Hi all, here is the next chapter. Sorry about the long wait again; hopefully this one makes up for it!

Chapter 30. July 1887.

Reassured by the doctor's comments, Erik sought to push away his grim thoughts by reclaiming his husbandly rights, but took care to be as gentle and cautious with Christine as he could be. This she tolerated for a few nights, but eventually he found himself sharing his marital bed with Sir Richard Burton.

"Christine, what have you got that for?"

"I want to try things again, like we used to," she said, laughing as she turned a page. They had both had too much wine at dinner, and Christine was inclined to be rather giggly. "Oooo, how about this one? What's it called? I can't read the English words."

"The Tail of the Ostrich?" said Erik, scandalized. "Absolutely not."

"Why not?"

"Because I could break your neck trying to do that."

"Oh, you could not," she scoffed. "Why would they put it in the book if it was dangerous?"

Erik was about to reiterate his previous comment, when he realised that pointing out his extensive knowledge on the breaking of necks was probably not a good idea. He settled for merely explaining, "Because, my sweet, the Orientals love nothing better than to joke about this particular topic. The author probably put that in there just to be humorous, without intending anyone to take it seriously."

"Oh. All right. How about... this one?"

"The Splitting Position, the one that is specifically recommended for older men? Minx. I see, you intend to wear me out prematurely so that you can have some peace." For once, he meant it in jest. Likely that was the wine talking. He must have had more than he thought; he wasn't even making much sense. Though fond of good wine, he did not usually overindulge in alcohol, fearful of the loss of the constant vigilance that he was convinced was the only way to be safe. But with Christine as his wife, he was finding himself doing a great many things he had not meant to, and that vigilance in which he placed his trust was slipping. Rather foolhardy, that. It could very possibly prove his downfall. He should be quite concerned about it, really. He must remember to, later. Just now, stretched naked in their bed, with Christine in the same condition and the lights lowered, just the two of them immured in their silent underground kingdom, it seemed impossible that anything could ever happen to them. This Persephone returned her Hades' love and desire – or rather, she did most of the time. At present, Christine did not seem to be finding his jest amusing. Her eyes were large and round as she stared at him, her mouth slightly open.

"Don't even think it," she breathed. She flung herself at him and kissed him. The Oriental volume crashed to the floor, pages askew. Joking and experimentation both were forgotten, as she pressed their bodies tightly together as though she wanted to fuse their bones to each other. Her hands slid over him, and she kissed him again and again, so passionately that he could not breathe. He tore his mouth from hers and lowered it to her breasts, till she rolled onto her back, taking him purposefully with her. He mounted and plunged, and it seemed that she drew him into her, rather than him claiming her. She writhed against him, demanding and urgent; he rode gladly to her spurs, giving her the proof of his vigour that she wanted. He wrapped a hand around the back of her neck, lifting her shoulders up, so that as she climaxed she was suspended in the air, anchored only by the point of their connection. She cried out, the sound of her desperate pleasure catching him and bringing him along with her.

Afterward they lay together, with Christine clinging to him like a limpet. "You mustn't leave me," she moaned. "You mustn't."

"I shall do my best not to, dear," he answered, trying to comfort her with levity, "but you know, I may not have all the say in the matter."

Undeterred, she only clung tighter, and repeated, "You must not leave me."

"I will not, then, if you do not wish it," he finally said. He was ready to promise anything if it would only soothe her. And he was utterly unable to stifle a wild delight that a woman would want him with her this badly.

She sighed and rubbed her cheek against his shoulder, and then slipped into sleep, her body going limp and trusting against his. He turned his head and laid his distorted cheek on the softness of her hair, wondering whether he could trust that this happiness would continue.

O-O-O

"Erik, do you want a boy or a girl?... Erik."

"What?"

"Did you hear me?"

"Yes, Erik heard Christine." This was not actually true, but he thought it better not to say so.

"Then answer me, please."

"Erik has not even considered the question. Why would you ask?" A bluff, made in hopes of getting her to reiterate the question he hadn't heard her ask him.

"I just wanted to know…Erik. Would you prefer a son or a daughter?"

"Is that not already decided, Christine? Even though we do not know yet?"

"Well, yes, of course, but I was just wondering. I thought perhaps you would want a son. Men usually do…Erik?"

"Yes?"

"Do you want a son?"

"What for?"

"Don't be difficult. To... oh, I don't know, carry on your legacy or something like that."

"My legacy is hardly one that should be carried on."

"Oh, don't talk like that. And stop ignoring me."

Erik set down his work and turned to face her, struggling to maintain a neutral tone of voice. He did not entirely succeed, and while he managed not to sound angry, refraining from sarcasm too was beyond his current capabilities. "All right, Christine, have it your way. Our son, should we have one, shall carry on the family business. Where shall we find him a position? Should we inquire at the Comedie-Francaise as to whether they are in need of their own resident ghost?"

"You are impossible."

"Then do not ask me questions like that," he said irritably, turning back to the parts strewn on the table. Christine had demanded his company in the parlour after a late dinner, and as he was at a point with the latest automaton where he needed to work on a section of its gears which was fairly portable, he'd brought it into the other room in hopes of accomplishing something and still placating her at the same time. But though he could certainly keep several objects soaring through the air at once with no trouble at all, his magician's skills were sadly unsuited to this situation. Christine, lounging on a couch and eating chocolates out of a box, was in the mood to talk, and had been doing so to such an extent that it was driving him mad. Previously he'd simply stayed in his workroom if he were doing something which required great concentration, but he had heard many times that pregnant women were overly emotional, and after their last quarrel, he did not dare risk it.

"What did you think of tonight's dinner?"

"It was – fine," he said distractedly, reaching for a tool.

"Can we go out to the park again soon?"

"If you wish."

"Is it as nice to do that with me as you imagined it would be?" Her tone was flirtatious now, which went lamentably unappreciated by her preoccupied husband. He had barely heard her comment, and did not realise that she wanted love talk from him.

"Oh…perhaps…I do not know." He held an intricate part of the contraption carefully between thumb and forefinger.

She frowned, but he did not notice.

"Well, I'd like to do that the day after tomorrow, then. I would say 'tomorrow,' but I'm going shopping with Meg tomorrow afternoon. If that's all right with you?" Reaching for a fashion journal, Christine cut an eye towards him questioningly, but he gave no answer. She began flipping idly through the pages.

"She wants to get a new hat, and I need another light dress to get through the summer with. I was thinking maybe a cotton muslin? I've already got a sheer cashmere for dressy things, and I don't want a sheer silk, it wouldn't wash. I'll be glad when fall comes, it's been so hot outside. That doesn't matter when I'm down here, of course, but I have to go out to see Mama and to go to church and to the market, and to see friends. Madame Masson asked me at last Sunday's mass to tea at her home next Tuesday. Is that all right? I need to send her a letter letting her know if I can come, because I told her I'd have to ask you…Erik? Erik!"

This time, he'd gotten sufficiently involved in what he was doing as to forget she was there, and her sharp remark startled him. The tool slipped, and broke a complicated part of the mechanism that he'd spent an hour on. He slammed a fist down onto the table top in rage.

"Damn it, Christine, now look what you've done! I can not do this with you chattering at me like a magpie! Leave me alone to work or keep quiet if you want me out here!"

She leaped up, dropping the magazine, overturning the box on her lap, and scattering chocolates everywhere. "What is the point of being married if we never spend any time together?"

"Woman, you wanted Erik to stop collecting his salary! Well, now he must work for a living instead, and it takes time!"

"You have all the time in the world for everything other than me! You're at your instruments or you are in your workroom, or you're upstairs wreaking havoc. You never want to be with me except when it's bedtime!" With this last and most unkindest cut, she raced out of the room and slammed the bedroom door.

Erik clutched his head with both hands in angry frustration. It was not at all true that he didn't want to be with her, of course. How could she think such a thing? And he was not always in one of the places she'd mentioned. He spent several minutes thinking of all the ways in which her assertions were incorrect, and why he was justified in what he did do. She had insisted, very early on in their marriage, that he give up his extortion scheme with the managers, and he had done so, to please her. But that meant he had to do something else to bring in funds. Erik had quite a large amount of money saved, hidden in various banks and investments, as well as a few caches hidden in secret locations around the Opera House for emergencies, but life was an uncertain thing and he did not want to start drawing on that reserve unless absolutely necessary. Especially not now that he had another person depending on him. It was a man's duty to support his wife. His restless eyes roved around the room, not really seeing things, until they settled on the medical texts waiting for him on the book shelf. Oh, Christ. Two people depending on him, before long.

He did not want to work any more on his previous project; he was still too angry at its being ruined. Perhaps it would be better to have a look through those books and journals. There were still…what, six and a half months of her pregnancy left to go? He would need to know how to avoid further debacles like tonight.

A short period of reading resulted in his slamming the book shut and leaping up. The specifics of this were too much for him to contemplate now. And Christine had been talking ecstatically and incessantly about the baby ever since she had told him of its impending arrival; that subject was, really, the last one he needed more of just now. The books had to be consulted, but he would return to it later, when his mind was easier. Music would help…but the door to the Louis Philippe room was resolutely closed, and there was no sound from inside it. If Christine had gone to sleep, she would be further angered if he woke her up with noise.

Erik took up his violin, and went to the roof of the Opera House. Now no one would hear him, or, if they did, they would not be able to tell where the sound was coming from. When, after the long trek upward, he arrived there, it turned out to be a warm and very pleasant night. A small breeze was blowing, and the solitude and the starlight helped to soothe his agitation. No need for the cloak on a summer evening like this; he tossed it and his soft felt hat aside. Setting bow to strings, he sank gratefully into his own music, and lost all track of time.

When his fingers were finally aching too much to continue, he stopped, lay down on his cloak, and put an arm under his head for a pillow, staring up at the great expanse of the night sky and drifting on the gentle waves of the peace that the silent stars and his music had given him. He dozed on and off, ignoring the hardness of the metal roof under him, till he opened his eyes yet again and saw that the sky was lightening.

He had been out here all night. Erik had once been wont to do so from time to time, but not since his marriage. A tiny dart of anxiety went through him. He had not known for certain that Christine was asleep, nor left a note for her. She normally slept heavily, but if by chance she had awoken during the night, she would have had no notion where he was. By now he knew from past experience that that would upset her.

Fear of wifely displeasure warring with a quivering joy that a woman would actually want him with her at night, Erik went down from the Opera House's roof as fast as possible, violin in hand. After a brief detour down the street for fresh croissants and several of the macaroons that Christine loved, he made the trip to his home only to find that she was still asleep.

Well, it was quite early, and she was a late riser if left to her own devices. He'd thought she might have woken earlier than usual today owing to having possibly gone to sleep earlier last night, but apparently not. Nothing had changed in the house, and there was no indication that she'd been up during the night. Perhaps the pregnancy was making her more tired than was typical for her? If that were the case, he should let her alone now; the croissants would have to wait. He set them down on a side table, and glanced around him.

The parlour was in a unequivocal state of untidiness, as no one had attended to it last night. The chocolates were still scattered across the floor, Erik had left a mess of gears and tools all over the table he'd been using, and Christine's fashion magazines were strewn on the end of the sofa and her shawl hanging off its arm, not to mention the fact that the grate required sweeping out before another fire could be lighted. Erik decided that in the event that his wife was still angry with him when she did wake, augmenting the gift of croissants and sweets with a neatened room and a warm fire might improve matters. He kneeled down and put the discarded chocolates into their box to throw away, then took them into the kitchen and shoved the lot, box and all, into the rubbish bin.

Once back in the parlour, he heard noises in the bedroom, and a moment later Christine came in, wearing a robe over her nightgown. When she saw him, she sighed and tucked the robe tighter around her, huddling into it. "Hello," she said morosely, not making eye contact with him. "Did you come to bed at all last night?"

"No. I did not want to disturb you, so I slept on the couch."

"It wouldn't have disturbed me," she said, sighing again and pushing her tangled hair away from her face. "I got into bed and lay there hoping you would come in to me, and then I fell asleep without meaning to."

"You wanted me there, after I upset you?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

"The whole reason we argued was because I wanted your attention, remember?"

He approached her warily, and when he did not receive any signals from her that she wished him away, put his arms tentatively around her. She went into them willingly, and with something of an air of relief, pressing her forehead against his chest. He embraced her more tightly, kissing her cheek. Why in hell had he spent the night on a cold metal roof, when there was a warm bed with a warmer wife in it, waiting for him? That was something which the old Erik would have done, who had nothing better to look forward to than a lonely coffin. Would he never learn sense?

"I am sorry," he said quietly. "I misunderstood. Will you forgive me? I should not have lost my temper with you last night."

"I am sorry too. I should not have bothered you when you were busy," she said into his shirt-front, her voice muffled. "I must learn to let you alone when you are working."

He smoothed her hair with one hand. "I wanted a wife because I was half-sick of being alone," he said meditatively, as much to himself as to her. "And yet I find I still require a certain amount of solitude. How strange life is. That which I cursed and sought to put an end to…I need."

Erik felt Christine's arms tighten around him, and she lifted her head and breathed, "That which I cursed, and sought to flee from, I need." She kissed him then, and the kiss swiftly grew passionate. He reached for the sash of her robe and pulled it loose, exposing the soft white of the flimsy night-dress that was far from being enough to keep his hands from her.

O-O-O

"I am the luckiest man on earth," said Erik, winding a strand of Christine's hair around one finger.

"Mmmmm," she said, keeping her eyes closed, and he felt the vibration through his sternum. She was lying with her head on his chest as he reclined against the pillows, their fabric smooth against the bare skin of his back.

He closed his own eyes, letting himself stay in the bliss of the moment just a little longer, and then opened them and said resolutely, "And it is time I began fulfilling my responsibilities to my wife."

Christine lifted her head and looked up at him. "Oh? What responsibilities?"

"A normal house," said Erik firmly. "We decided to rent one until I can get the new house built, remember? I shall go out and find an agent today, and take you to look at some as soon as possible."

"Don't wear your cloak," she answered, dropping her head back down. "The Opera Ghost surely wouldn't be renting a 'normal house.' "

O-O-O

Erik went out after breakfast, came back late in the afternoon and discussed available rental houses with Christine over dinner, and retired to bed when she did. The next day was spent quietly together, till Erik began working again on the score for the Divine Comedy late in the afternoon and in short order was utterly consumed by it. Forbearing to pester him about a dinner he clearly didn't want, Christine let him alone this time, and he stayed up nearly the entire night composing, working his way through an important section of the piece and finally collapsing into bed just as Christine was getting up the next morning. She kissed him and tucked him in, and walked out to the kitchen to breakfast by herself. It was worth doing so, in order to make sure he got some rest. She did worry about his health from time to time, given his age.

She went to spend the morning with Mama Valerius, and after a few hours spent answering the same questions over and over, departed regretfully and walked to a market to pick up fresh food for dinner. They were out of bread and produce, and a few other things. A side trip to the patisserie for cakes to take home for herself, and another to a flower shop for a bouquet for the table, and with a full basket over her arm, Christine returned home to find that her husband was still sound asleep. As she set the basket down on the kitchen table, the clock chimed two pm, and she suddenly thought of an excellent way of devilling him. Smirking, she went into their bedroom.

He opened his eyes as she entered, as she had known he would, and she walked over to the side of the bed and put her hands on her hips.

"Why have you not finished dressing so late in the day? It is two o'clock in the afternoon."

He gave her a cold look, and did not deign to answer. She reached for his watch, which he had set on the nightstand before changing into a nightshirt.

"Oh, do not go that far, woman," he said. "Must you always be reminding your poor husband of how boorish he was while in the depths of his madness?"

"You have half an hour to get ready to come and have lunch with me," she said with mock severity, winding the watch. "Most improper, not to be correctly attired at this hour." She put the watch back, and watched his expression change from annoyed, to guilty, to hen-pecked, then back to annoyed.

"I am not hungry, Christine. Go away and let Erik sleep."

"I enjoy your company too much to deprive myself of it any longer," she said sweetly. "Up." And she tripped lightly out of the room, to head into the kitchen and prepare him the largest plate of food she could manage.

O-O-O O-O-O