Chapter Twenty-Two

Before long, Christine was looking at her reflection again in a body length dressing room mirror backstage of the Kennedy Center Opera House. This dress had an inner lining of high thread count cotton that was in the color of cream. Draped over the cotton was a material that reminded Christine of a high thread count of tole. When she moved, she saw the under layers of the dress and it reminded her of what crystal blue waves might be as they flowed over marble. Everything about it was gorgeous, and she loved how it fit her chest just right. over her shoulders were an array of lighter colored jewels that brought attention to her face.

Meg fixed her hair up a little more so that it would stay in the braided bun a bit better. She also redid her makeup with waterproof eyeliner and mascara.

"I'm so glad you're not one for doing your own makeup." Meg said as she put some red lipstick on Christine's lips, "Otherwise, you would have had black goop all over your face. Still, I'm so jealous that you're a pretty crier. When I cry my whole face turns red. It's so gross."

They looked at Christine's reflection in the mirror and Meg sighed, proud of her work.

"Damn girl, when I'm good, I'm good." She put a hand on her hip, "Shows how smart Underwood was for consulting me."

"I almost feel like you're working against me," Christine said with a high eyebrow.

"Only because I want you to pay off my loans." Christine gave her an annoyed look, "Oh, and because he's paying me enough to cover my rent for three months. Nothing personal, chica. This girl has got to eat."

"Nice to know he's bought you over."

Meg hugged her waist from behind and they stared into the mirror together, "Only until he proves that money isn't enough to make my lady happy. C'mon, we need to get you to the limo. And yes, I will be riding with you this time. I'm nowhere near done with this high-class treatment!"

Their next ride lasted less than twenty minutes. Meg refused to give any information about anything that she knew and so Christine gave up on asking for more details quickly. They sipped on wine together and Christine began to notice where they were as the bright lights of Chinatown began to beam through the tinted windows. Earl slowed down and eventually lead them up the stairs of the National Portrait Gallery, making sure that no one from the busy sidewalk bothered them on their way up. Before going inside, Earl said politely, "I'll be waiting for you once you're done, ladies."

"Thanks, Earl!" Meg waved and lead them inside.

The lights were dim for the evening and Christine began to wonder why the doors were unlocked without there being anyone around. They walked towards the elevators at Meg's lead.

"Come on, Chris."

Christine was looking all around her from the vacant desk to the inactive metal detectors, to the emergency lights, "Where are we going?"

"The second floor."

Christine perked up at getting an answer, "Why?"

"We'll just have to find out, won't we?"

Like the first floor, the second floor was mostly dark besides Exit signs and other dim lights. In looking out, they both saw lights coming from the middle of the long hallway. They walked towards it and past works of art that were in the dark. Christine's heals making what sounded like a racket through the silence on the stone floor. She wanted to look around at the other paintings that lined the hallways, but as they were mostly dark, she kept her pace with Meg.

When reaching the room where the light was coming from, Christine looked around to see Van Gogh paintings around her. The most brightly lit painting was one of a blonde woman in blue that hung in the middle of the opposite wall. Drawn to the light, she went to it to study the young blonde girl who had a ribbon in her hair, her dress matching the blue sky behind her. Her eyes, relaxed and looking somewhere beyond the frame.

"I'm supposed to tell you now," Meg began as she unzipped her camera bag, "But in all the excitement, I forgot to get my camera ready."

"Tell me what?" Christine asked, unable to draw her attention away from the painting.

"Hold on," Meg said through her teeth, "I need to turn the thing on and pop the lens cap off." Christine sighed impatiently as her friend hurried along, "I know, I know I'm the worst, hold on. Okay, okay, just look back at the painting again."

Christine followed the instructions and rolled her eyes. She placed her hands behind her and straightened her back and looked back to the camera just in time for it to click.

"No, no, no, you're killing me here. Loosen your hands and just look at it as you were, okay?"

Christine sighed and let her arms relax, this time, she settled for simply looking at the blues in the portrait.

"Okay, so Christine,"

Click.

"Yes?" she looked back a Meg annoyed.

"No, no, just keep looking at the painting." She was holding the camera in front of her face, "I've got to get the right shot."

She sighed, "Fine."

"Now what do you think about this painting?"

"Um." Christine took another look, "It's blue."

"God, you suck sometimes! Okay, it's blue, yes. What else do you think about it?"

"It's pretty….?" she asked wondering if there was something specific she was supposed to be saying.

Click click

"So," Meg pressed on, "do you like it then?"

"Yeah, it's really pretty." She laughed a little after looking at her dress again, "And we almost match."

Click

"Good." Meg said strangely, "Because it's YOURS NOW!"

Christine must have made a big reaction because she heard plenty of quick clicks as she turned her head to look at Meg. Her jaw must have been on the floor. Her eyes must have been so wide they were ready to pop out.

"What?!"

"Underwood told me to tell you that he bought it for you as a present. Along with the Hermes dresses, the diamonds, oh and he told me that he already owns most of the National Symphony Orchestra so if you want them, he'll give them to you too."

Click click click click click

Christine raised her hands as if to somehow push the camera away, "Okay can you stop with the photos for a second?"

"Why?" Another photo was captured, "Your reactions are priceless and I'm being paid well to catch all of them."

"I need to sit down," Christine said, eventually making it to the floor as a seat once seeing no benches in that room. "Oh my god. This is… All of this has got to be my salary for a least a year if not five years! How can someone this rich live in a two-floor townhouse on Northeast? It doesn't make sense!"

Meg's eyebrow arched and she grinned, "Think how much he'll give you if you say yes."

She shook her head and buried her face in her hands, "Can you stop taking his side already?"

"Are you complaining?" She clicked another photo, "Sorry, that reaction was for my personal collection of blackmail."

"I just…" She let her head drop back as her words made their way to hit the ceiling, "Oh my god, my god! And he's not even here!"

Meg shrugged, "The night isn't over yet."

"I don't think I can handle anymore," Christine exclaimed holding her friend's hands tightly.

"Too bad!"

Meg made her way to pull Christine up off the floor. They stood, arm in arm, and looked at the portrait again.

"So, do I just take it with me or something?" Christine asked wearily, "I'm afraid to touch it. I mean, Van Gogh. Oh my god."

"Eh," Meg gave her friend a loving squeeze around the waist, "Maybe leave it and have someone transport it for you?"

"Yeah, good idea." Her voice hollowed, "Oh my god a Van Gogh. He got me a Van Gogh."

"Don't forget an orchestra," Meg smiled.

"Oh god." Christine nearly fell back down, but Meg held her arm tight. "Who gets someone a Van Gogh?"

"A doting, lonely, and insanely rich congress member who is looking to get himself a wife, that's who!" Meg started to put the camera back into the bag and added, "We've got to keep you moving. I don't want to be the one responsible for getting you behind schedule."

"Can we have more wine in the car?" Christine asked desperately.

"You betcha."

The young blonde looked longingly back at the lit painting, "A Van Gogh. I have a Van Gogh."

Meg smiled wide, "And an orchestra."

XXII

Erik kept his eyes outside of the window. Before him, the whole of Washington and the sightline that spanned out past the Potomac and Anacostia rivers into Maryland and Virginia. It was well past sunset, but that wasn't the point. He enjoyed the city at night for more. It reminded him of how hard the people of it had to try to make it be perceived as beautiful. The Capitol and White House were easily witnessed as two of these will lit buildings. The Smithsonian Museums, Jefferson Memorials, and Chinatown lighting the rest. Otherwise, it was a quiet Monday night. Quiet everywhere, but his mind.

He chose not to witness her reactions before her, instead of taking in what he could from the sidelines and having Barnes photograph the evening as it was wirelessly transferred to him through the linked camera she used. The photographs were mainly for Christine if she wanted to them later. His memory would not forget the look on her face when she heard her father's voice or discovered she possessed a Van Gogh. Christine had a way of hiding so much in her and he was able to wordlessly emit from her being twice in less than an hour. Glorious was the word that came to his mind that he had issues shunning away. His hands twitched with anxiety at the thought of witnessing her reactions live before him.

The elevator behind him dinged twice and he turned to see Christine and Barnes exit. In seeing him, Christine looked down quickly as if…embarrassed? Was it his fault? Perhaps. She looked flawless in the light blue gown. Meg had done a proper job and he worried some expression of his might have given that away. He turned back towards the window and noted the sound of Barnes' footsteps going back into the elevator as the doors slide shut. Barnes had common sense. That was useful.

Erik fully turned from her but could hear Christine slowly approach as her heels tapped the floor.

"So," she said to fill the silence, "The Washington Monument. I haven't gotten a chance to come up here. Not since they reopened it from the earthquake damage…I guess that's a while, then."

"You're welcome," he responded without emotion as he kept his eyes glued to the lights from the window.

Her response was slow, "Thanks."

There was a bit of a pause and she stepped a little closer to look out the window. He noticed a faint smell from her that had not resonated before. It reminded him of lavender, roses, and something else…Had Barnes fitted her with perfume as well? It was…pleasant.

"I have only seen this view during the daytime. It must have been fifteen years ago with Dad. Everything looks so different at night."

"These are my stars." He commented and noted the confused look she granted him, "You wanted me to show you something that had meaning to me. This is it. They remind me where my place is in the world."

"What do you mean?"

"As much as I peer out at them, as much as I find this artificial lighting appealing in its own way, I am not a part of it. I am above it and so are you. This is why are good for one another, Christine. This is why our paths have crossed."

She noticed her wringing her hands nervously and fought the urge to reach out and steady them. She was not making this any easier for him!

"I don't feel so much higher than them," she commented quietly.

"You contrive of things so one-way sometimes. Specifically, in your personal affairs." He turned to her and nearly faltered in his words once looking upon her again. She was not one to dawn such makeup outside of Barnes' assistance. Her eyes shined brighter than usual from the shadows and liners. Her cheeks kindly blushed and her lips were rather present. Erik shook his head and cleared his throat. He could not be distracted now! "Regardless of what you choose to see, this is me giving you what you asked. No red velvet cake, no caricature hearts, but something that has meaning to me. The view before you is it. It is my escape if you will. And if the world ever thinks I've been lost, you'll find me here. You are in my view, Christine, but you stand here before me as an equal. I want you to be my equal. "

She shivered and looked back out the window, "Thank you for showing me, then."

A long pause followed. A long, uncomfortable, silent pause. Erik played with the ring box in his pocket, but there was something keeping him from pulling it out. Suddenly, he was feeling strange, if not sick. Something was wrong, but he couldn't place it. There she was, right where she was supposed to be. Everything was set and planned, but he was falling short. What if she said no? What if she ruined everything? Damn her for her ability to ruin everything so easily with one word!

Shaking his head he broke the silence, "There's something else I will show you." Christine stood where she was as if stunned, "Come, come, we must continue!"

Erik led her back to the elevator, choosing not to grant her one glance as they made their way down, and took her out to the vehicle waiting for them without any words. They talked briefly in the limousine and sat directly across from each other. He snickered as he heard her perspective on how she couldn't accept the orchestra as it wasn't right to "own" people, how she had no idea what to do with a Van Gogh and figured it would be better left at the museum of everyone to enjoy, and that if he wanted to return the dresses and jewellery, she understood as they were too much money and she had nothing to wear them to.

"They're all yours now," he shrugged, "I'm not one to return things. If you want to keep them, fine. If you want to give them away, fine. Do what you want."

The expression she bestowed to him was one he found rather funny. He laughed for the first time that day and swore that she may have smiled, just a little, as well.

When they pulled up to the Library of Congress, Christine half smiled. As they drove under the front staircase towards the first-floor entry he asked, "Was that a smile or further disbelief?"

"I'm glad you saw this building as significant next to all the other places you had me go to today."

"Of course, ironically enough, its the one building I hardly see any of Congress visit anymore. Mainly as most of them are illiterate. Regardless, there is peace in not having them around here."

"I agree," she said smugly, "Please tell me you didn't buy this place as well?"

He did not resist the urge to joke with her, "I will if you want me to."

"No!" She shouted then calmed herself and repeated, "No, it's just fine being public."

As she was the first to exit, he noticed her wait a moment for him to join her outside of the car. He offered his elbow to her and straightened his shoulders. "We should be seen entering like this."

After giving him a look, she slowly placed her left hand in the crook of his arm. He smiled, she was finally going along with the evening rather than asking so many questions as she had a tendency to do…at least for the present. Her hand was so thin, but with long fingers. Part of him wanted to have her take up the piano in addition to vocal lessons, but he decided to try and tackle one hurdle at a time when it came to the complexities of Christine.

They walked inside together and the sounds of voices echoed down the grand staircase as they made their way to the main foyer, bypassing the metal detectors. Everyone was in formal wear and holding glasses of champagne and wine in their hands. Their faces were the same as always, their smiles just as fake. Christine shrank back a little when she saw how many people were before her and he unconsciously patted her hand to keep her with him. Erik kept her moving forward without any words even as her face screamed with unanswered questions.

Once they were only a few stairs from the top, a wife of one of his congress members saw them and started to applaud. The sound attracted other smiling, curious faces and soon the entire building seemed to be filled with applause. He put on a smile as if it were an old hat that would always be too snug no matter how long it was worn. That was how smiling always felt against the mask. Christine tried to follow, but her look of confusion was too prevalent to miss.

"You may recognize half of them in time," he said close to her ear, "I invited all of Congress. They are here either from fear, respect, or a general lack of anything to do on a Monday evening. And the orchestra is here because the paperwork of your ownership over them has yet to be signed."

They continued to walk and the word, "Congratulations!" was repeated over and over as they made their way up the side stairs.

"Why are they…" she didn't finish and he noted the color draining from her face.

"They…" He cleared his throat, "think we're engaged."

"Oh…" She gasped, "Wait! What?"

Erik patted the hand that lay in the crook of his arm and smiled as he hissed the word, "I'll explain…just…in a moment."

Once at the top center of the second balcony, he addressed the group without any electronic amplification. People became quiet without him needing to ask. He smiled at the power. A few cameras clicked, otherwise the hall was deadly silent as if no one were in it at all. Christine appeared to struggle to keep her wits about her. The wine was finally moving to her head and she clung to Erik simply to gain her footing. At least that was in his favor. Erik held her firmly to him. Her attention flew back to him when his voice reached out over the hall.

"I want to thank everyone for joining us today. While you all know my face or at least half of it," there was some nervous laughter from the crowd, "This is my dearest and soon to be life companion, Christine Gallagher. To answer your questions, yes, we have been seeing each other in private for some time now. However, after the passing of her former employer Raoul Peters, may he rest in peace, we have decided that life was too short to live in secret. Once again, I thank you all for joining us as we celebrate the rest of this evening. Enjoy!"

The quartet began to play and the music was met with applause. Erik made sure to find Richard Walker in the crowd and smile directly at him before leaving. The look of astonishment and pride was not lost to Erik. Before anyone could come up to them, Erik led her up another flight of stairs and slipped behind the doors that led to the original Thomas Jefferson gallery. Letting Christine go, Erik quickly found a few lights with the help of a few Exit signs to guide his way. Now dimly lit, he saw fuming anger in Christine's eyes.

"How smart of you," she seethed through her teeth.

"Anyone with any observational skills could see your finger was bare." He looked around. They appeared to be in between exhibits at the time and so he walked straight to the back where the original books were. The unfinished gallery surrounded him and he liked the idea of her having to draw closer to him if they were to speak.

Christine's footsteps were not far behind, "No one had a chance to look. No one could see from the top of the stairs. You tricked me!"

"That was not a trick." He kept walking down the rows of shelves that were covered in darkness, "It was a lie."

"They're the same thing!"

Having reached the center of the room, he stopped, "So says the civilian."

She caught up to him, stopping him in his tracks, "Is all of this a game to you?"

There it was. There was hurt in her eyes. He had hurt her.

He felt his hands curling into fists, "It is not."

"Then why would you do that?"

He turned to her. She stood in his shadow, pain in her eyes, but still looking like perfection right in front of him. He couldn't deny her beauty, whether he admitted attraction to it or not. There, before her, he was speechless.

"Are you really denying me this choice?" she whispered, rage filling her shrill sound, "Politician or not, how can you live with yourself, with me in pictures, in everyone's memory as by your side when it's all a lie?"

His next words were honest, "It doesn't have to be."

"Yes, it does!" She stuck her index finger out to his face, "You did this. You stood out there, said I'm your-your 'companion.' What a farce! I might as well be your slave! If I hear one more time from anyone that all of this is my choice, I swear I'll go mad!" She turned around, her breath catching as she turned. He watched her shoulders moved up and down raggedly. Her words were hollow, "I don't want to live like this. I don't want the orchestra or the dresses or all those people. I just want… I just want to be someone who has some kind of control over their life. I want to be…anyone but me." She turned to him slowly, the tears on her face now shining in the lights behind them. "Can I go back to my drafty one bedroom basement apartment now? I want this, all of it, to just end."

Throughout her words, he found himself carefully monitoring his emotions. Despite how sad, how angry, how somewhat pathetic she was before him, he did not feel sympathy for her. No…what he was feeling was far different, far worse. His last forty-eight hours having been spent without rest, all of them on her, on planning this evening ran through his memories. Before this, the look of her terrified face in seeing him unmasked, then to her gentle smiles from evenings spent by the fire, her laughter, her face when she heard him play the violin…So much was before him when he saw her and he'd be damned if he was going to lose it from fear of her rejecting him!

"What more do you want?!" He roared and she stopped crying. He hadn't meant to startle her. It was that he could feel himself breaking and burning and he didn't know how to take it away, "I…I thought I did what you would have wanted. I reached out for a damn reporter - a breed of people I have never trusted - because she was the only one I've ever seen you open up to. Can you imagine what it was like to do that? I let Ms Barnes go shopping for you with my money to show you that she is still very much a part of your life even with me. Yes, I gave her the dress code, but that wasn't meant as some skin depth version of impressing you. I will not ask your forgiveness for having standards on how one is to attend the symphony nor do I wish to insult you by feeling certain that you had no formalwear in your possession other than the dress from the Arts Crusade which I felt you would not want to wear considering the anxiety of that night for you.

"I spoke with the orchestra, told them who you were, who your father was and they wanted to help. Yes, there was pay in it, but I don't believe in slavery either. Within hours they came through in rehearsing the only recording I could find of your father's playing. I will not even get started on how difficult that was for me to obtain! The orchestra didn't know what had happened to you, I wanted to show you that unlike me, you could have a family if you wanted one.

"Then, you asked for me to show you something that meant something to me and I did. I have never taken anyone up there at night as it is my place to think and spend time. It is a negotiation that I keep with the National Park Service that is between myself and two other people. The party was to announce us to everyone so that you wouldn't haven't to explain anything further to the press. While I knew you would not enjoy it, it had to be done. People need to know, they need to see you because, without you, I am a soulless politician.

"But Christine, I did it all for you. You were the entire point of all of this. And I lied, I lied I know it. I lied because… Because I had planned on asking you at the monument, but I… Goddammit I couldn't. I realized that none of it would ever be enough for you. That you want love and someone who knows how to show that to you and I don't. I never had a family while you grew up surrounded by your father and music that was meant to be shared with you. I never had friends to care what I looked like and dress me up as that reporter did for you this evening. Hell! The only way I ever seem to keep people near me is through bribes and fear tactics and here you are telling me that despite what I feel for you, despite my respect, my baffled emotions at you coming back for lessons after seeing my face, your smiles, your laughter, that despite this, I appear to be trapping you into the same constructs as everyone else! But no, no, I wanted to show you that you have a chance to live your dream and that I wasn't the end of the road for that. I thought that showing you my support of the life you have always wanted would be enough, but it's not enough is it? I am not enough for you am I? And when you give me the sole expectation of an emotion I've never had or understood, I can see why!"

As his vision began to blacken with rage, Erik walked away from the side of the doorway into the gallery, not wanting to block her if she decided to leave. He had expected to hear the clicking of her heels heading far away from him forever, but there was nothing. Reaching for the small leather jewel box in his pocket, he retrieved it and looked it over. Taking the ring from inside it, he held it out to where she stood.

"It's yours whether you choose to accept it through engagement to me or not."

He felt her fingers lightly brush his as she took the ring. A gasp fell from her lips.

"This…this was my mother's ring. It was my grandmother's too…" she whispered, "But how did you…?"

"I spoke with your longest guardian in Baltimore, Mrs Valery. She was the one who pulled it from the safety deposit box you share. She was the closest person I could find who was a living relative and I spoke to ask for her approval after having spoken with Ms Barnes."

"You spoke," he thought he heard her gulp, "With both of them?"

"Yes," he responded softly, "They are important to you and so are important to me."

The sound of ruffling rushing fabric made him turn to her. She sat on the marble floor, the blue dress pooling around her as she wrapped herself in her arms. Her appearance was that of exhaustion and she stared into the darkness as if lost. "You're right. Everything you said was right. I…I came here knowing that I would say no, but…but after everything. You're right. I wanted to tell you no because I thought that you could never care, but after everything, after seeing all the orchestra that I used to know, and having Meg there to help me laugh and…I love Van Gogh, I just don't know how to accept things like that. I started to rethink things. I did. And I was really worried about what I was going to say when we stood there looking out from the monument…but then you didn't ask and part of me even though that you weren't going to, that maybe you had changed your mind. When we came here and people were acting as they knew so much when I didn't…"

The words came from him before he could stop them, "I'm sorry."

His words made her look up to him, her blue eyes shining wide with amazement.

"Then…" she blink backed her tears, "I'm sorry too."

Slowly, he made his way to sit not far from her on the floor. This was how they would speak as equals, how they learned one another from the power outage. At their eyes met, the air around them buzzed with the energy and he fought to hold his composure. Even as his fear was creeping up his spine in painful knots, he held on to whatever sanity he could find. Something, as odd as this all had been, something within him felt right when he could simply sit so close to her without any other distraction.

"You haven't known me long…" he started slowly, "I know you haven't…but if you…and I understand if you won't, I do. I don't deserve it, I know, but if tonight says anything. I'm not a shallow man or one that makes words without thought. When I say that I want you as a companion, it is all true. You mean very much to me and I want you to stand with me as my equal, as my only equal." He took a breath and reached out to place his hand lightly over her hands that held the ring. She shuttered beneath him and he was sure to be undone. What was this strange connection that passed between them whenever they touched? She certainly felt it too, didn't she? He had to know, had to have her confirm with him that he would not be alone as he felt.

"My very dear Christine Gallagher," he asked humbly, "will you accept me to be yours?"

Such a sea of emotions ran through her eyes at that moment, as if all thoughts she ever had were now running like old moving pictures when turned. His breath stopped when she finally began to whisper hardly audible words.

"I…"


Stop. But really. Don't go on. I need to know what you think she's going to answer and why. I want to know if he's earned her or not. I gotta know. Review. Please? Seriously. Please?