Chapter Thirteen

An: This will be edited to an unrecognizable point as soon as I get everything straightened out. It needs it. Phew.

A month passed in relative quiet, Meg still in hospital and her attacker's identity still not resolved- although it seemed Madame Giry had been cleared to go about her business again. No one quite knew how it came to have happened, but no one seemed to question it either.

Christine bustled through the doorway of Meg's room; she had begun to fill out her gowns, her bosom and belly swelling to a full roundness neither had ever known before. She slipped off her cloak, determined not to hide her changing body from her best friend anymore, the time had come to tell her the happy tidings... When she stood over Meg and the latter was roused from an imaginary game of some sort, the rosy-cheeked child of a Meg Giry smirked-

Then her colour drained and her eyes widened in shock, "Christine!" she exclaimed excitedly, grinning maniacally and bent on spending her excess energy. "Why! I daresay- you're- you're!"

"Yes..." Christine agreed with a warm smile, "I daresay I am."

"Gracious!" Meg laughed delightedly, pulling her friend down into a tight hug before pushing her back and looking over her again. The little dancer grinned, "Well, where's the lucky father, then? Wouldn't leave you alone with child, would he?" She winked. Having had time to grow somewhat accustomed- as much as she ever would be- to Erik's immense mystique and aura of darkness, Meg found it much easier to speak to and of him.

With the question, however, Christine's happy glow dimmed and she seemed suddenly pale and drawn, casting an anxious glance over her shoulder and wringing her hands in that nervous manner she used to have before Erik had brought out her inner strength and spiritedness.

She looked very sad when she answered, "He's… oh Meg, Heaven protect him," she crossed herself hurriedly as though Erik's life hung on the gesture, "He's so very ill!" She reached out for her friend's hand and squeezed it hard.

The little woman's eyes rounded with sympathy, "I thought you seemed preoccupied, my poor Christine… I know what he means to you." Her voice fell to a low whisper as she realized what Christine's situation would be if Erik were to die, she would have no where to go and would be far too stricken to work at the opera….

"Meg," Christine's large, luminous blue eyes glittered with tears, "is it wrong to love someone so much you'd rather die than live to see them broken? It hurts… it hurts me so very much to see him lying there when he's always been so strong…. He hasn't been up and dressed for days, Meg! I know it's something horrible to keep him bedridden- he finds it so undignified and he can't bare that; he's told me all the horrors he's lived through and it never kept him down…. He can't leave me now!"

"It's all right," Meg said weakly, trying to comfort the singer as she broke into near hysterical sobs.

"No," Christine cried mournfully, "I'll be very pregnant soon, then what? I won't be able to take care of him… My body is preparing to nurture the new life we've created, but all I can think about is Erik… am I very wicked, Meg?"

"Never, dear Christine," Meg embraced her friend and rocked her gently, hiding her face in the endless ringlets of chocolate brown hair. "Every person in the world longs to love as you have, most will never find it, it's a gift from Heaven… No matter what happens, always remember that and never think it's wrong."

The young diva pulled away, trying desperately to dry the tears that were still falling, hiccuping as she tried to hold them back, "Erik told me that… And that if he wasn't well again in a week I must go above ground with our baby and forget him." A sob broke through her defenses despite her efforts, "How can he even ask me to do that? I couldn't bare it…"

"He's thinking of you and the baby, Christine, I gather he knows more about illness then we ever will… If it comes to that you'll find a way to obey him, you're strong now, you grown so much since I first knew you…" Meg soothed, caressing her friend's curls.

"I'm only strong because he made me strong, Meg!" she burst out, "I can't be this new, better me without him there to catch me if I fall!"

Christine awoke with a start, her face warm where her cheek was against Erik's chest. She sat up slightly, willing herself to stop panting in short gasps of air and instead take long, deep breaths, willing the panic down. The dream had been so real she wasn't even certain what was dream and what was real… she ran her hand down her own body to her belly and suddenly knew, call it intuition, but she knew.

I'll ask Erik in the morning, she thought, yawning widely, snuggling herself up against her husband and hoping her next dream wouldn't embody her life's worst fear: loosing him. Fortunately for her peace of mind, the rest of the night passed in mindless oblivion.

And so it came to pass, in rather short order, that the couple of no given surname announced Christine's delicate condition to a dashed Persian gentleman and a very bored, skittish young dancer lying festering in a hospital bed. Both took the news in two ways, first with an open-mouthed, fish-like expression, eyeballs bulging in what Erik called a 'most unattractive manner' and small, strangled sounds coming from their open jaws. Then, after they had taken a moment to collect themselves, with surprised joviality; proclaiming some sort of celebration was in order and Nadir clapping Erik on the back and muttering in Persian while trying to pretend he wasn't crying. No, no, something in his eye, don't you see- No! I don't, I've something in my eye, damn it, Erik! It was all jolly fun for the couple.

It wasn't until Christine was long since showing that our most beloved Viscount was enlightened. Raoul was on his way to the annual dinner to visit Christine and couldn't- to save his life- fathom what that damnable Persian found so endlessly hilarious. He was so suspicious he was getting a headache as Erik poled the boat across the lake, as calmly and elegantly as ever, while Nadir spoke to him in his native tongue.

"Well, tell me how she is!" he smirked up at his old friend, rubbing his hands together in restless excitement.

Erik smiled in that slow, taunting way of his, barely visible in the near darkness and giving his reply in the same language, "She is very well, she tells me that it will be a son who'll be taller than me, because her belly has gotten to be so large. I told her perhaps she just ought to cut back on the chocolate." He grinned.

"Are you hurting for that?" Nadir question, cheekily, cracking his knuckles.

Erik turned away to hide his laughter, "I can't imagine what you mean."

The Persian chuckled, "I'll take that as a no."