Mulch winced as another thunderclap boomed and Bucket groaned. "We really ought to get going, Bucket, before it's too late to get to the Great Hall."
"I know, Mulch, but it- agh! It hurts so badly," Bucket clamped his hands around his head.
Mulch sighed as he poured heated water into a cauldron and took it over to where Bucket sat at the kitchen table. "Here ye are, this should be warm enough to loosen that bucket o' yers."
Bucket dipped his head into the pot. His muscles relaxed slightly as the pain slowly eased.
"There now, are ye feeling a little better?" asked Mulch.
"Aye, that-" Bucket began, but he stopped and stiffened as a particularly loud growl of thunder reverberated around the village. His blue eyes stared through the gaps in the barricade against the window, waiting… waiting…
Mulch must have blinked. He hadn't seen the lighting flash, but Bucket gave a howl as he always did after one. Gods, Mulch hated seeing his partner like this! Wasn't it bad enough that that dumb bucket on his head shrank to the size of a thimble during these fierce squalls? Did the poor man have to feel the terror of fifty Dragon Nests every time Thor sent down a bolt?
"It's just a wee storm," Mulch had spoken these words over and over, every time Berk had a lightning storm and his partner began to struggle. "Just a wee storm."
Bucket began to hyperventilate. "Thor's angry at the metal! Me bucket's made o' tin! What if he sends a streak o' lighting through the window and it hits me head and I end up less intelligent?
Mulch shook his head. "He was angry with the metal last winter. We took it all down, so Thor's got nothing to gripe about now. Besides," he touched Bucket's hand, "that wouldn't happen anyway. Ye've seen hundreds o' tempests and ye've never been struck, have ye?"
"No…" admitted Bucket, "But I'm still afraid."
"There's no shame in it, but we're Vikings. We'll tough it out." Mulch squeezed his partner's fingers as another flash of lightning illuminated Bucket's anxious face. "Together."
He dunked a finger in the water of the cauldron to feel the temperature. "That's stone cold. It's likely too late to get to the Great Hall now. I'm going to get more warm water for yer bucket. Try and breathe a little slower, now, eh?"
Bucket watched through bleary eyes as his other half got up and refilled the cauldron with snow that had blown through the gaps in the walls. He was feeling calmer now. He always did when he spent time with Mulch. Gods, Mulch was wonderful… just wonderful.
Suddenly, he knew he had to do it now. He hadn't planned it, but why wait for the perfect moment? If you propose to the right person, they make that moment perfect.
Mulch turned around to see Bucket on one knee, looking at him with a misty-eyed gaze.
"Mulch... I love ye. A lot. Will ye marry me?"
Bucket's heart pounded as he watched Mulch's face. His expression wasn't joyous. "Oh, Bucket…" he sighed.
Please don't say no, please don't say no-
"No, I won't marry ye."
Bucket's heart sank to his toes.
"I already did that twenty years ago, and a wedding's not something I want to go through twice!" Mulch extended a hand to help his husband up.