A fist pounds at his chest, then his ribs, then his gut.

... Once she's reached his nose, he realizes he isn't dreaming, and is fed up with the abuse.

Fed up, for about the thousandth time since they'd been married - though secretly - despite every attempt to reason with himself - he likes it ... her violent actions are what keep their relationship interesting ... and hot!

But why was she hitting him NOW? The glow of the digital clock behind his eyelids, told him that it was nearing 3am - much too early for him to have said anything stupid ... ?

"... Mmmh? Sam? ..."

"... Don't you EVER leave me!" Came the threatening reply.
"... What?"

"... Had a nightmare (punch) ... you LEAVE me (pound) for some red-headed tramp?"

"Hey ... Hey, SAM!"

Her response is a swift slap to the back of his head, as her jabs continue his raises his arms in defense.

"Sam! (kick) ... Hey, BENSON! (punch) ... LOOK, Sam (smack) ... Damn it, women (punch) .. Do I LOOK like I've gone ANYWHERE?"

"Don't you EVER leave me!" At the repetition of these words, he gained the quick reflex to grasp his wife's angry hands in his own, and stare into her eyes. It was at this moment that Freddie seemed to notice that the blue orbs had a certain shine, glistening between bright red lids. She was ... crying(?)

HIS Sam was crying!

"Hey ..." he coos, in the most soothing tone his tired voice could muster. He then, grasps her hands more firmly, and pulls her gently towards him.

"... Don't ... leave ... me ... you IDIOT!" Her voice, a broken stranger, as she allows the tears to pool on his sleeve.

"Sssh ... I'm here, it's alright –– just a bad dream - too much bacon ..."

"No such thing ..." she mumbles, causing a light laugh to break from his lips. Soon she follows.

"Love ... you ..." Sam utters –– still against him –– the words uttered at an awkward tilt - as though she were embarrassed of the truth

... HIS Sam ...

"I love you, too ..."

She pulls away at this - as though startled - gripping the rather large, firm bulge that was her tummy, as a light flutter drummed within it.

"Benson," she grinned, caressing her navel "... I think your kid wants some ice-cream, been kickin' me in the gut ever since I woke up ..."

"... Ice-cream, right ..." he responded, his voice tinged with a near-sarcastic edge, as he sat up and made his way toward the fridge.

"Red-head, huh?" he chirps, playfully - carrying a full gallon of mint-chip (with bacon-bits) heeding her demand to abandon all thoughts of a bowl

. "... You of all people should know ... I love DIRTY blondes ..." He quips, pressing a light kiss to her temple.

"Yeah, yeah ..." she huffs, rolling her eyes and spoiling his attempts to nuzzle lightly at her cheek. She grasps the large table spoon, and thrusts it in his direction, holding it expectantly out to him.
"Ya gonna feed me, or what?"