Disclaimer: The characters of Erik, Christine, Madame Giry and Meg belong to Gaston Leroux and/or Andrew Lloyd Webber. The plot, however, belongs to me.

A/N: At the end of Chapter Three, Christine drove out to Erik's house with her children. This chapter is a little longer than the others—I couldn't seem to find a good stopping place. Thanks to all who take the time to comment.

NO ONE BUT HER

Chapter Four—Hardly Knowing the Reason Why

Slowly he got to his feet and gestured behind them. "There is a terrace in the back where we can sit and talk."

With a firm grip on her son's hand, she followed Erik around the path to the rear of the house. "It's beautiful, Erik. Peaceful and calm and . . ."

"Lonely? Marie tried to get me to live closer to the city, but I just couldn't. She's worried a little less about me lately, since Rascal followed me home one night. And she herself brought me a cat for the stables." He pulled out one of the chairs at the small table for her and she sat down with a tiny smile.

"Maman! Oggie! Play oggie!" Stephen pulled on her hand, trying to get free and go to Rascal, who sat patiently on the other side of the table, tail thumping against the stones.

"Just a minute, love." Looking up at Erik, who stood slightly behind her, she handed him the baby. "Would you hold her for a minute, please?" Without waiting for his consent she placed the child in his arms and turned to speak to her son.

After admonishing him to stay on the grass under the tree that shaded the terrace, Christine turned to take Annaliese from Erik. The look of wonder on his face made her eyes fill with tears. "Would you like to hold her for a little longer?"

Eagerly he nodded, his eyes never leaving the baby. He moved around the table to sit in the other chair. He started to unwrap her from her blanket then stopped and looked sheepishly at Christine. "May I?"

"Let me help you." Their fingers brushed as they reached for the same corner, and Erik grasped her hand for an instant. She felt a blush heat her cheeks as he squeezed her fingers.

Annaliese squirmed, as if sensing she was about to be released from her bindings, and Erik lifted her high above his head, letting her kick her legs and squeal. Man and child smiled at each other, and he said, "She's grown so much since I saw her last!" Carefully he settled her on his lap, her back against his stomach, his hand spread across her belly to hold her in place.

They sat in relative silence for a moment, listening to Stephen and Rascal romping in the grass a few feet away. Christine said quietly, "Thank you for the rattle and the ring." She took a deep breath and plunged ahead. "Marie told me you'd been to England, to see a surgeon."

"Yes. Unfortunately he can do nothing for me. He seemed to think the folk remedy Marie brought me is the best I can do." Unconsciously he rubbed the scars with his free hand.

"But they are disappearing! And I never thought they were that horrible in the first place." Oh, God where did that come from? "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to bring all that up."

"Why did you come here, Christine?"

"Why have you reappeared in my life after four years?" she retorted. "Is it because Raoul is gone—your rival is out of the way now?"

"No!" Annaliese whimpered at his outburst and he scooped her up to rest on his chest, patting her back and murmuring softly. "No," he continued in a milder tone, "I thought—I needed to—and now I've waited until it was too late."

"Too late?"

"To beg your forgiveness—and Raoul's—for what I put you both through." He closed his eyes as if in pain, then opened them, his misery obvious for anyone to see. "I'm sorry, Christine. Can you ever find it in your heart to forgive me, for what I did, and what I intended to do?"

Standing, she moved the few feet to his side and went down on her knees. She laid a hand atop the one that held the baby to him, and smiled softly. "Oh, Erik! I forgave you for that long ago, when you let Raoul and me go free."

He closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath. "Thank you. I don't deserve it, after what I did, but thank you." Blinking rapidly, he looked down at the baby, now sleeping contentedly against his chest. "I think she likes me," he whispered, sounding surprised.

Christine dashed away her own tears and smiled at him. "Children are rarely wrong about people, I've found. They have an instinct that shouldn't be ignored." At that moment Stephen and Rascal came running up to them. She swung her son up and around, making him giggle. "This is the man who carved your horse for you. What do you say?"

Shyly the boy tucked his head in the curve of her shoulder and very softly said, " 'Ank oo."

Moved more than he thought possible, Erik swallowed hard and replied, "You're welcome." To Christine he said, "He's a fine boy, the very image of Raoul. I'm sure he was very proud of him." Annaliese stirred and he shifted her from his chest to his shoulder. She fussed a little and he rubbed her back as he'd seen Christine do.

"You'll make a wonderful father." The quiet comment startled him and his heart gave a hard thump.

"There was never any chance of that," he said mockingly. "What woman would want someone like me, even if the scars didn't frighten her?" Refusing to look at her for a moment, he added, "I think he's asleep," nodding to the boy.

Before she could respond, he stood and extended a hand to her. When she took it he began to lead her toward the house. "There's a room just inside with a small bed, if you'd like to use it?"

"Yes, thank you." The room had not only a small bed but a table and chair sitting in front of a wide window. Carefully she laid her son on the bed and covered him with the quilt that was folded at the foot. She took the pillow and wedged it between him and the open side of the bed.

Annaliese began to fuss in earnest and Erik bounced her up and down to no avail. He pressed tiny kisses to her head and temples but her little face grew beet red and he turned to Christine in a panic. "What did I do?"

"Nothing. You just aren't equipped to meet her needs at the moment," she said, a slightly teasing note in her voice.

"Oh!" His own face showing a flush of embarrassment, he handed the now-squalling baby to her and she sat in the chair, unbuttoning the bodice of her dress and crooning to the baby. He cleared his throat and backed toward the door. "I'll, um go make some tea."

She chucked as his hasty retreat and let the baby nurse, humming softly as she did. Within minutes the baby fell asleep and as Christine laid her on the bed next to her brother, she heard it.

Leaving the door to the room open, she followed the music down the hall to the parlor, stopping in the doorway. Two large windows faced the terrace, letting in the sun and the breeze. The walls, as in the room she'd just left, were painted a warm creamy yellow. The only other furniture besides the piano was a small sofa upholstered in tan leather.

Erik sat at the piano, his eyes closed in intense concentration as his fingers flew over the keys. Suddenly he looked up and saw her, his fingers fumbling over several notes until he looked away and finished the divertimiento by Mozart.

She approached him, smiling as she said, "I couldn't help but notice the light-colored paint and the large windows."

"After so many years of darkness, when I bought this house and moved here, I seemed to crave the light." Rubbing his hands nervously on his trouser legs, he started to stand but she put a hand on his shoulder and stopped him.

"No—please play something else?" She made no attempt to remove her hand and he began to play a piece that she was certain she'd never heard before and was just as positive that he'd composed it. It was light and airy, seemingly a combination of Bach, Mozart and Chopin, reminding her of children laughing and playing.

"That was beautiful." Her eyes asked what she dared not say aloud and he rose from the piano bench and walked to the windows, still able to feel the burning sensation at the spot where her hand had rested.

Staring out at the terrace, he listened as she walked to the windows and stood next to him. Sighing he said, "Yes, I wrote it, years ago, after I had first seen you in the opera house—and had heard you sing."

"Do—do you still compose?"

"No. Not since. . ." He let the rest of the sentence trail away and shrugged. "I had nothing to inspire me." After a moment he added, "My gift was a short-lived one, it seems."

Stephen called out for his mother, and together they went to check on him. He was awake, but feeling grumpy as he usually did upon first waking. Christine plucked him from the bed and settled him on her hip. He buried his face in the curve of her neck and she turned to Erik with a sigh.

"It's late and we should be going." She started to hand the boy to him, but he refused to let go of her and she hitched him up to a more comfortable position. "Could you bring the baby, please?"

"Certainly." Carefully he lifted Annaliese from the bed and she went right on sleeping. He smoothed his hand over her head and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Sweet child," he whispered, and kissed her again.

Once they were all three settled in the buggy, Christine picked up the reins and looked over at Erik. "It's been a wonderful day," she told him.

"Please come again soon," he said, surprising them both. "I'll introduce Stephen to my horses—if that's all right with you. It doesn't matter to me—just please come."

Swallowing past the sudden lump in her throat, she said, "I'll send word the day before we'd like to come, to be sure it's all right." With that she flicked the reins and the horse trotted briskly down the drive and soon the buggy was out of sight.

That night Erik's dreams left him fighting invisible enemies, and he woke gasping for air. In the back of his mind he heard a melody. Stunned, he sat up in bed and closed his eyes, listening intently. He threw back the sheet and went to his desk, scrambling for staff paper and a quill and ink. Quickly he scratched out the notes he was hearing, before they disappeared like a puff of smoke.

When he finished, he went to the piano and played the melody, gradually adding chords as he went. His heart pounding, he played the song over and over, making minor changes, until it was as perfect as could be.

As he rose from the piano bench, suddenly he realized what had just happened. His knees nearly gave way, and he sank to the floor with a cry. He had composed something worthwhile for the first time in over four years. "Oh, Christine, my love, thank you!" It seemed he had regained his muse.

A/N: I don't have children, so I apologize for any faux pas concerning Stephen and Annaliese. Readers who are parents, please let me know if I'm wrong about anything.