Author's Note: Two Updates today, one for this fic and the other for End of the Ghost Story.
I am sorry this Chapter came late, so I will explain what happened. Sept 8th, I suffered a nasty dog bite to my face (Right cheek - oh the irony!) which resulted in losing a nice chunk of flesh which meant needing some reconstructive surgery and various other medically related things left me scatterbrained. I had written chapters 22 and 23 for Ghost just a few days before the incident, I was about to work on this fic when everything happened.
No, I'm not kidding.
I did make post on Tumblr (Phantom-Sith) that details more of what happened, but I haven't decided if I want to post a pic and have everyone know what I look like or not. If you have questions, you are welcome to ask.
For right now, I'm trying to get Ghost Story back on a bi-weekly update again(If anyone's still reading it?) and keep Once More on its schedule, if time and headspace allows it.
For this Chapter, a disclaimer — I am Not Catholic. While I avoided going into details and skimmed things, if you are Catholic and see something wrong, let me know. I like learning. This section was the hardest part to write, and everything after that was pretty much written today. Hope you enjoy!
MarylinKC: Not gonna lie— these two having an honest and healthy relationship is a goal of mine. Not to say they won't have issues going forward, but they will have the tools to work through it and stay happy.
Trying
True to his word, Erik went to Confession.
In escorting Christine to the Giry residence, they stopped at the little Parrish where she attended Mass every week, and he went into that little, unnerving box. Religion was always a sore spot for him. Not by the notion of it, but by the behaviors and added rules of its practitioners. The added caveat to his souring distaste for it was due to God's horrid sense of humor, from being born deformed and into an unloving home, then made to suffer a life of cruelty and isolation.
As unpleasant as he found this task, it was in his power to grant. If enduring a few hours of discomfort while speaking to an unfortunate Priest meant that Christine would be at peace with him and his sordid past, then the ordeal was worth it.
Time crawled by as he listed every concerning trespass with the same level of detail he gave Christine. He confessed more to this Priest than he did to her. He admitted the worst of his past to her, but there was more that she did not need to know and held no bearing on their future together. Some of these torments included when he made love to his Angel and left her, believing she deserved more than he could give.
…and the son he unwittingly abandoned.
Christine did not need to know those things along with other, less important, tales. If she remembered, he would tell her, but until then…
Of course, Erik remained truthful and vague with the Priest. Names were omitted. There was no warped sense of time, and by that notion, he had to admit he only loved two women – if only by technicality.
When Erik finally emerged from the confessional, relief flooded through him at the sight of Christine waiting for him. She rose from a nearby pew with the warmest of smiles spreading across her pale-rose-colored lips, which he knew held the same softness as velvety petals. He wanted nothing more than to claim them and let the tumultuous day fade away.
The Priest was a soft-spoken man of fair hair and warm brown eyes, which came alight with a knowing smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth when he glanced between the pair.
"Thank you for accommodating us outside of the usual hours, Father Theodore," Christine thanked him with a gracious nod.
Father Theodore raised a halting hand, "It is no trouble, my dear. Whenever you need my aid, pleasedon't hesitate to call," he paused to set his eyes on Erik, "either of you."
Erik looked away, jaw flexing from restrained discomfort.
"Good day to you both," the older man bid them, before stepping away to retreat from the sanctuary.
"Thank you, Father," Christine called after him, before reaching over to cradle Erik's elbow in her palm.
The quiet touch made him hook his arm for her use.
"I'm proud of you," she spoke in a sweet whisper, sliding closer with her hand settling to his bicep with a squeeze. "He likes you."
"Does he like me, or does he see a project to which he could boast the enthralling story of how he turned a man from his wicked ways…"
She tapped her fingers on his arm, "Stop," she smirked. "Besides… if anyone should boost such a feat, it should be me."
A hearty chuckle escaped him as he stooped to collect her bag. "But of course, my love. No one else would be more deserving of such honor."
Christine grinned as they left.
Their journey to the Giry residence was a quiet stroll where the company was welcomed while their thoughts ventured into the realm of reflection. With as much that transpired between themand the gravity of their earlier discussion, how could either of them not ponder the implications and their future? It was not lost on Christine that perhaps she should not be on his arm now, as distance was still necessary to go forward together. Yet, the thought of not holding his arm was unimaginable. It felt right, and she knew that only Erik's calming presence could bring her such a sense of peace.
When they ascended the stairs to the door of a home that no longer felt like hers, Christine slid her hand down into his, not wanting to let him go. "I will see you tomorrow at rehearsal, yes?"
"If that is your wish, Christine," he replied. Although his voice was clear, he struggled to maintain eye contact.
She squeezed his hand, "It is."
Erik's fingers twitched before he brought her hand to his lips and pressed a lingering kiss upon her knuckles. "Then I shall be there."
"Good," she smiled, withdrawing her hand to fish the key from her handbag. When she secured the cool bit of metal and unlocked the door, Christine collected her carpet bag from him with a growing awkwardness between them. Erik always carried himself well, especially when out in the public eye, however, she sensed the dejection beneath the surface. "Have a good night, Erik."
"Good night, Christine," came the soft reply before Erik slid a step back.
Swallowing hard, she gave a nod and then retreated inside. When the door shut, she pressed her back against it as she struggled with a stab of unbidden guilt that made her eyes tingle from the onset of tears.
A little space was good.
It was not a lasting separation — they would see each other in the morning for Christ's sake!
She needed to clear her head and knew that a brief pause in their whirlwind was for the best.
So why did she feel so terrible?
Wiping her glistening eyes, Christine sucked in a steadying breath and took her bag up to her shared room with Meg.
Outside, Erik took several long moments to settle the churn in his core before descending the steps and managed to leave the Giry residence without looking back.
~x ~x ~X~ x~ x~
Neither of them were cooks.
Liam's mind was more for the sciences rather than the chemistry of baking or how to blend flavors in an agreeable way beyond the absolute basics. In turn, Natalie put more effort into cooking and often, it was better than anything he was capable of conjuring. However, when it came to having a properly decent meal a few times a week, hiring a regular cook was an easy and necessary decision.
Their living arrangements before marriage never merited a need to learn. Natalie grew up in the upper classes, just short of nobility. The wealth of her family allowed them to keep a near full staff that did all the common chores from cleaning to cooking. Natalie spent her formative years with her nose stuck in books and learning anatomy in her pursuit of the hard-fought career of becoming a doctor. Cooking was a task she never needed or wanted to learn.
Liam's situation was not so dissimilar. Mother never sullied her hands in the kitchen, and they had a small staff like many families of means had. Then, when he and Valen were left orphans, the boy's home and boarding schools supplied the meals. When they became adults and were on their own, the brother often rented rooms with sweet little widows, since it was a mutually beneficial arrangement. The Landladies would make common meals for their tenants in exchange for a bit of maintenance and upkeep if something in the house needed repairs or furniture moved.
As he set the dining table, Liam kept an eye on the windows in a silent, but austere hope that he might catch a glimpse of an unfamiliar shadow. Dinner – some sort of casserole – was warming in the oven while Natalie was back at her desk in their office, reading a case report about one of her patients. Where they always set the table for three, to include the often-regular appearance of Valen at mealtime, they now began to place a fourth setting.
Maybe one day, that wish would become a reality.
A familiar rapid knock came at his door, which prompted Liam to glance at the clock, although he already knew the time: seven-seventeen. He gave no pause as he heard the lock click over and the creak of the door opening while he continued to place silverware down beside a plate in meticulous order after giving them a brief polish with the linen napkin on his arm.
"Smells wonderful," Valen announced from the foyer.
"Did you learn anything when you went to speak with our informant today?" asked Liam as he polished up another piece of cutlery.
"No…" the younger brother replied in an idle sigh as he came into the dining room. "Which is rather curious. If anyone would know something about someone wanting us dead —enough to see it through — it would be him."
"Unless he is running in the wrong circles. What little we know of Erik with any certainty, would suggest he has more nefarious connections than our source."
"Higher than Conseil d'État?"
"Considering he answered only to Persian or Turkish royalty for years…"
"Fair enough, but we haven't investigated anyone beyond the Council."
"True," Liam admitted. "However, that might be enough cause for concern. If we have enough to convict someone lower in the chain, what is to say that he won't trade some damning bit of information on someone higher up in exchange for leniency? It is not a possibility that can be ruled out."
"It isn't, but last I checked, we left those investigations behind when we were sacked… Unless you have been working on something without telling me."
Liam shook his head, "Such things are no longer worth the risk to me when I have a wife to think about and few friends to watch our backs outside of our firm." He placed the last piece of silverware down at the extra place setting, though his gaze lingered on it for a moment longer than necessary. "Perhaps his information was correct but the motives shifted, or he may have wanted an excuse to see us."
Valen looked at the empty plate that would probably never see food on its porcelain surface this evening. "Which do you think it is?"
"Circumstances change," he answered after a pause. "Perhaps ours changed by him walking into theoffice, or he handled it himself as he has done before." Liam turned away from the table and vanished into the kitchen to collect their warmed dinner.
With Liam's back turned, Valen reached over the table and titled a fork off-center at Natalie's normal seat, then a spoon at his brother's spot, and then a knife at Erik's— if he came. The tampered cutlery was so subtly moved that a cursory glance would miss the meddling.
"Staying for dinner?" Natalie asked as she came into theroom, brushing her hands over the blotchy apron that protected her skirts from ink and other stains.
"With my favorite people? I wouldn't miss it, Nettles," he smirked as he straightened nudging his plate when he turned to her.
"If Liam and I are your only favorite people, you really should let me introduce you to some of my friends," she said as she took her usual seat and Valen claimed his. "I'm certain you would take a liking to at least one of them and you can add another to that favorites list."
Valen waved her comment away, "Please, no. I am not nearly sophisticated enough to feel adequate for such company."
"Nonsense," she chided. "You have many fine qualities that any lady would appreciate. It's rather astonishing that you haven't been snatched up yet."
"Yes, well…Leslie put a damper on things, didn't she?"
Natalie paused at the mention of her brother-in-law's former sweetheart.
"I assure you, I have little issue in meeting someone, Natalie. The problem is more that they are either lacking in integrity, overtly vain, or have an unnerving lack of aspiration outside of getting married. You and Jasmine are an exceptionally rare sort – a myth even – to balance those things; especially ambition."
"It is not so rare, Valen," she attempted to soothe softly. "I – we—" she said as Liam returned with their dinner balanced between mittened hands, "We just want you to be happy."
Liam set the steaming dish down on a cork mat at the table's center as the mantel clock turned to seven-thirty. "That is true," he added as he made sure the dish was perfectly squared with everything else on the table.
"If you rather I came over less often, you only need to say the word and I won't be offended."
"Don't be ridiculous," Liam replied, triple-checking everything before freezing a moment. Casting a disdainful look at Valen, he flexed his fingers a moment before reaching over and fixed 'Erik's' knife. His eyes flicked over to Natalie's fork, Valen's plate, and stiffly sat down before fixing his spoon.
Valen smirked.
"You are always welcome here," Natalie assured. "Though, I won't lie in saying that it would be nice to have another feminine voice at the table once and a while," she smirked. "You know, to discuss the latest fashion instead of the newest device someone invented."
"Fashion?" Liam asked with a raised brow. "You would sooner talk about the latest medical advancements than what dress is in style."
"Not necessarily. I am usually accommodating your conversations, so when we talk about my interests, I make sure the discussions are of something that is reasonably digestible to you both, which happens to be of a medical nature."
"That often goes over my head," Valen teased with a tight smile.
As the conversation continued and the meal commenced after a brief dinner blessing from Liam, no one in the small family noticed the shadow that lurked outside. Nor did they glimpse it drifting toward the front door before retreating back intoits hiding place by the window, where it could observe the smiles of jovial moments and the empty place setting begging to be used as it earned a few saddened glances.
It was not until they finished eating and began cleaning up did Liam notice. The lanterns of a passing carriage hit the corner of the window wrong, the light vanishing into darkness before it reached the frame. He froze, catching Valen's arm and cutting off a story mid-sentence as he stared at that corner of the window. When Valen turned to look, a tiny streak of white was their only confirmation of who may have been there, for by the time the brothers managed to dash outside, the figure was gone.