Sorry about the slight delay in posting here. Thanks to ADashOfInsanity, AlteaAuroraRia, FuneralBell, BunnyFleur and Nayunari 'Ayu' Tsuki for reviewing! Enjoy!

Finally, after having prolonged work as long as possible, Marth returned home to face Ike. He prepared himself for a chilly reception, but told himself that he would try to make Ike's final hours of painting his walls as pleasant as possible.

However, when Marth entered the house everything was eerily quiet. Hadn't Ike turned up? But his van was as the front – he had to be there. Marth nervously checked the lounge, kitchen and utility room; and when Ike was nowhere to be seen Marth headed upstairs, bracing himself for the confrontation that must proceed their chilly parting yesterday.

He checked his bedroom, and then the bathroom, which had been finished now with a slightly abstract wave design mosaic above the bath in different shades of blue, but Ike wasn't there either. Taking a deep breath, Marth headed to the other bedroom, the only room left.

Inside, Ike had begun to form a sort of textured cloud design on one wall in slightly different shades of cream. The artist himself however lay on the bed, paintbrush in hand, asleep. The relief Marth felt that he wouldn't have to speak to Ike until he woke up was quickly succeeded by a feeling of warm affection over Ike's sleeping form.

Tiptoeing closer Marth sat on the bed next to Ike. In sleep his features were relaxed and calm, the only exception being the shadows under his eyes, which had darkened still further from the previous day. How long had he been evading sleep? Marth sighed. Perhaps sleep deprivation could account for part of his yelling the other day as well. Looking at his face, so innocent in sleep, Marth forgave his grouchiness instantly, and hopes Ike could forgive him in turn for selling the painting. He was also filled with the sudden almost parental desire to stroke Ike's cheek. His hand was just beginning to reach out of its own accord when Ike opened his eyes.

"I'm sorry for yesterday," Marth began quickly, "Please forg–"

"Sshhh," Ike whispered, slowly blinking and sitting up. "Do you have water?" he croaked. "I have a headache."

Marth nodded, both glad and wary of the distraction, and headed downstairs to fetch a glass of water.

On returning he found Ike sitting up properly, legs hanging over the side of the bed. He took the cup of water from Marth gratefully and drank it down in one go.

"You alright?"

Ike nodded and rubbed his eyes, yawning. "Sorry for sleeping on the job."

Marth smiled. "Nah, you went down like a true artist. Fell asleep with a paintbrush in your hand! Anyway, judging from the shadows under your eyes you haven't been sleeping much."

Ike opened his mouth to reply, only to close it again with a soft moan, swaying slightly where he sat.

"Are you ok?" Marth asked nervously.

Ike gave a weak and rather unconvincing nod. "Sorry, I felt a bit nauseous for a moment. Better now. And no I haven't been sleeping much." He yawned again.

"Why not?" Marth pried.

"I set quiet alarms to wake me up at various points at night. They bring me gently out of dreams, and then I paint what I dream. Dreams are a great inspiration. If I haven't had a dream by the first alarm I turn it off and go back to sleep. Then I repeat the process when the second alarm goes off. Normally I've had a dream by the first three alarms. Then I stay up and paint what I've dreamt. I get good paintings out of dreams," Ike explained.

"But then you must only get a few hours' sleep ever night!" Marth exclaimed.

"Yeah. And then I do a whole day's painting, but the ones I do from dreams are generally the best."

"And you've done that every night for how long?"

"I think the idea occurred to me about a month ago. I keep going for as many days as I can until I effectively pass out…sorry."

"You're mad…you're obsessed…"

At this Ike sat bolt upright, suddenly alert. "What?"

"You're obsessed!" Marth repeated emphatically.

"You really think so?" From his tone of voice it was as if he'd just received the compliment of a lifetime.

"Well…yes. Why are you acting like that's a good thing?"

"My dad always said to me, 'Ike, you'll never focus on anything. You'll drift from one thing to the next… you'll never get anywhere in life.'" Ike grinned. "But if you're saying I'm obsessed that must show some level of dedication and focus, eh?"

"Erm…I guess…but obsession isn't healthy…"

Ike ignored his comment, suddenly reaching out and seizing Marth's hands in a fit of passion. Lowering his voice, he continued quickly, "What's worse, he was right for a long time. I always wanted to prove him wrong so I tried to find something to dedicate myself to – and in doing so drifted from one thing to the next! Then I settled on art – that was good – but I couldn't select a style! Whether to do portraits or landscape or realism in general, sculpture or abstract or in your case a sort of interior design…I still don't know! Will I never focus on anything?"

Marth was taken aback by Ike's sudden outpouring, and slightly scared by the hint of wildness in Ike's eyes as he said it.

"You need to get some sleep," he stated.

"Oh no, I have to paint your wall – just this room to go, won't take too long…" Ike protested.

"Get some sleep."

"But –"

"Sleep."

Too tired to object a third time, with one last permission-seeking glance Ike lay back down on the bed and closed his eyes. Marth smiled.

Downstairs, having left Ike to sleep, Marth made himself a cup of tea and sipped it thoughtfully. Ike really was an oddity. Currently a sleep-deprived oddity.

To pass the time Marth wandered through into the lounge and switched the radio on. Oh, he knew this tune. Putting his tea down he began to nod to the beat. Mmmm…guitar. It was 'Pride and Joy' by Stevie Ray Vaughan.

"De nooww de nowww…" From nodding his head Marth began to tap his foot, then jig a little… but soon enough he was jumping, shaking his hair vigorously and acting air guitar. For just under 4 minutes he was a kid again. Then the song ended and Marth flopped down on the sofa, smiling to himself. God, he was boiling. Without thinking, he took off his top and put it to one side, letting out a sigh. It was too long since he'd been truly relaxed.

After about an hour Marth headed back upstairs, and was surprised to see Ike already up and painting.

"Awake already?"

Ike turned around. "Yeah. Can never sleep with an artistic job half done." He indicated the wall.

"I don't mind you know. You can take a break."

"It's fine." He continued to paint and Marth sat on the bed to watch him.

"Good day at work?" Ike asked.

Oh god. Roy. "Ok…I keep thinking about…" Marth took a deep breath. "…about the portrait I sold. I'm so sorry."

Ike sighed. "Look, it's fine."

Was that it? "Are you sure? You were really angry before."

"I was."

Marth waited for him to continue. He didn't. Silence fell as Ike resumed painting. Marth fidgeted. He'd spent a whole day distracted, thinking of how to make it up to Ike. He'd pushed off Roy because of it. A few more minutes passed in silence and then Ike turned to look at Marth.

"Do you want me to put a top on or something?"

"What?" Marth's eyes immediately flicked to meet Ike's, his heart rate accelerating.

"You keep staring at my chest. Do you want to paint it or something?"

Marth laughed, mostly in nervous relief that Ike had added the question on the end. "I can't paint," he replied.

"I'm not asking if you want to paint a picture of it. I'm asking if you want to paint it."

Marth, unsure of what to say, remained quiet. Ike turned around fully and walked towards him, picking up a tub of red paint as he went. Approaching Marth, he took one of Marth's hands, dipped it in the paint and then placed it on his chest.

"There. Go ahead."

Marth, his heart rate reaching fever pitch, slowly slid his hand down Ike's chest, smearing red paint. The lower his hand went the more he blushed, and the more he determinedly avoided looking at Ike's face. Ike, meanwhile, took Marth's other hand, dipped it in the paint and then placed that on his chest as well. This time Marth didn't move it at all, barely able to breathe. Slowly, Ike dipped both his own hands into the paint before placing them on Marth's chest, sliding them slowly upwards until he was cupping Marth's face. The hot of Ike's hands and the cold of the paint touching Marth's already feverish skin combined mercilessly, making Marth nauseous. Suddenly afraid, Marth grabbed Ike's hands in an attempt to pry them free. What about Roy? He'd only known Ike five days…

"Thinking?" asked Ike in a low voice.

"Yes," Marth whispered.

"You know what I do when that happens?"

"W-what?"

Ike kissed him.

It was everything Marth had secretly been hoping for. They both moved onto the bed in unison, Marth threading his hands through Ike's hair, gasping as Ike kissed his collarbone. Their lips found each others' time and time again, Marth resigning himself to the conclusion of it with only brief reluctance.

Moments later, the phone rang.

Marth sat bolt upright, pushing Ike off, but Ike pushed him back down again, straddling him.

"Don't get it," he muttered huskily.

"I have to," Marth whispered.

"No you don't." Ike kissed him again. 9 rings, 10… Marth squirmed free.

"I'm sorry."

Ike just looked at him.

Running downstairs, Marth seized the phone.

"Marth?" He recognised the voice instantly.

"Elisse, what is it?"

"I'm giving birth."

Oh hell.