Author's Note: This is a collection of oneshots, unrelated - ideas that have no place in a story, requests, dares, challenges. Just for fun and summer silliness and stretching the writing. All our favorite characters and some O/Cs. I own nothing by F/X or E.L. naturally. This first is for sorchauna and anyone else who slogged through the more depressing stories. If anyone has a request, I'll give it my best shot. Happy Independence Day, Happy Canada Day, Happy Summer Solstice and happy any other reason to party in the sunshine.

On the Cutting Room Floor - FRAGO

Tim stood stiffly, arms crossed. "Fuck you. Forget I asked. You are full of shit if you think I'm going to fall for that. Your dad pawned you to me for a lawnmower repair over a year ago, remember?"

Miljana opened her mouth in mock-horror at the idea. "Papa was drunk and desperately missing his favorite weekend hobby," she responded jabbing a finger at him and giggling. "You took advantage of a moment of weakness. Serbian tradition dictates that you must ask his permission."

"Bullshit."

"Chicken," she dared, started laughing.

Tim huffed and walked past her toward the kitchen to get himself a beer. She was laughing harder and he shoved her out of the way against the wall. She sank to the floor, weak-kneed, gasping.

He came back with a bottle, took a swig and looked down at her. "Yes or no?" he demanded, annoyed. "I'm not asking again."

"Oh my god, you're killing me," she squeaked holding herself tightly.

He rolled his eyes but couldn't stop a grin watching her wriggling. "This offer expires at midnight tonight," he said and kicked at her gently, teasing, and his grin grew into a chuckle then a laugh. It was contagious – every time he'd end up laughing with her. She was impossible and life was so ridiculous. Then he too was holding his sides, sliding to the floor, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Oh god," she gasped, "I'm dying here." She was now lying on her back wiping at her cheeks with her sleeve. "Oh fuck, that hurts. Oh shit. I love you."

"I love you, too," he stated, serious now. "So, will you marry me or not?"

"Yes," she blurted out, crawling over to him and settling in his arms, "Of course I will. God, what a dumb question." She helped herself to some of his beer.

"You are so fucking annoying," he stated, affection softening the words.

"Annoying? You are so fucking serious!"

"Serious? If I were serious, I'd be down on one knee with a ring."

She sobered up. "You don't have a ring?"

"No! Shit, you'd just laugh at me if I proposed on my knees with a ring. You're laughing at me anyway."

She tried hard to look upset and disappointed but it just wouldn't take. She couldn't bring herself to care enough about a ring. She started laughing again. He made a face.

"Stop it," she gasped, reaching up and pressing her palm against his nose, hiding his expression from view. "It hurts."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," he groaned, talking around her hand. "So, when do you want to get married?" He pushed her arm away and she put it around his neck instead.

A few chuckles escaped, stragglers, as she considered the question. She wiped at her face, quirked an eyebrow. "Are you on call this weekend?"

"Nope."

They shared a look, another dare, a grin, mischief, then broke into hysterics all over again.

And Tim went to work Monday as usual, but married – a residual smile and a hangover from celebrating with Miljana's parents.

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