Aha! I am not dead, as you must have thought, but have returned from the ashes to, well...ok, so this is not a glorious comeback, but I felt sort of bad, abandoning this story the way I did. I am just recovering from a 6 month long obsession with anime, particularly with this one monster (no, really!) named Xelloss...but enough about him. Erik has always been the beloved, if tragically neglected, king of my heart, and now I return to him. As for the story...um, well more about that at the end of this chapter. For now, read on and (hopefully) enjoy.

Chapter 4

A bony, white hand shot through the air, positioning itself underneath a tumbling glass just in time to prevent the finely-crafted crystal from shattering on the hard floor below. It was not, however, in time to prevent the pale red liquid in the glass from splashing over the rim and staining the edge of the rug. Erik sighed deeply, knowing it was his own fault for having left the wine glass relatively unattended in addition to his idiocy in believing the child had actually been asleep. Julian was not over fond of sleeping, to put it mildly.

Trying to curb his initial annoyance, Erik stood and quickly placed the glass out of Julian's reach. This was surprisingly easy; the child was not prone to climbing or exploring, a fact which had allowed Erik to believe that he need not worry himself too much about fragile objects situated above Julian's head. This time, the toddler, who only moments before had been curled up on the Persian rugs in an excellent imitation of sleeping, had proven Erik wrong.

"Well, Julian, I hope you're pleased with yourself," Erik said harshly, but inwardly he was glad the boy had shown some interest in developing his limited skills. Apparently Julian had been attempting to use the end table to pull himself into a standing position. The fact that Julian, now nearly twenty-five months old, still could not walk worried Erik to some extent. To be honest, he was not sure when children normally began this process, but he was certain that Julian should have begun by now.

Instead, Julian was sitting on the floor where he had landed after losing his balance, looking bewildered. He was a short child, slightly pudgy, with a soft, beautiful face framed by long black ringlets. Other than the shortness, and the pudginess, his features rather resembled Erik's. For, although an untrained eye would be hard pressed to see any similarities between the misshapen father and his angelic son, the structure of Julian's face was already beginning to develop like Erik's, from the long, thin mouth to the narrow, well-defined nose. Truly, the boy was probably an indication of what Erik might have looked like, had he not been born deformed. Except for his eyes. Julian's soft, watery blue-gray eyes so reminded Erik of Christine's, that Erik periodically felt a tear run down his cheek when he looked at them.

Now those eyes were themselves beginning to tear up and the little mouth drew itself into a pout. "Oh, don't cry, Julian," Erik said quickly, regretting his harsh tone. Despite his famous temper, he found it difficult to stay angry at his son, who had truly become the center of his existence. "Erik will make everything better." After all that had happened, Erik still found it difficult to grasp the concept that he had fathered this child. In retrospect, the one night he had spent with Christine seemed like an illusion, and the fifty years he had spent renouncing any dreams of parenthood had taken their toll on his ability to accept such an idea. He thought of himself more as the child's guardian, and thus, usually referred to himself by his own name.

Erik grasped Julian firmly underneath the arms and lifted him up. "Uhh muhhm," said Julian, which could have meant anything. Erik settled the boy on the divan with a sharp "stay," and turned to the futile task of trying to remove the red stain from the rug. Julian did not know how to get down from the divan, so he typically stayed put. He contentedly watched Erik scrub at the unsightly spot and babbled away to himself in his own, incomprehensible language. This was the scene that Nadir was met with when he let himself into the house on the lake.

"Spilled something else, has he," he asked with amusement. Ignoring Erik's glare, he made his way over to the divan and sat down next to Julian. "And how are you today, little one?"

"Gah," replied Julian and clapped his hands. Then he lost interest in the visitor and began crawling to the opposite end of the divan. Erik stood wearily and made his way over to join Nadir and his son. Almost instinctively, he stretched out his arms and caught the boy as he misplaced a hand and began to tumble off the edge.

"Christ," Erik muttered, "Every other minute he falls off of something, or trips, or loses his balance. One would think he had no coordination whatsoever. "

"Oh, that's not true," Nadir replied carefully, "but now that you bring it up, I did want to talk to you about something."

Erik's instinctive distrust flared up, and he only barely managed to keep his voice unaffected, "About what?"

"Well, about Julian and his...development...or lack thereof..."

Nadir turned his head to find himself being stared down by a pair of menacing golden eyes. The implied violence of Erik's glare was only made more disturbing by the dead calm of his masked face. "What about it?" he asked in a voice which, although completely devoid of emotion, managed to come out threatening.

Fortunately, Nadir had lived with Erik long enough to know that his violence and ill-tempered disposition were, for the most part, guards he put up to protect himself from the icy grip of fear and pain. Nadir had learned to ignore the occasional flashes of hostility. And anyway, he was generally difficult to intimidate. Taking a deep breath, he presented Erik with his concerns.

"Erik, as you may have noticed, Julian seems unable, or unwilling, to speak in a comprehensible language."

Erik broke eye contact with Nadir and let his gaze roam restlessly about the room. He pretended to be very interested in the ornate Viennese clock hanging on the opposite wall. "I don't know what you are talking about. I can understand him."

"Then you are alone in that particular skill," Nadir persisted. "Last month was his second birthday, but he has yet to take his first step. When he attempts to feed himself, he makes a terrible mess."

"All children are messy."

"Not as messy as Julian." Nadir sighed, "Erik, were you uncoordinated and dependent when you were young?"

"No," Erik replied, "Quite the opposite." Erik's extraordinary memory, combined with the innumerable lamentations his mother had made about his behaviour as a child, had enabled Erik to construct in his mind a fairly accurate picture of his childhood. As far as he could tell, he had been meticulous and unusually driven even then. Erik paused to consider the implications of Nadir's query. "Are you trying to say that there is something wrong with Julian?"

"No! No." Nadir glanced nervously at the boy, who, blissfully unaware of his role in the current discussion, was playing with the ornate tassels on one of the divan's pillows. "I'm trying to suggest that there is something... well... wrong with your method of parenting."

A flash of some indiscernible emotion crossed Erik's eyes. "Oh," he said simply, and for a moment neither man could find any words to adequately express their thoughts. The only sound was the muffled babbling of Julian as he munched on the pillow's embroidered corner. Finally Erik spoke again, haltingly, "Do you...perhaps I...well, of course. I always figured I could never..."

"Erik," Nadir interrupted gently, "Is it possible you spoil him too much?" Erik looked up gratefully. Spoiling didn't sound like such a crime. "I certainly do not mean to suggest that your own upbringing was anything like ideal," the other man continued, "but perhaps your independence surfaced at an early age precisely because it was forced to. You were spoiled too little, and so you learned to take matters into your own hands. Perhaps Julian is spoiled too much, and never needing to accomplish anything on his own, has never seen fit to develop any necessary skills."

Erik bit his lower lip thoughtfully as he watched Julian. Was it possible he was too lenient with the child? But he had been so eager, so desperate, to ensure that Julian was given proper attention and love, how could he possibly have spoiled him any less? "I suppose you may be right," he conceded.

"You do spend nearly every waking moment attending to his needs, after all," Nadir pointed out.

"Well, what else am I to do? I have nothing left to live for. There is nothing else in my life worth wasting my attention on. God, Julian is my life..." It was true Erik had found precious little else to do with his time. And now that he no longer haunted the opera, time was something he had no small amount of. He had neither the heart nor the will to find work, partly because he wanted to remain at home for Julian's sake, and partly because he simply did not think he could have applied himself enough to anything. He had raised enough money thus far to feed and clothe the boy by selling various things that he owned, or even creating things for the purpose of selling them--paintings or sculptures or the like; he had no small talent as an artist.

"All I am suggesting is that you back off a little," Nadir assured the distraught father. "You needn't ignore him, certainly, but allow him to develop on his own. You have the tendency to be...overprotective."

"Who, me?" Erik said, and Nadir was relived to hear the mirth in his friend's voice. At least he could see the humor in the situation. Both men could only too readily remember the times, not so long ago, when Julian's various sicknesses had proven much more trying on Erik's health than on the boy's. And it had been exceedingly difficult to convince Erik to wander more than a foot or two from the poor child if he was sitting up on his own, for fear that he would fall over and injure himself. Of course, time and experience lessened these fears, but not before Nadir and Darius had had more than a few hearty laughs over Erik's attempts at parenting.

"Very well, very well," Erik continued with a chuckle, "I shall do my best to let Julian experience life on his own terms." He could, however, not help reaching out distractedly with one hand to tug the pillow Julian was using as a teething mat out of his reach. "Starting now," he added sheepishly.

Julian, deprived of his entertainment, set his sights on a newcomer to the scene; this was Harireh, a black and gray striped cat currently occupied in stretching itself out over the back of the divan. Erik had rescued Harireh years ago, after finding her ill and dying in the opera's cellars, where she had been instated as an aide for the rat-catcher. That man had abandoned her when she became too slow and rheumatic to be of any further use, and Erik had nursed her back to health. Originally, he had then forced her upon the Daroga, as a means of giving his Persian friend something with which to occupy his time since, as Erik jokingly remarked, he seemed to prefer concerning himself with others' affairs over his own. Eventually, Julian had developed such an attachment to it--for Julian had spent most of his first year and half in the Daroga's apartments--that Erik had been forced to take the cat back with him to the cellars or suffer his son's childish wrath.

Julian had seen his father stroke the cat's fur many times, and he delighted in mimicking this. As the cat slunk into his immediate vicinity, Julian reached out began to tap it's head lightly. "Here," Erik murmured, lifting the feline up and placing her in Julian's lap. "Be gentle."

Fascinated, as always, by the plump, but graceful creature, Julian very carefully stroked her soft fur. Erik couldn't help smiling a bit to himself. Perhaps the boy did take after him, after all. These thoughts were rudely interrupted, however, by a shrill screech from Harireh and a miserable wail from Julian. Erik looked back in time to see Harireh shoot out of Julian's arms and onto the armrest, bristling defensively. Pulling the screaming boy into his lap, Erik noted a long, red scratch across his face, a new acquisition.

Nadir sighed as Erik worriedly fussed over Julian, muttering, "There she goes again. She's normally so well-behaved, so docile...why does he upset her?"

"Children do not always understand how to treat animals properly," Nadir suggested, ruefully noting that some adults, himself included, understood little better.

"Well, I did!" Erik was not comforted. Julian seemed to understand well enough. He was endlessly gentle with Harireh, and yet, every encounter with her seemed to end in tears. The same way everything he touched seemed to end up broken or knocked over. "I loved animals," he muttered under his breath, "and they have always loved me. I've never sent a cat--nor a dog, nor snake, nor ferret, nor anything--running away like that."

"Well, we are talking about Julian, not you!" Nadir stood in exasperation. "If he needs to get scratched a few times to learn how to handle her properly, let it happen. You can't protect him from everything in the world, you know. Eventually, he will have to discover things for himself." Wearily, he collected his hat and cloak. He thought it would be better if Erik had some time to himself to think about things. "And don't forget," he added, as he turned to leave, "you mustn't expect him to be able to do everything right away. Not every child can be a genius, no matter who his father is. And Julian is not you."

With that, Nadir left the house on the lake. He could only hope that Erik would heed his advice.

AN: So, I told you it wasn't exactly a glorious chapter, and now, after having just read two excellent stories by two excellent authors (Renewal of an Old Acquaintance and Bishops and Blueprints--go read them!), I feel even more worthless, but sit tight. Hopefully it will get better. My greatest fear about this story is that it's just too slow and wordy. To be honest, I've had this chapter mostly written for months, but I thought it was too boring to post. I've eventually decided that it works all right as a lead-in, so I posted it after all, from lack of better inspiration. If anyone has ideas on how to improve this chapter/story, please feel free to email me, or put them in a review. If you really want me to love you, tell me what was good and what was bad so that I can have a better idea of how to improve my style overall. Of course, if you liked it, that's great too! (This is assuming anyone is even still interested in this story after all this time).

* Harireh, according to my sources, means "female cat" in Farsi, or something like that. Farsi, of course, being the language spoken in Iran. Iran, of course, being the country that was once Persia. But, of course, you all already knew that.