How had something that had started as a rivalry, a seething dislike bordering upon all out hatred, turned into this?

It wasn't a fancy affair, no tuxes or white dresses, no tender-hearts dabbing at their eyes with tissue sitting in the pews. No friends to bare witness, and no family because they had given away their lives the moment they'd agreed to become hunters. No pompous ceremony, no bridesmaids or groomsmen, no flower, no gaudy decorations, not even a ring.

She had even refused to take his last name, but by the laws that didn't even really apply to them, they were married anyways, in a little white chapel on the Las Vegas strip, and she was happy, happier than she would ever actually admit out loud, because now he was hers, and she was his, and that was what was what felt right. That was what fit.

That was them.

That night they had celebrated, and while it was nothing more than a rowdy, drunken. whirlwind of an evening full of their usual style of antics and "fun". They did all the typical things one did when in Vegas. They gambled, and lost, but too the free drinks as immediate consolation for their woes. They danced, or rather she had danced. He had mostly stood back and watched, with that look on his face that he so often gave when he was appreciating what he was seeing.

It was an evening she knew she would remember, every detail, and probably most especially the way Shik had bellowed, "Hey, you lookin' at my wife?" To a random man in a seedy little dive of a bar they'd managed to find, and whether or not the man had indeed been 'lookin'', Shik had made sure that any more would be done with great difficulty, as he punched the guy in the eye and started a brawl.

His wedding gift to her, he had explained, drunkenly, in the cab afterwards, and she had laughed and leaned against him, pulling his arm around her shoulders.

"Best present a girl could ask for, really."

Back on the island, though they had agreed to keep their separate bedrooms for the sake of both of their sanity, and in the likely case of either one of them needing their own space away from each other on occasion, he still insisted on carrying her through the threshold of the dormitory entrance, and then through the halls, and up the stairs, despite stumbling and nearly crashing through a wall more than once, until he got her to her room.

Upon arrival, like good new wife, she of course invited him in to stay, and sometime in the dead of that in that place, when she thought him long asleep, and when they were both too hot and sweaty and yet were still somehow entangled in each others limbs anyways, she had leaned in to press her forehead against his, and whispered, for the first time out loud, "I love you."

And he, sleepily, grunted out a reply that had sounded very much like the word "Same."

It might not have been traditional, but it was them, and it worked.