Author's Note: Um, sorry this took so long...I'll get the sixth chapter up soon. Me and kristygirl4u both hit a massive writer's block and have decided to stop at Chapter 6, earlier than we originally planned. At least for now, it won't continue past that, unless she miraculously returns to the fandom once more and I get my muse back and we decide to continue this instead of writing something else. Anyway, enjoy chapter 5! :)
It was amazing how more than half of the pregnant women in France miscarried their babies after a few weeks, but Christine had somehow managed to make it almost completely through. At nearly eight months, the best she could do was waddle around like a penguin of some sort, but she did indeed still walk (or waddle) around. Whether it was her sunroom or the garden Erik had made for her, Christine did enjoy the sun and the outdoors more than ever. It relaxed her, and it gave her time to think about things.
Sometimes, she wondered what would have happened if she'd lost the baby. But moments after she would wrap her arms protectively around her enormous stomach. For her petite stature, Christine thought her belly was far too large, but as long as the child was still alive and kicking, who was she to complain about it? Sure, it was fairly uncomfortable most of the times, like when she didn't know in what position to sleep, or even if she wanted to sit or to stand, but she was almost done. Less than five weeks and they'd have a little piece of them in their arms.
Christine had always thought that choosing names for babies before they are born was useless. Perhaps the child did not survive childbirth. Or, God forbid, neither child nor mother survived it. She would admit to anyone that she was attached to the baby, but not attached enough to wish to kill herself if the baby did not survive and she did. Well…maybe she was, but that would not be predicted. She sang to the baby daily, and when it was happy, it kicked. She often told stories of her past, and whether or not the child could truly understand what she was saying, she told them with the hope that one day, the baby would be the proud child of the Phantom of the Opera. It was all Christine was wishing for the baby. To admire its father greatly.
Erik was mildly shocked by how just how large Christine's stomach had grown, but he supposed it only looked that way in comparison to her body. He was still scared that he might lose her. A loss of the child would be painful, but Erik wouldn't be able to handle losing Christine. Still, she and the child had made it this far.
The fact that she had written the Vicomte remained in the forefront of his mind often. She got upset at the mention of it, which he really didn't consider fair, but he didn't push it. They avoided talking about it, though he didn't forget. He felt a sense of panic if he didn't know where she was, and occasionally he would be pained by the thought of the betrayal - she belonged to him, the Vicomte had no right to even think of her.
So maybe Christine was refusing to think of names for the child, she didn't fail to think of which room they could set aside for the baby. Whether or not it survived, they could always try again, and an already finished room could be helpful. There was no point in color coordinating the nursery, for if it was a boy, it could not have pink sheets, and if it was a girl, blue certainly wouldn't do. Everything would just be black and white. Once they knew the gender, they'd find colored things farther along.
Dragging a box through the doorway, Christine stopped the relax her fingers a bit, since they were aching now. "Erik, do you have working gloves I can use?" Christine then spotted a nearby towel and decided to use that inside, for a better grip. "Nevermind!"
Erik came to her anyway to see her pulling along the box. "Don't strain yourself," he frowned and hefted the box himself, moving it to the nursery. Personally, he just wanted to leave the bedroom black and white when the child was born, though he knew his wife would object.
She placed her hands on her hips. "I could have done that myself, you know," Christine in a playful tone, raising an eyebrow at him. "I may be...inconveniently on the larger side, but I am still capable of moving boxes." She knew he'd eventually find her moving that one heavy box and the move it for her.
"Whatever you say, Christine," he smirked. He pulled open the box and glanced at the contents. "Were you intending to set this up yourself?" he asked curiously.
Christine hesitated to answer the question. "Well...yes. I thought perhaps you were busying yourself with music or another," she said, shrugging slightly. "The baby's crib is lovely, by the way." She loved looking at how little it was. She couldn't wait to hold her son or daughter in her arms.
"I'm glad you like it. And I'm not too busy to help you, if you want me to." He straightened up and kissed her forehead.
"Mm, yes, please. Help would be wonderful. I'd like your opinion on the nursery as well." Christine pulled out a few lace and silk blankets and laid them out in the crib. "I think he'll like these. And this." She brought out a toy bear and set it down over the blankets.
"Whatever you do will be fine," he said with an uncomfortable glance at the blankets and the toy. "You know more about this than I do."
She let out something between a forced laugh and a giggle. "Honestly, I don't know about this more than you do. The only time I've even held a baby was when I was eight years old and my cousin had given birth. I know nothing of infants, really." Christine touched his arm. "Besides, we'll learn together, yes?"
"We will," he acknowledged, though he could have argued all day that she had more knowledge on this subject than he did - after all, she had the example of a parent.
"I'm still convinced it's going to be a boy. I feel like it's too large to be a girl," Christine said, running a hand over her belly.
"Perhaps," he answered. "I, however, have the feeling it's a little girl." He was a little worried that if it was a boy, it might have a higher chance of being like him, with his temper and need to hide from the world. He was sure any daughter of Christine's would be just like her.
She grinned. "Ah, now, I suppose we'll see whose guess wins in a few weeks, now won't we? How's about this? If I am wrong, I will compose and sing my composition to you, and if I am correct, then you must come up with a lulluby," Christine proposed, shrugging as if to challenge him.
He raised his eyebrows and smirked. "Why, Christine, I didn't know you liked to gamble. The bet is on."
"Oh, the things you don't know about me," she said and winked at him before lifting another box and setting it in the corner.
Erik scowled. "Yes, the numerous things I don't know." He leaned back against the wall and tried in vain for a lighter tone. "What's in that one?"
Only after he'd said that did Christine realize that her choice of words was a little...wrong. "You know I didn't mean it like that." She could only hope that after the baby, things would be as normal as they first were. "Oh, these are just a few items to hang on the wall. Little paintings, drawings I've done."
Erik nodded. "I assume you don't need help to hang those up?" he asked rather coldly. He didn't mean to be short with her, but he was still upset. He felt it would be best if he left her alone, before they both said something they would regret.
"No, not really. But do stay," Christine persisted, forcing a smile at him. She didn't need them arguing again.
He studied her face for a moment. "I don't think that would be a good idea," he said bluntly. He turned and exited the room, not entirely sure where he was headed.
Sighing, Christine looked after him for a moment, but then turned back to the box of her art. She couldn't understand Erik. He had his ways, she had hers. There was no way he could be predicted, and Christine just wanted to know what he was thinking.
Just as Erik was about to go to the piano and improvise something in a minor key, he heard a light knock on the door - which was odd because nobody ever came calling. Hesitantly, he opened the door and glared at the young man who stood on the other side. The boy, having expected Christine to open the door, stammered about having to give a letter to her. Erik snatched the letter and quickly sent him away. He studied the letter for a moment before opening it and reading through it. It was from the vicomte and by the end, Erik was furious. He hadn't actually read the other letters, rather skimming through them, and then demanding an explanation. Now that he had read one, he found himself even angrier. The boy had no right to even be thinking of Christine. None at all.
In his anger, he knocked over several things - he wasn't sure what, he wasn't paying attention. He grabbed his cloak and pulled it on, discarding the letter on the floor. He was going to kill him - tear him limb from limb if he had to. As a matter of fact, that was a good idea.
She couldn't just let him walk away. Not this time. She needed to get him to talk. She didn't need another guilty thing on her conscience. Sighing, Christine put down a painting and went looking for Erik. Only...there was no Erik. Just the sound of a door shutting. "Erik?" Christine called out, then caught sight of a paper on the floor. Her mind started racing as she reached down to pick it up. When she finished reading it, the letter from Raoul, Christine wasn't sure what to feel. Raoul hadn't left her alone. And the only other thing that she could think of where Erik had gone was to...
Christine grabbed a cloak and then took off out the door, going as fast as she could waddle. "Erik!" He was long gone. Who knows how fast he was going. If he was angry, he was quick. And Christine would never be able to keep up with him. "Erik!" she cried out again.
Erik abruptly stopped. This wouldn't work - it was still daylight. He couldn't well go waltzing into the middle of Paris in daylight. He would have to wait until tonight. Not to mention, he could just barely hear Christine calling him. The bright light was making his head clear - he was still angry, but he was more dangerous now. He was thinking things though. He would kill the boy tonight and leave no evidence - and he would make sure Christine didn't follow him. He would not be stopped. He turned and returned to find Christine and make her go inside.
The moment Christine actually began catching speed, she had to halt. She saw him coming back. This was so odd. What was he doing? THINKING?
Erik reached her and touched her shoulder gently to turn her around. He couldn't keep the fury from his eyes but he did his best to remain gentle with her; he wasn't really angry with her after all. "Back inside, Christine," he muttered.
She kept her eyes wide, and her breathing uneven. Her heart was beating quickly and she couldn't help but take a step away from her. She slowly dropped her jaw slightly agape as she stared at him. "Erik, tell me you weren't going to..."
"To what?" he snarled. "Just come inside. Now."
She did as told, but Christine just couldn't possibly wrap her head around the thought that if something hadn't turned Erik back, she would have had a very messy situation. "Erik, leave him be. Please."
He didn't answer her, but took off his cloak and set it aside. He would do it tonight, while she slept. She didn't even have to know.
God, did he even hear her? Was he comprehending what she was saying, amongst that clouded judgment he had going on at the moment? Christine reached out and tightened her grip on his arm. "Please, Erik. Let it go."
"Of course," he said softly, though the tone didn't match what was inside of him - he could only hope she couldn't see the remaining anger in his eyes.
Although he'd said those words, Christine tried looking for a smudge of confirmation, but there was none. There was no point in arguing with him, but she also couldn't let her husband murder another man. That would be inhumane. Especially if she knew this. And if she was the one who'd started it all. "Okay," she said, but her eyes were still wide.
Erik was not a terrible liar - he had gotten very good at doing so over his lifetime. Of course, lying to a stranger was very different than lying to the woman he held in his arms every night. He could tell she was still scared, so he kept himself calm for her. The vicomte's death was for the best, even if she didn't realize it. "Weren't you working in the nursery?" he asked curiously. "Or are you already done?"
"I-I guess I'm near done. There wasn't much to do from the start. I just...the-the basics." It was difficult trying to read him while maintaining a calm posture and thinking of words with which to respond to him.
He nodded. "Would you like to come sing for me - or would you rather go enjoy the last few hours of sunlight left today?"
Christine couldn't help but keep studying his face. She tried so hard to understand what he was thinking. Or at least read his mind. "I think I'd like to be outside for..." All of a sudden, she paused and did a double take at Erik's face, almost like she was confused, or in pain, or something. Then, she double over and groaned lightly, trying to even out her breathing.
Erik's eyes widened. "Christine, what's wrong?" Surely the baby wasn't coming - it was too early. No, it couldn't be that.
Wrapping her arms around her stomach, Christine winced for a moment longer, and then she relaxed. "I-I don't know. I...It was sudden..." Then, she groaned again, this time louder.
Unsure of what to do, he pulled up a chair and gently pushed her into it. He laid a hand onto her stomach, and looked into her face anxiously.
Christine slowly sat down. And a good thing too. Because the third time she felt the jolting pain in her abdomen, she was about ready to fall to her knees. She took his hand and held it for a moment. "It's not...I'm not in labor. I don't know what it is. But it's not labor."
Erik nodded slowly. "It should pass," he told her, kissing her hand gently. "It shouldn't last long."
After a few silent moments, another contraction-like pain seared through her and she cried out, squeezing his hand. "Erik...what if I do not survive childbirth?" Christine asked as the horrid thought entered her head.
He kissed her hand again, trying not to think too much on the horrible idea she presented. "You're going to be fine," he promised. "You're strong, and you're going to be fine."
"My mother died giving birth to me," she stated as if it was the most casual thing in the world. She hadn't meant for it to sound like that, but it did.
He squeezed her hand. "You're not going to die," he said firmly. "All right?"
Christine looked away. "I'll try my best. But I can't promise."
He sighed softly. "Your best will be enough - you're going to be fine."
Tugging gently on his arm, Christine looked up into his eyes. "Erik, please, stay with me. Don't leave."
"Of course not," he promised. "I'm not going anywhere."