He was really starting to wonder if he'd ever be able to go a day without arguing with his wife. Or even an hour... he'd settle for an entire conversation, actually. It seemed like that was the only way they communicated, sometimes. The very first time he'd spoken to her, they'd argued, in fact- she'd been yelling at him. And it wasn't that there was some major flaw in their relationship that he could see-they got along just fine, and neither of them ever got particularly upset over their little skirmishes. Their relationship was as solid as ever, and he adored her.

But still, sometimes he'd swear that if he went outside and said the sky was blue, she'd insist it was orange.

Usually he knew the arguments were silly, and heck, he would even admit that she was frequently right- but this time, he was pretty sure he was right. "Fae, you are going to burn the house down one of these days. Why can't you use a match or something, like a normal person?"

"Since when have I ever been a normal person?" she asked, looking up from the stove, which she'd just lit using some sort of magic spark, causing their most recent spat. "This works just fine, and I always seem to lose matchboxes, anyway."

He frowned. "They are in the kitchen drawer. Next to the forks." He considered opening the drawer and pulling them out, but that would only annoy her, which wasn't what he wanted.

She rolled her eyes at him, sweeping her dark hair back at of her face, swirling it on top of her head, securing it with a pencil that had been sitting on the counter top. He didn't know exactly why she'd suddenly taken a domestic turn, but she'd been spending more and more time in their tiny kitchen, whereas before they'd relied heavily on eating at one of the little Cafes in the Animal village they were living in. Then again, it was better her than him- his culinary expertise had peaked at burning oatmeal.

That said, it would probably be in their best interest if they went back to cold sandwiches and eating out, if she kept insisting on cooking via magic. He decided to try a different tactic. "You do know you really don't have to cook or anything. I'm fine with eating whatever."

She glared at him. "Shut up, love,"

OK, full blown bickering match coming on. "But you're really going to cause a fire one day- you've even said that the whole magic isn't an exact science. What if you over shoot and the entire kitchen catches fire?"

"And what if one day lightning strikes the house? Relax. I am not going to burn the house down- if nothing else, I can't see me using magic instead of a match making a fire more likely."

"Maybe we should just eat out from now on."

That one earned him that dreaded look again. "Fiyero! Why are you so against my magic? I would say it's done a good thing or two in the past."

He held his hands up in surrender. "It has, I know, I know." It had saved his life, and restored it, returning his humanity. "But... why not do things the normal way. It works for everyone else."

"And since when does what works for everyone else work so well for me?"

"Ah.... what in the world are you cooking, anyway?" he asked, trying to look into the pot sitting on the stove.

She pointed to a colander of washed strawberries sitting next to the sink. "I was just melting chocolate, anyway. I thought you might like it." She shrugged, picking up a piece of fruit and dipping it into the chocolate. She slowly brought it up to her mouth, taking a bite of it. He tried to reach around her to get some for himself, but she stopped him. "What? I thought you didn't like me cooking with magic? You probably shouldn't eat any then, can't trust it. You might blow up or something.."

He sighed, "OK, I get your point... and I'll admit, maybe magic does have a certain charm," he said, giving her a kiss. "It's charmed me, after all," he said, rewarded with a smirk and a very affectionate roll of the eyes. Maybe one day they'd be able to talk without arguing. Maybe.

Maybe not.