"Wake up."

Incoherent grumbles.

Something is poking me. I know perfectly well who it is, but not what is doing the poking. I think it's a pair of lips? Fingers? A toe?

"We're running late, come on."

More grumbles.

The prodding resumes.

"Alright!" I shout, sounding a bit more abrupt than intended. I flip face down, flop my head on the pillow and reach a hand up to scratch the top of my unruly hair. A quick glance of the clock tells me that it's 6:18 am, but in reality Myka's set it about 15 minutes fast to prevent mornings such as these. The blinds are still drawn and I can't tell if it's bright or dark outside. "We're not running late," I say into the pillow, "when you've set the clock ahead. I have loads of time."

I feel myself tumble into a light snore, directly into my pillow. At one point, the sheets are pulled off me and there's nothing but cool morning air touching me, soon followed by a rap on my bottom.

A few disgruntled moans escape from my lips.

"Helena." I wipe some of the sleep from my eyes to gaze upon my wife, nearly dressed, standing before me with one hand on a hip and the other trying to pull my pillow away from me. She sounds firm; very unbending this morning. I will hand it to her, she does keep me on schedule. "We have a flight to catch."

Reluctantly, I fall onto my back and look up at the ceiling. This is one morning where I simply do not want to get out of bed.

"Can't I have a bit of a lie-in?" I know I'm whining like a child, but it's early, we were up late the night prior, had at least three drinks and my legs aren't moving.

"No. Get up."

"Perhaps some encouragement then?" I wriggle my hips to-and-fro, all with a happy smile on my face. "I think I had some very...interesting...dreams." I didn't really, but it's worth a try. Of course she's having none of it.

A pile of clothes lands on me, startling the comfort I once had. "You can sleep on the plane, in the car and then in our big, comfy bed." I prop myself up on my hands, pushing upwards as my clothes fall to my side. "Helena, get up, or if the person cleaning the rooms stops by, I will tell them the room's ready to be cleaned."

"Fine, I'm up." Begrudgingly, I get out of bed and make my way towards the bathroom. A hot shower will probably wake me up a bit more than I am now.

"Good, because with that pasty white skin they'd confuse you with the sheets and toss you in with the other linens."

That's the final sentence I hear as I turn on the water full blast. I stand in front of the shower, waiting for the water to heat up before I plunge in. Moments before getting into the shower, Myka appears in the doorway, shirt completely unbuttoned, toothbrush sticking out of her mouth and hands filled with my clothes. I take them from her hands and place them on the counter, most likely annoying (and hopefully arousing) her with some ogling of the untucked, open shirt.

I'm fairly certain she is upset regarding my inability to move some mornings. When I first returned to the Warehouse at Christmas, I was awake every morning bright and early. In retrospect, it was probably due to the immense jet lag and complete happiness of being in what has become my new home. Perhaps after four months of working these typical 60-hour weeks, traveling for work, vacation with Myka and then some has burnt me out a little. Now, it takes every ounce of my strength to get up in the mornings, especially when a certain voluptuous curly-haired woman is (for the most part) naked next to me all night long, holding me, pressing herself against me, kissing me so sweetly and encouragingly whenever the alarm goes off. I love waking up like that every day, even if I can be a tremendous hellion.

After an unforeseen amount of time in the shower, Myka reappears. She's now dressed, wearing her jacket and looking a bit peeved. Maybe I should stop agitating her and simply get ready to head out.

"Are you still cross?" I ask, nursing a large cup of juice with my sunglasses down, indoors. The sunglasses help me block out a bit more of the sunlight to help ease into my morning. Sometimes, I don't feel as though I recognize myself in this world.

Myka reaches over and takes my hand in hers. "No, you're kind of a nightmare to get out of bed." I tilt the plastic cup towards her and offer a sip of my juice which she gladly accepts. "This is good. Where the hell did you find fresh squeezed blood orange juice at the airport, past the security checkpoint?"

"Oh, you know, I just...asked. Me and the power of persuasion. It's finally kicked in." I might not be able to get my way early in the morning, but I certainly know how to pull Myka's strings once the day has started. "You best prepare yourself for when we get home." I say with a raised eyebrow.