shatterverse | And life goes on.

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And life goes on.

October's cold this year. In a bit of what Sokka's learned to be Kansas' practical nature jokes, the balmy summer weather earlier this week turned to frost and freeze in the last two days. Mel won't like it, or the others who help with the farming, and Sokka's not a great fan of his fingers sticking to the metal he works with in the forge, but overall, he doesn't mind.

A big part of why he doesn't mind is that icy roads mean Steph can't drive into Smallville to get to work and that means Sokka can whine and cajole her into playing hooky even after the frost melts away.

He is very proud of himself, coming out of the farm with a thermos of hot cider and looking for the pushy wife who demanded it with a smug grin.

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"... and who's a good boy, then? Who is? And who's not gonna try to eat any of the crops any more, huh?"

"Maaammaaa," Spots says despondently, lifting a sad tentacle (one of the smaller ones; only about the thickness of Steph's shoulders) to wave miserably above the choppy surface of the lake. Steph, standing on the jetty, pats it gently.

"Because human food is not for Spots, right? You remember?"

"Maaamaa," Spots agrees.

"Good boy. You'll feel better soon," Steph promises the kraken, petting the tentacle that's within reach. "And I promise, we're not very mad. It was only corn. I know, you feel bad."

"Maaamaa."

"Yeah." Steph pats him again and straightens up, leaving him to it, making her way back towards the shore. Short hair swinging around her face, a worn leather jacket protecting her from the biting chill, an equally well-worn belt looped around her hips with weaponry attached. Faded jeans, sturdy boots, a warm, open smile, an air of a certain confidence that wasn't there just a few years ago.

And outstretched hands. "Cider! Gimme!"

Sokka's not bothering with a parka, not yet. Though if they're still outside after dark, he may grab for it then. For now he's wearing thick denim jeans, frayed at the hems and pockets, small burns over the front of his thighs from standing too close to the forge. His shirt is long-sleeved but pushed up to his elbows, hands and forearms wrapped the way they always have been, but with cotton, thick and rough. He'd had to change out the fabric recently, the last set too frayed to do much more than catch on his tools and make his work more difficult.

Sturdy boots are a must for everyone these days. Less so the wrench tucked into a back pocket.

Sokka beams and holds the thermos close to his chest. "What're you gonna trade me for it?"

Steph plants her hands on her hips and eyes him.

"How about I don't punch you for, like, an entire day?"

Sokka pouts and gives her the biggest, saddest eyes. "Why? Did I do something wrong already?"

"No, no," Steph says, reassuring, starting to walk towards him again. "I just think you probably need pre-emptive punching anyway. And if you don't give me the cider before it gets cold, double punching."

She considers, and grins. "For making me miss work. There, that's my reason."

"Mmmmmmm delicious farm cider," Sokka sighs happily, bringing the thermos up to take a deep breath of it, beaming at the smell. "Cider you can't get anywhere but the farm, this farm, while the school has ice cold apple juice for all the kids to snack on, mmmmm, icy cold, just like you like it on a day like this.

"Man, you're right, I'm the worst."

Edited 2012-10-28 02:54 (UTC)

"If I gave my kids cider, I'd be fired," Steph points out. Her walk is more like a stalk now. Closer and closer. "Is that what you want? No more education for kids, because their teacher got caught getting them drunk on farm cider? You know that's only mostly apples, right?"

Steph loves her school, loves the kids she teaches, but right now, she really loves cider. And her husband is a brat.

Sokka blinks at her, then down at the cider. "Wait, really? What else is in this? Mel just said cinnamon."

Steph grins. "You've known your sister for how long and you don't know what Mel thinks is just cinnamon?"

Stalk stalk stalk.

"...it doesn't smell that strong."

This is said dubiously.

Though if anyone's ever given Mel and her iron liver a run for her money before, it's her brother.

"It's not meant to be," Steph says, grinning. She is almost within snatching range. "It's a daytime drink. Which you are still not giving me and it's cold and I just talked our pet kraken out of a guilt coma over eating that corn, and have you ever dealt with a kraken with indigestion? I deserve so many drinks."

Sokka looks up at her sharply, frowning. "Okay, there's a lot wrong with what you said, but ignoring that part where the kraken's sick and he ate our food, let's switch that possessive over from our to your. Because that kraken is definitely not my kraken."

But he does offer the thermos.

"What's mine is yours," Steph says generously, snagging the thermos out of his hand and replacing it by tucking herself under his arm instead, going up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "Including incontinent kraken."

She is the best wife.

"Incontinent anything is yours and only yours," Sokka argues, frowning Vry Strnly at her - while curving his arm possessively around her waist. "That goes for everything, too, so keep it in mind if you start adopting any other pets or babies or something."

"Traditionally," Steph tells him solemnly, turning him to steer them both back up the hill, "diapers are a father's responsibility. I feed one end, you keep the other clean. Team effort."

Incontinence is all his.

"Do you have plans for today? I was going to ride out and check that electric fence we put in last week. Apparently there's a herd of velociraptors out west, and I don't know if I trust my wiring."

"If your feeding leads to that kind of result, it's all on you, sorry."

Steph is getting hip-checked and grinned at. Sokka's very serious about this threat regarding nobody-owns-the-kraken. "I had some projects to work on, but they can wait. When do you wanna go?"

It's not that the projects aren't important or aren't being asked for. It's just that Sokka never has seen much use for a zepellin, no matter how many times Mel's asked for it. But that doesn't mean he can ignore her forever, so there's an in-progress frame work in the barn.

Steph's not even sure who owns the kraken. She just ... has vaguely maternal feelings about it. It's inexplicable.

(Granted, this is Steph. She has vaguely maternal feelings about her motorcycle.)

"We can make a day of it, check all the fences," she suggests hopefully. "I'll make us a picnic lunch, you distract the girls, we'll sneak off and be irresponsible?"

The girls also have a school-free day, since the roads are iced over. They are in high spirits.

Sokka looks down at her and grins, adoring. He'll never stop loving the way she thinks she has to bribe him into spending time with her. "Yeah, that sounds good," he says, stroking his hand over her hip. "It's not the girls that need to be distracted anyway. But I bet if I ask one of the new guys to tell Mel about the corn, she won't notice we're gone until she's done yelling at him."

Steph beams, uncapping the thermos and breathing in the warm, spicy cider scent happily. "You're so cruel to the new guys. Mel wouldn't mind if I stole you for a day, anyway. There's plenty of babysitters around, and I don't get days off very often."

"Hazing is a very important part of feeling like you're part of a community," Sokka argues earnestly, blue eyes wide and very serious. "If I don't make them cry, how will they ever know how welcome and appreciated they are here at the farm?"

Edited 2012-10-28 17:39 (UTC)

Steph nudges him again, grinning, while she fills the lid-cup with hot cider and considers whether or not to share.

"If you were nicer to them, you'd have more willing volunteers when you need someone to man the bellows, and then I wouldn't have to hang around complaining about how much I hate it and distracting you from work," she points out thoughtfully.

Sokka pauses, watching her fill the cup and, for a moment at least, isn't thinking about how to get her to share.

He purses his lips, looking at her thoughtfully. "So... if I'm nice to them, my hot wife stops hanging around the forge in tank tops? I don't think I'm seeing your point yet."

"What if I stop hanging around the forge in tank tops because you're being mean to people I like?" Steph suggests, grinning up at him over her cider cup. "Then you'd have nobody."

"I'm not being mean, I'm just introducing them to standard farm life. And I thought you were trying to get me to let more people in the forge. How am I supposed to do that if you're not in there tempting people and making them jealous of me?"

Steph laughs, offering him the cup.

"You're so full of shit."

<3 <3 <3 ~

Sokka's return smile is crooked, amused as he takes the cup - and then ignores it in favor of leaning in to kiss her.

"It's weird when you don't believe me. We have mirrors, right? They didn't just disappear overnight?"

"You could have cracked them by looking into them," Steph offers solemnly, happily, nose-to-nose. Very Serious eyes. "I hear that that happens sometimes."

The cup is further ignored so he can wrap his arms around her, starting to grin. Her Very Serious eyes are met with his Very Smug twinkling blue. "Is it time for me to convince you you're hot again? Because I really like that time. And the bunker's probably empty."

"I really, really like that time," Steph says, brightly. "... also, I don't know if you noticed, but you just spilled warm cider all down the side of my shirt, so we're going to have to postpone checking the fields while I get changed anyway."

Beat. Grin.

"And I really like this shirt unstained. Which means you owe me."

Any reason's good enough. Hey, they're practically newlyweds. Sort of. Ish. Okay, it's been a while.

"Oh, no, a total accident," Sokka replies, very very apologetic. This is his most apologetic grin as he finishes pouring cider down her shirt and over her jeans. "We better get you changed really quick. it's pretty cold out here, I don't want you to catch a chill. We probably shouldn't even go aaaaaaall the way to the bunker. Oh look, the forge is empty."

"Sokka!"

He is the worst husband, the worst. Steph is WET and DRIPPING and he is just as likely to get a smack as anything else, frankly, judging by Steph's offended and amused smirk.

"It's cold out here! Oh, man, why did I ever marry you? You are nothing but trouble."

... perfect trouble who's totally getting laid in the next five minutes, but fine, yeah, trouble.

This is Sokka's favorite kind of trouble.

Even if, in his defense, he didn't mean to pour cider on her the first time. She just gave him a great opportunity, is all.

"Oh, are you cold? We better warm you up! C'mon, hurry, don't want you getting sick!"

He is a very, very concerned husband. All concerned husbands pour cider on their wives, then swing them up into their arms and carry them bodily toward the mostly-almost-forge.

It is some time later before they emerge.

Both quite giggly and flushed, and very happy, and Steph still has cider down her shirt, but it has ceased to matter. They're just going to go out on the bikes anyway - if they don't end up splattered with farm dust, it wasn't a good day to start with.

Unfortunately, there are the velociraptors.

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And life goes on.

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