A/N: Happy New Year! Surprised? You should be! I decided after a year of nothing, that it was time to finally give you an ending. Hope you enjoy it, and your holidays!

---the Inc.---

Jesus fucking Christ. Why the hell would I ever agree to marry someone-- Especially a woman that's been the rise and fall of my life ever since I met her in our sophomore year?

Pressing my hand to my forehead, I opened my eyes and immediately regretted it. Waking up with a hangover on the day of your wedding wasn't a good idea. What the fuck was I thinking? Obviously you weren't, a voice chirped in my head.

Fucking sunlight.

With an agitated sigh, I tossed my legs over the side of the bed and let my feet rest on the cold hardwood of our bedroom floor. Cussing under my breath, I ran a hand through my hair, trying to get used to the sun raping my eyes.

Glancing at the clock on the nightstand, I immediately started to panic. One oh fucking clock. Shit, shit, and triple shit. Flying off the bed, I traipsed into the bathroom and took a good long glance in the mirror. Lovely. Just fucking lovely. Way to look like shit on your wedding day, Dumbass.

I knew I didn't have time to shower. I knew I didn't have time to do anything. I had to be at the god damn church in forty-five fucking minutes. Why the hell didn't anyone call me?

Turning the shower on, I decided a quick wash would be satisfactory. No more whack off for me today. Jeez. I felt like a complete sex-fiend as I stripped down, continuing to cuss under my breath.

---The Inc.---

Making it to the church on time almost seemed like a miracle. It was amazing that I somehow managed to shower, shave and dress myself (and manage to remember to bring my tux, and the rings) in thirty minutes. A new record, of course.

There seemed to be hundreds of people milling around the church, which obviously seemed odd. It was two hours before the wedding started and I knew for a fucking fact that there wasn't a hundred people in the bridal party.

Ugh, I felt like such a pussy. What kind of guy goes around calling a group of people in a wedding, 'the bridal party'? Jesus, I need to get laid. Damn Rory and her mother for being so damn, fucking superstitious.

Stepping up the steps of the church, I looked around for my best man. Of course, of course he'd be the one that was late. Why bother being on time—it's not like my wedding mattered or anything.

Where the fuck was the fucking wedding coordinator? Shoving my tux into a chair, I glanced around and scratched the back of my neck.

I needed a cigarette. I need to smother my lungs in chemicals.

Digging around in my pocket, I found a lone cigarette, and my trusty lighter. Thanking God, I walked back out of the church, prepared to light my mistress on fire when I was interrupted. By who?

The god damn, fucking –"Oh no, Mr. Dugrey—Ms. Hayden requested that you don't smoke before the wedding,"—wedding planner. Stupid bitch; if Rory didn't love her so much, her ass would be fired with a fucking blowtorch.

She snapped my cigarette and lighter from my hands, and tossed them (carelessly) into her blazer pocket, "Now!" She chirped like the insipid, insufferable, cheeky woman she was, "Where's that tux of yours? You did remember it, didn't you?"

I wordlessly pointed to the heap of black fabric that remained on the chair. "There." I muttered.

"Oh dear," she clucked, shaking her head and gathering it into her arms, "These wrinkles just won't do!" she pressed her finger to something, and as soon as I realized that it was the button to activate her head-set (honestly, I better not be fucking paying for that inane bullshit), she was ordering some idiot named Jose to come get the tux and get it steamed.

Man, was this fucking day going to be amazing or what?

---the inc.---

I did it. I was married. And married to whom? Mary. The Mary of Chilton. Jesus Christ, I was going to have a perma-hard-on, remembering her in that private-school girl uniform. Shivering, I grinned at my wife and did as the priest said; kissed my fucking drop dead gorgeous wife firmly on the lips.

I pulled away and she smiled at me with the most light I'd ever seen. We somehow managed to make it.

Taking her hand in mine, I winked, and leaned conspiratorially towards her, "How do you feel, Mar? How do you feel being married to God?"

She snorted, and smacked me lightly on the arm before pressing a glossy kiss to my lips, "I feel slightly naughty, if you must ask."

I smirked, and draped my arm around her shoulder. I felt like I was on our way to our senior prom. The last time we'd ever walked like this when dressed like this was our prom—Viva Las Vegas was our theme. Rory and I had gotten hitched in the mock-up wedding chapel built in the middle of our gym.

Jesus fucking Christ. I'm fucking married and I'm not heading for the fucking hills yet.

"I love you," she told me as we settled into my 1967 corvette— the 'just married' cliché sprawled on a sign duct taped to the trunk.

"I love you too, babe," I smirked, pressing a sloppy kiss onto her lips as I revved the engine of my rebellion-laced teenage years car. So many memories made in this shiny piece of metal.

I almost wished it had a backseat, so I could have my dirty way with her right then and there—but something tells me the missus still wouldn't conform to having sex, for the first time as a married couple, in a car.

Hmn, well maybe in a broom closet at the Waldorf.

---the Inc.---

"I don't like this whole idea of going in theme, Rory," I groaned, running a hand through my hair as I watched her pull black fishnets up her right leg. "Why can't we just… oh, I don't know, dress like it's any other normal get together?"

Scrunching her nose up in distaste, she pulled the other fishnet on, "Because," she stressed, "it's a themed New Year's Party—and the theme just happens to be Las Vegas!"

I sighed, and dropped onto the chaise lounge at the end of her bed, "But we did that whole Vegas thing for prom!"

"And that was fun, so we're doing it again!" she grinned, winking at me as she stood, and turned her back towards me. "Lace up my corset will you?" she asked innocently, holding the boned fabric at the chest.

I groaned, my pants suddenly feeling very tight, and obliged. When I'd become so pussy-whipped by this girl, I did not know—but it happened. Jesus Christ… Could her costume be any skimpier? "Why can't we just stay in, and bring in the new year doing something alone?"

"Like what?"

"Oh, I don't know, having sex on every imaginable surface in your apartment?"

"Wow, you make it seem so romantic. Please, oh please. Take me right now! I don't think I could handle another second without you ravishing my body!" she teased. Damn her, damn her, damn her to the depths of hell for teasing me at a time like this, when I actually needed to fuck her out of her bloody mind.

"Well when you put it like that," I hissed into her ear, before latching on a particularly sensitive part of her neck.

I brooded my hands from the strings of her corset, to the flat plain of her stomach before I continued my continental exploration of the rolling hills. Palming them through the fabric, I pressed my front side into her backside, and began an assault on her shoulder.

I knew she was growing hot and bother, so I kicked it up a notch and sent a hand from her breast, all the back down her stomach and in-between her legs. "C'mon, baby," I purred, slipping my finger under the satin of her panties, "moan for daddy."

Dirty talking always seemed to turn her on, and before I knew, an assault had begun on my crotch, through my pants by her hand.

Tilting my head back, I let out a guttural moan, and let my finger rest on the inside of her panties. "Baby," I groaned, dropping onto the chaise lounge, "baby, slow down."

Grabbing her hands, I pulled her down on top of me, allowing her to sit in my lap. I bucked my erection up into the soft spot between her legs, and smirked when she let out a pleasurable hiss.

As soon as this foreplay had begun, it had ended.

How she could be so unaffected by that always astounded me. Fucking women and there… fucking control over me.

Running a hand through my hair, I watched her as she turned back to me, "Will you make coffee so it's ready for tomorrow morning?" she asked sweetly, going to slip on her heels.

"Mar, I don't know if we remembered to buy coffee this morning."

"What!" she shrieked, hobbling out of her bedroom and down the hall, her other shoe lay forgotten by the side of her bed.

Getting up and going after her, I couldn't help but chuckle at the item that awaited her in the kitchen.

"Tristan," she cried. "Tristan!"

Strolling into the kitchen, I quirked an eyebrow, "Yes, dear?"

"Wha…what's that in the coffee tin?" she asked. I knew she wouldn't divert her eyes from the canister until I told her.

"What's what in the coffee tin?"

Gasping, she turned and pointed her finger at me, "You're not!" she cried, shaking that lovely finger at me that was earlier assaulting my hard-on, "Tell me… tell me it's a mistake!"

"What's a mistake?" I asked—Jesus fucking Christ, messing with her head was thrilling. I walked towards her and peered over her shoulder, taking in the lovely carat that assaulted my eyesight. "No, it doesn't look like it's a mistake." I said innocently, pinning her against the counter. "So what do you say?"

"Say to what?"

"Yes or no?"

"Ask me the question, and I'll tell you the answer."

Plucking the object of our conversation from it's bland background of Foldger's coffee beans, I blew off the remaining excess of them, and slowly bent down on one knee. "What do you say to making an honest man out of me?"

She bit her lip in that quirky, adorable way and glazed her eyes over the rock in my hand, "I say…"

"Yes?"

Her eyes glanced at the clock, and she further shrieked, "I say Happy New Year!" she laughed before pulling me off the floor, and out of my kneeling position. She grinned, crushing her lips against mine in a such a bruising kiss that I was sure I'd be reeling afterwards.

After a moment or two, she pulled away and brushed her hand over my cheek. I quirked an eyebrow, yet again, and looked down to the ring in my hand, "So?"

"Are you that much of a dolt, Dugrey?" she teased, "Yes!"

"Yes?"

She rolled her eyes at me, and pointed to the ring in my hands, "Put the damn ring on."

I grinned, and kissed her fully on the mouth before slipping that diamond onto her finger.

---the Inc.---

When had I become such a sucker for happy endings?

-

-

-

-

-

Don't blame me for something I can't change

It's not my second nature to be good like you

Let's walk around the problems that I've made

'Cause whatever happens you'll still, love me too

Forget to pick the clothes up, accidentally break your cup

Why stop I'm on a role

I'm trying to do good get in a better mood

Then we can really tear up the floor

Well, things haven't changed, baby, I'm still the same

I'm not perfect and you should be glad

Take one look and listen to me play

And you can see I'm not half bad

Run around day and night barely never time to fight

We're different from all the rest

How do you do it, putting up with me

Let me tell you baby you're the best

Well, it makes no sense having us apart

You'd have to see it or you'd be blind

When we're together I'm so confused

When we're apart your on my mind

-- Tyler Hilton; Don't Blame Me.