He remembered the first time her met her. It was one of the strangest experiences of his life.

He had been in the job for a little over a month when he got the call to fit a weekly visit to the small island just off the coast of the mainland, and he thought little of it at the time. How was he meant to know that the sole rancher on the island was nigh on eccentric? Besides, he had a couple of relatives who had set up shop there, so it was probably a good chance to 'socialise', even if it was with people that came from the same gene pool.

When he first arrived, expecting a warm friendly greeting from an auntie and cousin he hadn't seen in years, he got something entirely different.

He was greeted by a gasp and a string of high pitched, squealing giggles that echoed down the corridor through the back door of the foyer (he assumed they lead to the bedrooms). Thinking back on it now, it probably wasn't a smart idea to drop his bag and follow the sound.

Call it primitive male ignorance.

He hadn't even bothered to knock when he located the correct door, which was just another mistake he could later add to the list of 'things he could have played out differently'. Before the door had even opened to its full extent, he found himself chest to chest with a young woman who seemed to be suffering from borderline midgetism.

"Hi! You must be Vaughn!" She exclaimed, her voice a decibel or two louder than it should have been.

"My name's Chelsea, and it's wonderful to meet you!"

He had been entirely unprepared when the small woman launched herself into his arms (It was an admirable feat, he had to admit, springing up that high without a running start) and even more so when he felt, rather than heard, the wet smack of her lips meeting his. He stumbled back against the wall behind him, unaccustomed to supporting the weight of another human being.

He was so stunned that it didn't even register when she had stolen his Stetson and leapt out of his arms, shutting the door in his face before he could even get so much as a word out. The girlish squealing resumed.

Weeks later, Vaughn found out that his cousin Julia had a wicked mind when it came to conjuring up dares.

He remembered the first time she'd joined him for dinner.

She was still the annoying swat she was every other week, but her persistence to annoy him meant that he wasn't even in the mood to push her away when she took the chair next to him.

She probably had some strange idea in her head that just because he sat by himself in the diner meant he must be lonely.

Ugh.

She had shoved a drink in his face and told him it was on her. Vaughn hadn't even noticed the small, mischievous gleam in her eyes.

Needless to say, when Vaughn got on the boat back to the city early the next morning, he was pleasantly buzzed.

He remembered the first time he saw her dance.

It hadn't been premeditated in the slightest, as Vaughn had just left Mirabelle's shop when Chelsea came bounding down the cobblestone path. He had considered making a quick U-turn and avoiding confrontation, but he had barely managed to turn his shoulder to make his escape when he felt her tiny hand clasp around his wrist.

"Hi Vaughn!" She gasped, out of breath.

"Chelsea." He returned.

Funnily enough, she never got to the obnoxious conversation fillers she usually prattled through before leaving, because it had started to rain. He didn't find it all that odd, the clouds had been gathering all morning, but the look Chelsea got in her baby blues was enough to startle him.

He was prepared for the girlish squeal when it came this time.

She had dashed off in the opposite direction, cutting the corner that turned towards her little hobby ranch and disappeared from view in an instant.

He wasn't concerned or anything, but he knew if she ended up slipping in the mud and killing herself on a pebble he'd probably be blamed for it. With a noncommittal grunt, he followed her fast dissolving footsteps up to her farm.

In the end, Vaughn never did come across a slowly dying, clumsy girl. Instead, he begrudgingly admitted later, he came upon one of the most beautiful sights he'd ever seen.

She had always been a carefree person, and when he put his mind to it, it wasn't that hard to imagine seeing her twirling around like a five year old in her paddock, but actually watching the event take place before his very eyes made it all the more amazing.

Her chestnut locks clung to her forehead, and her bandanna drooped miserably across her scalp. The vibrant hues of her clothing seemed dull in comparison to the pleasant expression on her face as she looked up in the sky, her arms spread wide as she began a slow spin, careful not to get dizzy. When she'd caught sight of him watching, she'd paused and smiled in his direction. Even from a distance, he could see the droplets accumulating at the tips of her long eyelashes.

She held out her hand, and Vaughn had no idea what possessed him to take it.

He remembered the first time they really kissed.

It was a bittersweet moment in reality. There hadn't been any romantic evening, or declarations of love by the moonlight. It had been a moment of comfort in his time of need, and hadn't developed any further than that.

It had been two weeks since he had gotten the news, two weeks since he had visited the island, and two weeks since he had last left his apartment in the city. At the time, he didn't know what to feel. In his mind, Vaughn didn't have the right to feel grief over the woman's death. He hadn't seen or heard from her in years.

It didn't even register that it might be okay to cry over your own mother's passing.

When she knocked on his door the following Friday, after missing his third cycle to the island, he didn't have the energy to tell her to leave.

"How did you find out where I live?" He asked, moving away from the door and returning to his seat on the couch.

She'd stayed in the archway for a moment, looking unsure about whether it was safe to enter or not. When Vaughn made no attempt to stop her, she took a step in and closed the door behind her.

"Julia might have mentioned it in conversation..."

He'd nodded in acceptance of the answer, but said nothing further. He just sat there, keenly aware of the pitying look Chelsea's eyes held as she watched him from a distance.

"If you want to talk about it-"

"There's nothing to talk about."

She frowned and came to sit beside him, tucking her legs underneath herself as she kept a close eye on him. It made him uncomfortable, having her watch him so intensely, like she expected him to just break down in front of her, bawling his eyes out.

He didn't start crying, nor did he say anything in reply when she said it was okay to feel grief over the death of a loved one. The only thing that was on his mind was the feeling of her head, resting against his shoulder and the steady beat of his heart.

When he had turned rigid in response to levels of affection he wasn't used to, Chelsea lifted her head and said a quick apology. She was shaking her head, as she shuffled further away, and he could almost see the inner workings of her mind going haywire. He stopped her when he held her hand in his own.

"Chelsea, I'm not grieving because I feel...guilty."

She's looked him right in the eye then, the awkwardness leaving her body as she did not dare break contact. He didn't either, at least, not until his eyes had fluttered shut in response to her soft lips, moving in tandem with his own.

At some point, he'd gently pushed her down to lie on the couch, having wedged his own body between her and the backing. His hand wandered up and down her side, while hers continued to pet his pale hair back against his head.

It was comfort, he told himself.

He didn't even notice the tears that had managed to escape the barrier of his eyelids.

When the sun rose the next morning, Vaughn found himself curled around the small brunette, his legs curved through hers to accommodate his considerable height. Despite feeling slightly cramped, Vaughn wasn't sure if he'd ever felt quite so peaceful in his life.

Or maybe it was that adorable, sleepy smile Chelsea had when she snuggled herself further into his embrace.

When he returned to the island the next week, neither of them spoke about their single moment of intimacy. Nothing needed to be said.

He remembered the first time she asked him on a date.

He had stared at her like she must have gone crazy. Scratch that, he already knew she was crazy, but maybe she'd been bitten by some poisonous, alien mosquito that gave her a false sense of hope.

He had 'kindly' declined her offer, and that was the end of it.

Until the next day, and the week after that, and the week after that.

So eventually, Vaughn had gotten so tired of predicting her first words when she walked through the door of shop that he conceded in accepting her little proposal. She nearly fainted when she realised that his automated answer had switched to an affirmative, and when her heart seemed to start beating again she tackled him.

It was disturbingly reminiscent of their first meeting, and that was something he'd rather not relive.

Chelsea had prattled on about dates and times and attires (he wasn't really listening to anything past the essentials) before leaving the shop with a skip in her step. She hadn't even bothered to go find Julia, like she usually did, so when Julia did pop around the corner to ask if she had heard someone come through the door, Vaughn answered honestly.

"She only spoke to you?"

"Yeah."

"Is she really depressed because you beat her down again?"

"What? No. She ran off because she's got a date to get ready for."

He'd knocked on her door later that evening, deciding to forego the Stetson for once. It felt strange without his hypothetical security blanket wrapped around his head, and though he'd never admit it, his snowy hair was a major cause for his discomfort.

When she opened the door to greet him, he thought he might have been the one close to fainting this time round. She'd replaced the glaringly bright yellows and oranges and the daggy jeans for a pretty blue sundress. If Vaughn had any idea about fashion, he might have said that it complemented her eyes beautifully.

She had a dog named Pepper and a horse named Sir Fitzgerald the Fourth (Fitzy for short). She liked the colour yellow because it reminded her of the wild daffodils that grew in her childhood backyard. Her parents wanted her to get a degree in law, but she had dropped out mid way through her first year to find herself. She liked jazz music and was a sucker for The Beatles.

He'd kissed her again that night, out of compulsion, and left with a small, secretive smile.

He remembered the first time she yelled at him.

Her cheeks were glowing red and her eyes were filled with menace. He'd never seen her like that before, so angry, out of control. He hardly remembered what it was she was yelling at him about. Something about him being an insolent bastard who needed to wake up and smell the roses. He didn't understand where she was coming from with that, because he was pretty certain she used a rose scented shampoo he was well acquainted with.

He'd snapped back at her with a terse remark, and everything went silent.

Her beautiful, baby blues filled with tears as she stared at him for one heartbreaking moment. And then she spun on her heels and stormed off, tiny fists clenched at her sides.

They didn't speak again for three weeks.

He remembered the first time she said she loved him.

He'd grown tired of listening to the lovesick puppies that were his cousin and that ginger haired boy, and had decided to leave before things got any freakier. The walls in the house were annoyingly thin.

When he had pulled the curtains back, ready to make a quick escape through the window, he was amazed to find Chelsea standing there, fist held high as she prepared to tap on the glass. The two of them stared at each other for a long moment, before she broke out into a big, cheesy grin. He opened the window and asked her what she was doing there.

"I was bored, and I was wondering if you wanted to come over."

She seemed to have forgotten that it was well past midnight, and the only reason he was up was because he had to be ready for when he left in the morning.

However, the idea was minutely more appealing that wandering around aimlessly for the next four and a half hours, so he gave a quick nod of his head and jumped out of the window to follow her back to her ranch.

She'd taken his hand in hers as they walked, and neither of them said a word before they reached her front door. When she led him inside, they took a turn into the kitchen, where she prepared to make them both a nice, warm cup of tea. It was one of those moments when neither of them said a thing, and yet the silence did not compel them to fill it. They were comfortable in each other's presence, and that alone was enough to make her smile (because, well, Vaughn just didn't smile all that often anyway, but he was pretty chuffed with her presence as well).

The clock on the wall pinged when it hit one in the morning, and he decided that he probably should take his leave. But just as he set his cup down and made to stand up, something stopped him.

"Chelsea, what's wrong?" She was frowning, her head turned to the side as she attempted to hide the tell-tale quiver of her lower lip.

"I... I don't want you to go." She whispered, her eyes lowered to the floor.

He shifted around the table, taking the seat beside her. He didn't understand, he always left and she always smiled and gave him a hug on departure. She'd never seemed so upset about it before, because she knew she'd see him in a week's time.

He explained that to her, but it only seemed to force a tear to roll down her cheek.

"You don't get it, do you?" She said, turning around to give him her undivided attention. "You don't seem to get the fact that I don't want you to go, because I'm a total, lovesick fool when it comes to you."

He'd given her a funny look and quirked his eyebrow at her comment, which seemed to make her smile, if only in slightest.

"You idiot." She sighed, reaching out to wrap her arms around his neck. "I'm in love with you."

He didn't say it back, because he couldn't bring the words out. He wasn't a man who lived for sentimentality, and despite the growing urge to tell her that her feelings were indeed reciprocated, he held them back.

Instead, he wrapped his arms around her waist and gave her a wholesome kiss, hoping that she understood the words that couldn't be said.

When tongues slipped past lips and clothing began to fall to the floor, he reckoned she understood exactly how he felt. And he proceeded to show her all the more as he caught her in his arms and made his way into her bedroom.

He remembered the first time she caught him watching.

They'd been married for a little over six months when it first happened. Usually, Vaughn would be up at the crack of dawn, brewing his first cup of coffee for the day ahead, so he didn't really consider his wife's bathing habits (unless they involved him in it). But, one day Vaughn had slept in, only waking up when he heard the sound of rushing water through the pipes in the walls.

He'd gotten up, ready to start his usual routine, when he noticed something odd. The passage floor was curling with steam, and the bright, fluorescent lights of the bathroom poured out the gap in the door.

When he took a peek through the door, he swore he was only checking to make sure everything was alright. Only he got a rather glamorous view of his wife in the shower, soap suds sliding down the curve of her spine.

She was short, very short, but her body was perfectly proportioned. Vaughn found himself admiring her small waist and the curve of her hips as she washed herself. It wasn't exactly a sexual appreciation; though he had plenty of that as well, it was more a simple admiration of the female body, perfect for childbearing.

His thoughts hadn't strayed towards the thought of children before that day, but the idea of seeing Chelsea's tummy swelling as she carried his child made his heart skip a beat.

Oh, and that round bottom of hers. How much he'd like to curve his hands around the flesh as he pulled her against his hips...

He dashed away before his thoughts were too far into the gutter that they could no longer be salvaged.

It wasn't intentional, he swore. It wasn't his fault that he kept coming around in the morning to make sure she hadn't hurt herself in the shower. It was a perfectly normal, husband-y thing to do. And it was most certainly not perverted!

He'd gone as red as a tomato when she brought it up one day over dinner.

"And here I was thinking you'd might take the hint and join me..."

He stood there, thinking back on everything that had lead them to this very moment. It wasn't surprising that he had completely blanked out, because it wasn't every day you got to witness the birth of your own child. Vaughn didn't know whether he should be jumping out of his boots in excitment, or feel rather sick as he recalled the abusive words his wife spewed out as he held her hand throughout the whole ordeal.

He really hoped she didn't mean it when she said she planned on taking the sheep shears and cutting off his you-know-what.

She was incredibly small, and when the nurse passed her into his arms, he felt like he might break her if he held her just a little too tight. Her face was red and wrinkled, and she had a soft dusting of snowy white hair on her head.

Dear lord, she had his hair.

Even in her sleep, her chubby little hands clasped onto his shirt as she snuggled into her cocoon of blankets. He couldn't help the smile when it came.

When he glanced over to the bed, he saw his wife watching him with a knowing look on her face. Even when she was exhausted, sweaty, and overall rather bedraggled, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever met.

He moved over to lie down next to her, cradling both his girls in his arms.

"I love you so much." He whispered, kissing the top of her head.

"I love you too."

The End

A/N: I know, it's a really sappy, really overused idea. But, I was bored and I had time so I wrote it down. I hope you enjoyed it, if only for its face value, because there isn't much else to it.

Hopefully, I'll see you around again, in the near future (or not, you never can tell these days)