All right! This kind of attention rules! Sniff you guys are so nice.

P.T.O

Some of my other works have been neglected unread and unreviewed it would give me great happiness to read some reviews from my favorite gaggle of phans about my more obscure, stupid writings.

Ch. 6: Three Men and a Baby

Russell stared at the unconscious form of Raoul de Chagney with an air of indifference, chomping on his cigarette viciously. He had been assigned to watch over the brainless boy, making sure he didn't hurt himself or the expensive furniture. The young fool was in a shaky state of mind, pining himself away for some wench named " Christine", whoever that was. As the Vicomte began to stir in his cot, Russell blew smoke rings in his face. This seemed to wake him up a bit.

As Raoul continued to choke the smoke out of his lungs, Russell drew something from his pocket and held it behind his back. " Look here, boy," he taunted, " I gots something here yous might want."

Raoul glared at him weakly, fidgeting with the collar of his nightdress. " There is nothing you have that I could possibly want." Although sharpness was usually uncommon of Raoul's nature, it did not surprise Russell. " Very well. I suppose Christine wouldn't mind waiting a few more months." At this, the letter was immediately snatched from his hands and he was forced from the tiny recuperation cabin. He dusted himself off with an air of indignity. " How rude." He muttered as he lit up another cigarette, stalking of to pick a fight with another sailor.

Raoul ripped open the letter, sending the envelope out the open porthole. He had been waiting months since her last His eyes seemed to blur as he tried to read it, but it came out clear after a few minutes:

Dearest Raoul,

I have received many letters from you, sometimes two a day! I just want to let you know, I keep them under my mattress to remind me of you. Can you believe you've been gone for nine months already? I thought this kind of time would never pass. I await the time when I can hold you in my arms again. Once more, Paris sends its love!

Yours truly,

Christine

A/N: Oh, that made me gag…

He held the note close to his heat, cradling it as a toddler would a doll. At that moment, Russell walked back in, swinging a half empty bottle of whiskey. " Come now, you damn Vicomte," He drawled, catching sight of the letter, " forget your adolescent pining and come have a drink with the boys." Russell threw the bottle. Raoul caught by the tips of his pale fingers. I might as well; He thought as he followed Russell, this would be a very long expedition if they think I'm an unstable moron.

Meanwhile, back at the Daily Globe:

" Meg! Help me!" Christine cried, waking her friend from her light sleep. Meg jolted awake, falling off her cot in frenzy. She picked herself up from the floor, her brown eyes running over Christine's body with horror. They had insisted that all of them live at the flat until the baby was born, and when I say all of them, I mean all of them.

" Mamma! Mamma, come quick!" Meg cried into the next room, sending the two figures on separate couches springing from their rest. Madame Giry rushed into Christine's bedroom, fumbling with her lamp. The girl was very pale, her breathing heavy and labored. The elder Giry put her hand to her throat, determination igniting her volley of commands. " Meg, go fetch me a pail of water, Christie, continue breathing the way you are," She shoved the lamp into the hands of the person behind her. " As for you, Erik, you stay out of the way!" Meg scrambled to the well and back, the bucket shaking in her hands. Christine moaned, putting her hand to her forehead. Erik stood transfixed where he was, confused as to what he should be doing.

" Erik, get out of here! Scram!" Madame Giry barked at him, slamming the door in his face. The door reopened in a moment, a bottle of wine forced into his hands. " Make yourself comfortable. We will be here awhile."

Hours later, Erik sat in the same spot he had been for nearly half a day, his forehead in his hands, staring at the floor. The bottle of wine was long gone, so his nerves were on fire with anticipation and worry. Suppose the baby carried his face, the face of Satan? Suppose Christine or the child were hurt in birth? What if Christine were to die? Judging by the horrible cries of pain from the bedroom, it did not sound like a pleasant experience. In spite of himself, Erik was happy that he had been plopped in the next room like a naughty, underfoot child.

Suddenly, the door creaked open and a clearly exhausted Madame Giry stepped out. From behind her, Meg was covered in something horrible, the girl looking nearly ready to collapse. A soft, weak cry issued from behind the pair of them. Erik was on his feet in an instant. " What's wrong? Why is the baby crying?" Cecile chuckled, waving him off in her normal haughty fashion. " No," she sighed, " no. The baby is fine, and she is beautiful."

Somewhere in his chest, Erik felt his heart stop. " She? It's a girl? Oh, lord…" The smile on his face was answer enough, the mask nearly falling off from the rising dimples. " Come see them." With quaking knees, he entered the room, catching sight of the weary Christine. In her arms, a little pink raisin of a daughter stirred, letting out a tiny yawn. The child was nothing like he had forecasted, holding no signs of inherited deformity, just a head covered with jet-black hair. Before the pair of them could say a thing, the phantom fainted dead away. Madame Giry gave him a little kick in the ribs, rolling her eyes. For such a dangerous man, he was such a drama queen.

For further reference to the birth, see chapter one. That's what it's there for, duh:)