There was something inherently stupid about him.

For starters, he had too big of eyes; he was too naive. Too innocent. Secondly, he had an outdated form of speech. (Granted, that came from being a 30-year-old video game, which technically meant it wasn't his fault; he was programmed that way, but all the same.) All these qualities shouldn't make him so irresistible to her—so alluring.

Calhoun couldn't stand it. He had a certain charm about him that was infuriating, annoying and yet so handsome.

But the real problem was that Calhoun had thought she was programmed never to love again.

(Yeah, that whole, "darkest backstory ever" was supposed to make her jaded…wasn't it? She was supposed to be shadowed. Hurt. Crippled in the sense that the player would feel compassion for her; be spurred by her own loss in order to fight harder against those persistent Cy-Bugs.)

And technically, protocol stated that she should fight against—maim—destroy—any piece of virus or code that went against the programming. (Just like Cy-Bugs.) So technically, Calhoun should be pushing him away in order to not deviate from her original purpose. That would, in turn, allow her to keep her motivation for being a butt-kicking awesome sergeant relentlessly shooting viruses to death.

(Really, she shouldn't have even hesitated when she first had him pinned all those days ago. She should have pulled the trigger right then and there into his little neck and thereby ended all her strife.)

But when he had looked into her eyes with all that pure, unabashed wonder, grasping the muzzle without any fear at all (stupid, stupid, stupid young man), and gasped, "Look at that high definition in your face…"

…well, in her defense, every woman loves been told they're beautiful.

So, Mr. Fix-it Felix Jr. lived and now, Sergeant Calhoun finds herself doing what she never thought she would again—changing out of her daily battle-gear and into her abandoned wedding dress.

And for some reason, while looking into the mirror and into her own eyes, Calhoun suddenly thinks she isn't worth it.

Her eyes are dark. They aren't open and blue like Felix's. Hers have seen and fought wars unimaginable. His are kind, soft, bright. And while he has continually committed brave acts of service to the Nicelanders, she has lead first-person shooters through gruesome wars against ghastly Cy-Bugs.

His hands have built, restored, saved.

Hers?

…now, when it had been Brad she was going to marry…

Well, some part of her felt she deserved him. He, too, was a dirty, war-whethered soldier. They were on the same level. Same league, universe, console.

But Felix?

He wasn't even in her same generation. True, codes and digital worlds made them by all means timeless since creation, but…oh, he was so good. Stupid and naïve, but also so kind and gentle. And Calhoun wasn't any of that.

So looking into her reflection, she began to have doubts.

"…Vanellope."

The princess-turned-president-but-turned-princess-again-for-this-one-day turned expectantly around and towards the mirror. "Yeah?" she called, looking almost relieved to have something finally going on rather than the awkward silence she had been forced to sit and twiddle her thumbs in. "What's up?"

Calhoun swallowed before clearing her throat. "…why does the bride wear white?"

The awkward silence stretched between them again. Vanellope, caught-off-guard, quite literally didn't know what to say. She started with a gulp. "Okay, so, y'know, I'm not so sure I'm the girl you should be asking, I mean…I'm honored you requested me to be your bridesmaid and all, but…I hardly know you, so this might be—"

Calhoun sighed quickly, waving her hand to cut the poor girl off before using that same hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. "I know, I know…sorry." All of her nerves were on fire, every joint oiled and antsy. Life was so much easier with a gun in her hand, Cy-Bugs to kill and a programmed script to speak to a first-person. Not this…mushy-dress up stuff that made her more nervous than a crippled chicken in a fox-invaded coup. "I just…you're the only other woman I know, so I thought…I'd…"

Vanellope cleared her throat, eyes meeting Calhoun's reflection, but not the other's eyes. "Oh…right. Sorry."

Calhoun nodded faintly—more to herself than to the dark-haired girl behind her. "It's all right." She took a moment more, staring at her own eyes, before nodding firming her lips, setting her jaw and nodding again. "It's all right."

She caught sight of Vanellope's cheeky grin in the mirror as she finally stood, hands automatically pressing flat against the gown to smooth out the non-existent wrinkles.

The girl's voice rang of a thousand buzzing bytes of excitement. She, too, hopped to her feet and hastily straightened out her puffy gown, tall ponytail bouncing with her gestures. "Geez; took you long enough! Finally ready?"

Calhoun nodded, turning and offering her own small, set grin as she gazed fondly down at her bridesmaid. "Right."

Because whether or not it was right for her to wear white, something in her—confidence?—told her Felix wouldn't care. He never did. The truth remained, loud and blatant: if she didn't scare him away with her freakin' gun aimed at his neck all those weeks ago, then she wasn't about to scare him away now because of a life-binding commitment.

Besides. Perhaps wearing white could represent something else. Her own transformation, for instance, under the healing powers of the great Mr. Fix-it Felix Jr.

Calhoun's mouth twitched even higher in amusement at the idea.

At least—it would, if she had been programmed with any sentiment at all.

Crystal's Notes: So. I love Wreck-It Ralph. 8D And CalhounxFelix. Because. They're so completely opposite, and it's just...wonderful. So I had to write at least a drabble for the fandom.

Well done, Disney. Well done.