When she had announced that she wanted to talk about something over breakfast in that frighteningly quite and serious way that never meant good news, he thought he had prepared himself for any and every possible situation.

He had expected normal conversation topics for a bride of two months to bring up to her husband to be along the lines of children, money, or—heaven help him—divorce.

It turns out, they also included something else.

"Jeffrey, I think we should buy me my own bed."

Cue mass confusion and spit-out orange juice.

"WHAT?!"

"Well, I've been thinking about it, and it seems like the only thing to do. You know we have a problem, and this is the only way I can think of to fix it." Seeing the look of disbelief on his face, she sighed. "I'm only thinking of you."

"Are you telling me that you want to revert to the married life of a 1950s sitcom couple just because you toss and turn in your sleep?!" He shook his head. "Unfathomable."

"But Jeffrey, I DON'T just toss and turn in my sleep. I kick in my sleep. Hard."

He winced, unconsciously rubbing the bruise on his ribs that had mysteriously appeared a few nights ago. "You punch, too."

"I know."

"Look, Skye, I'm glad you know how to defend yourself, but I do wish that you wouldn't practice your night-watchman-ship on me."

"Believe me, I know. That's why I'm bring this up. It's not that I want to sleep in separate beds, but after last night…"

Here she trailed off, wincing as she remembered the rather painful experience of the night before, involving a bad dream on her part, one very swift shin kick between her unsuspecting husband's legs, and a resulting howl that woke the entire neighborhood.

Jeffrey winced right along with her. It wasn't exactly the most ideal setup, that's for sure. But still…

Whether it was the flimsy nightgown she'd taken to wearing since their air conditioning conked out in June, or simply the fact that he had gotten used to waking up in her arms, there was no way on earth he was ever going to give up sharing a bed with her.

"I'll survive."

"But I don't want you just to survive, I want you to sleep."

"Sleep is overrated."

"Jeffrey…"

She rolled her eyes, and took a deep breath, undoubtably preparing to launch into a long argument about the detrimental effects of sleep deprivation, but his lips were on hers before she could continue.

When they parted a bit later, both completely out of breath and highly doubting that—regardless of the outcome of this conversation—they would be able to stay in separate beds for long, he smiled.

"No way."

"What?"

"There is no way I am ever going to get you your own bed."

"But, Jeffrey…" Her protest was a weak one, but valiant nonetheless. "Why not?"

She should have known, really. After two months of marriage to the man, she should have be able to predict the cheeky answer that came out of his smirking lips.

"Why don't I show you?"

It made her smile anyway.

(End.)

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