In Motion

In the weeks that followed the dinner with the Crawfords, both Sarah and Victoria were true to their promise to call on Christine. Victoria, especially, visited often, and Christine found that she could be quite content to have the young woman as a friend. While Victoria was rather quiet by nature, she was also very well read and a great lover of art and music. She had been very happy to find the piano in the Rousseau home and discover that Christine had grown up in an opera house. Christine had admitted to being in the corps de ballet and the chorus, yet she'd not told Victoria of her moments at center stage, thinking it best keep certain details of her past more closely guarded.

Erik approved of his wife's new friend, even if he loathed her taste in suitors. Thankfully, Edward Markham had not darkened the doorstep of the Rousseau house. If he had, Erik could not have promised the self-absorbed little twit would have been able to leave under his own power. Even the benign presence of Victoria Crawford had, at first, set Erik on edge, and he had disappeared into the solitude of his office.

He could never be quite certain how it had happened, but on Victoria's third visit, she and Christine had persuaded him to play one of his pieces for them. He'd agreed only to appease his wife, and perhaps Ms. Crawford's exceptional knowledge of composers had impressed him. Only slightly, of course. Feeling rather wicked, he'd started into the opening chords of the duet from Don Juan Triumphant and Christine had quickly stopped him. 'Not that one,' she'd said, but the smile on her face had betrayed her amusement. He'd chosen something more appropriate for Victoria's benefit, and had been pleased to see the girl close her eyes and allow the melody to take her.

While Erik found he could tolerate the Crawfords, he still resisted the trappings of society in general. He also continued to resist sharing in Christine's unparalleled joy over her pregnancy. He had moments, of course. Moments when the light of hope would bloom in his chest and he'd imagine that everything would be perfect. Then his doubts would crash back in on him. He would start to think again of the possibility of his child inheriting his face. Yet even that fear paled in comparison to the others that assaulted him almost daily. Christine's own mother had died in childbirth, and the possibility of losing his angel to the same cruel fate was never far from Erik's mind. Nor was the possibility that they could lose the child. Or that Erik could lose both of them.

It were those dark thoughts that kept him from sharing Christine's good spirits when she dragged him into the one remaining room in the house that stood bare of any furnishings. Of course, he'd known why Christine had not yet filled it. She intended it to be a nursery. The only thing in the room at the moment was a small stool, on top of which were swatches of cloth in an array of colors.

Into her fifth month, the child was obvious in the noticeable curve of her mother's belly. Christine's loose fitting house dress did little to conceal her rounded figure, and she smiled as she reached for the scraps of cloth, holding them up to the wall for Erik's inspection. "What do you think, my love? I am partial to the pale blue, but perhaps the yellow…?"

Erik sighed, "Your daughter will not approve of blue."

Christine grinned, "I am rather fond of the blue. Besides, it may be yet be a son."

"No." He grimaced at his own clipped tone, and he saw his wife's smile droop slightly. He shook his head and attempted to placate her. "Choose whatever color you wish, Christine. It is entirely your decision."

All traces of her happiness fell away at once and her eyes glistened with moisture. "It is our decision, Erik."

He drew a breath, "We've more important things to worry about than what color to paint this blasted room!"

The tears spilled over and Christine dropped the strips of fabric onto the floor, brushing past him wordlessly and heading toward their bedroom. Erik cursed himself and rushed after her.

"Christine…"

He closed a hand around her arm, and she spun on him with eyes flashing. "Damn you! Curse you! You selfish, heartless, bastard! Do you think I don't worry about the same things that you do? Do you think that I'm not afraid? I am terrified, Erik! But I will not curl up into a ball and wallow in my fear. I need to know that you are here with me. If you cannot…" Her words died on a shocked gasp as she bent forward slightly and her hand flew up to her stomach.

Erik's heart lurched and he gripped her elbows in fear. "Christine? What is wrong? Are you well? Is it…is it…?"

She huffed out a breath as her dazed eyes flew up to his, "Yes…" Erik went pale, a look of sheer terror on his face, and Christine shook her head quickly, "No…no, Erik…nothing is wrong…it's only…" A wonder-filled smiled curved her mouth and she gabbed one of Erik's hands to press it against her. "She does not approve of her parents arguing."

Dread still pumping through his veins, it took Erik a moment to register the distinctive fluttering against his hand. He caught his breath, going completely still and not even daring to breath. The rolling motion continued under his palm and he felt the impact of that simple movement like a bullet through his system.

My child, alive and moving within Christine.

Alive.

He simply did not have the words. He'd never before been able to feel the child within her, though she had tried once or twice to guide his hand to the first gentle stirrings she'd felt. He could feel the tears on his face, spilling from beneath the edge of his mask. Something very much like joy took hold of him and would not let go. He closed his eyes, losing himself in the moment. He felt Christine's small hand on his cheek, wiping at his tears. Only when the movement under his hand finally ceased, did he speak again.

"I…think the blue is a fine choice, mon ange."

Christine pulled Erik's arms fully around her, pressing against him. The anger and pain of his seeming indifference faded in the comfort of his embrace. She could feel his love for her…for them…even when he made it nearly impossible.

He was here with her, and she knew that whatever the future held, they would face it together.

xXx

After the incident with the nursery, things settled down for a short time. Christine wrote again to Meg and Madame, happily telling them both of the progress she and Erik were making in their new life. She'd been relieved at the last exchange to learn from Meg that Raoul had not gone to any extremes after her departure from Paris. While Christine still battled a great deal of guilt and regret at the pain she had caused her childhood sweetheart, she was pleased to know that he doing well.

The replies that were returned from Paris upon the most recent correspondence brought Christine a great deal of happiness, and only a small amount of melancholy. Madame Giry had written that she would be booking passage to England in several weeks, but she also expressed a great deal of her own concern over the state of Meg's affairs. According to Madame, Christine's friend had acquired a suitor in the form of the new owner of the Opera Populaire, Monsieur Jean Ranier. Madame clearly did not approve of the man at all, and hoped to bring Meg to England with her in order for Christine to talk some sense into her daughter. Christine had found that rather ironic, considering her own less than stellar romantic history.

Meg's letter had not eased Christine's mind much. Her friend had mentioned Monsieur Ranier, as well, and her tone had not seemed one of infatuation with the man. Still, Meg had admitted to several dinners and knowledge that Ranier's intentions were not entirely honorable. It was clear that the acquaintance was troubling Meg, though she really had not said much about her own feelings on the matter.

The last several lines of her friend's letter caught Christine's attention and she stifled a laugh. She looked up to see Erik watching her in amusement and she smiled at him. "Erik, you must listen to what Meg has written. Apparently the new owner of the Opera Populaire, Monsieur Ranier, is…" She glanced down to the letter, reading the lines, "ah, yes…adeptly stealing the best performers from all over Paris. He has even mentioned his disappointment at finding the Opera House devoid of its infamous ghost. It seems he had been looking forward to the Phantom's presence…Box five is to remain empty, just in case." Christine looked at Erik again, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she quoted the last of Meg's letter. "Perhaps Erik might like his old job back."

Erik sat back in his chair, a chuckle escaping him as Christine gave into fits of laughter.

"I think I might like this Monsieur Ranier. Perhaps I shall accept his kind invitation one day."

Christine's laughter gradually trailed off, and a wistful look of longing glistened in her eyes. Yet she did not give it voice. They both wished for nothing more than to be back in Paris, but they both knew it simply wasn't possible.

Neither of them could have realized that the past was about to catch up with them once again.

xXx

It had taken Edward Markham much longer than he'd expected to find someone familiar with the ghost story he was in search of, and when he finally did, he was told such a strange tale that he hardly knew what to make of it. The Rousseaus were very much an enigma to him, and he knew only the few insignificant things he'd learned upon their one and only supper together, and the additional little details that Victoria had let slip about her new friend, Christine. The mysterious Mr. Rousseau was rarely in Crawford's office, and Edward had seen him in passing only once as he'd come to examine the books. Yet the few facts he did know seemed to match almost exactly to the story, and the similarities simply could not be ignored.

He'd not really pursued any of this until Victoria had forced his hand with her increasing aloofness. She was slightly cold by nature to begin with, but she'd been growing less inclined to spend time with him in the recent weeks. He could clearly date it back to her introduction to the Rousseaus. She'd not been happy with his perceived lapse in manners, and she'd made him very aware of it. Though she'd seemed to forgive him, her delight in his company diminished, and as of late, she was far more content to spend much of her time with Mrs. Rousseau. Christine.

And Erik. Victoria seemed almost as enchanted with the man as her father clearly was. Edward had been so very close to securing Crawford's blessing to ask for his daughter's hand in marriage, and now he was nearly right back where he'd begun. He was certain he could regain his ground, however, once he removed Victoria's new friend from the equation.

How fortuitous that he now had in his possession the information to accomplish his goal. He could gain Crawford's respect and bring a disillusioned Victoria running back to him, all with one clean blow. Edward grinned slyly as he was shown into Andrew Crawford's private office.

Crawford smiled thinly, sighing in resignation at the presence of the boy before him. "Edward, what might I do for you today?"

Settling into the chair opposite the older man, Edward's grin turned cold, "I believe there is something that I might do for you, Mr. Crawford."

A/N: Uh oh, the angst is back. To those who commented...yes, Edward is proving to be a potential problem. What will Mr. Crawford do?