**Author's note: Three chapters in one day, woohoo! At last I'm all caught up.

The ghost concentrated carefully on the vase of flowers at the base of the statue in Notre Dame. Slowly, it rattled, before lifting from its base into the air. Keeping his focus steady, he guided it up the belltower stairs. Claude was very thankful for the countless hours he had spent in the cathedral; haunting the place came naturally to him now.

The ghost did not allow his concentration to break until he reached Quasimodo's old room and carefully placed the flowers in the floor with a decided spark of satisfaction. Taking control of an object and navigating an object up the stairs was no small feat, but he had managed. Now, he only had seventeen more vases to go—not counting the altar linens.

Just think of the expression on Esmeralda's face when she sees all of this. Resolutely, he returned to his extensive task.

*0*0*0*0*0*0*0*0*

Lifting her candle, Esmeralda glanced around in surprise at the room. Usually it was rather bare, but tonight the floor was sprinkled with flowers and flower petals. A small pile of bare flower stems lay off in a corner. In the middle of the floor lay a bed—actually, two beds, but pushed closely enough together to serve as a single mattress.

"Goodnight," Quasi whispered, slipping out of his old bedroom before closing the door behind him. Es heard the key turn in the lock. She was very grateful that Quasi had carried her up the tall spiral staircase; as her baby grew, the additional weight put more strain on her legs and feet, and she tired more quickly than before. (Quasimodo had let her ride with him back to Notre Dame. They had left before anyone else was awake, allowing Es to dodge an interrogation from her mother. Es had hidden in a side chapel until night fell.)

She curled up on the bed, burrowing down under the soft sheets. Altar linens, she guessed; Claude had been up to no good. She smiled at the thought, excited for where this next dream would take her…

Esmeralda sneezed and opened her eyes to see flower petals floating down upon her face. "Claude?" she giggled.

"Hello, dear." He knelt beside the bed and bent over her. "Did I do well?"

She laughed. "You raided the altar linens and stole all of the statues' flowers to rip them up for petals. I do believe you've outdone yourself!"

"I would have taken the candles too…"

"Oh, no, buster." Es sat up in bed and poked him on the nose. "No open flame for you."

"That's what my probation angel said, too," Claude admitted sheepishly. "He said that Notre Dame isn't supposed to burn down for a few more centuries and we couldn't risk it…"

"So it will burn?"

"One day, everything that is mortal will be turned to ash…it makes little difference. But for now…"

He sat on the bed, pulling her into his lap. Her middle was so large that she had to turn backwards to him just to fit on his lap.

Gently, he slid his fingers through her hair, bringing them to rest on a place behind her ear where he had learned she was especially receptive to his touches. Coaxing her head to tilt backwards, he bent over her, his lips brushing across the delicate, feminine bridge of her nose before coming to rest on her mouth.

His lips plied at her own, his tongue tip gently sweeping her full, rounded lower lip into his mouth. He rolled her lip between his teeth, suckling with a shameless self-indulgence. With a soft whimper, she pulled back closer to him, rubbing her backside against his lap. Jittery, excited hands dropped from her face to rest on her gently rocking hips as they kissed.

And kissed…and kissed…and kissed.

Blood boiling in his veins, Claude gripped his wife more tightly. Her squirming was driving him to the brink of insanity, yet he forcibly reined himself back, unwilling to rush matters and spoil the beauty of the moment. Hunger is the best sauce, he repeated to himself as he dipped his tongue yearningly into her hot mouth.

And oh, how her response matched his ardor, sucking his tongue with the total oblivion of a happily nursing infant.

It was actually she who pulled away first, to reach for his clothing. Readily he complied, guiding her hands as they lifted his robes over his head to fling the fabric into an untidy heap in the floor. She went for the lacings of his undershirt, her delicate fingertips tingling against his sternum as she worked the clothing open.

He guided her head to rest against his bare chest; she nestled into the crook of his neck. She was leaning sideways against him, where that he could easily reach the laces of her corset.

Unlike many women, Esmeralda had never taken to wearing corsets that were three sizes too small; she was a practical girl who valued the ability to breathe and move about more than she desired an unrealistic waist size. But as her pregnancy progressed, she had forsaken the confining whalebones entirely and opted for a gentler stitched fabric. The intent was not to produce an hourglass figure, only to provide support for her breasts.

Which Claude agreed that she needed, as her breasts had grown some during her pregnancy. (Claude was very detail-oriented and had always prided himself on his excellent memory. Nothing ever escaped his notice.) His fingers slid down her bare back, gently rising and falling as they glided down the ridges of her spine.

"Cold?" he asked gently when he felt her shiver.

"Not for long," she murmured, pressing herself closer to him.

He guided her to lay down, turning her onto her stomach. She grabbed two of the pillows, tucking them under her chest for support.

He slid another pillow under her knees. "Is that enough cushion?" he asked. "We don't want to squish the baby."

Giggling with her face buried in a pillow, she responded, "I'll let you know if I need more pillows."

In a single move he swept her bushy hair over her shoulder, exposing her slender neck. He nuzzled her satin skin before biting down right between her shoulderblades. Answering her ensuing gasp with a murmur of his own, his lips crept up her neck a few centimeters before biting into her again.

"Claude…" she moaned brokenly, clutching desperately at the pillows.

"Again," he growled, biting down harder.

"Claude…"

**A/N** Yes, I Googled "how to have sex during pregnancy". With my browser filter on, of course. I don't want my eyes to still be burning next week. Hahahaha. But I still think I got enough information to write a more realistic scene. Of course I am always willing to hear your feedback (:

Now, to write the memorial service scene. Es never had the opportunity to meet the captain's family, we'll see how this turns out… *grins, rolls up sleeves, and goes back to typing*