Hi, Chels here. Hope everyone's weekend is going well. Regret has been updated, and an update for our newest story, Paradise, is on the way. Please excuse the mild lack of spacing between paragraphs in certain places in chapters previous to this one; this feature on the software/browser which I use apparently is not supported by the editor. From here on out, a break between a change of setting or point of view will be notated with an 'x'. A break between story content and an author's note will be notated with a series of 'x's. And without further ado, on with the chap.

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Chapter Seven

Later that evening, Christine, Erik and the children were sitting at the dining room table finishing their dinner. Christine had Claire situated on her lap; she was beginning to fall asleep. Henri had grown quiet, due to sleepiness. He pushed his leftover food around his plate absentmindedly. "Are you tired, little boy?" Christine asked gently.

Henri shook his head, stifling his yawn, "No..."

"I think it's your bedtime. Come on, darling, let's get you and your sister off to bed," Christine said, rising from the table.

"Can Erik put me to bed, Mama?"

Christine smiled softly, "If he would like to..."

"I shall..." Erik responded, slightly bewildered. He rose from the table and headed to the hallway, ascending the stairs, Henri following behind.

Christine followed, carrying Claire up to her room. She changed the her into a nightgown and set her into the cradle gently, smiling at the thought of Erik putting Henri to bed... She quite liked the idea.

x

Erik awkwardly went through the boy's bedtime ritual, smiling in spite of himself. He dressed Henri in one of his new night shirts, helped him into the bed, and pulled the covers over him. "Are you warm?" asked Erik, his tone caring.

Henri smiled up at him. "Yes. Thank you." He smiled down at him.

"Goodnight, then. Sleep well, son," he said, straightening up.

"Goodnight," he replied quietly, letting out a yawn, and snuggling under the covers.

Erik smiled at him once more as he turned out the light and shut the door. As he made his way back downstairs, he could have laughed aloud. The mysterious, all powerful Phantom of the Opera, tucking small children into bed. No matter; it had been strangely pleasant. Despite that fact, he suddenly felt the need to prove his manliness, and made his way to the kitchen to pour himself some scotch.

Hearing Erik pass, she decided to join him. Christine exited the bedroom after making sure her daughter was sound asleep, shutting the door quietly behind her. She descended the stairs and made her way into the kitchen.

As he drained his glass, he noticed that Christine too had come to the kitchen. "Hello," he said, mildly surprised to see her. "Will you have anything?"

"Just wine, please," she said quietly, absently smoothing the fabric of her black dress—black—she was so tired of wearing it, even if she was still mourning the death of her husband. She knew it was disrespectful of her but it was the truth, and today being Valentine's day didn't help matters...

He poured her a glass of blush wine and handed it to her. "I suggest that you take that to your room; you will not want to be around me, as I plan on getting quite drunk."

"I'll join you then," she said, taking a deep drink of her wine. She had not gotten drunk for quite a while. She had gotten quite drunk some of the nights when Raoul's sickness had taken a turn for the worse, and while he had been on his deathbed as well, but not since then; not since she had become a widow.

"You won't get there with wine... Besides, I don't think it would be ideal for you to do so," he said as he poured himself a second glass.

"And why not?"

"You've little ones to worry about."

"My little ones are sound asleep, and they will be for the rest of the night," she said, draining her wine glass.

"One could never be sure of such things," he said, before taking a swig from his glass. "Take it slowly. You would not want to give yourself a headache after only one glass."

"It's not as though I haven't drank before."

"Oh?" he asked, intrigued.

"You sound surprised."

"Well, I am. I would not expect such a lady to drink to escape her problems."

"Yes, well... There have been some rough times these past months."

"Yes, I know... Did you love him?" She was surprised by his forwardness, but at the same time she was not... that was Erik.

"I believe I did," she said thoughtfully... She felt for him what she believed to be love, but in the back of her mind she always wondered if there was something more, as much as she hated to admit it. He nodded.

"I can respect that, I suppose... Will you take more?"

"Alright." He took her glass from her and refilled it before handing it back to her.

"On nights like this, I do not normally linger in the kitchen."

"Oh?" she asked, taking another long drink form her glass, letting the wine warm her and allow her to relax... Things were always so much easier to handle when alcohol was in one's system.

"Yes... I normally take to the study, and light a fire, occasionally falling asleep in the chair there, so if you will please excuse me," he said, grabbing his glass and the bottle of scotch, "I think I shall do just that."

"Would you mind if I accompanied you? It's never good to drink alone..."

He smirked slightly. "I suppose so," he responded, hiding his foolish joy at her question. He led the way to the study, kneeling to light a fire in the fireplace, before taking a seat on the couch in front of it with its liquor.

She sat beside him, sipping on her wine, and staring at the fire. He took a gulp of the alcohol. "Celebrating St. Valentine's day is not very enjoyable when one is alone, is it?" he said thoughtfully.

"No, I suppose it isn't..."

"Yes, I should know... They have only been worse the past few years..."

"I'm sorry..."

"I'm sure that you are," he countered bitterly. "I have decided," he announced, "that I do not want you get drunk. I worry about you, Christine. I don't want you to spoil your health."

"It's not as though I'm going to break, Erik..."

"Well... I always viewed you as delicate... But you have bore two children, so I don't suppose you can be too terribly fragile. Do as you wish," he said finally. "I just want to protect you," he added.

She turned her head from the fire to look at him; she was truly touched by how much he cared for her... and her children. "Thank you," she said quietly.

"There is nothing to thank me for... I cannot change; it is not voluntary," he said darkly.

"I see," she said, feeling a bit hurt; turning back to the fire and taking a long swig of her wine.

"What I mean is that I cannot stop loving you— I am sorry, but I can't— and part of loving you is wanting to protect you, and those you love... So it truly is no hassle for me."

She drained her wine glass, then set it on the table; she felt uncharacteristically relaxed and carefree from the liquid. She turned to look at him. "You love me, Erik?"

"Of course I do. I told you this, long ago. I have never stopped." Before she could restrain herself —alcohol did tend to make her quite impulsive— she pulled him into an embrace, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Christine, stop," he murmured, trying (though not very hard) to free himself from her.

"Why?"

"I do not wish to be a temporary replacement in your time of sadness," he said more firmly.

"We don't have to be alone anymore, Erik... Don't push me away..."

"You don't truly want me, Christine; do not tease me. Your actions are induced by alcohol, and loneliness. I would only want you on the purest of terms... I will not sink to this level, not any more."

She pulled back from him to look into his eyes. "But it's St. Valentine's Day... I'm tired of being alone, and I know you are too..." Without warning, Christine leaned up and kissed him on the lips.

He could not resist her any longer, even if he had wanted to. Kissing her back hungrily, tracing her lips with his tongue, he found that this kiss was much different than those they had shared under the opera house that night five years ago.

She moaned softly, opening her mouth and touching her tongue to his. Christine was drunk, she knew that now, but she still had a clear enough head to know that she wanted this, truly, though she could not be sure how long she had. She was so tired of being alone and viewed as a poor, young widow. She wanted to be loved; to feel loved again. Wrapping her arms around his back, she fell back onto the couch, pulling him on top of her.

He kissed her, a kiss filled with incredible passion and desire. He pressed his hips to hers, moaning quietly in the process. Christine rotated her hips against his, moving her hands to his chest.

"Christine," he breathed, pulling away slightly, "We must stop..."

She shook her head, and began to kiss his neck. "You don't mean that," she breathed in between kisses.

"No, you are right... I don't wish to stop... But we should..."

"Why...?"

"This is wrong... It can't be like this... I won't have you like this..." he reasoned, to himself as much as her.

"It's not wrong... We're two adults... We know what we want..."

"Christine... You are simply seeking the warmth of another body beside yours... it would not matter whose... I don't want you that way. If I were to have you, I would want all of you, and I would want you to want me, to need me, to love me..." That will never happen, he thought sadly.

"I do," she said, her voice breathy, "I do... Erik..."

"No," he said disbelievingly, "you don't."

"I mean what I say, Erik... I need you... to make love to me..."

He looked into her eyes a moment, before kissing her lips deeply. It did not matter if she was lying, or whether she loved him or not. Not now. He could resist her no longer. Finally, he said, "I suppose we should get upstairs then," his voice quite throaty.

"Yes... We should..."

He pulled away from her and got to his feet, extending his hand to her to help her off the couch; the site of her, lips swollen and parted slightly, hair messed, only served to further arouse him.

She got up from the couch, feeling as though the room was spinning slightly, and began to lead him out of the library. They made their way to the stairs. Half way up, she turned and kissed him passionately, not able to resist any longer. His hands roamed her back, until one rested on her ass, grasping it slightly.

She moaned softly, pressing her hips into his, resting her hands on his shoulders. Finally, he pulled apart, and took her hand in his as he continued the trek up the stairs. In the middle of the hall, he stopped, and looking into her eyes, he said, "Christine, wait... Do you love me?"

She felt her breath catch in her throat; her eyes widened. Shit... Oh, God, she thought to herself. Did she? She had just been so lonely and had yearned to be loved so much that she hadn't really thought this through at all... She didn't know... She closed her eyes, trying to remain calm and think of what to tell him... She wanted him... She needed him. But did she love him? "Erik..." she began, quietly, but was interrupted by a cry from her bedroom. Claire had woken up.

Damn it, thought Erik. "Go," he said tonelessly, heading on to his bedroom.

"Right..." she said quickly, hurrying into her bedroom and picking up the screaming baby. What just happened?

Erik tore his robe off and climbed into the bed. How could he be so foolish? He figured that the timing of Claire's cry had just saved him from the inevitable pain of her rejection. He should be thankful... yet he was not.

Soon, Claire fell back asleep and she set her back in her crib. Christine undressed and put on her nightgown; she climbed into bed, pulling the covers over her. Tears stung her eyes. She felt so confused... She cared about Erik, more than words could describe. But did she love him? Christine did not know... She wasn't even sure what love felt like... Had she ever been in love? She knew she had hurt him... She had hurt herself. An infinite amount of thoughts filled her heads, and she eventually cried herself to a restless sleep.