- You didn't let a whole lot of people know that you were getting married, -- only the people you wanted to be at the wedding, which would be a private affair in and of itself, -- the ceremony would be held in a decked-out version of your own backyard. Though you were perfectly happy with this, you couldn't say that it was a concept that everyone easily grasped.

- "So, let me get this straight," Robin had said. "The two of you have just now decided to get married, after all these years... the date is set for three months from now... you're expecting about 60 people to be there, tops... and you don't want a whole lot of people to know about it." 

He paused for a moment, looking back and forth between you and Trent, as if he was waiting for one of you to say something first. When neither of you did, he sighed.

"Well, then. Guess I'm gonna have to come out and ask." He took a deep breath before continuing, a somewhat pained look on his face. "This isn't, like... a shotgun situation, is it?"  

As soon as the question had left his lips, you burst into a fit of laughter. Trent rolled his eyes. "Jesus. No. God, Finck, why do you always have to assume the worst?" 

(You stopped laughing when you remembered the fact that Robin was the one who had walked into the guest room at that party a few weeks before... the one where you had both been too drunk to remember to check the lock on the door.) 

- In reality, though, your motivation was nothing of the sort. For one thing, you really didn't want the public to get amped up about it, -- the last thing either of you wanted was to sell wedding pictures to People. Plus, you had the Yoko dilemma to worry about, -- God forbid you make your soon-to-be husband happy and compromise his artistry. With these things in mind, you decided that everyone outside of your circle would find out after the fact, -- there was no in hell you'd allow the rest of the world to put a damper on such a sacred thing. 

- Besides, neither of you needed anything fancy, -- as extra as he could be, Trent was happy to leave the details of the planning in your hands. "The fact that you actually agreed to marry me is enough for me," he had told you. "In fact, you deserve all that, and a Nobel Peace Prize. You know, for doing something no one else would be brave enough to do."

"Oh, be quiet," you replied. "I'm sure that there are hundreds of people who would marry you in a heartbeat." You smiled, playfully nudging him. "The copious amounts of people at your shows threatening to lick you would certainly suggest so."

"Can you not bring that up? God, it freaks me out." He stopped to look at you for a moment, -- admire you, really, in all your glory, examining pictures of flower arrangements in your pajamas. He couldn't help but smile, -- that was the thing that had made him realize just how special you were to him, all those years back. Even the smallest things you did made him smile in a way that few things did. You looked up from your magazine, smiling back at him expectantly. That brought him back to the subject at hand. 

"But the difference between you and all those people," he continued, "is that you actually know me."

"And love you," you added.

He nodded. "Exactly," he replied. "And that's the craziest part."

You groaned. "Seriously, Reznor. Shut up."

He grinned, knowing full well what was coming next. "Or?"

You smirked back, eyes flashing playfully. "Or I'll make you." 

And when you pressed your lips hard against his, he did. 

- The entire thing took all of twelve weeks to plan, and was pretty casual, as you had hoped. That didn't mean, however, that you weren't freaked out when the day actually came. 

There you were, in front of your own bathroom mirror, staring at yourself with a mix of anxiety and awe. Both your fiancee and your 60-odd guests, including the haphazard 'party,' were waiting for you in your backyard, and you were inside,  worrying about your makeup  and whether or not you really should have gone for this dress. It was secondhand, which didn't make it seem quite so romantic, and just this side of vintage. Though the long sleeves and illusion bodice looked elegant on the hanger, you felt it looked girlish on you. You considered this extensively as you continued to inspect yourself; here you were, about to marry a rock star in your backyard, and you were worrying about whether or not you looked like a prude. 

Finally, you decided to suck it up and go on with it, heading towards the door with one last deep breath. 

- He didn't think you looked like a prude. 

You were tempted to make light of the fact that Trent actually cried when you walked down the aisle, the embodiment of a cliché, -- but you didn't. It reminded you of how much you loved him, how much he loved you, exactly why you were here in the first place. 

You were so happy to be there with him, in front of all your family and friends, this close to forever. You grabbed his hand upon reaching the end of your makeshift aisle, smiling at the sight of him, all nice and cleaned-up in his two-piece suit. 

"You look beautiful," he whispered to you.

You smiled at him. "Thanks. You don't look half bad yourself, you know." 

He huffed out a low chuckle as if he didn't believe you, squeezing your hand in his.

- The vows weren't conventional, of course, because the rest of the wedding wasn't, either. So, being who you were, both of you decided to write your own. 

Yours ended up going on forever. You wanted to put how much he meant to you into words, list every single thing you loved about him, the reasons why your life together was going to be so much more than awesome, --  of course it ended up being rather lengthy. And of course you ended up crying, too. 

Being who he was, Trent just had to wipe the tears from beneath your eyes before reading his own. 

- You expected his to be long and rambling, too; he was an artist, after all. Only they weren't; they were sweet, simple, and yet so... him. 

Meaning he just had to bring up that time that you drunkenly challenged Danny to a fistfight on tour because you thought that he had insulted your boyfriend, as well as some of the less lighthearted times, like all of the moments after that terrible mistake he made in England, only to not only wake up from all of it, but to wake up to you, telling him that he was going to shape up and get help, and that you were going to be there with him every step of the way, either to hold his hand or slap some sense into him. 

And dammit, you're crying again.

- And then it's back to the tradition of it all, those two words you had heard so many times but never said yourself: "I do." 

And, however monumental it is, you don't have any trouble saying it. Because you do want to spend the rest of your life with him. You do, you do, you do.

- Apparently, the feeling is mutual, because, before you know it, Trent's lips are pressed to yours, soft but sure. There it is, made official by that 'first kiss,' though it's clearly anything but that.

- With that, forever officially begins, and thus, your reception. 

Once again, it's nothing fancy, but it's you, and that's what makes the two of you happiest. Everyone gathers around the backyard, laughing and dancing and drinking and eating pizza, (neither of you were ever much for 'gourmet,' either,) the speakers going full blast in the background.

The two of you are right in the middle of it, requiring no special treatment; it would almost seem like just another party at the Reznor residence if everyone wasn't continuously congratulating you. (Cue a few more 'shotgun wedding' wisecracks, because that is, apparently, what everyone automatically assumes.)

- But there is the point in the evening when you have your 'first dance.' This moment was especially important to you, and  you can't think of how it could get any better; just when you've finished your second slice and the sun has begun to set, Trent pulls you away from the crowd, towards the middle of the yard as the music begins.

- You can't help but roll your eyes when Lou Reed's "This Magic Moment" begins to play. 

"Really," you whisper to your husband as he pulls you close, leading you with a surprising amount of certainty and grace. "You're going to pick a song that you've already put on a soundtrack you produced?"

"Mmm-hmm," he hums. "I thought it was special."

"Alright," you say, making sure your voice drips sarcasm. And yet, you smile, because it sort of is special. 

- As the night grows darker, everyone begins to wrap things up, stopping by to offer their final well-wishes before heading for the road. Just when you're prepared to head inside to truly begin your wedding night, Trent stops you. 

"Wait a second." He gently tugs at your hand, causing you to turn around and take note of the grin on his face. Oh, no.

"What?" you ask him. 

He shakes his head. "We're not done yet," he says. "I have one more surprise for you." 

- And so you ended up heading down the highway, the radio droning softly in the background, -- Trent had made you a Post-Wedding mix, though he insisted that wasn't the surprise, -- trying to get him to tell you what the surprise was, to no avail. 

"Jesus, Trent," you say. "Is this the part where I find out that you're actually an axe murderer, and that my promising young life is going to come to an end at your hands?"

He laughs. "No. But you're getting warmer."

- Once you arrive at your destination, you figure you should have known. That doesn't erase the shock of it, though; although Trent had proposed to you on the beach, you had never expected to end up back at this particular house again, where some of the darkest nights of his life were spent. And yet, there he is, unlocking the door, just before he turns to you with a smile, lifting you into his arms before the two of you cross that threshold. 

- "Are you okay?" 

This is the first thing you ask upon returning to that bedroom, where you can see that stretch of sea, seeming to go on forever. You're on your back on top of the covers as he moves about the room, turning on the light tidying various things up, lighting a candle on the nightstand. It's when he gets to the candle that you blush, realizing that he had actually been making arrangements to do this for a while.

"You want to know if I'm okay?" he asks, voice lighthearted, practically cheery. "Aren't you the one that just got dropped?"

"Trent. I'm serious." You sit up, studying him inquisitively. "Are you sure you're alright with this? I mean, you didn't have to bring me here, if you aren't--"

"Shhh." He joins you on that king-sized bed, bringing a finger to your lips. "It's fine," he says. "I'm fine. I swear." He pauses for a moment as he pulls you into his arms, seeming to think about something.

"Okay," he continues. "Maybe that's not the complete truth. I might be sort of petrified of this place..." 

"Then we can go home," you interrupt him, shifting slightly.

"No." He holds onto you tighter, stopping your squirming. "We can't. And we won't." He gently brushes a hand across your face, moving a lock of hair away from your eye. You melt into his touch, sighing. 

"It isn't the house that scares me," he continues. "It's the memories. Baby--" He pauses again, looking for the words. He sighs before continuing leaving it unclear whether or not he found them. "The last time we were here, I wanted to die. I wanted the ocean to swallow me whole, and never bring me back. And now, I don't. I want to live. I want to live for a long, long time, and I want it to be with you." He smiles, despite the tears shining quite obviously in his eyes. "What better way to make up for those old memories than to make new ones?"

- You don't say anything. You simply wipe those tears away with the pad of your thumb before leaning in to kiss him, starting out gentle before deepening that kiss, nevertheless keeping it tender. When he pulls away, you smile at him, sly and sincere, all at once. 

"Alright, then, Mr. Reznor," you say. "Let's make those new memories." 

(A/N Why am I such a sap?)