A/N: Howdy there! Happy October! Once again, I spent the entirety of maths writing fic instead of paying attention.
Pfft, please, college? That's not important or anything.
Also, as a side note, I will tell you that there are a few bits here that are in Swedish. Don't worry; I'll add a footnote at the end with a little translator-thingie, that way you don't have to google it yourself.
Automne
Christine's favourite part of autumn had always been the changing leaves. They were always the first sign that a new season was upon her, and when she was a child in Sweden, she loved running ahead of her father and stomping on whatever leaf looked particularly crunchy. Papa used to tell her that she looked like some type of woodland nymph, with the brown and yellow bits of foliage caught in her light blonde curls.
Now, at twenty years old, that childlike love hadn't gone away. That was precisely the reason why she was outside in her front yard, rake in hand, making as big a leaf pile as she could. And who could blame her? The house was clean, her husband was busy, and she'd already finished all the books in the house twice. She was bored.
Deeming her pile big and wide enough, she took several large steps back, picked up her skirts, and ran. Taking a leap, she flew forward, landing in the previously-neat heap. Giggling and feeling very satisfied with herself, she sat up and saw her husband standing on the front porch, a coffee mug in his hand, staring intently at her. Even with his mask on, she could tell that he was incredibly confused about what she was doing.
"Afternoon, älskling!" Christine called, standing and grabbing her rake so she could put the pile together again.
"Christine, what in God's name are you up to?" He called back.
She leaned against the rake, slightly breathless. "Bit obvious, don't you think?"
"Well, yes," he set the cup down on the small table beside him before shoving his hands into his pockets. "I suppose the better thing to ask would be why you are jumping into a pile of dead leaves."
"Because it's fun." To be honest, Christine found it rather sad that she even had to explain this very simple fact. Adjusting the tool in her hand, she went back to work, this time going to the base of the large tree that was the source of all the leafage. "Besides, you've been making yourself scarce. What am I supposed to do, sit outside your door like some lost, lonely puppy?"
"Sorry, I - I seem to have a bad habit of locking myself up for too long. How many hours has it been?"
"Forty-eight." Standing back, Christine took a moment to admire her handiwork.
"I'm very sorry, in that case. Christine, next time that happens - well, don't let that happen."
Christine turned toward him, dropping the rake and brushing off her dress. "Don't worry about it, sweetheart. I understand you've got things to do." Heading up the three small steps, she stood beside him, linking their arms and leading him off the porch. "But now that you've decided to rejoin your wife, you're completely at her mercy." Without warning, she broke into a run again, this time pulling him along with her. Erik gave a cry of surprise and protest when he was yanked forward, and another when the two of them landed in the small mountain of leaves. While Christine was positively in stitches beside him, he raised his mask a little to shake out the orange-y bits that had fallen inside it.
"Christine, my precious girl, you have the mindset of a nine-year-old." She could hear the amusement in his voice, which sent her into another peal of laughter as he reached out to pull a petiole from her hair.
"Admit it, you think that's one of my best qualities."
"How could I ever deny a statement like that?" He stood and offered his hand, which she gladly took, allowing him to pull her to her feet and against his side. Snaking an arm around her waist, he led them back to the porch. "I brought this for you, by the way," he added, picking up the mug from the table and handing it to her. Christine took it from him, looking at its contents.
"Is this the apple cider I was making?" She asked, grabbing the shawl from the porch railing, where she had draped it before beginning her leaf-jumping activity, and wrapping it around her shoulders.
"It is. It looked ready, so I figured you might want to have a taste."
Christine thanked him, raising the cup to her lips as she wandered over to the porch swing. As she passed by him, she grabbed his hand briefly and pulled him along so that he'd know to sit beside her. Which, of course, he did. Christine liked the porch swing a great deal; it had been the reason why she'd wanted the house. Erik had wanted the house because it was a decent distance away from spying neighbours.
Once her husband was next to her on the swing, Christine drew her legs up underneath her, snuggling up next to him. Reaching over, Erik tilted her chin up, peering at her face.
"Your cheeks are awfully red," he told her. "I think you might have over-exerted yourself."
"Right, I forgot. I'm getting to be an old woman and I shouldn't be doing yard work - I could break a hip!" She smirked as she took another sip of the cider, feeling Erik's chest rumble with silent laughter. "This is very good, by the way - the cider - here, try it." She offered him the cup, watching for some visible reaction to the taste, and grinned when his lips puckered a bit.
"A little tart, don't you think?" He asked, returning the mug to her.
Christine shrugged. "I like sour things. Sorry, darling, next time I'll make it sweeter for you." The two fell silent, Christine listening to the wind through the trees and her husband's steady breathing. He was lost in his thoughts again, she could tell. It was the way he silently stared ahead, his thumb kneading little circles into her shoulder. Bringing her arm forward, Christine began to lightly trace the patterns of his waistcoat with her fingertip, quietly humming the first thing that came to her mind.
"Interesting," he murmured after a while, "that you favour autumn. It's the season where everything's dying."
"There's a sort of beauty in death," she mused, draining her cup and setting it on the ground.
"Good God, Christine, you're beginning to sound like me."
Christine laughed at how truly worried he sounded. "You're a terrible influence, min raring."
"Apparently so. Sorry about that."
Sitting up a bit, Christine turned his face toward her, kissing him softly and sweetly on the mouth. "Don't worry. Even if I begin to directly quote you, I'll still for the most part be the woman you fell in love with who has the mindset of a nine-year-old."
"You know I'll hold you to that." Slowly, he wrapped both arms around her waist, pulling her up against him and burying his masked face in her neck. Smiling serenely, Christine turned her head toward his, gently raking her nails through his dark, brittle hair.
"Vad skulle jag göra utan dig?" She purred into his ear, lazily skimming her hand up and down his back.
"Did you know that I absolutely love it when you speak Swedish to me like that?" Christine felt him hold her tighter still.
"In that case, min hjärtat, I will say that du betyder allt för mig; du är underbar och jag älskar dig så mycket. Också," she smirked, "det är din tur att diska."
Erik huffed and looked up at her. "That last bit didn't sound very romantic," he dryly pointed out.
Christine shrugged. "You said when I spoke Swedish. You said nothing about what it translated to."
"Either way... let's stay out here a bit longer. It's nice."
"Aha, see? You're catching Fall Fever as well!"
"Well of course; you're a terrible influence on me."
Christine cupped his face in her hands, resting her forehead briefly against his before curling up against him once more. After a few moments, she felt Erik's fingers find her hair, pulling tenderly through the wavy gossamer locks. That, combined with the sound of his breath and heart beating as well as the breeze rustling the leaves, was more than enough to lull Christine. Tugging her shawl tightly around her shoulders, Christine allowed her eyes to fall shut, knowing that if she had the choice, she'd never move from that spot.
A/N: Swedish/English translator guide for those who are confused! :D
älskling: darling
min raring: my dear
Vad skulle jag göra utan dig?: What would I do without you?
min hjärtat: my sweetheart
Du betyder allt för mig; du är underbar och jag älskar dig så mycket. Också, det är din tur att diska.: You mean everything to me; you are wonderful and I love you so much. Also, it is your turn to wash the dishes.
LOOK AT THAT YOU LEARNED SOME SWEDISH TODAY! *Throws confetti*