AN: Hello! Let me start by saying that this is osmething I've been wanting to write, but haven't been, because of various reasons and trifles. Honestly, I didn't think anyone would want to read it-so, when it was requested that I write a sequel, I was exceedingly thrilled. I had just the excuse I wanted. So here it is; it'll probably be a good bit shorter than the first, and is once again, just for fun. Enjoy, and please review! Also, I am aware that this chapter is sort of a prologue and I apologize; I just felt that a quick recap was in order. I promise stuff will start happening.

P.S. Thank you Megamindheartforever, for providing me with an excuse to put this up here. ;)

Marriage, like Ignatius Reilly, was a being of many facets.

There was, to start with, the intimate side…the side which involved Sharp, bed, and a decided lack of clothes…

Really, the state of matrimony was rather more pleasant than I had initially supposed. I had become used to waking up alone in my apartment, and thus the sensation of waking to find her, warm and curled against me, was, to say the least, pleasurable…

She would sigh, and while still asleep nuzzle my chest, murmuring little "mm"s as her eyes gradually opened and she alas smiled up at me, quite amorous and ever ready to begin a new day.

I found, in the first few months of our—union that Sharp (how the name stuck!) was more of a wanton minx than I had previously imagined. Often when I returned home from a day at the museum, it would be to find her wearing only a large tee shirt (her chosen apparel of seduction; Sharp, I soon find, had rather an antipathy toward lingerie) as she sat on my desk, hair loose and legs swinging in a manner quite…engaging…

"Hullo, Bernard," she'd say, swinging herself off of the desk and approaching me. "Help me out, would you? I'm having a hell of a time getting this shirt off."

To refuse was, of course, quite out of the question…silently, I would oblige, pulling her in and sliding both hands beneath her shirt…

And already her hands would be at my belt, undoing it, yanking it out, and then at my trousers as I made a strangled, groaning sort of noise and pushed her up against the wall.

Some of this uncouth behavior appeared to have rubbed off on my dreams, for I found them not abated in the least after my nuptials…if anything, they were far worse, for now specicifics were much more easily called to mind…

The first time this happened, I woke hot, sweaty, and breathlessly aroused and lay there, clenched and praying Gwendolyn wouldn't wake and catch my…vulnerability…

But of course she did, and after a sleepy "Bernard, what's wrong?", soon discovered the source of the problem…

"Oh," she said, flushing but looking rather pleased than otherwise. "Bad dream, Bernard?"

"Yes," I said curtly, mortified that my nocturnal lusting was now so apparent…but Sharp, the curious minx, smiled softly and said, stroking my cheek:

"Don't be self-conscious; it's normal."

And, tangling one hand into my hair, she let the other wander beneath the bedclothes; a moan slipped from between my teeth.

"It's alright," she soothed, as the world caught fire with alarming swiftness. Her mouth was gently pressing against my jaw, over and over again…I, in my confusion, couldn't decide whether it was comforting or arousing…

"See, it isn't so bad," she told me-and the events of my dream happened all over again...

And afterwards, as she lay with her head on my still-pounding heart, she twisted her head to look at me and smiled at my expression.

"You look almost happy," she teased, kissing the shamefully dreamy, idiotic smile which I knew was stretched across my face. By now rather drowsy, I only murmured "vixen" before pulling her closer and once more falling asleep.

Besides the carnal aspect, there was also a more emotional one, one which mortified me greatly, for it showed weaknesses I'd never thought myself possessed of…

The first time I dreamt that she was gone, I awakened to find myself groping blindly in the dark for her familiar warmth, mumbling in a voice not at all indifferent:

"Gwen…Gwen…"

Within moments she was beside me, arms about my neck as she said, in a much gentler tone than Gwendolyn typically used:

"I'm right here, Bernard. Right here."

I said nothing, only pulled her in tight and buried my face in her hair, unable to stop myelf from saying:

"Don't leave…don't ever leave…"

"I won't," she promised, as her grasp on me tightened. "Ssshhh, shhhh, I won't, I promise."

Still unreasonably terrified that she'd vanish before my eyes, I held her tightly, recalling the emptiness…

It was difficult to accustom myself to the idea that I was no longer alone, that there was someone to reach for now when the dreams became unbearable—often, the whole thing seemed "too good to be true", as the vulgar cliché went, and I found myself waiting apprehensively for truth to reassert itself. For my cold, solitary existence to return, and for warm, vibrant, frustrating Gwendolyn Sharp, with her tumbled hair and big eyes and incurable untidiness, to be only a wild fancy.

And then there was the mundane aspect.

Living with Gwendolyn Sharp was, I soon found, a day-to-day experience, and one which at times evaded description. I soon gave up in my attempts to teach her tidiness; order and method were simply not in her nature. Her person seemed to exude a constant aura of disarray.

We argued, of course; I firmly maintained that one could not spend a day in the company of Gwendolyn Sharp without arguing. They were harmless and followed a typical pattern; she, the Sharp minx, would lose her temper over some uncommonly caustic witticism or remark of mine. I would reply with biting indifference…she would fire back a retort…and so on and so forth, until she had enough and called me an asshole. When this happened, I would shrug, advise her coolly to expand her vocabulary, and resume whatever I'd been doing before the absurd dispute. Gwendolyn would be silent for a moment—frown—bite her lip—look at me—and then finally laugh, and sit beside me, kissing my jaw and lightly proceeding to forget the whole thing.

"I think it's a good thing I married you, Bernard," she would say, smiling as her head settled on my shoulder. "You're so collected, it's impossible to really fight with you."

"Not that you don't try," I'd murmur, dryly.

Ungrudgingly, the little thing would laugh, and allow:

"You're right, I do my damndest."

I would sigh tonelessly and concentrate fully on the task at hand, doing my best to ignore her. Cocking her head, she would say, with a sincerity that elicited from me a blush:

"You're kind of adorable, did you know that?"

And then she would smile wider as the heat crept up my neck and spilled over onto my cheeks…and I would, with difficulty, stifle a smile. Something about the idea of Gwendolyn Sharp (though that was no longer her name) finding me attractive always disoriented me exceedingly…

I would never know quite how to reply to such comments, and so would simply say "Don't be absurd, Sharp" and leave it at that.

We both knew, however, that deep down I rather…liked Gwendolyn's absurdity—and so by mutual consent she never paid me any mind.

-88888—

"Bernard?"

I was more than half asleep when Gwendolyn's voice reached me and, consequently, my reply was rather muddled.

"Mmph?"

She was lying on her stomach, the sheet draped over her back as she pored absently over a scientific book; in addition to Presidents, I found Gwendolyn had rather a weakness for chemistry.

"I hope this isn't er…untoward, but when will I meet your family?"

Instinctively, I clenched, teeth setting as a barrage of bad memories overwhelmed me…lonely Christmases spent listening to my mother lie to my father…lonely birthdays which found me in bed trying to forget that I was born…long, hot, lonely summers, locked in my bedroom, wondering when one of my mother's callers would leave and I could again come out…she always told them she had no children…

If I had my way, it would be a very long while before Gwendolyn Sharp even saw a picture of my family. The very last thing I wanted was more of her pity.

"Never," I said, brusquely, fully awake by now. "You don't want to, believe me."

Sensing this was not a wise topic to pursue, she abandoned the subject and moved closer to me.

"Oh—alright. Just wondering."

However, I saw the crease of her brow and knew, with an inward sigh, that the topic was far from exhausted. I thus made it my mission to keep it at bay as long as possible.