Hey everyone, Chels here. Just wanted make a quick note that there is a new story up under this pen name, Oh, Christine; it is Leroux based and I am the sole author of it, so if you are a phan of Leroux, please give it a look.

The other two stories should be updated soon as well.

Without further ado, on with the chap.

Chapter Eight

Erik woke from sleep possibly less rested than he had been the night before; his slumber had been invaded by troubling dreams. He lie there about an hour, dreading breakfast with Christine... Finally, not wanting to seem suspicious, he dressed in a suit (despite his usual custom of dining in a robe; that would leave him too vulnerable) and walked downstairs and entered the kitchen, trying to ignore Christine's eyes on him.

"Good morning, Erik!" Henri said cheerfully, oblivious to the tense mood that had fallen over the room.

"Good morning, Henri," replied Erik, his tone completely normal, as he took a seat in front of the only plate of breakfast left. Christine, standing from the table with Claire in her arms, her eyes still bloodshot from crying the night before, mumbled, "I'm going to go feed Claire," and turned, exiting the dining room.

"Mama's head hurts today," Henri said after she had left.

"Yes, I am sure," he said, not looking up from his breakfast.

"Are you mad at me?"

"No, of course not."

"You seem grumpy."

"Perhaps I am, but it is not your fault."

"Who's fault is it then?"

"Your mother's," he said honestly, not bothering to avoid the truth.

"Why?"

"She does not know what she wants."

"Claire woke me up and I heard Mama crying... She's grumpy too."

"That's too bad," he said, finishing his oatmeal.

"Are you mad at her?"

"Somewhat."

"Oh... Is she mad at you?"

"I do not know. You would have to ask her."

"She's busy right now though."

"You can ask her later, if you wish to know," he said, taking a deep drink from his coffee mug.

"My birthday is soon."

"Yes, I know... About two weeks."

"I'll be four."

"Indeed. What gift do you desire for?"

He thought for a moment. "I think... a stuffed bear," he said with a nod.

"Alright, that sounds appropriate," he said, with a nod of approval. "Please excuse me," he said, rising from the table.

"Where are you going?"

"To play my organ."

"Oh."

Erik nodded. "I shall see you at lunch," he said, leaving the room. He did not like to leave Henri unattended, but he desperately needed an escape, if only temporary.

x

Henri went upstairs to where Christine was nursing Claire. "Hello, little man," she said to him as he sat next to her on the bed, giving him a smile that did not reach her eyes, "Where's Erik?"

"At his organ." Christine nodded... He must be hurting... It was her fault. "I'm going to go talk to him, alright? Will you watch Claire if I put her in her crib for a little while?"

Henri nodded; she patted his head; after Claire had finished eating, she covered herself back up and set her in her crib. "I'll be right back, alright?" she said, exiting the room and heading down to Erik's music room.

She stood in the doorway, not sure of what to say. She cleared her throat, "Erik..."

At length, he turned to find Christine. "Christine," he said coolly, "I am glad you have come to me. Shall we take this into the library?" he said, stepping past her into the hallway. Once she stepped into the library with him, he shut the door. "Christine... I would like to apologize for my forwardness last night," he said tonelessly.

"You weren't forward... I was," she mumbled, unable to meet his eyes.

"Well, in any case, I am sorry if I hurt you," he persisted.

"I'm sorry, too..." She wanted to tell him how much she cared for him and how much she owed to him... How much he meant to her... But she couldn't find the courage to make the words come out of her mouth.

He took her hand in his and squeezed it gently. "Thank you..." He paused a moment. "I love you..." he whispered, so quietly he did not think she had heard him. Abruptly, he let go of her hand. "Please excuse me," he murmured, turning from her.

"Erik..." she whispered, feeling tears well up in her eyes; she tentatively put her hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry..."

"You have nothing to be sorry about," he lied.

"Yes I do..."

"Well, either way..." he said, trailing off as he sat down on the couch which faced the empty fireplace. She sat down beside him, burying her face in her hands. She didn't know what she was feeling or what to tell him...

Tentatively, he reached out and rubbed her back, trying to comfort her, although he was unsure of what troubled her. Christine moved closer to him, wanting to be closer to him, taking his hand in her own. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, unsure of why he was doing this... She just seemed like she needed someone to hold her, he supposed.

She leaned into him, feeling comforted by another's embrace. She had been feeling so lonely lately... As if she had lived a lifetime even though she was only 22. Christine often longed for the warmth of someone sleeping next to her in the night, or another's embrace. She had grown tired of the constant looks of pity from others when they registered that she had been widowed... and having to constantly wear black, as if screaming her marital status. She just wanted to feel her age again; she wanted to feel young and alive... She supposed that had been why she had jumped at the chance of being with Erik the past night.

He stroked her hair, and gently asked, "What ails you, dear?"

"I tire of being a widow," she said quietly with a sigh, then smiled slightly. "I feel like an old woman."

"I am sorry..." he said, feeling quite off guard. But he did not mind; the feeling of holding her was very much worth it.

"Is that selfish?"

"No... It is understandable... You are young, after all... You wish to feel young," he reasoned, absently tracing circles on her back. She nodded slightly.

"I'm tired of strangers constantly pitying me as well... and being labeled as a widow at first glance... I suppose that is selfish of me as well..."

"Christine, you are not selfish. I can tell how hard you have worked to keep your children fed and healthy—a selfish person would not do that."

"I wouldn't have been able to do that without you..."

"Before you came to me, you were managing... A lesser woman would have just abandoned them, or focused on herself. That is admirable, Christine. Do not forget it."

"I would not have been able to for much longer..." she said quietly, remembering those days that she had barely been able to feed her children, and had not been able to feed herself at all... Those were dark times... If she hadn't remembered Erik's words she was sure she would have been forced to become a common street whore, selling herself to any man who would pay... If it had come to that, she knew that she would rather abandon all her moral values than let her children go on any longer without food...

"And at that time, you were wise enough to come to me."

"Thank you," she whispered, squeezing his hand gently.

"You're welcome, dear... Do not worry," he said, not referring to anything in particular. She said nothing, just looked up at him, getting lost in his eyes, as she often did.

Tentatively, he reached out and stroked her cheek. She involuntarily leaned into his touch, feeling butterflies in her stomach. He smiled softly, before dropping his hand to his lap once more, his eyes never leaving hers. She suddenly felt slightly flustered under his intense gaze; she looked down at her lap for a moment, tucking a curl that had fallen out of her bun behind her ear.

It felt pleasant just to sit with her, even in silence; perhaps it felt even nicer than their experience the previous night. He was pleased that she had allowed him to hold her. He leaned his head back slightly, relaxing.

Christine got lost in her thoughts once again. The events of last night played over and over again in her head... What would have happened if Claire hadn't woken up? Would she have told Erik she loved him? Would it have been because she wanted him to take her loneliness away or because she truly did? What did she feel for him, anyway? Millions of unanswered questions ran through her head... What she felt with Erik scared her to death, and felt so dangerous, but at the same time it was thrilling and made her feel alive and whole... But what was it? She doubted she would ever be able to pinpoint it.

Amid his thoughts, Erik's hand found Christine's; he held it tenderly in his lap as he thought, In different circumstances, I could hold her like this and not have to worry whether she would pull away in disgust or not. He briefly considered asking her again if she loved him, but it would be useless. She could never love him... He did not know why he ever thought she could.

She laced his fingers with hers, squeezing his hand gently. She thought of asking him where this was going... what they were doing... why they were sitting there as a couple would... why he made her feel the way that she did whenever he was around her... but decided against it, and remained silent.

Absently, he brought both of their hands to his lips and kissed hers, before setting them back down in his lap. If circumstances were different, he thought again, I would now tell her that I love her. But that would not fit here, would it?

The feel of his lips against her skin made her stomach fill with butterflies once more, and she had the urge to kiss him. She resisted that urge though, remembering how things had ended up the night before.

Vaguely, he wondered if he bored her. He was enjoying himself, but, after all, they were simply sitting there in silence, so he could not say surely say the same for her. Finally, he asked, "Do you desire anything, Christine?" his voice quiet.

You... she was quite surprised by her own thoughts... She gazed at him for a moment, then shook her head. "No... I'm fine..."

"Alright..." he replied, wishing he had something more to say, even though he quite enjoyed the silence. "Are you happy, living here?" he asked quietly, "Is there anything you wish to change?" He did not know why he was asking her such questions... He just felt the void of silence should be filled by something.

"I am happy... My children are happy... Why the sudden questions? Are you happy with us here?"

"Of course I am," he said quickly. "Nothing could make me happier... Almost nothing, that is," he added, looking away from her, slightly embarrassed.

"Oh?"

"Yes," he replied.

"What else is there?" she coaxed.

He was silent a moment before responding quietly, not looking at her, "To have you as my wife..."

"Erik..." she whispered, not sure of what to say. That had surprised her, and Christine was speechless.

He pulled away from her. "I'm sorry," he murmured as he rose from the couch. She too rose from the couch quickly, turning to exit the room.

"I have to go check on the children," she muttered, hurrying past him.

He walked into the music room once more, and sat at his organ, knowing exactly what he wished to play: Don Juan Triumphant. That's rather cynical, isn't it? he thought to himself before beginning.