I really meant to update sooner! I'm very sorry. I'm finishing up the next few chapters as fast as I can, especially since I kind of left you all on a cliffhanger last time.

Christine's heart was beating so fast, it was a miracle that the entire of New York couldn't hear it. She simply stared in silence, clutching her son, her son, to her chest as tightly as she could. Gustave was hugging her with equal strength.

After a few minutes (though it seemed like hours) of blinking at the door in shock, she looked back down. Her heart swelled with love with for her brave son, finally returned after three very, very long days.

"Gustave," she cooed, kneeling once more. His tears wet the front of her shirt as he looked up. "Why are you crying?"

Her thumb wiped away a few of his tears, but he still sniffled. A deep part of her worried that Erik had done something horrible, wrecking her son emotionally in some way she didn't want to think about. Instead, the boy just shrugged. "I don't know," he admitted. "I-I just missed you so much."

Christine began to weep then, too. She rubbed her hand in soothing circles on his back. "So did I, Gustave." she swallowed. "But you're safe now."

She kept whispering that over and over, as if it were a prayer. She wasn't quite sure whom of the two she was comforting more, Gustave, or herself. Her son was finally in her arms, safe, unharmed, and most importantly, home. He was still crying, and a small part of her wondered if Erik really had done something to hurt him. If so, then the former-Phantom better be prepared to fear for his life. She gave her son a few kisses on a cheek to shake away the thoughts.

Although she adored finally being able to hug her son again, small part of her needed answers. Pulling back enough to look into his eyes, she wiped his tears. "Gustave," she murmured. "Can you tell me what happened? What he...did?"

He sniffled a bit, gulping at her intense gaze. "I know you're wondering if he hurt me, but he didn't. Not at all."

Christine breathed an audible sigh of relief as he continued.

"Erik was really nice, and I wasn't really expecting him to let me go home yet. Everything just happened so fast, and he made it sound like I was going to stay for awhile." he paused here, momentarily, as if he had something further to say, but decided otherwise.

"He was so weird. Like how more than once he would get really freaked out and run out of the house."

"Leaving you alone?" she asked, not at all surprised. Erik, it seemed, had a long history of abandoning those around him and disregarding their feelings or ignoring whether or not they wished to stay. Her grip tightened subconsciously on Gustave. Her son was physical proof of that.

Gustave nodded. "It happened twice… I think. We were talking about Paris this one time and all the sudden he got up and began yelling and ran out of there."

At seeing her wide eyes, he placed a small hand on her shoulder. "Not yelling at me, but at Papa. He was mad, really mad."

Yelling at Raoul? She thought, trying to piece things together. And why on Earth would they be talking about Paris in the first place? Erik had always been so secretive, she was surprised he would even disclose the fact he had ever even lived in France. In all the time she had known him (the term 'known' was used loosely. Did being lied to and being told that someone was an otherworldly being count as knowing them?) On top of that, he had barely ever talked to her about himself. It was always her, her and her voice.

Christine shook her head. God give her mercy, now was not the time to become embittered towards that man once again. Taking her son's hand in hers, she nodded for him to continue.

"He… he knew Papa, I think." A pause. Followed by, "You do, too. I didn't know you knew Erik."

Erik told him his name? She thought, tilting her head. Christine gave him a small smile. "I do, Gustave. Erik and I used to be… friends."

Well, that's a polite way to put it. Exhaling, she then shook her head. "But I don't really want to talk about that right now. What else happened?"

Her son thought deeply for a moment. "Well, I had fun. Erik is a really good musician, you know. He plays the piano, and has a really good voice. Almost like an angel!" Christine cringed at the comparison, nodding for him to continue.

"Oh!" he remembered suddenly. "And, once this man came in, I think his name was Nabeer or something, and they got into an argument. They were talking about you."

Nabeer? Christine's brow furrowed. The name didn't sound familiar in the slightest. "They talked about me, you say?"

"Yeah!" Gustave clung to her, giving her another quick hug. "They were really loud. I remember, at one point the other man said that Erik didn't need you."

The young mother simply sighed a little bit, pressing a light kiss to the crown of his head.

"Well, I know Gustave, that I need you. You've been gone for three days, I'd say you need some time to relax after the very big journey you had. How about it's time for bed?"

She was a tad bit reluctant to part herself from him so soon, even just to sleep, yet it was obvious from his yawns and droopy eyes that her son was exhausted.

"But," he countered, rubbing his face with a small hand. "I wanna see Papa. Where is he?"
At the bar, she thought miserably, her disposition dimming a bit at the thought, but she shook her head. Now wasn't a time for bitterness, she finally had her son back.

And with that she picked him up into her arms. "Simply out at the moment. You'll see him in the morning, alright? And we'll go out for breakfast at a nice cafe." And after that we'll visit the authorities and try to persuade to them that everything was a simple understanding. Goddammit, Erik.

Her answer must have satisfied Gustave, for he fell limp in her grip as she carried him into his room, setting him down on his made bed. In his absence she had tidied the room endlessly, telling herself that she had needed it to be nice for when he returned home.

It would seem that she wasn't completely incorrect in doing thus as she removed his shoes and tucked Gustave in, pulling the sheets up to his chin. Pressing a kiss to his forehead, she began to exit. She paused at the door, however, and slowly turned towards the far wall.

Christine locked the window before leaving the room. Call it paranoia, but one could never be too careful in her experience.

XXxxXX

Dawn wasn't what awoke Christine first thing in the morning, but instead the insistent knocking upon the front door. She glanced quickly over to Raoul's side of the bed, finding it to be as empty and cold as usual. Christine exhaled slowly. It seemed that as usual, Raoul had never made it home for the night.

Trudging to the door and passing through the parlor, she unlocked the entryway to see her hair-rumpled, messily clothed husband standing before her. His tunic was mussed and stained, and Raoul's eyes were bloodshot. His throat bobbed as he saw her brows knit together.

"You were gone an awfully long time," she said, planting her hands on her hips. The strong smell of liquor came off of him practically in waves. Strong, nauseating waves. She wrinkled her nose. "Don't tell me you spent the entire night drinking!"

Raoul cringed slightly. "I'm sorry," was the only explanation he offered. He shifted uneasily on his feet, his blue eyes glancing down and away from her's. This only seemed to fuel Christine's ire, indignant by his lack of explanation. How dare he show up with nothing to say but 'I'm sorry?'

Inhaling sharply, she rubbed her forehead with a hand. "Raoul, this is getting exhausting. I feel…"

"You feel like what?" He spoke a full sentence this time, stepping past her and into the room. The very same room that Erik had been in only a few hours previously.

She watched as he walked over to the kitchen, opening and closing the cupboards. After a few moments he grabbed a mug, setting it down on the counter along with a tea kettle.

"Raoul," she felt indignant to being ignored. "This is exactly what I'm talking about. I'm trying to talk to you, and I feel like you're not listening to me."
No, not feel, she knew that he wasn't listening. Stubborn man.

Christine watched as Raoul sighed, turning to face her. "A thousand apologies, Christine," he replied, his tone laced with sarcasm. "Please, continue yelling at me."

"I'm shouting at you with good reason, Raoul!" she began to feel herself tear up in frustration. If he knew what she needed to say, then he wouldn't be acting this way.

He leaned against the counter, raising an eyebrow in question. Taking a few deep breaths, she glanced at her son's bedroom door.

"I found Gustave." the words were quick, and while she was unsure why, she found herself anxious to see his response.

And she got one quickly enough. Raoul seemed to be fully looking at her. "You did? Where? When?" Rushing forward he took both of her hands in his. "Please explain."

"I will, just let me wake up completely first," she stepped out of his grip, her exhaustion suddenly coming back. She had just woken up, to be fair.

Raoul seemed understanding, turning back to the kettle and adding the tea leaves to be strained later on. Christine relaxed upon the couch, rubbing her eyes as she ineffectively attempted to rub the tiredness from her eyes.

Sunlight streamed through the open curtains, glaringly bright.

Raoul settled down across from her once his tea was finished, steaming cup in hand. She propped herself up to face him, smoothing out her skirt as he took a couple sips.

Eventually he spoke. "Where did you find him at?"

Her hands flexed as she felt anxiety bubble up in her chest. She certainly wasn't about to tell him that she had found Gustave with Erik. The last thing she needed was Raoul racing off to the police. So thus she was forced to lie. Thinking quickly, she simply spoke the first idea that came to mind.

"I..I went out searching last night, when you were gone. While looking, I went up to one of the lesser known beaches, just in case."

While she had gone to one of the beaches just in case, she certainly had not found Gustave there.

"At a beach?" Her husband looked a little startled. "But… Gustave can't swim! Was he okay?"

"Gustave was fine," she reassured. "I found him huddle up on a bench. We talked a bit, and it turns out he was simply lost."

She held her breath as Raoul looked thoughtful, setting his tea cup down. Would he see right through her deceit?

"Can I see him?" Was all he said, much to her relief. At least for this answer she could be truthful. Christine did not like to lie, that much was for sure.

"I'm afraid not, he's very tired. I thought it best he spent the day in bed, resting."

Raoul nodded, seemingly satisfied as he stood, stretching. Suddenly, as if remembering his hangover from the amount of liquor he had ingested the night previously, he lifted a hand to his brow. "Oh, God," he muttered. "I have the worst headache."

And with that he stumbled out, leaving her alone in the room. A few moments later the door closed, and she stood up with an exhale. "Well," she murmured to herself. "That could have gone worse."

More than anything, she was simply relieved that Gustave was home, and out of Erik's grip. She picked up Raoul's empty tea-cup, carrying it to the kitchen, and setting it in the basin to be washed later on.

XXxxXX

A little later, she went into Gustave's room to find him propped up on the reading chair in the corner, large novel in hand. A small part of her was greatly relieved by his appearance, as if she had half expected him to vanish once more.

Instead he glanced up, putting down his book. "Mama!" he grinned broadly.

Returning his smile she took a few steps forward, kneeling beside him. "How long have you been awake?" she inquired.

"Only a little while, I just woke up."

Christine returned his grin, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. "That's good," she murmured warmly. "You need your rest."

She then took a deep breath. Christine didn't like lying, let alone letting her son lie, but things were drastic.

"Gustave?" she attempted to steady her voice, to little avail. Gustave tilted his head.

"Can I ask a favor of you? It's very important now, okay?"

"O-okay," his brows furrowed as he tried to imagine what she might ask of him. "It won't hurt, will it?" Usually, the only time she used such a serious tone was when she needed to wash out a cut or scrape on his knee. He didn't like the pain.

"No, no, I promise it won't hurt at all," she smiled a little bit, exhaling. "When Papa asks about what you did while you were away, I need you to tell him that I found you at the beach, alright? Last night. Along with that, you can't mention anything about Erik."

"About Erik?" he looked puzzled. "Why? Is he in danger?"

If Raoul finds out, then yes, he will be, she thought grimly, and nodded.

After Gustave promised not to say a word, she left, preparing for her and Raoul to calm the small handful of policemen on the case.

XXxxXX

Eventually, hours later, all was done, the weight of guilt on her shoulders weighing down heavily on her conscience. With a tired heart she retreated to her bed, struggling to find sleep. Over and over she could only see the words that she had said, deceitful as well as full of half-truths and falsehoods. Images of Raoul's bewildered face, the stern and slightly-relieved police officers, as well as the stoic appearance of Erik, his eyes softening as he quietly murmured goodbye to her son.

Christine didn't rest very well that night.

What are your thoughts?

Did Christine handle this this well? She's in a rather difficult situation (but not entirely blameless.)

Please tell me what you think.