Four years later
It is quite beyond Erik's grasp to understand how someone so tiny can talk so much. Quite beyond his grasp, but a true fact nonetheless. He knows he was not a talkative child - he can hardly be described as a talkative man for that matter - and if what Freyja has told him is anything to go by, then Christine was a quiet child too.
Fabian takes after neither of them in that regard.
"...and there was a little brown bird that hopped across the bench and he was tiny, Papa, and I wanted to pick him up and feel him but Uncle Far said I'd scare him and then the bird turned his head and he was looking at me, Papa! He was looking at me, and I was really still because I didn't want to scare him and he was very nice but then some other boys went running past and he flew away and..."
The tumble of words flow over Erik, and he smiles at his son sitting in his lap, nodding at him even as his fingers fish his watch from his pocket. The moment Fabian sees the watch he breaks off about the birds and reaches for it with his little hands, curling them around the chain.
"What time is it, Papa? Do you soon have to go?"
Erik nods, and consults his watch a moment before gently disentangling Fabian's fingers. "We will be going as soon as your Maman is ready. Now you'll be a good boy for Mamma Freyja, won't you? And go to bed when you're supposed to?"
Fabian nods, his hazel eyes wide. "Yes! And Mamma said she would read me a story about little birds! Will you dance with Maman?"
Erik cannot help his smile getting wider.
"I'll do nothing but dance with Maman." It's really the only reason he's going to the blasted gala - to dance with Christine. He's missed so many of them in the past that it wouldn't matter if he missed this one, but he always does his best to make them with Christine. She loves dancing at these things, and he must confess that with her they are not nearly so tedious. His heart flutters at the very thought of getting to hold her in his arms, cradling her close and kissing her hair and her arms warm around his waist and so help him but he won't leave her arms all night if he can help it.
Fabian is saying something, another rush of words that break off when the bedroom door creaks open and Erik looks up to see Freyja join he and Fabian, and a moment later, trailing behind her Christine.
His breath catches in his throat at the sight of his wife. She has not let him see this dress until tonight, hid it with Sorelli so that he would not stumble across it, and he is grateful now that she has. It is a shade of pale lilac, with slight traces of blue that draw out her eyes, and her golden hair is twisted into a chignon, simple and elegant and beautiful and all the words disappear from his mind so that he can only gape at her.
Her eyes meet his, and she smiles, and his heart falters a beat.
"Maman." Fabian's soft voice breaks the spell of the moment, and Erik gasps a breath, his little son launching himself off his lap and running at Christine. Christine chuckles and leans down and sweeps him into her arms, and Fabian's giggle fills the air. Tears prickle Erik's eyes and watching them, his wife and his son, Fabian chattering at Christine and Christine smiling back at him, and it's ridiculous to cry over such a thing but if he could he would capture this moment, and hold it forever.
"Erik." Freyja's voice is soft, and the divan shifts as she settles on it beside him, her eyes kind as she smiles at him. "What do you think?"
Out of the side of his eye he sees Christine watching him, and he nods and smiles at Freyja, and smiles at Christine, Fabian still chattering, and through the tightness in his throat he whispers, "It's beautiful."