I'm busy, having a bit of writer's block (again), so I might not post chapters for a while. But here's a fluffy random one-shot! It's not connected to lilacs or anything else, just a plain, average little fic of a happy marriage of four months.

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Christine shifted in bed, turning away from him. Other nights Erik might have attempted, gingerly, to pull her back, but not tonight.

Tomorrow was the angel's birthday... well, today, it was four in the morning. But he couldn't sleep late. He had to prepare.

The meals were planned out, all Swedish, from what she had taught him. Her French cuisine was a nightmare but what she could do with a fish astounded him. Even if his taste was hindered by his lack of a nose, he could cook quite well himself, so Swedish cuisine wasn't too difficult for him.

But the day had to be perfect, of course. He had all her presents already wrapped and tied with bright bows in the drawing room. He had restrained himself to ten, per her request.

"Erik?" She called groggily. "Where are you? Come back to bed, you need to sleep."

He obeyed her without a thought, and soon she had wrapped her lovely arms about his waist and fallen asleep.

Well, he could wait to prepare for a little while. It was so strange to be with someone else at night, to actually want to go to bed instead of collapsing upon his piano in exhaustion. They had consummated the marriage only a few times, all at Christine's request, but, though it was such a lovely thing for a husband and wife to do, he didn't exactly... desire it. If she asked, he was only too happy to oblige, but he was content either way. And besides, the more times, the more likely she would have a baby, regardless of his many precautions against it.

As he stared at her, where she curled around him, he couldn't help being pleased with himself at her state. It was near certain she loved him now. She had her round face back, though he had never seen it before, only the shadow of it. And most of her seemed to be growing, which he didn't oppose to in the slightest, after all, it meant she was happy and well-cared for.

Once his wife was definitely asleep, he slid out of bed to finish pacing about the drawing room in fear and anticipation. He knew when she pretended to like something, and when her heart truly swelled with delight. It was all in her eyes, her crystal-blue eyes that crinkled at the edges when she was truly enraptured, or remained slack if she was simply being polite.

He hummed a Swedish tune Christine had sung often under his breath as he darted about frantically for no reason. Everything was already prepared.

Perhaps he should check on the wine, put a bow on it or something. She had always politely accepted the expensive choices he offered her, but she had only recently revealed that she preferred Sauvignon. So he had purchased a bottle of the best for the occasion.

He found himself in different chair, twiddling his thumbs in his lap and humming. He didn't want her to wake, but then again, he did. He wanted to shower her with gifts, praise, and affection until she giggled and blushed like a little girl.

Could he have such a gift?

He passed three hours like that. Then he heard her bare footsteps stumble out of bed. It took a little while for her eyes and mind to return from sleep, but he didn't mind.

The door opened.

"Erik?" She yawned, rubbing her half-shut eyes. "Are you preparing something for me? Is that why you kept getting up all hours of the night?"

She was still in her nightgown and bare white feet powdered in freckles. He had taken them to the beach for a few days, and the poor thing had refused her parasol on a cloudy one and burned horribly. It had healed into freckles, which he found adorable.

"Do I need to close my eyes?" She teased. "Let me kiss you, bend down so I can reach."

He always felt when she kissed him as if he had been a dead man walking and suddenly brought back to life. And what did she see in his corpse body, anyway?

"Ooh, are those for me?" She beamed, glancing at the pile of gifts. "How many?"

"Only ten."

"How sweet you are, thank you... I think I'm going to have a bath, unless you wanted me to open them now?"

"No, have a bath, anything you want. I need to make breakfast."

"What type of breakfast?"

"You'll see."

"I was hoping you would do something like this, I was worried you might, well... You know. But this is lovely, thank you, dear. I'll be quick with my bath-"

"No, no, however much time you want."

"If you insist. Kiss me before I go back into my room, won't you?"

He bent down towards her forehead. She blocked him with her hand.

"No, Erik dear, on my lips. You're so shy of my lips, they won't hurt you."

"They'll be the death of me."

"Perhaps."

He loved her teasing. She was absolutely adorable with her mischievous smile, and the way she praised him with such ease during it. How wonderful she was...

She slipped away to her bath, and he was left with her warm kiss upon his lips. His hand grazed over the spot, admiring it in awe.

He shook himself out of his lovestruck daze and went off to make her breakfast. She had actually been refusing to eat in the mornings due to nausea, but a few days ago it had gone away.

Once the table was laid out, he waited patiently for her in his chair. Yes, he had said she could take however long she wanted, but her presence was so exhilarating he wanted to be with her at every instant. Of course, she wouldn't say no to him sitting in the bathroom with her-

No, no, he couldn't do that. She should have time away from him, no matter how much pain it caused him.

The angel knew of his mind, though, and skipped into the dining room after only a half hour, with her hands clasped behind her back as if concealing a secret.

"Are you hiding something?" He asked.

She shook her head, displaying her hands, "What would I be hiding? Oh, this all looks lovely. I'm glad I'm able to eat it now, after my bad stomach."

He pulled out her chair and slid her back in, delighted by her praise. She permitted him to serve her, though she often insisted not to be treated like a child. Today, however, she didn't seem to want a petty argument.

"Thank you," she said, beaming. "So, is anything planned, or are we staying here? I don't mind either way."

"Anywhere you want to go. Perhaps shopping?"

She folded her lips in an odd manner, "That would be nice... Perhaps this afternoon? For the morning we can play music."

"It's not my birthday-"

"I want to play music... and I love my husband," she beamed.

She had taken only a few bites when she stood up.

"I'm sorry," she told him. "I'm a bit... excited, I think."

"Of course, yes. Do you want to open your gifts?"

"If you want me to now, yes."

She placed herself on the sofa, adjusting her skirts and smiling at him. He brought the gifts to her. Shoes, jewelry, dresses, combs, all manner fell into her lap, and she thanked him genuinely each time.

He didn't know when his birthday was, but this was a birthday for him as well, he thought.

"I have a surprise for you, too," she told him, admiring a sapphire brooch he had purchased.

"But it's not my birthday."

"Well, I... Actually, I'll wait to tell you until later, I think."

"Why?"

"I'm a bit nervous to say is all."

"Nervous? Why would you be nervous?"

"I'm afraid you won't like it."

He laughed, "Why wouldn't I like any surprise you give me?"

She folded her lips again. A hand seemed to pass unconsciously over her abdomen, and Erik suspected for a moment before shoving the idea away. It wasn't possible.

But it was.

It wasn't.

It was.

"Erik, dear?" Christine asked from where she stood beside him.

He was at the piano, "Hm?"

"You seem distracted. Aren't we going to play?"

"Of course, my darling, What piece?"

"Why, that one, we just discussed it."

"Oh... I suppose I was distracted."

She kissed his forehead, "There, that'll clear your head. Better?"

He mouthed, "better," his eyes wide with wonder.

The morning was devoted entirely to music, until he had to go make lunch. Christine placed herself upon the sofa again, and Erik stole glances as he prepared the table.

Why wasn't she smiling? Was he taking too long? And why was she staring at the floor? Had he said something? Done something?

"Lunch is ready," he said.

Her lovely face lit again, "Oh, good, I'm excited to see what it is... Ooh, I thought you said you disliked meatballs?"

"It's your birthday. Don't you like them?"

"They were my favorite as a girl... thank you."

"Let's hope they're better than last time."

She laughed. They were far better than the rocks he had created before, almost as good as when she had made them.

Once they finished, she asked gently, "Erik, would you go sit on the sofa? I have your surprise now."

He obeyed, bewildered as she disappeared into her room. There was the opening and shutting of a drawer, and then she emerged, something clutched between her hands. Her lips were taut.

She gave a nervous smile, "Here it is."

She handed him two tiny blue socks.

"Those are too small for me, Christine, my love," he said, not wanting to admit the truth to himself.

"It's for a baby, Erik... o-our baby."

The socks fell from his hand. He stared blindly ahead.

No. No, he had misheard.

"I'm sorry, my dear," he told her, "I seemed to have been daydreaming. What did you say?"

She took his hands and placed them against her stomach, "I'm going to have a baby."

He had heard correctly. Upon realizing this, he promptly fainted.

He found Christine tending to him as he had to her long ago, dabbing at his temple with a cool cloth.

"I didn't expect you to faint," she whispered. "I should've waited, only... I thought if we were going to go shopping, we should prepare."

"For what?"

"The baby- don't faint again- I'm having a baby. I've said it three times now, stop pretending like you didn't hear."

He began to sob, falling to her feet, "Forgive me, I didn't mean to, I shouldn't have-"

She attempted to pull him to his feet, "Erik, please, I'm happy about it. I am!"

"But the child can't live down here, with me. You'll have to go live in an apartment with it, and then come visit me-"

"What are you talking about? You had said before that you wanted to live in a normal house. Well, let's go live in a normal house, with a baby like a normal couple."

"But we can't be normal, it'll look like me. You want another me?"

"I love you."

"Then you're mad!" He cried, and she crossed her arms in dismay. "I... I didn't-"

"No. You still don't believe I love you... Maybe this baby will show you, then... Now," she sighed, "I would love to spend the afternoon preparing for him or her, won't you take me shopping like you promised?"

"I... I can't, I..." He sobbed. "I can't be a father! Oh, it'll hate me, everyone hates me except for you... everyone hates Erik except you..."

"Our child won't hate you-"

"And what if it hurts you?! Oh, babies are horrible to women, they can do such terrible things-"

"You need to calm yourself. Why don't you compose for a little while? Or read a book? I could read to you, would that help?"

"I'm going to compose," he decided, hurrying off to his room and shutting the door.

His head was screaming 'no,' and he put his hands over his ears in despair. A baby! What if she... died? She could! No no no, she could!

He wallowed in pity for quite some time until Christine had had enough, and she knocked on his door.

"Can we go shopping now?" She asked, then reminded him, "For my birthday?"

Her birthday... yes, he had to be her slave more than ever, anything she wanted to do...

He dragged himself out of the room, the gaping hole in his nose still leaking. Disgusting, he was disgusting, how could Christine love him? And how would her child ever feel anything but disgust for him?

She reached over to him with a handkerchief, "It's alright, Erik dear. Everything's going to be alright."

He nodded, putting on his false nose once he had cleaned up a bit.

"It's a little crooked," she told him, righting it. "There you are... Thank you."

"For what?" He croaked.

"Taking me regardless of how much I know you must be feeling right now... You're a very caring husband."

He gave a halfhearted nod. They went out to the little wharf. She lowered herself into the boat, and he pushed it off, starting to row.

They barely made it a half hour before Erik begged to return home from shopping. They hadn't bought anything, but Christine agreed. He wasn't well.

He spent the rest of the afternoon in tears, unable to express everything bottled up inside him in any other way. He said something incoherent about his mother, and Christine comforted him.

"I love you," she whispered. "Everything will be alright."

"I'm going to buy a house," he replied from where he was buried in her skirts.

She ran her hand across his back, "A real house with ordinary windows and doors."

"A real house..."

At some point, he ran out of tears and she read a book for a while as he contemplated further. Then he went to make dinner.

He had quite forgotten about the Sauvignon. Perhaps he should show her now?

He brought it out nervously, "Christine?"

She set her book in her lap, "Oh, did you buy special wine for dinner?"

"You said you liked Sauvignon."

She bit her lip, "I... meant blanc."

"You prefer white wine?"

"Well, I'll drink red, it's just... so rich, I prefer the white wines... Does that offend you?"

"Why didn't you tell me?" He asked, setting it atop the table dejectedly.

"There wasn't a time to-"

"There is always a time!" He cried. "Everything has to be perfect for you, how dare you let it not be?!"

"Erik, calm down-"

"I love you! How can I be calm when you're so disappointed?! What a terrible mess your birthday is, with me crying like a child over what you're delighted for, a mess! I'm an awful husband!"

He went into the kitchen and slammed the door. Why had he done that? He hadn't meant to, it had just come out... He had been doing so well with his temper, it rarely ever flared now, and he had just thrown a proper tantrum in front of her.

She knocked on the door, "Erik, my love?"

She only ever said that when she was truly concerned for him.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, beginning to cry herself. "I wanted the baby, and I didn't even ask you properly if you wanted one, when I should've, it's my fault. We should've decided together and I decided-"

"It's your right as the wife to want a baby," he whispered.

"No. We should've decided together, I should've told you I was hoping for one... I'm sorry."

The door opened, and he came out with his hideous face coated in tears. She brushed a few away with her very own hands.

"We're going to buy a house," she told him gently. "Furnish it, move into it, then I'm going to have a baby. And we'll live a perfect, happy, normal life... Alright?"

She smiled up at him, and he nodded blankly.

"Alright..." he whispered.

"Will you forgive me?"

"Of... course."

She pulled his lips to hers, and he finally began to believe her. Everything would be alright.

Perhaps better?