A/N: Written for two prompts off a Tumblr prompt sheet - "Do you think it's possible that I…might be… pregnant?" and "I think you might be pregnant."

It is the second month in a row that her courses have not come, and Christine will confess that she is beginning to get concerned. A month ago she put it down to the stress of débuting a new production of Romeo and Juliette, but now...

And it is not just that she has missed her courses. She has been more tired lately, enough that Erik has noticed and now insists on her getting more sleep, but that has not helped. She is still inclined to doze off as she is reading, or nestled in his arms as he sings to her.

When she adds that to the slight nausea she has experienced the last week - she has had to take her tea weaker to settle her stomach - and the discomfiting tingling in her breasts, certain conclusions are budding in her mind.

She consults with the Opera doctor, who confirms her suspicions with the coda that it is a little soon yet to know for certain. She cannot truly know, he says, until she begins to feel movement.

She still has to tell Erik, and she decides to do it after tonight's performance, when they are cuddled together in bed.

The performance is her best yet of the run, which is something of a relief considering that in a few months she will have to leave the stage. Back in her dressing room, Erik sweeps her into his arms and kisses her before carrying her through the mirror and down to where César awaits. He does not like her walking so far after performing, afraid in case it unduly wears her out. When they reach the house, they share tea and soft kisses on the couch as he praises her cadenza and passion, then they retire to bed. It is in every sense an ordinary night for them both, once she sets aside the wonderful news that she is bursting to tell him.

Having both undressed, he quenches the candle and crawls in beside her, taking her once again in his arms. Her heart flutters, and she marvels, a moment, at the change that has occurred in this man since their marriage two years ago. He is still nervous, at times, uncertain, but he has become confident in his love for her and in how he holds her, and she hopes - prays - that this news will be good for them.

"Erik," she says, her ear pressed to his chest so that she can hear the soft thrumming of his heart, "I have something to tell you."

"What is it, my love?" he sighs, half-asleep already, fingers twined in her hair.

She turns, kisses his heart gently through his nightshirt, and murmurs, "I might be pregnant."

His hand stills in her hair, and he holds his breath. "What?"

"There is a chance that I am pregnant." She is not certain what reaction she is expecting from him. Some excitement would be nice, perhaps a kiss. She knows that she is not expecting him to recoil from her, as he does, and crawl out of bed pulling on his dressing gown.

"I need to visit the Daroga," he whispers, and even in the darkness she can see him swirl through the doorway and out. A moment later she hears the swish of his heavy cloak, and the front door banging. Hot tears burn her eyes, and she stifles a sob, curling in a ball beneath the covers.

Sleep takes her quickly, her exhaustion for once a blessing even as she feels she is bleeding to death, and for hours she is blissfully unaware of his rejection until he jostles her awake crawling in beside her again. The tears have dried on her cheeks, and he kisses their tracks away, cradling her close to him and whispering, "I'm sorry, Christine, I'm sorry" over and over again, a litany of apologies while it drifts back to her exactly what he is apologising for.

She pulls away and slaps him across the cheek, then kisses him. "You better be," she whispers. "You left me."

"I panicked." He moves for to kiss her again but she turns her head away.

"That is no excuse for running off in the middle of the night." She does not tell him how worried she was that he might not come back, that something could happen to him or that he might abandon her out of some misplaced sense of doing the right thing. She does not tell him how his rejection cut her right to quick, and how she felt that she had been stabbed.

"I know." He swallows, and lays his hand gently against her stomach. "How long, do you think?" The words are soft in the night, wondrous, and she feels her heart soften towards him.

"A little over two months. It is too soon to be certain yet, but the doctor says I have the signs."

He nods, and pulls her close to him, and this time she does not push him away. "Oh, Christine." And though it is dark, she knows that he is crying.

Eva is enraptured by Christine's performance, and Erik cannot blame her. The three year old peers over the edge of Box Five, hanging on every move that her mother makes, and Erik strokes back her auburn curls gently. It does not matter that this is at least the tenth time that the child has seen her mother in this particular opera; she is still completely enthralled. Christine finishes the aria, and the theatre bursts into applause, even little Eva clapping out of time with everyone else. Erik leans forward and presses a kiss to her curls, the Daroga chuckling quietly beside him. Erik pointedly ignores him in favour of watching his wife on the stage.

Or at least, he lets it look as if he is watching her. Another night he would, but tonight there is simply too much on his mind.

He has been slotting pieces together from a combination of memory and pointed questions posed to knowledgeable people. And the conclusion is slightly unsettling, though not entirely unwelcome.

Christine is pregnant. She, as yet, does not know this, and if she does she has not told him. But Erik, experienced husband that he is, has learned the signs.

This time, those words from her lips will not come as a shock that sends him hiding out on the Daroga's couch contemplating his future.

He feared, with Eva, that any child would inherit a face like his. But Eva has a perfect little nose like her mother, and it is only her eyes and a certain sharpness of feature that she has gotten from him. Christine will not permit him to worry about passing on his curse, she told him that before in no uncertain terms, but still he cannot help the check at his heart that a second child may be pushing their luck in the matter .

Eva squirms in his arms, demanding that he loosen his grip on her, and he complies, pressing another kiss to her hair. The opera is reaching its dénouement, and she will look away from Christine's death scene, choosing to hide her little face in his shirt instead. Where she got the red hair from he does not know, though it becomes her very much. Will the second child that he is secretly anticipating share it with her? Or will that child's hair be blonde, or black like his own? He loves his daughter, very much so for he can no longer imaging a life without her though for so very long he could not imagine a life with her either, and though he would not object to a second daughter, a second precious little girl to take after Christine, it would be nice to have a son. Not so as to carry on the family name (mostly because Erik never had any attachment to the family name that abandoned him as a child), more so as to raise him to look after his mother and sister when...when the time comes.

Erik is no fool. He may be in reasonably good health now, but he is getting old and barring some terrible accident he will not outlive Christine, and she would want to have a son of his after. She confessed as much to him one night, as she lay wrapped in his arms before Eva's birth.

He feels a tug on his collar and looks down to find Eva looking back up at him with her large hazel eyes. "It's over, Papa," she says, curling in his lap in the safety of his arms. For the first time he hears the bustle of the crowd on the move. "The awful man killed Maman again."

Erik cannot help smiling at the contempt in her voice. "It is only part of the story, darling."

She yawns and closes her eyes, wriggling closer into his chest. "I know, Papa."

He strokes her curls, and hums softly. They will not make their escape until the worst of the crowd clears, so it does not matter how long they linger here in Box Five. Christine is long familiar with their habits by now, and the Daroga simply sits smiling softly at them.

It is not long before Eva slips into sleep, and Erik presses one soft kiss to her forehead before finally looking at the Daroga. "Would you mind carrying her out to the brougham, my friend? I need to discuss something with Christine."

The Daroga nods, and carefully takes Eva into his arms.

"Of course, my friend. Take your time."

Erik nods, wraps himself in his cloak, and slips out of the box. An entrance to one of his old passageways is just around the corner, and he is inside it in a moment, on his way to Christine's dressing room. She will have dressed by now, and be waiting for him with her ladies ushered out, though usually he brings Eva with him. For this conversation, it is best to leave her in the care of the Daroga.

As expected, Christine is already dressed and reclining in her chair beside the vanity when he steps through the mirror. She cocks an eyebrow but does not comment at the lack of their daughter's presence, and he kneels beside her, taking her in his arms. For a moment he hesitates, wondering how to approach the subject, then he swallows and simply says, "My darling, I think you might be pregnant."

She stiffens in his arms a moment, then slips off his mask and kisses his cheek. "How did you guess?"

A smile curves his lips, and he breathes in the scent of her hair, peach and tea rose. "I read the signs. You have not had your courses for two months, and have been taking your tea weaker, and are more tired of late. You see, I have learned a great deal since you surprised me with Eva." He pulls back, and studies her, tears glistening in her eyes that he softly brushes away. "When were you going to tell me?"

"In a day or two," she murmurs. "I was…I did not want to frighten you again."

"Oh, my love." He holds her close and kisses her hair, his hand cupping the nape of her neck. "I am not frightened this time. Not anymore." Not yet, he does not add, though it hangs in the air and he feels her smile against him. A second child…It is a marvellous wonder.