I sound like such a nag saying this, but I just want to make sure people know I haven't closed the suggestion box. It will not heretofore be closed until I clearly write, "Suggestion Box Closed." There, now I can stop reminding people every chapter. Yay.

Something, Stryker deduced one obscenely early morning after waking up to Kiva chewing his newest pair of boots to pieces, was up.

For the past twenty minutes Sonya had entered and left the kitchen in a nervous fit, not bothering to stop and get anything to eat or drink. Stryker was inclined to say that she was trying to gather the courage to speak to him, but he couldn't for the life of him think of a reason why she would.

Bored of watching Sonya stepping in and out of the doors, Stryker hailed her. Resignedly, she came to the table.

"What of mine did you break?" Stryker inquired.

She blinked. "Nothing."

"Who'd you lie to and say I was gay?"

"No one," Sonya growled, "though if you keep interrogating me like this I just might to spite you."

"Then what's going on?" Stryker demanded. "You're acting like Liu would if he was gathering the balls to ask Kitana out on a date."

Sonya closed her eyes, then said in a rush, "I need to ask a favor of you."

Stryker stared. When his eyes had nearly dried he blinked, and stared some more. "What?"

"You see," Sonya started, sitting down on a chair, "my family is having a reunion. And while I would be happy to sit around, drink alcohol all night, and pretend that I'm not related to most of my family members, there's a little . . . catch."

"And . . . that is?" Stryker goaded.

When Sonya closed her eyes, Stryker knew it was a dire situation. When she bit her lip, he knew she was desperate. When she said, "My mother thinks I'm married, and that I'm married to you," Stryker couldn't help himself.

He laughed heartily, enough so that tears streamed from his eyes.

He didn't see the glare, but when she struck him on the back of his head he could imagine it well. "This isn't a laughing matter!"

"Oh, yes it is!" Stryker chuckled and snorted. "You told your mother that we're married? Why not Jax, or Nightwolf?"

She had hoped he wouldn't ask that question. "My parents already know Jax; they would've been suspicious if I said he and I were married. Nightwolf's a great guy and all, but he's married. I couldn't put him in that situation. Kitana would kill me if I even pretended Liu was my husband. And I don't think Sub-Zero would ever play along with the prospect of him and I being married. You were the only one left."

Not to mention he already tied the knot with someone else, Stryker recalled. "Well, it sounds like you're in one hell of a pickle. Have fun sorting it all out."

Stryker stood up to leave, but was dragged back down by Sonya as she hissed, "You're leaving me with this?"

"Hey, it's not my issue," Stryker shrugged. "Just tell them I couldn't come."

"That won't satisfy them! They need to see you in person, so they'll leave me alone about getting married!"

Stryker sighed. "Sonya, as blessed—and I do use that word sparingly—as I am to have you as a comrade, I have no interest in boring myself senseless at a family reunion which isn't even my family—"

"Not even for these?" Sonya said liltingly, holding up two rectangular scraps of paper.

Lifting a brow, Stryker peered at her blackmail. His skeptical look quickly evaporated into disbelief and want. "Y-y- That—y-you—"

"Have tickets to the hockey playoffs, which feature a certain New York hockey team that you so desperately love," Sonya nodded, waving the ticket in his face. "And, would you look at that? V.I.P. seats."

A strangled sound rasped from Stryker, and he sat heavily. "Where—how—what—!"

"I have connections," Sonya replied smoothly to his stuttering. "Now," she added, wafting the tickets left and right and watching with satisfaction as his eyes followed the delicate slips of paper, "you can either go along with me, pretend to be my husband and not let my mother or father know I'm lying, and have the tickets, or," Sonya pulled the tickets back, ignoring his whimper and trembling, outstretched hand, "I can use these as bookmarks. I have been needing a new one—"

"No!" Stryker protested, waving his arms wildly. "No no no! I'll do it, I'll do it! Just, just gimme the—"

"Here," Sonya handed it to him, watching with incredulity as he practically meshed the tickets into his shirt. "Sheesh. Maybe I should've saved the tickets for something else."

"No! They're mine! You can't have them back!" Stryker snarled, clutching the tickets even tighter.

"Just as long as you remember—"

"Yeah, yeah," Stryker dismissed, looking at his tickets with all the adoration one would reserve for their first newborn child. "Play the husband, be all supportive of you, yadda yadda. As long as I have these, I couldn't care less."

------

Stryker was beginning to believe he had been gypped by Sonya. He wasn't entirely sure why he felt gypped, though.

It may have had something to do with the royal blue tie currently strangling his neck.

It may also have been due in part to Sonya's older relatives, whom were quite fond of smiling knowingly at him and reminiscing about a "little man with a big smile" that Sonya had once dated and (evidently) quite violently dumped.

"Sonya, I would have appreciated you letting me know that your relatives enjoyed comparing current suckers to your past exes," Stryker muttered to her through a forced smile. He twisted the tie loose for the seventh time in the past hour.

"And you wouldn't have come, either," Sonya replied through her own teeth, tightening his tie once again. "Take a breather, Stryker. When everyone gets a look at you, they'll move on to other family members. Just make sure to avoid any large men bearing a Major's insignia."

"'Large men bearing a Major's insignia?'" Stryker repeated with a conspiratorial smirk. "Is he your mysterious lover of whom I should be jealous?"

Sonya glared at him in disgust. "He's my father you pervert. And if you like staying out of the hospital, you'll stay out of his way."

Stryker blanched. "Sorry. Er, when you say 'stay out of the hospital' you mean—"

"Stay out of his way or enjoy a protracted time in Johns Hopkins Hospital."

"Gotcha—ooh, is that the buffet table? With ice cream buckets?"

"Looks like," Sonya nodded distractedly; she kept more of an eye out for her father than for the dessert. "Of course, I don't think there are any Baskin Robbins around here—"

"There's five in this area; the closest is a little more than a mile away," Stryker said, steering Sonya rather forcibly toward the buffet table.

"How the hell do you know that?" the Lieutenant asked, one brow arched.

"I've been here before for a family reunion, since my relatives here didn't want to leave the Baltimore area. Had to figure out where the Baskin Robbins were, since they didn't have the courtesy to bring any ice cream. I'm still irritated about that, four years later."

"You have family in Baltimore?"

"An eccentric great-grandfather moved out here because he thought the cows were plotting to take over the farm," Stryker explained with strange simplicity.

Sonya wondered if she should ask further about the "eccentric great-grandfather," but decided she truly didn't have any desire to know how much more dysfunctional Stryker's family was.

This was especially the case when she spotted an all-too-familiar hat on top of an even-more-familiar head. "Oh, crap," she moaned, digging her heels into the floor and tugging Stryker back from the table, "Stryker, turn around quickly, before he—"

"Sonya!" a masculine voice boomed over the crowd, making Sonya flinch.

A foreboding gloom overcame Stryker, making him forget about the potential for ice cream. He, along with the woman, turned slowly. A large man dressed in military uniform came up to them, grinning widely. He bore, Stryker saw with even greater dread, two very shiny stars on his epaulettes.

"Dad," Sonya's mouth instantly plastered into a smile. "How great to see you. I gotta go find Mother now, so I'll talk to you later—"

"Is this the guy?" Sonya's father (her rather tall and looming father, Stryker noted with a gulp) clapped a hand on Stryker's shoulder. His knees wobbled, and had he the courage to do so, Stryker would have buckled and cried his tears of fear and woe.

"Uh, yeah, Dad," Sonya's smile faded. She looked very nearly scared. "But, Dad, Jax already gave him the lecture so—"

"Ah, but the lecture from a close friend isn't the same as from your father," the man said.

Lecture? Father's lecture? Ohhhh, no. Please, God, I'll give up hockey if you spare me. I'll give my tickets to Kiva for him to chew and slobber over to his content if you just spare me—

"Come on over here, boy, and we'll have a nice long chat about my daughter," the father said, leading Stryker away. Stryker chanced a glance back, and was none-too-reassured by Sonya's horrified face.

"Now," Sonya's father dropped Stryker in a chair, sitting in one himself. "What's your name, boy?"

"Stryker," he tried not to gulp, "Captain Stryker."

"Captain! So you're a military man?" If Stryker didn't know better, he would have said he had just earned brownie points.

"Police, actually–sir. Captain of the New York riot brigade." God hates me. God doesn't want me happy. God thinks it's funny to see me lose an arm. Or leg. Or maybe he just wants to see me lose my entire torso.

"That's good," the father nodded. "So, Captain, do you know what this insignia means?"

Stryker eyed the two stars presented to him. "Major General, sir."

"That's right. Do you know what that means?"

Er. . . "You're very powerful, sir?"

"Hey, a smart one this time! Yes, powerful. Influential, one would even say. So," the Major leaned forward, and Stryker valiantly fought the urge to lean back, "if you ever, in any way, hurt my daughter, it will be most difficult to keep your job in the riot brigade. Do you understand?"

Stryker couldn't help but think the lecture would have been far more intimidating with arm implants. Or ice powers. Or more than millenniums of godhood and life experience under his belt. "Yes, sir. Perfectly, sir."

"Good." The Major stood and nearly left when he paused. He said, "Are you a sports fan, Captain?"

"Yes, sir," Stryker blinked. "New York Rangers."

Sonya's father leaned down. "They can lose their jobs, too."

The Major left, leaving Stryker shocked, terrified, and threatened.

A hand on his shoulder shook him out of his horror. Sonya bent over him and asked, "Are you okay? He didn't hurt you too badly, did he?"

Stryker choked back a sniffle. "He–he threatened the Rangers!"

Sonya stared. "He did what?"

"Threatened the Rangers' jobs!"

Any and all sympathy Sonya had for Stryker vanished into nonexistence once more. "So you're fine, in other words. Damn, I was worried."

Stryker's sniffling stopped abruptly. "Huh? Worried? You worried about me?"

Sonya shrugged. "Last time I had a boyfriend, Dad scared him so bad he walked into freeway traffic. Took a month of psychological therapy at Johns Hopkins to convince him German Shepherds as a species could not decide one day to rip him to shreds."

"Oh." Stryker thought. "But, your dad doesn't actually have any leeway in deciding the Rangers' roster, right?"

Sonya hit Stryker over his head.

------

Two hours later, the reunion seemed to have lost no momentum and more people than Stryker could have predicted to be related in some way to Sonya had assailed the two in order to congratulate them on their supposed marriage. Everything got worse as an unsuspecting young man asked Sonya if any children were due.

The last Stryker checked, the man was still barred in a bathroom stall with his head down the toilet.

Letting out an exhausted sigh, Stryker slumped over the ledge on the roof, looking down at the passing traffic below him. At this rate, his reputation would be ruined and even the women in New York would hear about the rumor of his marriage, consequently ruining any chance of him actually having an honest relationship.

"Hey," Sonya came up beside him, holding two milkshakes. "This is yours. Damn Mother wouldn't let me just serve myself; apparently I have to take care of my 'husband' and make sure he's well fed."

"Thank you," Stryker said cautiously, edging slightly away from Sonya. She was obviously still irate about the children comment. With twin sighs, they took a swig of their milkshakes.

The spit-take that ensued thereafter would have earned them a place in the Guinness Book of World Records had anyone witnessed it, and several passersby below were showered with spittle and backwashed milkshake.

"Disgusting!"

"Gross!"

"What the hell is this? This isn't a milkshake!"

Stryker glared at the cup, blinking at the label. The logo painted glaringly on the cup was not, as it should have been, the Baskin Robbins logo, but the logo of Bruster's Ice Cream.

"No!"

"Blasphemy!"

"How could they? Are they trying to poison us?"

"It's a plot against us! It's Shao Kahn trying to drive us insane and kill us!"

Heedless of the unfortunate souls below them, the two chucked their cups over the side. Exploding bombs of milkshake made the passersby shriek and huddle close to the building for protection.

"This is the last time I ever let you bribe me into helping you with family," Stryker hissed at Sonya, spitting out the remnants of milkshake. "That was just . . . disgusting!"

"It's not like I knew they were serving second-rate ice cream," Sonya protested, leading Stryker down the staircase to the ballroom. "I'm not the one who coordinated this whole damn thing."

They merged into the crowd, all of whom seemed to realize Sonya's bad temper and steered clear of her. Were Stryker given a choice, he would have joined them in avoiding Sonya. As it was, he trotted along with (he did not follow) Sonya to the bar, where she ordered a straight shot of tequila.

"Care to join me?" she asked as the bartender gave her the shot.

"Er, no," Stryker replied as he watched her shoot the alcohol with a wince. "The way this night is going, one of us has to stay sober—"

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen!" the host on the stage clapped his hands together with a huge grin on his face. "It's time for . . . the traditional Epee Polka Dance!"

As the crowd cheered and gathered for the dance to begin, Stryker paled. He turned back to the bar and shouted for a bottle of tequila.

"God, I forgot about this," Sonya groaned, crouching down closer to the bar top. "This is so humiliating."

"I am not polka-dancing with you," Stryker growled under his breath as the tequila bottle was delivered. "I will tell the whole world that we're not married before I ever polka dance at all."

Sonya glared at him, clanking her shot-glass against the bottle's neck. "Pour me a shot. We can at least look on the bright side: it can't get any worse than this."

"Kurtis?" someone said behind them, disbelief in their tone. Both stiffening, Stryker and Sonya turned. A man and woman were staring at them, arms around each other in the manner of husband and wife.

"Kelley?" Stryker said just as Sonya gasped, "Damien?" They turned to each other, demanding, "You know them?"

"Er, well, you know that eccentric great-grandfather I mentioned?" Stryker reminded her, "Kelley's from that family. Ninth cousin, right?"

"Right," Kelley nodded. "I don't know if you were there at the wedding, Kurt, but this is Sonya's cousin, Damien Blade, my most wonderful hubby," they shared a saccharine kiss, missing Sonya and Stryker's twin looks of horror.

"T-that means," Sonya stuttered.

"We're . . . we're . . ." Stryker opened and shut his jaw several times, unable to come to terms with the revelation.

"We're related."

------

The Defenders and Rayden had an unacknowledged routine regarding breakfast within the base. The routine consisted mainly of either Sonya or Stryker beginning to snipe at the other over some meaningless issue and the remaining person would react either physically or verbally, respective to a certain person (Stryker generally chose to retaliate with a droll remark). Thereafter, the others would force them to sit and behave civilly until breakfast was over, which usually failed since more than a piece of waffle or bar of butter would fly across the table at some point before the finish.

This was an aggravating routine, but it was one to which the others had become very accustomed.

Thus the reason they were very perturbed when Stryker and Sonya both came to the breakfast table somberly and ate their meal without the most minor of disputes. They sat on opposite sides of the table, as far as they could get from one another. Even stranger was how they traded the butter platter between them with nary a malicious remark.

"Are you two okay?" Liu broke the ice of the quiet breakfast nervously. "You're both acting odd."

They made noises of assent, not even looking up from their waffles.

Trading significant looks, the others chose to follow their example and leave the matter at rest. At the end of the meal, Rayden got up to the freezer to take out the other part of their breakfast routine: bowls of ice cream.

"Hope you guys don't mind," Rayden said as he brought the cartons to the table, "but Baskin Robbins was closed so I went to a different store for a substitute. It's supposed to be very good."

Shrieks made everyone jump, but before they could ascertain the reason for the response Sonya and Stryker had fled the kitchen, their first joint action of the day.

"What the hell is up with those two?" Jax said aloud with a shake of his head.

"Don't know," Rayden blinked, looking down at the carton of Bruster's Ice Cream. "Montagu swore Bruster's was great stuff—dammit. If that god put a bet on whether or not I'd actually eat terrible ice cream, I'll get a bet going as to how long he'll live and clean house with his short, scrawny ass."