Hi, guys! Thank you as always for the lovely reviews. I hope that you're all enjoying the holidays.

I got a lot of varying opinions concerning E/C's dilemma. I took everything into consideration, and this chapter was the result. It won't please everyone, but I hope that it's realistic.

This chapter does deal with mature topics, but there's nothing graphic. If you're offended by topics involving reproduction, you may want to avoid it.

Thank you all again! Happy Holidays!

Read and Review!!!

Christine was somewhat shocked when a national news program did a brief piece on Erik's music. The reporters stated that an anonymous composer had crept onto the scene, subtly placing his (or her) works in movies and on a limited number of CDs. The interviewee on television, a representative from the music industry, said that the compositions had surged to popularity among classical fans and those looking for a 'different sound.' Some pop and rock stars were even using variations of the music as backgrounds for their songs.

The anchorman chuckled toward the end of the interview. "Any chance we might find out who this mysterious guy or gal is?"

"It's always possible they'll come out of hiding," replied the interviewee with a grin. "They're probably smiling right now as we talk about them."

Both men laughed.

But Erik was certainly not smiling.

"Why will they not leave me alone?" he growled.

She shook her head. "I'm always careful when I give your music to the publisher. Mr. Richardson knows he'll lose our business if he tells anyone anything. I made sure that was written into the contract, and I had a lawyer look at it."

"People only think they wish to know Erik," he grumbled. "And after they discover the truth, they gouge their eyes out."

"I'll talk to him again," she replied.

That Friday, she went to a meeting with him and expressed her concerns.

"It is getting a little harder now that the music is becoming more popular," Mr. Richardson admitted. "But no one is close to finding out anything. Hell, I don't even know very much." He laughed and scratched his chin. "It's actually kind of fun having a little mystery, though."

"As long as it stays mysterious," she replied, slightly annoyed.

Mr. Richardson looked down at her, squinted, and then smirked. "You've been doing some singing as well. I've seen you in the papers. Are you sure you're not Ms. Anonymous? It's obvious that you've got musical talent."

"Thank you. But no. I'm not."

"Hm." He glanced at her wedding ring. "What's your husband do again?"

"He's…." She paused. Telling Mr. Richardson that Erik was a composer would be a dead giveaway. "He's in the military and not home much."

"Ah. I see. Well, at least you manage to stay occupied while he's away. Singing and promoting some genius's music."

"Yeah." She managed a smile. "Well…it's no use sitting around and being depressed."

"Yep. You don't have kids, right?"

"…No. Maybe after my husband comes back." It was a pretty lie that made her heart flutter. Nearly six months had passed since she'd seen Raoul, and Christine hadn't been able to forget that adorable toddler. In fact, her desire to have her own child grew stronger every day, constantly gnawing at the back of her mind.

"Probably a good idea. Kids can keep you busy."

"Yeah…."

Christine left soon after, figuring that there wasn't much more she could do to keep the secret safe. After coming home, she removed her shoes and fell onto the couch, still thinking about the conversation with Mr. Richardson. Cordie jumped up into her lap and purred as Christine ran her hands through the white fur. They waited for Erik to come out of the basement.

Christine smiled at her husband when he finally emerged holding a stack of papers.

"Did that idiot agree to keep our secret, or am I going to have to meet with him myself?" he asked. "I am sure that I could be quite persuasive."

"Everything is fine," she replied. "No one knows."

"Good." Erik took a seat beside her and began to scribble onto the white sheets. She watched him work, the soft sound of pen against paper making her yawn and clouding her judgment.

"Your music might be around forever," she softly commented.

"Mm," he replied. "I suppose it might."

"You're brilliant."

He looked up at her and chuckled. "You are a good wife." Erik glanced back down, involved in his work.

"Erik?"

He looked up again. "Yes?"

"I think you should live on."

"I have lived much longer than I ever thought possible. I am quite content with whatever years I have."

"But…you could go on longer…." She probably should have stopped there.

"What? What are you talking about?" Erik studied her. "Ah! I know that look. You want something. What does my wife want?"

"Oh…nothing." She looked away.

"Christine. After ten years with me, I do not know why you feel the need to play games."

"Well…I just…." She swallowed and then dove off the cliff. "Have you…have you ever thought that maybe we could…have…a child?"

"No."

"Oh." A stinging sensation encompassed her heart. "Why not?"

"Why do you want one?" he nearly snapped.

"Well…I just…we're doing well. We have a nice home and enough money. We've come a long ways. And it seems perfect to have a new member in our family, a baby to share our lives with. A way that we can live on and---"

"No."

"Why?" She was not going to cry…she was not going to cry…she was not going to cry….

"For more reasons than I can count," he retorted.

"Just tell me why."

Erik half-sighed, half-growled. "It might be hideous. I do not know the genetic extent of my deformity, and I do not wish to find out. Secondly, it would take you; it would be a little parasite that sucks away what is mine. Third, I cannot be a…a paternal figure to anything. Surely that does not require further explanation. Surely you can see that this idea makes absolutely no sense!"

She took a deep breath before giving him the long thought out rebuttal. "I don't care what our baby looks like. But, if it makes you feel better, maybe we could get Dr. McKenzie to help us with some type of genetic testing. And I won't let our baby take me. I'll quit singing for awhile, and there will be plenty of time and…and love to go around. And, Erik, I don't expect you to do anything. I hope you grow to want our child, but I'll take care of everything…feeding, diapers--everything!"

"You will grow exhausted and faint from all you try to do."

"No! I have lots of energy." Her eyes lit up. "I'm barely over thirty. Not too old. Not too young. It's the perfect time!"

"No. I will buy you pets. Any pets. Even illegal, exotic ones. Or perhaps some jewelry? Clothing? A mansion. Anything but an irritating child! I do not understand why you want a child. They are so completely intrusive."

"I want something of ours to continue on."

"My music will live on!" he declared. "You said so!"

"It will," she agreed. "But…oh, Erik! I want a baby. Only one. Just one child." She'd promised herself that she wouldn't start begging, but it was too late to turn back now.

"If you want our bloodline to live on, then perhaps you could bear a child, and we could give it away to someone else. Our genes will live on, but we will not be bothered. How is that? Would that make you happy?"

Christine stared at him in horror, her eyes widening as her lip trembled. With a cry, she jumped up from the couch and ran into the bedroom. Cordie dashed into the room, and Christine locked the door behind them. She sobbed, not caring if Erik heard her.

She was vaguely aware of him twisting the doorknob but didn't care. How could he say something so utterly cruel to her? Giving away their precious baby would be like stabbing her in the heart. How could he? How dare he!

"Christine?" he called. "Let me in. Now. I did not actually mean we would do that. Of course we will not do that. That is ridiculous. But…we cannot have a child. Surely you understand this."

She glared at the closed door and didn't say anything. The final verdict had been announced, and Christine had the horrible feeling that he would never change his mind. Merely from the expression of complete disgust on his face, she guessed that Erik would never want a child. Never.

The finality of never was heart wrenching.

Christine remembered being twenty and listening to Raoul talk about how he wanted a big family. She'd been nervous at that time, not really feeling that she was mature enough for motherhood. But now she was ready! She couldn't deny it anymore; she desperately wanted a baby.

But never?

She wasn't sure if Erik could ever be a father in the traditional sense. But surely…surely there was some happy medium.

Erik unlocked the door by himself and walked into the room. She turned and stared at him, still sniffling and gripping onto the pillow.

"Erik did not mean those words," he stated. He kept his distance, obviously disturbed by her outburst. "Let us forget this matter. I will buy you another cat. A kitten!"

She placed her head back onto the pillow and stared at the wall. "Never mind. Let's not talk about it now." Christine didn't want to hear him say 'no' anymore; she needed to think of a better argument.

"Christine." He took several steps forward and reached for her. Letting go of her anger, she sat up and allowed him to embrace her. Erik nearly cradled her in his arms. "You do not need a child," he stated, using his musical voice. "You have your Erik. You must take care of your Erik. And Erik will take care of you."

"Let's not…." She sighed and took another stab at it. "I can take care of you and a baby. I'm not incompetent."

"Erik needs you," he insisted. "Only Erik."

"I'm here," she replied. It was obvious that she wasn't going to win that night.

A few months passed, and the topic was not discussed. She would only watch other people's children with that feeling in her chest, like an ant was sinking its little jaws into her heart. Erik was good to her during that time, continuing his offer to buy her things---pets, jewelry, clothing. He was even more willing to go out in public with her as long as "the vile sun" wasn't shining on him.

Maybe he could sense that she was hurting. The next ten years would be a slow and painful countdown to the point when never would become her reality. And Erik, she guessed, knew this. Yet he still wouldn't yield. He knew how much she wanted this, and he still wouldn't give it to her.

She tried to bring up the topic again one weekend. "It would be so wonderful to have a child and to teach him or her about music," she commented. "The three of us together…singing or playing instruments…."

Erik shook his head. "I could not imagine a more painful sound than a toddler decimating a musical instrument. How wretched." He went to the basement, and she was left standing there with her arms curled around her body.

Whenever she tried to bring it up after that, he ignored her or disappeared from the room. Each time, she was one step closer to never.

One night, Erik rolled over toward her, signaling that he wished to be intimate. His cold lips brushed against her cheek and neck while his hands ran over her nightgown-clad torso. The two yellow lights hovered over her, awaiting her affections.

"No," she murmured, feeling that familiar sting. "I can't…tonight." Hopefully, he would assume it had to do with female issues. Erik kissed her cheek and moved away from her, always respectful when it came to the matter.

Christine felt guilty for pushing him away, but each day it was becoming a little more painful to face the reality. For the first time in many years, she was genuinely unsure about where this was all heading. Would she finally be able to wake up one morning and simply…get over it?

"Do you wish to have a voice lesson?" Erik asked one evening.

"No," she replied. "I'm kind of tired."

"Ah. Do you wish me to sing for you?" His voice was soft.

"All right," she whispered. "You sing."

Erik sang, and, as always, it was beautiful. She let his voice seep into her mind and hypnotize her…paralyze her…tranquilize her. But when his song was over, the pain came back. In fact, it seemed even worse.

"Erik," she began, gripping the edge of a nearby table so tightly that her fingers ached. Her throat felt thick. "I need…I need some time alone."

He flinched. "What?"

The horror in his eyes made her feel even worse, but she pressed forward. "I need a couple of nights to myself. I'm…stressed, I think. Maybe from performances," she rambled. "I need some nights alone, maybe at a hotel."

"You can rest here," he rasped. "We will take a break from your lessons."

She shook her head. "I need some time to myself."

"You cannot leave…."

"I'm not leaving for very long. Like when you want to be in the basement by yourself sometimes. I need that."

"You may go to the basement," he snapped. "I will not bother you."

"Erik," she began, forcing herself not to cry. "Please let me have a few days to myself. Please. It's important to me. It's better for us."

"You cannot leave me!"

"I am not leaving you!" she nearly shouted, surprising them both. "I need a little time! Give that to me. Please, Erik!"

He stared at her—pain, anger, confusion, and finally acceptance flickering in his gaze. His hands clenched and unclenched, and he leaned backward. "Where will you go?"

"Just a nice hotel, maybe in the city. I can take Cordie, or I can leave her with you."

"Leave her. You would not abandon your cat."

"I am not abandoning anyone. I need a few days to myself."

"Then go. Leave Erik." He turned away from her and ran to the basement before she could blink. The ache in her chest grew as a tear made its way down her cheek. She nearly followed him and told him that she'd changed her mind and wasn't going. Something stopped her, though. Perhaps it was the knowledge that she truly did need this time alone…time to figure this all out before things became irreparably worse.

Christine packed an overnight bag with three days worth of clothes and some toiletries. Before she left, she fed Cordie and then headed for the basement. The door was unlocked, and she opened it. Erik was standing with his arms limp at his sides, staring at his remaining goldfish.

"I love you," she said. "I'll be back soon. I promise. I know you'll be okay."

He was silent for a moment. "I will have your cat and fish."

She nearly choked. Even after all these years, Erik still felt the need to have hostages. "I'd come back if you didn't have them," she evenly replied, grinding her teeth together to keep from crying.

He glanced at her. "If you do not go, I---"

"You'll what?" Christine whispered, daring to hope that he might make the final concession she so desperately wanted.

"I will get you another kitten," he murmured. "A flawless one. Nothing else you have will ever be ugly…."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I'll see you in a few days. I love you."

He didn't respond, and she turned around and left. Christine managed to numb herself as she walked out the front door and drove to her destination. It was a nice but not overly-priced hotel that included a restaurant and spa—the perfect place to escape for a few days. After registering at the front desk, she ran upstairs with her travel bag, not wanting to be bothered with a slow elevator. She locked herself in the hotel room, jumped onto the neatly-made bed, buried her face into the plush pillow, and sobbed.

Christine cried until she could barely breathe. And then, once she had caught her breath, she bawled some more. Finally, there were no more tears left, and she was left staring at the ceiling, exhausted and defeated.

Maybe she could volunteer at a daycare or preschool; that way, she could be around kids without actually having one. The idea wasn't that comforting. She wanted her own child…Erik's child.

What else was there? What compromise was possible? What could she say to make him change his mind?

Christine finally sat up and looked into a mirror on the wall. Her hair was a mess, her eyes had rings, and her cheeks were flushed while the rest of her face was pale. She'd lost some weight, too, which was never a great thing in her case.

She desperately wanted someone to hug her and tell her that it was going to be okay. No one ever told her that! She was always the one who had to say it--because she was supposed to be the strong one.

At some point, Christine ventured out of her hotel room to browse over the vending machine selection, hoping no one saw her in the hallway. A chocolate bar and a bottle of soda sounded appealing; maybe caffeine and sugar would bring clarity. When the candy machine ate her change, she groaned and nearly started crying again. All she wanted was a baby and some damned chocolate! Was that really so much to ask for? Was it?

"Give it a good, hard whack," said a friendly male voice behind her.

Christine whirled around in surprise. A guy in his thirties with dark-brown hair down to the middle of his cheeks and a fairly muscular build was smiling at her. At the sight of her face, his smile faded. "Hey, it's only a candy bar," he said. Reaching over her shoulder, he pounded the machine two times with his fist. The chocolate bar tumbled down, hitting the bottom with a dull thud.

"Thanks," she said with a swallow, reaching down to grab it.

"No problem. My friend claims the mafia owns these machines."

She laughed, and it felt nice. It felt so wonderful that she almost started crying again. Horrified, Christine started to run away before the guy called the police to report a crazy girl in the building.

"Hey, hey," the man said, resting a hand on the side of her left arm. "It's going to be okay. What's wrong? Do you need some help?"

There. Someone had said it to her. It's going to be okay. Taking one hand, she wiped the tears from her face and looked up. "No. I'm fine," she stated. "Thanks."

"Are you sure? No one's bothering you, right?"

"No. It's…it's just been a long day."

"Yeah. I've had more than a few of those," he replied. "Sure you don't need any help? Or some real food? I've got a large pepperoni pizza back in my room."

"Maybe I could…N-no," she replied. "No. I'm sorry. I can't."

"Are you sure?"

"Well...um…Yes, I'm sure. Thank you, though. For everything." She turned around and quickly walked away, her hands shaking.

The warmth of his body, his broad chest, and his general masculinity were undeniably tempting during her moment of weakness. Some primal part of her was also aware that this robust man could give her a healthy baby. But she could never go down that dangerous, destructive path; her heart knew this fact.

Once in her room, Christine watched a romantic comedy and hugged a pillow, avoiding the act of thinking. She slept late into the morning and spent the next day watching movies. The only time she left the hotel was at dinner when she went to a nice seafood restaurant and treated herself to buttered lobster and chocolate cake.

The day afterwards, she got a massage and a manicure, along with several new outfits from the mall. She swam in the hotel pool and then spent some time roasting in the sauna, pampering herself in every way possible. By that night, some rationality and calmness returned to her. Although she'd needed this short getaway for her mental health, it wasn't solving her problem. All the manicures in the world wouldn't get her a baby.

Christine still wasn't ready to give up on a child, but maybe there was no easy answer. Every day, she would simply have to give Erik reasons to look forward to a child and reassure him that their daughter or son wouldn't destroy everything. It was possible that Erik would never change, but she still had years to work on him. She hadn't completely lost hope.

After two cups of coffee and a giant cinnamon roll, she returned home the following morning. Nerves ate at her stomach as she approached the door to their condominium. What would be on the other side?

You knew full well what this might do to Erik.

As soon as she opened the door, Cordie was at her feet, meowing and rubbing against her legs. With a smile, Christine knelt down to the floor. "Hi, kitty," she murmured. "Did you miss me?"

"I knew you would not leave the feline," said the bitter voice of her husband.

Christine sharply glanced up. Erik was standing there, appearing haggard with his white shirt wrinkled and untucked over his emaciated frame. His arms were folded against his chest, and his weight was shifted onto his left foot.

"I wouldn't leave you either," she replied, standing and approaching him.

He took a step backwards. "I would die if you left forever," he said.

"I'm not--"

"No one else would," he continued. "No one else would die now. Even the cat would live. And the fish. Only Erik would die. You should not stay only to save others."

"Erik, you know that's not why I've stayed. You know I love you." She shook her head in frustration. "Why do you have to say these things? Why are you being so cruel?"

He kept his distance and was quiet for a few moments. "Yes, perhaps you love Erik," he finally admitted. "But it is not enough now, is it? You want more. That is why you left."

"We don't have to talk about it now."

"But you left Erik. You left him."

"I didn't--It's not that you're not enough," she replied in resignation. "It's just…I've always wanted a family. With my husband, I want a family."

"What if it is physically impossible?" he asked. "Will you leave forever then?"

She'd already considered this. "No," she whispered. "No. If it's not possible, then that's the way it is. I…I only want to try. I want a chance. But we don't have to talk about it right now. There's plenty of time." She took a step to the right. "I need to wash my hands; they're sticky. And then we'll have some lunch."

He didn't say anything as she walked to the bathroom and closed the door. Yawning, she soaped up her hands and turned on the warm water. When she tried to look into the mirror, Christine realized that the medicine cabinet was open. Her eyes drifted over the contents, and she mentally made a note to pick up more aspirin. Pausing, Christine looked over the bottles and packages again. And a third time. Her heart skipped a beat as she realized what was missing. Bending down, she frantically dug through the drawers and cabinets, wondering if she'd misplaced the new container.

But no. They were completely gone.

It probably wasn't the most medically sound thing for him to do but…oh! Oh! A moment passed before the realization sunk in.

Of course, she cried again, this time with joy. After she'd pulled herself together and brushed her hair, Christine came out and merely stared at him, unable to verbally express her gratitude.

Erik knew that she knew. "As I have said, I cannot be…a paternal figure to anything," he slowly stated. "Erik cannot. But perhaps you can be a parental figure, if you wish it. You seem…right for it somehow. Perhaps it will make you happy again. And then you will stay with Erik."

"Erik, I--"

"My Christine should have what she wants. Erik cannot break his promise to his Christine, can he? Christine has done too much for Erik…."

She paused as a troubling thought tugged at her mind. "Erik? You're not doing this only so I don't leave, right? Because that…it shouldn't be that way. I won't leave--no matter what you decide. We can talk about it some more."

"Even if you do not leave, you will suffer, won't you?" he asked. She didn't answer. "And you must be happy. I do not want a dying, wilting wife."

She stepped forward and tightly hugged him. "We're going to be fine," she said. "It's going to be fine, whatever happens." She paused and then softly added, "Thank you."

They stayed in each other's company throughout the day. From the way he'd been speaking, she'd been a little worried about his sanity, but Erik seemed to recover. They worked on their music together and shared quiet conversation concerning her upcoming performances. Christine ordered takeout at a steak restaurant, including a whole cheesecake.

At one point, she also made a trip to the basement to see how it had fared in her absence. From the thick stacks of paper on the wooden shelves, it was obvious that Erik had spent a great deal of time down there, numbing himself with music. He probably hadn't eaten or slept. Romeo was swimming back and forth in his tank, oblivious to the happenings around him.

They slept comfortably in each other's arms but weren't intimate that night. Or the next night. Or the next. She didn't push it, deciding to partially put the matter in Erik's control again. If he'd said that he wanted to wait for another year or two, Christine would have granted the request. They didn't even talk about a child over the next week, though.

Finally, one night, Erik reached for her. She eagerly accepted his affections, a part of her afraid that he would suddenly change his mind. But he didn't, and she felt a sense of warm completeness that thawed some of the last year's ice. She felt loved and whole again.

"It might happen now, mightn't it?" he asked afterwards in the quiet darkness.

"Maybe," she whispered. "It's probably too early."

"We neglected genetic testing."

"Yes. But it'll be okay." She sincerely doubted that Erik's disfigurement was inheritable.

"Is there any way to stop it?" he asked.

"…Yes…." Her voice cracked.

"But you do not want to stop it?"

"No. Please, no."

"Then we will not. We will not. Do not cry."

She held Erik that night. Now that she'd won the battle, Christine felt stronger.

She would have to be strong.

If her final wish was granted, she couldn't be one of those overemotional pregnant women. She couldn't lie there with a swollen stomach, whining over how miserable she was and demanding that Erik do things for her. And she probably couldn't expect him to be in the hospital room during the delivery; no, that wouldn't be good for anyone involved.

Knowing these things, Christine went to sleep, already preparing herself for the days ahead.