Even fast asleep, she was beautiful, dignified, regal—

Hell no, she wasn't. She drooled, first of all, all over her wild hair and damask pillowcase. She mumbled and she stole the sheets; and she was always at a total, unconscious loss to find a satisfactory spot on the mattress.

If he told her all this, he was sure it would embarrass her beyond simple repair. He'd have to go downtown and pick up the particular variety of ice cream HIMSELF, and make it back without it melting, and set it at her feet and grovel, still without it melting. No such idolatry from him. He'd keep mum.

The computer's alien glow didn't bother her, never caused a stir. She slept like a rock. Maybe more like a seashell. Smashing over and over against the battered cliffside that was his right side, impervious. A hermit crab—hogging all the sheets and jabbing at his shin if he tried to keep even one ragged little corner to himself.

It was 3:45 (or 3:51 if you asked the clock on the nightstand). Sunday. Some over-achieving sparrow was running through his warmups out in the garden. Seto shut his laptop, leaned back, and tugged in vain at the bedding. Isis snorted. He kissed her—a light, ingratiating peck on (the matted hair upon) her forehead—and tried again.

Ah, well. Cold was better for sleep, anyway.

She was no "early riser." Sunrises were breathtaking, full of promise and piercing hope, and unfailingly missed by her. Coffee was also full of promise and piercing hope. And she'd quite like to make some.

Or perhaps alert the staff to make some, since she was pinned by an arm and a leg to the mattress with all the romantic force of a dead, fallen tree. And the imbecile who'd felled it still lumbered about, revving his chainsaw—such imagery was her usual (and rather trite) means of transforming his irritating snoring into entertainment.

Would she ever let on to her gangly and heavy beloved that he snored? Hm. There were too many spare bedrooms in this gargantuan home. Without question he'd hole up in one of them for at least a week, would soundproof it, would set an alarm so gods-awful early that no other living soul would be awake to hear him snore in the first place.

But then, oughtn't she give her surly old woodsman the benefit of the doubt? She feared she already was.

She was overheated under all these covers; she had to use the bathroom, and frankly she felt gross. So Isis imagined she had the adrenaline-fueled strength of a tabloid hero and made to lift the car over her head to save her pinned bladder.

Thwack. Seto's limbs came crashing back down. Too large, too heavy! Blasted thousand-year oaks! She tilted back her head and groaned.

"I have to pee," she whined.

"Then get up." From the depths of a pillowcase twinkled one sinister blue eye.

This tree she'd assumed was dead, in fact needed to be killed.

END

Doctor's Note: I hope you enjoyed this ultra-lite ficlet starring my favorite, most stubborn and beautiful duo! Thank you for reading! - Dr. MP