Real Love The characters in this story do not belong to me. They belong to Sega and to Dic and Archie too I suppose. This is a super short fic from Sonic's POV. Rated G. Oh yeah and you don't have to like Sally, but if you don't please keep it to yourself.

There's a lot more to this relationship stuff than just huggin' and kissin'. I knew that, I think I did anyway. I just . . . . never really thought about it. 'Course, I don't really think about things when I don't hafta. I don't like it too much. Seems like a waste of time really. So I guess when I thought about being part of a . . . a couple, I thought mostly 'bout the good stuff. The huggin', the kissin', the lovin'. I guess I sorta built it up in my mind to much. My expectations were too high, Sal would say. I know, she's said it. I guess she's right . . . she usually is. I'm not perfect Sonic, she tells me. I respond with a, don't I know it. But I didn't. Not really. I had thought she was perfect. My perfect Sal. Flawless and just . . . just right. I knew her, knew her 'bout as well as myself, maybe better. Still, I thought her perfect. It's sorta like I separated real Sal from my imaginary Sal, the one that shared my bed, my life as my mate. I was happy with that. There was the really real Sal that was my friend, my best friend. She was a little . . . critical sometimes. She was a little . . . anal about some things. She picked (I think she's pickin' anyway) about me being dumb. She got aggravated with me. She got mad at me. She got sad. Real Sal's always been mondo good at being sad . . . melon-collie, she called it once when I asked. In a major funk I call it. Anyway. That was real Sal. But imaginary Sal was always a ray 'a sunshine. Always happy. She thought everythin' I did was just right. She was flexible. She was always wantin' to know what I wanted to do. She always wanted to do what I wanted to. I think it was stupid to make my make-believe Sal so . . . un-Sally like. But I did it. Maybe I thought those two worlds wouldn't ever cross. That there'd only ever be Real Sal the Friend and Pretend Sal the Mate. I don't know. Again, I never really thought about it, other than knowin' I'd like the real Sal to be my mate.

But, it did happen. Real Sal edged out her imaginary self and became Real Sal the Mate. It was the most way past cool thing that had ever happened. At first. The first little bit she was a lot like I imagined. She was happy. I made her happy. She was agreeable. She wanted to do the things I wanted to do. There was only one thing we wanted to do. It wasn't perfect, but it was real close. A little time passed and things . . . they changed a little. At first it wasn't a big deal. We'd argue some. Over the same stuff we always had. But we never really fought. We never went to bed so angry that we didn't want to cuddle or anythin'. That was okay. Not perfect, but real good. Things changed more as time went on. Sometimes we did fight. Really fight. Fight enough to make her sleep far away from me, hangin' almost off her side of the bed. It wasn't all that much. Just a time or two. I always said I was sorry . . . even if I wasn't always sure what I did and she forgave me. Weird thing, I'd do it too. Get all mad at her. Get just so mad at somethin' she said. Or did. Or didn't do. And I wouldn't let her put her cold little feet on me at night. I wouldn't let her touch me. And she'd tell me she was sorry. She's a lot better at knowin' what she did. And I would sigh and hug her an' tell her it was okay. I don't get it. We never used to fight like this. Over stupid stuff. Get all bent outta shape over who's turn it was to wash the dishes when we coulda just done them together. Or gittin' all upset over . . . well, nothin' at all. It really is nothin' most times. I don't like it. I don't like fightin' about nothin'. I don't know why we do it. I have to think a lot now, about the things I say to her. My words mean more. Her words mean more to me. When she says I'm stupid (she doesn't do it much anymore) it hurts. It makes me feel mad and sad and . . . just bad. It never bothered me like this before. I might get a little miffed with it . . . but it never made me feel bad. I don't understand why it means more now. I don't like it. I wish . . . I sorta wish it was like before sometimes. When we fight. But other times I wouldn't ever go back. When she kisses me. When we sit together on the couch, just bein' together. When we love. When she whispers sweet words in my ear. I guess the fights are worth it.

I talk to Uncle Chuck sometimes. He says all couples fight. He says it's normal. He tells me relationships take work. Effort. Thought. Patience. I don't like those things. I'm not good at those things. It scares me some. Me, scared? I don't like that either. But Uncle Chuck says that's good. That means I care. It means I'm takin' it serious. He says he's proud of me. He says I'm doin' a good job. That Sal an' me, that we're doin' a good job. He says we always hurt the ones we love. That we take stuff out on them, with out even meanin' too. He tells me its good we're learnin' this stuff so quick and that we try to fix it. Uncle Chuck tells us to always remember the reasons why we love each other. The things we fell in love with. That's easy. He says we have to learn from our mistakes and always try to think about the others feelin's. To always talk about our feelin's and tell each other when and why we're mad. I can do that. I always thank Uncle Chuck for his advice. I tell him that it's a mondo big help and it should make things more simple. He laughs and tells me it only get more complex.

We dance sometimes. We're dancing now. It's somethin' Sal likes. I don't know why. Maybe she likes to pretend she's a princess (I know she is a princess. A normal princess I mean) dancin' in a grand hall with her prince. I don't mind as long as we're alone, in our hut. She has a little wind up record player and it plays a song I don't know. Somethin' old. But it's pretty. She tells me I'm a good dancer. Maybe I am, I don't know. She just got out of the shower a bit ago and she still smells so sweet. Her hair is damp and it lays flat against her head, her bangs pushed back and mixed with the longer strains. She's pretty that way. She's pretty anyway. Without her bangs teased up and with her boots off I 'm taller than she is. Not a lot. Just a couple inches. But it reminds me that I am bigger, stronger and I pull her closer, wantin' to protect her from the night. She sighs and leans heavy on my shoulder. She's been quiet today. Not mad, just quiet, thoughtful I guess. The song ends and another begins. One of her favorites. Again Sal sighs, her nose pressin' into my throat.
"Sonic?" I barely hear her, she says it so soft.
"Hummm?"
"Do . . . do you want to have children?"
"Yeah, 'course." I answer after a moment of thought. Sal doesn't like it when I answer too quick, like I didn't really hear her, like I didn't even think about it.
"Good. That's good." We dance and I twirl her, liftin' her in my arms as the song ends. She laughs a little, then her face gets serious, a little nervous lookin'.
"Sal, you okay?"
"Sonic . . . I . . . we're going to have a baby."
"Say what?"
"I'm pregnant." I suddenly understand what Uncle Chuck said about things gettin' more complex.