Note: Inspired by the April 1st Goliath art reveal. That picture's too cracky not to have some fun with! :D

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"Deryn?" Alek asks, shaking her shoulder. "Are you awake?"

"Mmph," she says, followed by a bleary and slightly aggrieved, "Aye, now."

"I just had the most peculiar dream," he says.

Far from being interested or even sympathetic, she rolls over and burrows into her pillow. She's halfway asleep again already, as evidenced by the mumbled, "Indigestion. Told you... not to... at dinner..."

He waits a beat, then - when she doesn't add anything else - says, "Don't you want to hear about it?"

This time she skips the Mmph in favor of a groan. " 's the middle of the bloody night! Tell me in the morning."

He props himself up on his elbow. "But I'll have forgot it by then."

Most of her response is lost to the pillow, but he catches a few of her favorite curses. She rolls onto her back and scrubs her hands over her face with a begrudging, "All right, I'm listening."

"You were getting married," he says, "but you were still Dylan. And the bride looked like - I suppose it was Lilit, actually. Bovril was the ring bearer, and Dr. Barlow and Volger were witnesses."

"Very peculiar, aye," she says, yawning. "That all?"

He was right: the details are already melting away, liquid through a sieve, leaving only a few fragmented strange moments. "Well, I was trying to stop it," he says. As to why he had been trying to stop a wedding in a stolen walker... with a saber... It had made perfect sense in the dream, of course.

"Did you?"

"Yes," he says, although he has a suspicion that he woke up before he got to that part.

"Good for you," she says, tugging the blanket up over her shoulders, yawning again. "I'd hate to be married to a girl."

He studies the way the faint starlight catches the curves of her face, the shape of her body beneath the blanket. "Since we're both awake..." he says, touching her hip.

She opens one eye just far enough to give him a dark glare, and her "No," is very definitive.

He sighs and resettles himself on his side of the bed, trying to get comfortable enough to fall back to sleep. Perhaps this time he'll dream of something more pleasant.

His own wedding, for example. That had been lovely, and no one had crashed it – although that, too, he remembers mainly in fragmentary snapshots. He can't help it; it's an overwhelming sort of occasion.

He does remember, very clearly, holding Deryn's hands in his as the priest spoke, and looking into her bright blue eyes and brighter smile.

Wondering, the whole while, if it was possible to die of happiness.

"Deryn?"

She positively growls. "What?"

He gathers her close and plants a kiss on her shoulder. "Ich liebe dich."

"Mmph, love you too," she says, snuggling back into him, "but don't wake me up again."