A/N: Keeping to a schedule is really hard, you guys. Luckily, Father's Day isn't nearly as big a deal in the ol' U. S. of A. as Mother's Day, so I only feel moderately guilty about taking so long to update. Besides, I've been distracted by Beautiful Dreamer.

I have also retconned some details on how Erik got his facial malformations, thanks to some details provided by slugfighter. It makes much more sense now, if you're interested in going back and seeing the changes.

Approval

Uncharacteristically, Erik's palms were sweating as he held Christine's warm hand tightly in his. Characteristically, his golden eyes were roving about the area, focusing briefly on each lifeform in sight, assessing their threat level, before moving on to the next. His muscles were coiled, ready to fight or flee at a moment's notice.

"There's nothing to worry about," Christine murmured, letting go of his hand to rub his arm, shifting her purse so it wouldn't be in the way. "Seattle isn't so different from New York, you know."

"It may be a big city," Erik murmured back, "but no city is as comfortable with the…unusual as New York."

Christine didn't argue, though he got the impression from the set of her jaw that she didn't agree, either. Still, Erik knew he was right. He'd been all over the world, and he'd felt out-of-place everywhere he went, except in his own secluded home.

He could feel curious, judgmental, or nervous eyes following them as they wove through the rows of headstones towards a tree-edged corner in the back. New Yorkers were much more accustomed to seeing strange things on the streets or in the subway. A man in a mask could pass for a performance artist, or your everyday harmless eccentric. As long as he didn't carry any visible weapons, or attempt to approach anyone he didn't know, Erik was largely accepted as part of New York City's tapestry of weird.

Seattle was a different story.

Environmentally-conscious, littered with coffee shops, and rainy for half the year, Seattle was a friendly place. Christine had raved about the sense of community there, how wonderful it had been to grow up there, how artistic it was.

But the general feel that everyone had their shit together set him on edge.

Thankfully, they arrived at their destination without incident and began relieving themselves of their burdens. Christine laid out the blanket she'd been carrying and set down her purse. She stretched out on the blanket, carefully arranging her sundress for modesty. Erik put down their take-out lunch and joined her, sitting with his knees bent in front of him, ready to run at a moment's notice. He handed her a paper plate, a plastic knife and fork, and a bottle of water. Then he pulled out her chicken lo mein and his Hunan chicken.

The whole trip had been a difficult one for Erik. He rarely flew if he could help it, but a three-day car trip would have been grueling, and he didn't relish the idea of stopping in little towns along the way. No, a nonstop, six-hour flight was infinitely preferable. Funny, how he'd been selected for a random security screening, despite the note from his physician explaining that his mask was a medical necessity. A quick, private glimpse at his face had convinced the TSA agents that, yes, he really needed the mask during travel.

Now, here he was, sitting out in the open with his beloved, eating Chinese food from her father's favorite restaurant, on a blanket laid out beside her parents' joint headstone.

Erik was used to the morbid, had even gone through a goth phase in his youth. Hell, he still preferred all- or mostly-black attire. But visiting graves had never factored in the way he expressed his fascination with mortality.

Christine's heart had been set on visiting her parents' graves at Father's Day. She had been eight years old when her mother died, and her memories of her mother had, sadly, faded over time. She just had some photographs, a few home videos, and her father's stories to assist her in remembering. For twelve years, it had just been her and her father. But then Charles Daaé had been cruelly taken from her.

And then she'd been on her own.

But she'd continued to live and study in Seattle, so she'd been able to make this picnic of Chinese take-out a tradition. She'd even held off moving to New York after graduating from her MFA to make sure she squeezed in Father's Day before flying off to pursue her dreams, which were now flourishing. She had vowed that she'd make it out here for the weekend every year, even if she had to take a greyhound, sleep in a hostel, and order the cheapest thing on the menu.

As it happened, Erik had deep pockets and was completely besotted, so he had dutifully purchased first-class tickets and booked a room in a five-star hotel. He had also wryly assured her she could order whatever she wanted from the hole-in-the-wall Chinese place, regardless of price.

"I wish he could have known you," Christine sighed before taking a sip of her water.

"Why, so he could run me off and get me out of your beautiful hair," Erik jested with a slight edge of bitterness. He tried to make up for it by tenderly tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear.

"No, because he would have liked you very much," Christine said a bit too forcefully, tapping him on the knee with her plastic fork. "You would have blown him away with your talent, dazzled him with your excessively good treatment of me, and then he would have welcomed you like the son he never had."

"It's a lovely picture, Christine," Erik smiled faintly, trying to avoid an argument. He knew that his self-deprecating nature rubbed her the wrong way. Besides, he really, truly wanted to erase the constant barrage of self-hating thoughts that assailed his ego every day. He wanted to just…cheer up, or something, for her. While he was happier than he'd ever been…Rome wasn't built in a day, and neither would his self-esteem.

"You would have liked him, too," Christine said thoughtfully. "He was funny, in a sad way, if that makes any sense. I don't think he ever quite got over her. When I was very young, I sort of…well, I sort resented him for it. I had friends whose parents were divorced, sure, but none of them had lost a parent. Their parents weren't always grieving a little, and I thought it was unfair. I guess, sometimes I forgot I hadn't just lost a mother. He had lost a wife, someone he'd loved and planned to spend the rest of his life with. Now that I have you…" She trailed off, staring distantly at the granite bearing her parents' names and dates – beloved wife and mother, beloved husband and father.

"Now that you have me," Erik prompted gently.

Christine's cheeks colored a little, and she looked down at her hands. Her voice was low and quiet when she finished her thought. "I guess I know how horrible it would be. If I lost you like that. One minute, I'd be expecting to see you at dinner and hear about your day, and then the next…" Her lovely voice was suddenly strangled, and he realized she was crying.

He quickly put down his plate, uncaring what happened to his half-eaten food, and pulled her close, rubbing circles in her back as she wrapped her arms around his neck and shoulders.

"Sometimes I worry something will happen to you, and you'll be taken away from me," she whispered hoarsely. "Just like them."

"Nothing's going to happen to me," Erik replied. "I've never been more determined to stay alive, and you know I rarely change my mind."

Christine giggled and sniffed. She pulled away and reached for a flimsy paper napkin to blow her nose. "I know you don't."

Erik was encouraged by her teary smile. "You just have to promise me that you're equally determined."

He wasn't joking. Losing her to a tragic accident or a long illness had been his greatest fear for months. It would have been the greatest injustice of his life if he'd found her only to lose her to some awful twist of fate.

"I'll go get the box of tissues from the car," she said, rising from the blanket. "I don't want to spoil our picnic by letting my nose run everywhere. I don't know why I thought I could get through it without them."

When she was out of earshot, Erik turned to the headstone, morbidity be damned. He called upon his most gothic tendencies as he addressed the polished granite.

"I do not know if either of you would have liked me," he whispered, "or if you would approve of your daughter falling in love with a horror show, like me. I do not ask for anyone's approval but hers. But I promise you, I love your daughter, and I am going to take care of her. I plan to devote the rest of my life to making her happy. You have my word."

When he was done making this vow, he looked up to see where she was. She was digging around in the back seat of the rental car, so he still had enough time to make a quick call before she got back. He pulled out his phone and dialed a number he'd programmed weeks earlier.

"This is Eberhard Jewelry. How can I serve you?"

"This is Erik Rousseau. I would like to check on an order I placed a few weeks ago."

He was connected directly to the designer he was working with and given a rundown of his progress and timeline. When Erik was satisfied that the piece would be ready in time, he switched off his phone and patiently waited for Christine to join him on the blanket again, box of tissues firmly in hand.

"Christine," he ventured, taking her hand, "there's something I wanted to ask you, and I can't think of a better time than right now."

"What is it," she asked, wiping at her eyes with a tissue.

"I hate to think of you worrying about me, but I have to admit that I worry, too," he said. "I worry that our time together will be cut short somehow, and that one of us may regret not spending every moment together that we can. Hell, I worry that we'll both live to be ninety and feel like we didn't have enough time."

He paused, trying to work up the nerve to continue while she searched his expression and body language for any hint at what he was going to ask her.

"Christine, your lease is up at the first of the month," he rushed. "I don't want you to renew it. I want you to move in with me."

"You want me to live with you," Christine gasped, the tears starting to gather again.

"Yes, if you want to," Erik assured her quickly. "It would be a commute, I know, but you spend a lot of nights there now, anyway. There's no reason to throw money away for an apartment you only use half the time. Our schedules don't match up perfectly, but we could see each other more than we do now. I know we've only been seeing each other for six months, but I don't want to wait."

Erik was breathing hard by the time he wrapped up his desperate plea. He met her eyes, silently begging her to say yes.

"Erik," Christine breathed, "of course, I'll move in with you."

She threw her arms around him, and they held each other tightly. Tomorrow, they would board a direct flight back to New York City. Then, soon they'd move her things out of that run-down little studio and into his home. Their home.

Erik felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. That would be the jeweler texting him a photo of their project.

A/N: If you're so inclined, please head over to the rated M follow-up of this chapter in my Unwrapped series. I promise it's not weird. I just thought they should take advantage of that five-star hotel room Erik booked. *wink wink*