Hey there, luvs.

Oh gosh...I was feeling random for this one...but I sorta like it anyway. Tell me what you think in the ever-appreciated reviews?

I still don't own WWRY...though I'm hoping and praying for a miracle. If that doesn't work out though, I'll settle for Daddy taking me to Toronto to see it again? Yes?

xxxx 3


Our Own World

"We have to tell them, Figgy."

"No, we don't."

"Yeah, we actually do."

"Well I'm not coming," he said, turning his back to me, and sounding very pouty. Sometimes, I could swear that Galileo acted more like a girl than I did.

"Why are you being so difficult?" I shook my head.

"I'm not being difficult," he insisted.

"You are beingincredibly difficult," I crossed my arms.

"I am not," he maintained.

"We can't just not tell them, you know. You can hardly expect us to keep living in our own little world, away from civilization, away from my parents… Hell, we're even away from Bohemia, since you decided we needed "privacy", and that we should move into our own place, outside the Heartbreak!"

"You know, Scaramouche, I'm actually not telling you that we don't have to tell them. You can go right ahead…just as long as I'm not around when you do."

"Galileo!" I cried.

"What?" he looked at me, feigning a look of nonchalance.

"Baby, you can't make me tell them alone," I frowned.

"Why not?"

"We are gettingmarried. Marriage, Galileo Figaro, is the union of two people. Does it seem very united to announce a marriage without your partner?"

"Yes, if you're announcing the marriage to the bride's psychotic father."

"Sometimes, Galileo," I sighed, "I wonder why I put up with you."

"Well," he smiled sheepishly, "You must sort of like me since you agreed to marry me."

"True," I grinned, "Though it could have just been your accent."

"It was not!" he said indignantly.

"Of course not," I murmured, leaning forward and taking his face in my hands. It was time for a new approach, "Now tell me, Figgy, will you please come with me?"

"No," he answered, blushing.

"How about now?" I kissed his neck.

"N-n-no," he stammered.

I whispered in his ear, "Please?"

"N-n-no-o-o," he sputtered. I could practically feel the heat radiating from his cheeks.

"Why not?" I nibbled on his earlobe.

"Sc-Sc-Scaramouche, st-st-sto-stop!" he pulled away, his face red as a cherry tomato, "Please!"

"Well aren't you adorable?" I smiled mischievously, "All flustered like that!"

"Se-seriously-ly, your parents huh-huh-huh-hate me," he insisted, breathing heavily.

"Figgy," I scowled, angry that he still wasn't co-operating, "They don't hate you!"

"I swear they d-do," he insisted, still blushing.

"Why would you say that?" I arched an eyebrow.

"Well," he cleared his throat, "You see the looks your father gives me."

"What looks?" I tried to fake an air of innocence…and failed, judging by the grimace Figgy was giving me.

"These looks," he scowled, letting his lower lip curl, his eyebrows knit together and his eyes squint. All in all, he looked more unattractive than menacing…all the same, I knew exactly which looks he meant. They were the ones my father gave door-to-door salesmen. Enough said.

"Besides," he added, "He calls me names."

"He does not!" I protested, "He always just calls you 'Figalo', remember? That's really not that bad of him, is it?"

"Scaramouche, as soon as you leave the room, I don't get 'Figalo'," he said flatly, "He calls me 'that crazy bastard who brainwashed his innocent daughter'."

"Oh," I said quietly, unsure what to say next. I sat down on the red sofa in our room, hugging my legs close to my chest. There was a silence until I offered, "Well, it's not because he doesn't like you, Figgy. He just doesn't like that you're his daughter's boyfriend."

"Fiancée," he corrected.

"Even worse," I retorted. I noticed the injured look on Galileo's face, "Worse for him, Figgy."

"Oh," his expression brightened a little.

"Come on, Figgy, give me one good reason, that goes beyond what any protective father would do to his only daughter's fiancée, why you shouldn't be there when I tell my parents we're getting married," I challenged him. When he didn't answer, I arched an eyebrow, "Hit me with your best shot… 'Figalo'."

"You want a good reason?" he approached me.

"Fire away," I nodded.

"Okay," he stooped down so that his face was level with mine, "Are you ready for this?"

I nodded. His deep brown eyes stared into mine, and his expression was stony as he uttered the words, "He uses me for target practice."

"He what?"

"Uses me for target practice."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I wrinkled my nose.

"It means," he sat down next to me, "That he made me run around while he shot at me."

"You're joking," I said flatly.

"Ha! I wish," he responded.

"He uses you for target practice," I said incredulously.

"That's what I said," he nodded, giving me a half-smile.

"He does not," I bit down hard on my lower lip, "He can't!"

"He can and he does," he replied.

"No way," I shook my head.

"You're in denial, baby," he draped his arm across my shoulder, wearing a look of superiority mixed with affection that I usually gave him.

"You're just teasing me…aren't you Figgy?" I looked at him hopefully.

He shook his head, "He even makes me wear toy antlers."

I stared at him aghast.

"Run, Figalo, run!" he growled in a perfect imitation of my father.

"I'm not sure whether to laugh or cry," I mumbled wide-eyed.

"Both?" he suggested.

I just sighed instead. After a moment's thought I said, "Well you know what the bright side is?"

"That I don't have to come?"

"No, you're still coming."

"Scaramouche, I just proved that he hates me!"

"Oh Figgy, he doesn't hate you a bit," I shook my head with a smile.

"He uses me for target practice, remember?" he waved his hand in front of my face, "Earth to Scaramouche. You don't shoot at someone you like."

"Baby," I leaned forward and planted a kiss on his lips, "If he hated you, he wouldn't have missed."