It was well into the evening, close to one o'clock. Like the night prior, it had ended with music. She had caught Alexandre yawning, in response to Erik playing a dreamlike lullaby, coaxing the children to rest. Christine was thankful, she didn't want to be the villain taking them away from her father. When she put them to bed, Erik merely stood behind her, watching what felt routine to her. Perhaps he felt he was intruding, now. She didn't want him to feel that way, he was part of this family as much as she. Dimming the lamp on Alexandre's bedside, she followed her husband out, but not before Erik promised the boy he would still be there when he awoke.

Children put to bed, Christine grew fidgety - something he never liked during their lessons. He didn't say anything, though.

"Please, allow me to draw you a bath."

He nodded, following her to her bedroom. Their bedroom, and onto the adjoining bathroom.

"I have regularly washed your clothes, should you want them back." Handing him a towel and clean change of apparel, she gracefully withdrew, not expecting the same intimacy they shared prior.

Want them back? They were his clothes, and it was not as if he had many other options. He did reek of horse and sweat, pushing through the last leg of travel to blame. He scrubbed at his arms, hard, slowly stripping away the built up grime, an attempt to gain back his facade of a gentleman. How Christine must think of him! Well, he wasn't exactly handsome before, now was he? But at least he had looked socially acceptable from the neck down. He had wanted to see them so much, his heart quivered in anticipation as the miles separating them slowly disappeared. In all honesty, he wasn't even thinking of the way he presented himself until his arrival.

This day had been bizarre, to say the least. It was strange and exasperating and joyous all in simultaneous junction. At the end of the night, he had played the small audience a brief review of songs, despite being a bit out of practice. They all seemed appeased enough. Fortunately, Christine had kept the instrument in tune. Her father's violin, on the other hand - he would see to that tomorrow.

And Christine. How wonderful she was! The portrait had not done her justice, nor his imagination. Still the bursting image of herself in her youth, though with an air of wisdom about her he could not quite place. He longed for her, soft skin and pretty words, lilting voice and calming charm. He wanted to hear her laugh grace his eardrum once more. How could she want the same, he reasoned. He had returned to her, six years too late, a shadow of a man she once knew. He had broken his word. His sorry effort in keeping his wife and son, and now daughter, safe had all been in vain. Undeserving was he of such titles of father and husband. He was not enough.

He did not want to force anything upon Christine, this separation may very well have altered things. Eyeing the ring she still wore, she had not remarried, much to his relief, but she could have kept it as a mere keepsake, plenty of widows carry it with them. It was not his place to jump to conclusions, or expect anything from her, no matter how much he wanted it himself.

Feeling refreshed, and changing into proper clothing, an inkling of dignity was restored. Pulling out the left-hand drawer, he found what he sought, a straight razor and pumice stone. It was the same place it had been seven years prior.

He already knew he was a father, but to a girl? He already proved to be inadequate with even Alexandre. One can have fun with a son, but they must be a father to a girl. Raising a daughter, not a task to be taken lightly. Various accomplishments, education, suitors. It was uncharted territory. He didn't even know this child, Josephine, Christine had named her. Addition to the family. An unexpected one, at that. He knew at once he loved her. Sweet and light and pure, the little mademoiselle. Would Christine even want him to be near her, her unsullied child?

Erik was afraid. Terrified, actually, of that unfortunate possibility, that Christine would send him away. He felt ashamed, really, in his avoidance of Christine. I love you, please take me back. I will give you the world if you only do this, He wanted to say. But he was afraid, afraid that it would all shatter, afraid that his seven year dream would crumble in before his eyes. He would have this one day with the children, and if she should be rid of him, so be it. The memory of that simple day would sustain him forever.

He emerged to find his wife, sitting on the bed. She was staring straight at the floor, eyes cloudy. A fire had been started.

And now they were alone, now she had her chance. She wanted to ask him a thousand questions, not knowing where to start. She had never been the most articulate, and she felt he had been dismissive towards her for the length of the day. She accepted it. Swallowing her pride, albeit reluctantly, she twisted and faced him, sheltered within the bedframe.

"I know it may not be the same to you now. But for the children, we must continue on. More than anything, they need their father."

He looked taken aback, eyebrow quirked.

"You believe that your children need me? A selfish monster."

She huffed. "Erik you are neither of those things."

Eyes briefly flickered to the open door, and he quickly closed it, although silently.

"Am I not? I assassinated a king, and several other of his men. Towards this, I carry no guilt." Christine merely stared in horror. "My only shred of remorse lies towards you."

"And what have you done to feel remorseful towards me?" She said. It was not accusatory, but quizzatory.

"The portrait. By God the portrait!" He confessed. "I have imagined for five years how our lives would have been different had I not brought that damn thing!"

"I fault no man for having sentiment." She said, truthfully.

He ignored her. "My stupid corpse risked the lives of my wife, my son, and now I learn my daughter?" His breath faltered for several seconds, bony hands shooting to his scalp, roughly pulling at the damp hair there.

"This was not in your control."

"Yes it was, Christine. It is very simple, actually, I should not have taken it."

"You have endured punishment enough. Cursed to wander the earth for five years! I say you have paid your due"

"Hell is not enough punishment for the danger I put you and your children in."

"Our children." She was resolute in her intentions.

"I do not deserve them, Christine. You have raised them, they are yours." He focused his gaze on the fire.

"Do you really believe that they would have let you go, Erik? This was just the excuse they needed to lay claim over - or worse, kill you." She was serious, flat-toned. "I am the one who is selfish, for wanting you to do everything within your power to return home. You are not to answer to me for whatever crimes you may have committed. I am just as culpable as you for wanting you to do them, because that would mean you could come back to me."

He didn't agree with her, not in the slightest. Of course, the situation in Persia would have escalated, she was right about that. She was stronger, than before, less - naive - about things like that. But her poor judgement as to the type of man he was? That had not changed in the slightest.

The fire crackled. A log crumbled in on itself, succumbing to the heat.

"She looks like my mother." Erik shivered.

"She looks like you." She said.

She heard his laugh for the second time that day, only this time it was jeering, mocking in its character.

"Now that would be cruel indeed, Madame."

Christine bypassed the remark. "The child wishes nothing more than to know you, Erik. Will you not grant her that?"

Golden eyes nearly vibrated with emotion. "You want me around them?"

"Oh, my husband, why would you ever think I would not?"

He was silent.

"Erik, is this why… why you didn't speak to me? Did you think, I would send you awa-"

"Christine-"

"No! Oh Erik, what kind of mother would I be? To rip their father from their grasp, with so many years lost! Husband, I want nothing more than for you to be in their lives." Her hands drew paths upon his arms.

"You raised them, all alone." She could read the guilt splayed across his features.

"We have both had our challenges." Christine held his hand, feeling the harsh lines and tendons. "But now, it is different, now… now we no longer have to face them alone." She hinted at her hope of a future together, praying he still loved her.

"Forgive me." Not just for this. For everything I did and did not do. For the circumstances being what they are. For doubting you.

She had once pardoned him, seven years ago- before he left. Erik needed it once again.

"Forgiven." Her smile nearly melted him where he stood.

"The children, they truly are- astonishing. Thank you, Christine." Crimson flashed to her cheeks, she had never thought herself a good mother. Alexandre could have gravely injured himself had Nadir not found him, and Josephine, sneaking out at all hours! It had been so hard, and she had tried her best, knowing it would never be enough, but praying it would be acceptable. Now, it could finally be complete, and they could be afforded the paternal guidance she could never have provided.

"You deserve them, Erik. If you know anything, know this."

They stood there a while, soaking in the meaning of it all. Her hand reached out, skimming the edges of his mask. Instinctively he started backwards.

"Please." She said.

"Christine, this face has not improved with age."

"I want to see my husband."

It was his turn to stare. At the end of several heavy pauses, she won, had waited him out. So she had not forgotten, after all these years, to force him out of hiding.

Reluctant hands reached towards the leather ties. He handed it to her, proof of his acquiescence. Indeed, it had not improved, but it hadn't exactly worsened, either. The taut skin, bloated lips, cratered cheeks were all the same as she remembered before. It was the face of the man she had missed for seven years. How could she not be happy?

Her palm touched a now wettened cheek, and his hand flew out, snatching her wrist.

"Why do you not trust me?" Her face indicated poorly disguised disappointment. It was a fair question. After all, they had been intimate before. Well, more than that, as evidenced by the children. His mask was usually, well, off, before. So why did it feel different now?

"I seemed to have developed some new habits, I suppose." His hand fell, meekly looking down at the carpet.

Not satisfied with such an answer, she compelled every inch of her small being to deposit the last semblance of fear she carried with her. Fear of rejection, she supposed it was. Now was not the time for skirting the truth. She needed to know. She had not endured seven years of loeneliness for him to return, and not know the truth of her circumstance. Of the circumstances concerning her children's lives. Childish anxieties had been put away years before. Beginning her confession, she started speaking to his necktie, finding it easier than looking into his invading eyes.

"Erik, you have been gone a long time. Regardless, the children yearn for their father in their life, and I shall do everything in my power for it to be so." Christine was serious, guarded. Then she inhaled.

"I know things may have changed for you. I do not know what you have gone through, all I can do is thank you for coming back to me." Focusing on those golden irises, she finally found her courage. In the midst of this act of bravery, however, salty tears ran down her face, exchange for allowing herself to show such valor.

"It was absolute hell when you were gone, I cannot lie. Every day I longed for you, and every day my heart shattered. But I lived with it, for their sake. I still love you, and I always will. I can only hope that you feel the same way."

It was then that his lips descended upon hers. He was a poor excuse for a lover - gaunt frame and all its glory. But it didn't matter to her. Her slight hands shot up to his hair, longer now than before, threading the strands. How she missed those lips! Uneven and unnatural, pronounced and perfect.

His hands travelled down her waist, encircling her hips, pulling her close. They warmed each other. The kiss became desperate. His hot mouth probed hers, and she could taste its saltiness, unaware of whose tears it came from. She could feel his thinness against her, but he still did not fail to send a thrill down her spinal column.

When his hands arrived at buttons of her dress, and then her corset, and then her chemise, the backs of her knees hit the edge of the bed, and she just realized he had been steering them backwards. He pulled away then, hands lingering on the fabric, silently pleading.

Catching her breath for a moment, she responded in kind, pulling him towards her person, all too ready to learn him again.

The fire was dying, a orange glow coating the room. She traced a meager outline with her finger, repeating a path on his upper arm. Neither spoke for a long time, both preferring to look at each other, much to Erik's bewilderment. Christine broke the silence.

"I feel as if... we have both changed, and yet remain duplicates of our former selves."

"Then I look forward to getting to know you, mon amour."

She kissed him again, moving to lay on top of him. It was a comforting gesture, soothing, assuring him of her continued presence. They would do this sometimes, before, reminding the other that they were there. When he had gone, she had nearly forgotten - the little actions that comprise the much larger picture of marriage.

"Christine, why did you doubt my love?" He looked - hurt.

She gazed at his chest, contemplating an answer. She felt guilty for jumping to conclusions.

"I suppose, well, it had been so long and… You were mainly speaking with the children… which I wanted you too... it just…" Why didn't he speak? She was sputtering, how foolish she was!

"Oh Erik! I thought you had died! And I almost died with you! When Nadir came and told me of everything, I allowed myself to hope that, well, everything would be normal again."

"I didn't want to presume anything, much less expect, things to go back to before. Sometimes, I have heard, that husbands return from war, and it's not the same." Fear was apparent in her eyes.

He was serious, taking in her fears with patience. Long fingers raked through brown curls, brushing past her ear.

"I beg you, Christine. Never doubt me again." The words were gentle.

She could only nod.

Many minutes passed. Christine grew comfortable, her head rose and fell with his chest. A warm peace settle upon them, more powerful than either could remember experiencing.

"You know, I have a welcome home gift ready for you." She smirked.

"And what would that be?"

"Like you have surprised me today, I am to surprise you." She said, pecking him on an unmasked cheek.

He did not like surprises; he just had the shock of his life in finding out of Josephine. However, this one was not going to be pried from his pretty wife, so he submitted, changing the subject.

"Tell me about them."

She stretched against his much longer form. He truly was much taller than her. Despite being Swedish, she had never inherited height, and splayed against her husband, it was apparent. She usually ignored it, becoming used to looking up all the time. Facing him, her feet barely reached past his knees. It was almost comical, if one paid attention.

Eventually finding comfort again throughout all the bony spots, she took note that he smelled remarkable better than before. With her cheek resting underneath his collarbone, she began.

"Your son is most rambunctious." She felt, more than heard, his low chuckle.

"Just a few months ago, he got on Traveller, and she took off with the poor boy. I swear it was God that put Nadir in his path. He was coming here when he ran into Alexandre, not knowing who he was!"

"He always told me he was cursed with looking out for me. Now I can see the curse spans generations." Her hair was softer than he remembered.

"But since then he has become a much better equestrian." She sat up in her excitement. "Oh, you must teach him, Erik! And he loves the piano, you will teach him, won't you?"

His mouth twitched. "Of course, mon cher."

"Josephine is so much like you, Erik. I daresay she is the smartest five year old I've ever met! She is usually quiet, but not today, not around you. I am so glad of it." He soaked up every word.

"She is kind, and curious, and intuitive, and sometimes has a bit of temper; just last week, Alexandre was being quite rude, and she slapped him, right across the face!" He grinned. Christine playfully hit her hand on his chest. That golden laugh graced her ears yet again.

"Horrified as I was, and angry at the two, I must confess I was proud of her, for - sticking up for herself." She took a breath, exasperated. "Sometimes I wonder what is going through that girl's mind."

"Wait here." He said suddenly, putting on his dressing gown to leave their shared reverie.

"Erik!" She nearly yelped, concerned he would leave.

"One does not tell another to wait when one is not to return." Christine caught the double meaning. "I shall be right back, ma cher."

She only just barely began to collect her thoughts concerning recent events when he came striding in, hand sheltered behind his back like a little boy. And like a little boy, he was proud of whatever was behind his back.

"Close your eyes." This was an interesting development. Christine followed along, awaiting whatever he was about to reveal.

In seconds, cool beads rested on her neck, clearly a necklace of some sort.

"Open."

"Erik." The pearls glistened marvelously, the yellow from the fire countering the shadows, gracing their smooth surfaces just right. They were fine, each encased in intricate fixings, woven together upon what looked to be a golden chain.

Christine started crying again.

"They are… absolutely beautiful." She managed to communicate through sniffles.

"Like its owner."

She flushed at that. "Wherever did you acquire them?"

"I traded it from a merchant in India." As if it were the most mundane task in the world. She didn't ask what he traded it for.

Carefully placing the treasured object into the dresser, Christine settled into a tranquil calmness, the left side of the bed finally occupied again.

"You are home."

"I am."

It was a certainty this time, no longer a confirmation.