A/N: One quick note, this chapter will begin with a normal timeline, but you will notice it speeds up toward the end of the chapter, skimming over a period of about 20 years, just giving bits and pieces. You will understand when you read. And no, phanotmann, you suspicious reader you, that is definitely NOT foreshadowing at the end.

Ch. 37 – God's Gifts

Christine sighed with exhausted contentment. She had spent the afternoon overseeing the final touches on the new nursery. It was finished at last, and none too soon, she thought bringing a hand to her swollen belly. Instantly concerned at the sound of her sigh, Erik glanced up at her from the sketches he was working on. Standing with great effort, she walked over to pat his hand reassuringly. Ever since he had learned of her pregnancy, Erik had been fearfully protective, treating her as if she were a china doll. Christine understood that even as far as he had come in the last few years, Erik still did not trust entirely all the good that had come into his life. After all the pain he had suffered in his past, she still noticed a caution, a hesitation in his acceptance of God's gifts, as though he was still unsure they would not be taken away any moment.

It had been so with this baby. He was excited beyond words for its birth, she knew that with certainty, and yet it was as if he couldn't quite believe yet another blessing would be bestowed upon him so casually. As he returned to his work, she smiled softly down at him. Someday he would be able to love without fear. She would make sure of that.

Later that night, Erik felt her hand on his arm. He turned his head to face her, his eyes still half closed. She was lying on her side, her face turned to him - a certain unusual glow and excitement lighting her face. He opened his eyes fully, his question plain. She smiled gently, "Yes, darling. It's time."

Hours later, Erik paced franticly outside the door of the room where the doctor was examining Christine. She had told him that it would be a long process, but if these hours had been so difficult for him, what must they have been like for her? He sat down weakly in a chair that had been placed outside the door for him.

As the minutes ticked by, his fear and uncertainty grew. If anything happened to Christine, he didn't know what he would do. It was not uncommon for women to die in childbirth. His own mother, he now knew had died giving birth to him and his brother. The thought, although certainly not new to him, nearly choked him with fear.

He stood up. He had to know what was happening. It had been hours since anyone had told him anything, and he couldn't stand to wait any longer. Just as he moved to grasp the handle of the door, it opened of his own accord, and the doctor stepped out. He looked weary, but he smiled a kind, reassuring smile as he took in Erik's pale, worried appearance. The doctor extended his hand, and Erik shook it distractedly, still waiting for news. "Congratulations, Comte de Chagny. You have a lovely, healthy son." Erik's eyes widened, his features relaxing. "And Christine..." he couldn't bear to finish the question. The doctor patted his arm. "It was not easy for her, but she was very brave and she will be fine in a matter of days." Erik bowed his head and closed his eyes, exhaling in relief. When he raised his head again, his eyes shone with joy and gratitude. "Thank you, good doctor. May I see her now?" The doctor laughed at the boyish impatience in the Comte's eyes, "Certainly."

Erik hesitated at the door for a moment, then opened it and quietly stepped inside. Christine looked up at him, and her eyes met his in a tender, radiant smile. She was pale and looked exhausted, but her smile reassured him and he stepped forward in relief to kiss her forehead and reach for her hand. She could feel his tears as he leaned his forehead against her own, his voice choking with emotion, "Christine, I was so worried. I don't know what I would have done if I had lost you again."

She squeezed his hand, and as he lifted his head, he noticed suddenly the tiny bundle snuggled in the curve of her arm. Seeing the look of wonderment in his eyes, Christine asked softly, "Erik, would you like to hold your son?" Erik hesitated for a moment, but her eyes encouraged him and he held out his arms uncertainly. Christine lifted the sleeping bundle and gently placed the baby in Erik's strong arms.

Straightening, Erik stared at the tiny life they had created that now lay sleeping so trustingly in his hands. The baby had dark hair, and a tiny cleft in his chin that Erik recognized immediately as his own. His face was perfect, like that of his mother – creamy skin, and soft pink cheeks. Erik reached out to touch the five perfect tiny fingers clutching the blanket. Stirring slightly, the baby opened his fist, and reached out to grasp Erik's index finger instead. Joy and pride washed over Erik's face, as he looked at Christine in amazement. He sat down next to her on the bed, his new son in one arm, and his beloved wife in the other. Sunlight streamed through the window, and it was as if God himself were present in the room.

After several moments, Erik whispered, "What name shall we give him, Christine?" Her eyes twinkled as she smiled up at him, "I was thinking Erik Philippe de Chagny."

In the months that followed, Erik-Philippe, as they had taken to calling him to avoid confusion with his father, grew strong and healthy. At seven months he was crawling, and by eight months, he was toddling everywhere. He was intensely curious, and his mother was constantly removing forbidden objects from his chubby fist. Erik had taken to doing most of his work in an office he had prepared in the west wing of the house near the nursery so that he could spend more time with his small, but happy family.

They took pleasant walks through the gardens, wheeling Erik-Philippe in the baby carriage, or sometimes allowing him to toddle down the path on his own, as he preferred to do. Over the summer, they took him to the seashore, and watched arm and arm as he curiously investigated various marine creatures that washed ashore. At three years of age, his father began to teach him the piano, and by four, Erik-Philippe was well on his way to becoming a musical prodigy like his father. Although a loving and affectionate child, he had his father's seriousness and desire for perfection, becoming intensely frustrated if his young body could not match the maturity of his mind. As soon as he learned to read, Erik-Philippe had nearly taken up residence in the library, choosing to spend his days there rather than in the nursery playing with his innumerable toys. To help fill his insatiable curiosity and thirst for knowledge, his parents employed a tutor shortly after who lived in the east wing of the house, and gave the remarkably intelligent boy daily lessons, which unlike most children, Erik-Philippe looked forward to. He delighted in the outdoors, but hated to be dirty, often requesting a bath and a fresh change of clothing if he got so much as a hint of dirt on himself.

Christine delighted in the boy's uncanny resemblance in both appearance and manner to his father. Erik-Philippe in turn adored her, begging her to sing to him at night, and frequently coming to her for kisses when he scraped his knee. And as for Erik, the joys of having a son were almost overwhelming. He would often spend the afternoon patiently explaining a piece of music or poetry to his always inquisitive son. When Erik-Philippe interrupted his work to watch him make his sketches, Erik would take him onto his knee, set the sketches aside, and place the charcoal pencil in his son's hand, guiding it with his own across the paper to form castles, or dragons, or whatever fancy Erik-Philippe wished to see. In the library, Christine would often find the two together in her window seat: Erik reading a story book, and his son leaning against his chest lost in the sound of his father's rich, musical voice. Sometimes they would both fall asleep there, and Christine would marvel at the two of them, so alike and so content in each other's arms.

Just before Christmas, Erik-Philippe entered his father's study one day, waiting patiently until Erik looked up from his work and reached down to pick him up. Looking up at his father with eyes that were entirely his mother's, the boy asked quietly, "Papa, have I been good this year?" Erik smiled down at him with utter adoration, "Of course you have, Erik-Philippe. You are always very good." Erik-Philippe nodded solemnly, then climbed down from his father's lap. Just before he left the room, he turned back to his father, and in his uncommonly grown-up way of speaking stated simply, "Then we shall be needing more room in the stable soon father, for Saint Nicolas will be bringing me a pony." Amused, but careful not to offend the child, Erik nodded in a similar serious fashion, "I suppose we will then. I will attend to it immediately."

Erik-Philippe did indeed receive a pony for Christmas that year. And later that spring, he received yet another surprise – twin brothers. Once again, Christine endured a difficult delivery, but the boys were born healthy and strong. After careful thought, the twins were named Alexander Nicholas and Frederick Henry de Chagny. Although the twins also resembled their father, with the exception of their mother's eyes, it was apparent very early on, that they had not inherited his serious nature like their older brother.

Instead, the twins tended to take after their mother in disposition. They were sweet, gentle boys who delighted in the world around them. Although equally as intelligent as Erik-Philippe, they were nowhere near as dedicated in their pursuit of knowledge, choosing instead to play outdoors, or run races in the magnificent hallways of their enormous home. Although they were nearly identical to each other in looks, their personalities, while similar were also distinct from one another. Alexander tended to gravitate toward artistic endeavors, taking to sculpture and painting, and playing the cello rather than the piano like his older brother. He was the quieter of the twins, easygoing and good-natured, but responsible when he needed to be. Frederick, on the other hand tended to be a dreamer at heart. He had a lovely singing voice, as did his brothers and had taken to the violin quite naturally. He often would sit reading and writing poetry in the garden, and would frequently lose track of time, appearing late for supper or lessons more often than not.

Christine and Erik delighted in the company of their beloved boys, and their children in turn adored their parents. They often took trips together, frequently attended the opera or the ballet, and on many occasions by request entertained guests with a family musical performance in the conservatory. It was often remarked by others who knew the family socially that they had never seen the likes of the de Chagny family in either talent or in closeness.

Erik-Philippe attended the University at sixteen, and became an apprentice to his father in the architectural firm at eighteen. The twins, at twelve joined the National Academy of Music, and at fourteen were becoming quite accomplished musicians in their own right.

While their children were away in their various endeavors, Erik and Christine took comfort once more in each other's presence. Nearly twenty years of peace and happiness had gone by since they had been married, and yet they were more in love now than ever, if possible. After hearing tales of scandal from the staff of other noble houses throughout the city, the servants of the de Chagny family often boasted proudly amongst themselves that there had never been such a perfect match and such an obviously divine love than that of their master and mistress. And to all who knew them, that fact was obvious. The two of them were seldom seen socially, preferring to remain most often in the company of one another, or that of their children. Their love and respect for each other was evident in the way they looked at each other, touched each other, talked to each other. It was often said they treated their love as a gift, never failing to appreciate one another, as so often happened in marriages. Life was rich and full. For the moment, all was as it should be.