Disclaimer: I do not own The Sorcerer's Apprentice and I am not making any form of profit off this fic; except for reviews.

Writer Ramblings: I am pleased to present the sequel for For Want of a Nail! I hope everyone enjoys the prologue, and I sure hope it's written better than the first fic. I can't wait to see new and old reviewers, if there are any! XD

PROLOGUE

"A mother is a person who seeing there are only four pieces of pie for five people, promptly announces she never did care for pie." ~Tenneva Jordan

Gosh. Who in their right mind charges two whole dollars for a stick of butter? It isn't even that big, thought Dave as he turned the object of his irritation over in his hands. It was butter, for crying out loud, not a bottle of ketchup.

"Excuse me, sir?" a female voice interrupted his thoughts.

Dave turned to see a young brunette behind him. A light shade of pink spread across his cheeks. Suddenly, he realized it was stupid to be annoyed over a simple stick of butter. After all, what had the dairy product ever done to him? The pricing was clearly the fault of the company.

"Sorry—I just wanted to get some tuna," she said in an apologetic tone. "You were sort of blocking the shelves…"

"Oh; sorry about that," Dave said, hastily stepping aside. "Totally my fault."

She nodded, a sign of acknowledgment. The girl's attention was quickly absorbed by the cans of tuna—cans of tuna, which were in fact just as highly priced as the butter.

Once again, the girl cut into his thoughts. "This is fifty cents more than it was last time," she noted. "They must be doing this for the holidays, although I can't imagine why anyone would buy tuna for Christmas dinner."

She's talking to me, right? Dave asked himself mentally. "Yeah," he agreed lamely.

Her eyes bore into his. "I've seen you before somewhere, haven't I?"

"You don't look familiar to me," Dave said.

"Mmm...physics?"

"Huh?"

"NYU," the girl said, happy with her sudden recollection. "Yep, you're the physics major."

"How do you know I major in physics?" Dave questioned.

She smiled. "I've got a friend named Becky. She pointed you out to me once. If my memory serves correctly, you two used to date."

Dave resisted the urge to frown. He didn't like where this was going. "That's me," he said a second too late. He attempted to walk away from the girl without seeming rude. "If you don't mind…"

"Bye," she said, shrugging. Was she embarrassed?

"Yeah." Dave left the aisle and headed towards the checkout lane. He completed the usual supermarket routine and impatiently waited for the teenage cashier to ring up his purchases. He hated shopping at this store due to its lack of speedy cashiers; of course, if Dave wanted nutrients, he would have to go here. Drake offered to give him some cash, but Dave refused to hear it. It wasn't coming from his income, and besides, he needed to get a job of his own. It was one of the many things they needed to decide upon before the wedding.

Argh. The wedding.

The cashier needed his attention then, and so Dave was momentarily distracted from thoughts of the upcoming event. He didn't want to think about what would be waiting for him when he arrived at the penthouse.

.

.

.

As soon as Dave slipped through the door, he got to work. He set the groceries on the countertop, then made his way to the bathroom. He was careful not to rush; it was unnecessary, after all. Plus, with every hour he wasted, he avoided the dreaded e-mail from his mother.

It was sort of ironic how he was in a rush to get away from the girl at the supermarket, yet he wanted to move as slowly as possible in the penthouse. It made sense, in a way. Being a friend of Becky's, she might have heard about the wedding and brought it up. But there was no way Becky would reveal such private, intimate details to her friends—still, he wasn't taking that risk. Dave didn't want to be reminded of the things he'd have to face, thank you very much.

That's why he was a sloth in the bathroom: he stripped himself of his clothes, folded them neatly, and set them on the lavender rug. The hot water came on almost immediately; he took a shower and made a last-minute decision to wash his hair. When he was done, he wrapped a towel around his waist and walked back to the bedroom he shared with Drake. Dave changed into something comfortable, disposed of his old attire in the closet, and entered the kitchen to prepare dinner.

Thanks to Balthazar's insistence he learn how to take care of himself and Veronica's teaching skills, Dave now knew how to make a variety of breakfasts and one meal. He was almost finished with dinner when Drake opened the door.

Dave abandoned his position at the oven and greeted the blonde at the entrance. "Hi," he said sheepishly. "Dinner's not ready yet. How was work?"

"All right," Drake said, wrinkling his nose. "One of the assistants got injured, so that puts a damper on things. Although it was definitely her fault."

"How so?"

"She was distracted by some good-looking bloke in the seats."

"Better looking than me?"

Drake feigned horror. "My good man. Surely you must be joking?" He shut the door and removed his designer coat. Drake kissed his cheek and whispered into his ear (while sending shivers down his spine), "There is no one more physically attractive than you."

Dave returned the kiss, thinking that was doubtful, but he appreciated the compliment. "Thank you." He was about to tell Drake the meal required his attention, but before he could, Drake's lips seized his. The taller man's arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him to his chest. Drake's tongue apparently wanted to explore the inside of Dave's mouth, and usually Dave was just as willing, except—

"Hey," Drake exclaimed when Dave abruptly pulled away.

"The food," he reminded the blonde.

"Food schmood."

Dave set the table and served the dinner. He sat down, but couldn't get to enjoying the pasta.

"Are you all right? I don't think you've ever refused a kiss from me."

"Not really," he admitted. Dave couldn't hide anything from Drake, even if he wanted to. He had no inclination to keep his stress a secret from him; they were engaged, after all. Hiding things from your fiancé wasn't exactly what one would do in a committed relationship.

Drake reached across the table and stroked Dave's cheek; it was small enough for that. "What's the matter?"

"Our engagement is sort of driving me crazy," Dave sighed. He saw the look on Drake's face and swiftly corrected his mistake. "No, no, it's not like that. Not the engagement itself, but… It's that there are so many things to do, and practically no one knows about this." He pointed to the shiny ring on his finger. "My mom is totally clueless and I haven't said a word to anybody. How am I supposed to break the news?"

"We aren't getting married right away," Drake reminded him gently.

"We have to," Dave disagreed. "Or else the proposal is void. If I tell my mom right now that I've gotten engaged to someone she hasn't even met, she'll freak and tell me to wait. To top things off, she has no idea I'm marrying a guy. We'll have to wait until she gets to know you better. Or maybe she'll want for me to marry you right away, since that is ethically right thing to do when getting serious. See how it screws everything up?"

"The timing wasn't the best," Drake said. "But it is what it is. I want to settle down with you. You're almost graduating. She's your mother, but doesn't control every aspect of your life. We'll find a way to break the news to her."

Dave groaned. "We don't have much time to find the perfect wording, Drake. I threw a mental hissy fit over the price of butter, and it was because I was thinking about my mom. She e-mailed me last week and I haven't replied." He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. "Mom's been giving me space because she thinks something's wrong. But knowing her, I should expect an e-mail today demanding details."

Drake was silent for a moment. Then, he said, "Over butter, you said?"

Dave didn't appreciate his attempts at humor.

The blonde laughed. "Sorry, sorry. You're right." After a brief pause, he asked, "Is your mother the only thing that's bothering you?"

"No, but she's on the top of the list. I've got friends…and my master. Veronica might be happy for us," Dave said sourly. "I'm not sure."

Drake suggested he check his mail after dinner. Dave tried to postpone this, but to no avail. He finished his meal rather quickly, just like Drake. Dave reached for the dishes, but Drake lightly slapped his hand away. "E-mail," he said firmly. Dave sighed and went to the computer in their room.

There was an e-mail from his mother, all right. He moaned softly. He unwillingly clicked on the message. It read:

Dave,

How are things? I haven't heard from you in a while. Are you okay, or is that me being a worrywart again? E-mail me back as soon as you get this. Happy almost-holidays, Dave! Is it my place or yours this time?

Love, Mom

He bit on his bottom lip, fingers hovering over the keyboard. He wasn't sure how to go about formulating a response. Should he inform Drake? He decided it was the best thing to do. Drake came back to their bedroom and scanned the message. He only said, "She sounds normal so far, Dave."

"She is normal, silly. What should I say?"

Drake drummed his fingers on the wooden desk's surface, thinking of some kind of a reply. Finally, he came up with, "Why don't you invite her down here for the holidays? Show her around, then take her out for dinner. I'll introduce myself."

"Okay…"

"But make sure to say you want to tell her something. Prepare her, y'know?"

"It sounds fine," admitted Dave. He didn't see a lot wrong with this plan. He gave in and typed up his e-mail. "How does this sound to you, Drake?"

"Good. Now…send."

With that, he pressed a key and sent the message to his mother.

.

.

.

"What are you reading?"

Dave looked up from his textbook. "Just reviewing stuff for school. I'm not graduating that soon, you know."

"Actually, you are. Happy to be free?"

"Of course. More time for us," he said, chuckling a bit.

"And for other things," Drake said, flopping himself next to him. "Put that away."

"Pushy. A special occasion?"

"Just trying to celebrate our engagement."

Dave set aside the textbook. "We did that last week. On the night you gave me that ring?"

"Still a recent engagement, Dave."

Dave didn't remember what happened after the two begun kissing. He refused to think about all the horrors he would have to face, thanks to the sudden proposal. He and Drake were going to get married and deal with everything coming his way. Dave was simply putting all his energy into the intercourse, as he wanted to do.

Tongue, his mind shrieked.

I know, Dave thought as Drake flipped him with inhuman speed. Sexual perks to being a sorcerer? He had no idea.

"Oh, no worries," Drake said, patting his bottom. Dave gasped in surprise. "We can put that theory to test on our honeymoon."

Had he spoken out loud? Whatever. He was in an expensive bed with the wittiest, sharp-tongued, handsome person around. Not being aware of speaking wasn't a huge problem in his mind.

And then Drake was on top of him, and he forgot about everything else in an instant.