing again, though. So I would prefer, I think, to not have any more, but- but if I do, Erik, I won't be upset. I'll be happy, and the baby will perfect no matter what. I'm not afraid of that. But if all we ever have is Gustave - I'm quite happy with that, too."
She kissed his cheek.
"We can be careful. We can be very careful. I can speak to the doctor about it. You must admit we haven't been all that careful in the past."
"No," he said distantly. "We haven't."
The proof of that was in the next room.
"Erik," she said gently. "We can face anything together, I'm sure of it. But I have to know we're together, that we're on the same page. If the doctor thinks I'm perfectly capable of handling another child, it doesn't matter to me how many we have. I will love them because they are yours. But I don't want you making decisions like this without me. I didn't agree to anything like that. I still want-" her cheeks turned red, "-you know."
"Do I?" he mused, tipping her chin up with a finger.
"Yes," she said, lowering her eyelids. "I think you do."
He leaned in, and, for the first time in months, kissed her lips.