'My friend,
I cannot tell you just how much I miss our talks. When we were children, we would discuss everything, everyday. Even before the incident at the Opera Populaire, though we were running from the Phantom, we did talk, and I liked those days. I know that'
Christine scowled at herself, then crumpled up the sheet of paper. What was she doing? She'd been in communication with Raoul for a couple of months now. Not too many letters, perhaps four or five, but they did drag on and on. In truth, she wanted to know how he was doing. She didn't want him back, nor did she love him, but she always did care about him. He was one of her dearest friends, even though she'd left him for Erik. Perhaps there was a spark somewhere between them, but no real flames. She didn't want anyone but her Erik.
Was it bad that she felt guilty writing to Raoul? Erik had no knowledge of this, nor did she want him to know. He wouldn't understand why she was doing this. He couldn't understand. And poor Erik would mistake this for something other than what it really was, and who knows what he was capable of doing when he was angry. Well, actually, Christine knew. She had been careful to send the letters through a most trusted and loyal messenger, who'd give it to another messenger, who then finally handed it over to the Vicomte. There was no tracing the letters back to where Christine was, and she believed it was the best way to do this.
Erik finished fixing the composition and gathered up the paper. He knew several people who were willing to buy the compositions off of him to claim as their own - it was how he supported his wife. He did have quite a bit of money left over from terrorizing the Opera Populaire, but he didn't want to risk running out - especially with a baby on the way. But he'd deliver them tomorrow. He'd been playing angrier music more recently, though he doubted his wife liked it. He settled on something soft and sweet and beautiful, in the slight hope she might smile, knowing he played it for her.
She was done. She didn't want to write anymore. She didn't want to have to hide anything from her husband. It made her feel sick to her stomach. Her stomach...Christine lifted a hand to her slight baby bump. She wasn't as sickly thin as she had been a few weeks ago, but neither was she necessarily completely healthy. Sitting on the window seat in the sunroom of hers, Christine brought her knees up to her chest, staring outside, as she listened to distant music that was coming from the first floor.
The notes trailed off and Erik stood and closed the piano. He could hardly focus on it anyway. After a moment's consideration, he made his way up to the sun room and knocked gently on the door. He could only hope she wasn't still feeling cold towards him. They had been distant for days - he couldn't take it anymore.
Normally, Christine was jumpy. She didn't like loudness or any sort, nor hearing anything that would scare her out of her wit. She was normally a pacifist and did whatever she could keep any arguments from breaking out. Well, when she wasn't being stubborn, of course. Not at the knock, she didn't even move. She continued staring out the window. "It's open," was all she called out.
Sighing silently, Erik opened the door and went to sit by Christine. "How are you feeling?" he asked softly, hoping she would look at him.
Christine waited before answering, as if hoping to hear more music, but she didn't. It was silly, of course, seeing as how Erik was upstairs with her. "How would you like me to feel?" she answered his question by asking one, her voice in an eerie monotone, and her eyes following a few birds flying across the blue of the expanse.
Erik frowned and hesitated before answering. "I'd like for you to feel your best and to be happy - but I'd also like for you be honest with me."
She sighed softly, chewing on her lower lip. "I am feeling better. I've been eating. I've been resting. That is my honest response," Christine said, refusing to tear her gaze away from the window.
Erik nodded and gently took her hand in his. "Then, please, tell me what's wrong."
"Have the tables turned now? There is nothing wrong, Erik. The distance between us is wrong, but can that even be considered something wrong now?" Christine inquired, taking her hand back.
He leaned back slightly. "Neither of us wants this distance, Christine. Let's just fix it. We've got to try."
"How do you want to fix it?" she asked just above a whisper, pulling her knees closer to her.
"You need to understand I have an aversion to small children," he told her softly. "I've never met one who didn't scream at the sight of me. But this one is a part of you, and for that I'll love it." He'd thought about it and he meant what he said. If the child was anything like its mother, it would be deserving of love.
There were a million thoughts going on through her head at the moment. Was he saying that he wasn't going to despise the child? That he would love it no matter what because it was half of its mother? "This one will know you as its father, Erik. It cannot possible scream at the sight of you if we raise it to know us both as parents."
He gave her a small smile. "I hope so, darling."
"No. No hoping," Christine said, then turned her eyes to look at him. "But knowing. I know you, Erik. I know how much love you can give. You've proven it to me dozens of times. And many times I feel as if I do not deserve it. But because of our love, we made something...beautiful. Unconventional, but beautiful. And I pray that it's more like its father than its mother, because its mother just...is foolish."
Erik stared at her for a moment, and then moved forward to pull her gently into his arms. "You're not foolish, Christine, don't say that." He tucked her head against his chest and wrapped his arms around her, praying she wouldn't pull away from him. "It deserves to be as beautiful as its mother."
Christine's mind was yelling at her to pull away. That she shouldn't be close to him. But her heart was telling her something different. And, of course, heart overruled the mind and she gave in. She dug her fingers into his shoulders as she closed her eyes and rested her head on his chest. "I'm sorry, Erik. I'm so sorry."
"Oh God, Christine, don't be sorry," he immediately said, holding her tighter. "Everything's fine, darling," he promised, kissing her hair. He could only guess at what she was so upset about - perhaps simply because of the distance, like he was.
She knew she was completely contradicting her words, but there was nothing else to say to that but, "I hope so." For some odd reason or another, a few tears spilled over and she found herself shaking with every breath she took. Guilt was overtaking her mind. She couldn't do this.
He rocked her back and forth gently. "What's gotten you so upset?"
There was no way she could respond. She was afraid she'd end up telling him everything wrong she'd ever done in her entire life. "You're so nice to me...when I've been giving you the cold shoulder. You came to me and...wanted to fix this...but I had no intention to even try." God, she felt like she was the worst person in the world.
"It's all right," he murmured, kissing her hair. "Everything's fine now, don't worry. You don't have to cry, Christine."
As if her tears worked on command now. Yeah, right. Maybe it was the hormones now, and she could probably wing it for a few more months, but after that? There was no excusing her odd behavior. "I'm sorry," she repeated.
"Everything's fine," he repeated, giving her a small squeeze. It hurt that she was upset, but he was grateful he could hold her again.
Pulling back when her tears started to see light, she wiped at her eyes and gazed at his face. She really hoped that guilt wouldn't take over her daily life now too. She would never be able to live that way. "Madame Giry stopped by a few days ago. She said I am about sixteen weeks along." Christine took his hand and pressed it to her bump. "It's ours, Erik. Something only we could have made." The only thing that had been able to make her smile these empty weeks was the baby. Whenever she thought of it, Christine couldn't help but smile.
Erik was silent, keeping his hand on her stomach, over the baby. She was right - it was his too. He was wondering if that was really a good thing when he felt the whole world stop. There was movement, a slight kick, underneath his hand. He was in shock - he hadn't expected it. "Christine," he whispered, but he couldn't form a coherent sentence to follow. Inexplicably, he grinned.
At first, she was a little confused. When was the last time Erik grinned without words? Then, it registered. She'd felt a slight compression inside of her, and her eyes then widened. The baby kicked! And its first kick was for Erik. "He heard his father's voice," was Christine's only explanation as a smile made its way across her tear-stained face.
Christine thought it was for him - the baby kicked for him! Still grinning, Erik quickly stole a small kiss from his wife. He hadn't felt this happy in a very long time.
Christine flushed with delight at the kiss, even though it wasn't anything new. She finally felt like the baby wasn't something to be ashamed of. She felt like...like even the baby could now be happy and to thrive. "What do you want it to be? Can you see a little Erik running around, or a little Christine?" For once, she felt like she could freely discuss the child with him and it was refreshing.
Erik laughed. "I want a girl - one that's just like you. And you, darling?"
"I keep picturing a little boy. One that's got your fierce stare in his blue eyes, and one who's as much of a musical genius as his father," Christine admitted, but her eyes were now glowing with excitement.
He looked into her excited eyes and kissed her again. How much would he give to have his little girl have those eyes - for he was beginning to feel confident that it was a girl.
"Well, whatever it is, there is no way I will reject it. I will love it whether it is a boy or girl. And he or she will be perfect." She took his hand and squeezed it, letting out a little squeal as she did so.
"An angel," he agreed and kissed her again.
Christine gave him a meaningful look. "See, it won't be as terrible as perhaps we might have thought it was at the beginning." Still, she couldn't help but feel sick everytime she thought about those cursed letters to Raoul.
"No, Christine, it won't be so terrible," he conceded. He saw the slight change in her eyes, almost as though she had deflated from her excitement. Like a bad thought had crossed her mind. "It'll be wonderful," he told her, and took her in his arms to kiss her for longer.
Kissing Erik back felt wrong. Oh, God, did it ever feel wrong. What was wrong with her? It wasn't like she was having an affair with Raoul, just writing to him. He didn't even know where she lived, so what did it matter? She wasn't being unfaithful. "Better than wonderful," she whispered upon his lips and then placed a hand on either side of his face to kiss him deeper. Maybe that way she could fool herself into believing she wasn't guilty at all.
He agreed with that but he didn't really feel like breaking for air long enough to answer. He was feeling extraordinarily tempted to pick her up and carry her down to their bedroom this very second.
She broke the kiss. She couldn't do it. She couldn't lie like this. Not to him not to herself. "Erik, I-" Suddenly, she gasped sharply as her hand flew to her tummy. The baby had kicked again! Perhaps it was the butterflies in her stomach that the baby didn't like very much. All right then. Have it its way.
Erik put his hand over Christine's gently. "What is it?" he asked softly, though he wasn't referring to the baby kicking.
Again, she turned her face away and towards the light coming from the window. "Nothing. Just that the baby kicked again," Christine sighed.
Erik scowled a little bit. "What were you going to say? Before the baby kicked?"
Her eyes refused to look at him again. Instead, she just stared outside. The outside was quite possibly her best companion who knew everything, at the moment. "I'm feeling better now."
"Christine, you're lying," he said bluntly. "You pried and pried until I told you what I was thinking - it's your turn."
For a split second, but just for that long, she was tempted to fall into his arms crying, telling him about what a terrible person she was. But she couldn't do that. Christine glanced at him again, then silently got up and walked out of the room, holding in her tears.
He stood up, insulted and confused by her abrupt exit. What did he do this time? Furious, he kicked over the wastepaper basket that sat in between the window seat and her paper-covered desk. He almost followed her but once more, he let her go. With an irritated sigh he leaned down to pick up the papers that had fallen, ranging from ruined pieces of sheet music to abstract sketches. He stopped at one of them, catching the word 'Phantom,' and flattened it in curiosity. His eyes scanned the page. She wouldn't do this to him. But she didn't, really. Right? She threw it away. She was thinking about… him, she wanted to contact him but she didn't. Was this what she was upset about? His eyes moved to her paper-covered desk. Slowly, he looked through the papers - sheet music, drawings, and personal journals. Abruptly, he stopped and stared. A small stack of letters. His hands were shaking now – she'd betrayed him. Why? Why would she do this? "Christine," he called out and he was shocked at how calm he sounded.