Fine, I Will

You're worth it, anyway.

It was a perfect, sunny Friday in Sunshine Islands—which meant all her crops received three sun points each—when he came waltzing in on her farm while she was fanning herself with her hand. She'd just finished tending her crops and animals, and she was dog-tired. Chelsea almost wished she hadn't planted so much: every time she watered her crops, she ended up feeling completely drained. It wasn't her fault, though; it was her stupid stamina depleting too fast no matter what tool she used. There was one time when she had been so exhausted from the farm work and she'd used the brush one more time on her horse … and she'd fainted.

It was pathetic, really.

So when she saw him walking towards her with his fists stuffed in his pockets, she didn't even bother hiding her groan. She was fatigued enough without their usual bantering. Vaughn wasn't an ordinary guy—he was twenty miles too far from ordinary and twenty times more annoying than ordinary—and she wasn't complaining, but sometimes she wished he was. Being ordinary made things so much easier.

He stopped right in front of her, eyebrows raised. She glared back, hoping he could read her mind so she wouldn't have to say, "I'm tired. Go away."

"You're sitting on the shipment box," he said.

"Oh, I hadn't noticed." She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. Really, did he honestly think she was too stupid to notice where she sat? "I thought I was sitting on my horse. And here I was wondering why it wasn't moving."

He snorted and sat beside her, and he remained quiet for some time, while she happily listened to the spring-themed background music. It was weird, since the music changed with the seasons on all of the islands except for Verdure and Sprout. She still got surprised every now and then during winters, whenever she crossed the bridge from Ranch Island to Verdure Island and the music suddenly shifted to a livelier one.

"We need to talk," Vaughn said so suddenly that for a moment, she thought that the spring theme had been newly-incorporated with a gruff vocal solo.

"Not now, please," she pleaded, hearing the slight whine in her own voice. "I'm tired."

"You don't look tired," he said, glancing at her.

"Say that to my stamina bar over there," she grumbled, pointing to the object of her resentment at the foot of the first DS screen.

"How many times do I have to tell you," he replied condescendingly, "that you're the only one here who has a stamina bar, and that you're the only one who can see it?"

"The same number of times you've told me to stop saying that I know where everyone is at any given moment."

"That's because you don't."

"I do! In fact, I have a map of the islands on the top screen and it has all our faces on it and it shows—"

"Stop breaking the fourth wall."

"I'm not—"

"Okay, that's enough," he said, cutting her off. "I have something really important to say, and you've already wasted a lot of my time as it is."

"You won't waste time if you stay indoors," she reasoned.

"No point talking when we do it indoors."

"What's the point of that sentence?" She frowned at him, confused. Sometimes she thought he was being confusing on purpose just to infuriate her, and Goddess help her, sometimes he made her desperately want to kill him. With her bare hands. And feet. She would have done so a long time ago if not for that big red beating heart pasted on his portrait that popped up whenever he talked ….

She still clearly remembered the day when his heart had graduated from orange to red, and it was the sweetest day of her life.

Very Quick Flashback

Vaughn: This island really relaxes me. Or maybe it's because of you.

Chelsea: Aaargh! What on earth is that thing on your chest?

End of Very Quick Flashback

Yeah …. That was pretty sweet. Maybe he wasn't so confusing after all.

"Exactly."

… I stand corrected.

She resisted the overwhelming impulse to punch the living daylights out of him, partly because she knew she had to conserve her stamina and partly because his portrait popped up again when he'd talked, showing her that big red heart again and reminding her of the many bowls of (cold) porridge she'd given him to reach this stage, as well as the extra effort she'd gone through to search the internet for the exact places and times of his various heart events, including all the correct replies to further boost his Friendship Points.

It was a lot of effort, and she wasn't going to waste all of it by punching him, no matter how tempting it was.

"And your point is?" she asked through gritted teeth.

"Already made it," he replied, lifting the brim of his hat with a finger to raise his eyebrows at her, "but you were too busy being dense to notice."

Chelsea shut her eyes as tightly as they allowed her and clenched her fists just as tightly, straining her mind to think about nothing but all of those bowls of porridge she'd semi-lovingly made. It helped a little. Stupid Vaughn and his stupid grumpiness and his stupid hat and his stupid white hair ….

"It's silver."

She gasped and stared wildly at him. "How did you know what I was thinking of?"

"You think out loud," he said, smirking. "You always do."

"So what was it that you wanted to talk about?" she asked, ignoring both his comment and the throbbing in her fists that implored her to just hit him with all she had and then leave the Islands as quickly as possible.

To her surprise, color flooded his cheeks while he pulled his hat down to cover his face—the way he always did whenever he was embarrassed, or happy, or angry, or depressed, or in other words, ninety-eight percent of the time—and she felt the ridiculous urge to pinch his cheeks. Funny how her mood swiftly changed from wanting to strangle him to wanting to coddle him just because of a single blush.

"It's just …" he said, gesturing with his hands lamely. "Well, you know …."

"I don't. Not really. But it's okay, take your time."

"I might take a long ti—"

"I don't mind, I swear!" She grinned brightly at him. It was way too difficult to stay mad at Vaughn when he was being so vulnerable and adorable like this.

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he stared at her with what she thought was fondness. "Thank you, Chelsea."

Maybe she shouldn't have been so generous. Maybe she should have set a time limit. Maybe she should have said, "Take your time, but no longer than half an hour."

Goddess, it's been five hours already and the sun was already beginning to set! Well, of course time flew so much faster when it leapt ten minutes in what should have been five seconds, but that was right beside the point, talking to the point's girlfriend. What on earth was so damn important that he had to waste this much time prepping himself to talk about it? Except for deaths, surprise birthday parties, lethal sicknesses, sock puppet theater field trips, pregnancies, marriages—wait. Maybe that was it! Could it be …? Could it really be possible that he …?

"You're pregnant?" Chelsea blurted out disbelievingly, a hand crawling up to cover her mouth. It was impossible. There was no way he could be pregnant. No, really. It was biologically impossible for males to get pregnant, and she knew that all too well (after an … interesting incident with a male cow and a miracle potion), so why exactly had she asked that stupid question?

Oh, yeah. He was taking too long to say something that she grew impatient. He couldn't possibly blame her for a reason as legitimate as that.

He looked at her with a disbelieving expression, as if he was shocked that she had even asked him something as ridiculous as what she had just asked. "Can't get pregnant," he said after a lengthy pause. "I take pills."

Her already-wide eyes grew even wider—they would have grown as large as oranges if hadn't chuckled to himself, shaking his head while muttering something that sounded like, "Fell for it."

How dare he make fun of her. She'll make him pay for this someday, somehow …. But first, she had to know what the "important thing he had to say" was. Not for his sake, but for her curiosity's—she was, as a rule, a slightly-nosier-than-the-average-person kind of person, and it was no wonder why she was very much itching to, uh, scratch that itch.

"Out with it, Vaughn!" she whined, making her voice as high-pitched and grating as possible so he would give in sooner. "I don't have all day!"

"W-well, it's …." He paused and took a deep breath. Chelsea realized this must really be important if Vaughn, the great brooding cowboy, was stuttering. Stuttering! Only Professor Quirrell did that, and look how he ended up. It was too bad, really, since Quirrell had a gift with trolls, and trolls really weren't that bad at all, if you ignored the way they smell and the way they look and the way they move and the way they sound. Simply put, trolls are okay when you completely ignore them. And speaking of stuttering, there was this girl Hinata Hyuuga who talked fine with her friends but always stuttered when—

"Ahem! Important emotional moment here."

Oh. She almost got carried away there. Wait, did Vaughn just say emotional?

"Well, I love you," he said nonchalantly, though he was blushing so hard she could see it through the brim of his hat.

But never mind that. He said he loved her! Her heart pounded and she knew she was starting to wear a blush of her own. She was torn between saying, "I love you too" or "I know" or "Oh, really?" or "Did you know Quirrell had Voldemort at the back of his head?" but what came out of her mouth surprised her.

"Why?"

Vaughn seemed to think it over thoroughly, so she prepared herself for some sappy, heart-wrenching, tear-jerking explanation of how she was the only woman who understood him, who always stood beside him, who was always there for him, who made him smile when he was sad, who brought out the best in him. She sighed happily in expectation.

"You gave me a lot of porridge."

Well, at least he was honest.

"Makes sense," she said, shrugging her shoulders. It wasn't the sappy explanation she'd expected, but honesty was attractive. "Um, is that it?"

"No, I'm not done yet."

Chelsea inhaled deeply and shifted her position so she could face him. "I'm listening."

He gulped audibly, his adam's apple bobbing up and down. "Here goes …."

He went down on his knees, and reached into his pocket. She held her breath as her heart jumped right into her throat, her head buzzing with the sudden realization of what was happening. It was nerve-wracking and inexplicably exhilarating at the same time. Any moment now and she would see in his hands the object that so many women desired. Any moment now ….

"Damn, where is it?" Vaughn hissed, patting his pockets, turning some of them inside-out.

"Wait," she said, annoyance seeping back in. "Don't tell me you lost—"

"Here it is!" he said triumphantly, and in his right hand was—

She swallowed, tears forming in her eyes. She had been right. In his right hand was a blue feather.

He looked up at her and took her hand, his violet (not purple) eyes radiating love and sincerity. He was blushing, and so was she, but none of them cared. The moment was so perfect, so tender, so beautiful, that nothing could ever possibly destroy it, not even when her tears finally fell and she turned into a blubbering idiot.

"Chelsea, I love you," he said, the corners of his mouth turned up, "because you gave me a lot of porridge. Will you marry me?"

She sobbed twice and sniffed thrice before she said, "Yes! Of course I will!"

She took the feather from him and pulled him up, burying herself in his chest, sobbing all the while. This was, hands down, the happiest moment in her whole life. The grumpiness, the coldness, the bantering, the five-hour wait … it was all worth it.

She pulled back from him and gazed at the blue feather lovingly, noticing how it looked so much like—

"Vaughn?" she asked lightly, but he knew better. He stiffened.

"Yeah?"

"This is a chicken feather."

He scratched his cheek sheepishly, avoiding her eyes. He never looked so adorable and infuriating at the same time.

"Well, yeah … I plucked it off one of your chickens when you weren't looking, then I dyed it blue."

She shut her eyes tightly and counted to twenty. This was the best moment of her life and she wasn't going to ruin it for herself. It was her fault, anyway. She shouldn't have asked. So what if he made his own blue feather instead of buying one? It was so much sweeter, all the effort he put into it ….

"Why didn't you just buy one?"

"Money's always tight."

"That's your purple heart line! You're at red heart now, just in case you haven't noticed."

"It was relevant."

"Talk again, Vaughn. Say something. Anything."

"Why?"

And when she saw that big beating red heart on his portrait, she knew she could manage. They would be fine. It was all worth it.

"That's better."

a/n:

LOL. This is my first time writing a parody (and it shows) so I really would appreciate some feedback. And if you're reading this, it means you actually read the whole story! I love you. I really do. Thanks so much for enduring all the stupidity, the OOCness, and the rampant fourth-wall breakage.