Murphy's Law

Mr. Sandman, Bring Me a Dream. Please.

by Nelson

"I love sleep. My life has the tendency to fall apart when I'm awake, you know?" –Ernest Hemingway



Sleep.

God, how I longed for it. It just wasn't coming. After two nights of sleeplessness, I was ready to put out a BOLO for the goshdarn sandman, who was nowhere to be found when I needed him. I couldn't help taking another look at the clock, even though my better judgment warned against it. I had to ignore my judgment - I have a nasty habit of doing that sometimes. So I looked. You know how you can't help but take a whiff when someone tells you they smell something nasty? You can't help it, can you? You sniff. I know you do. Having to look at the clock was the same sort of thing. A morbid, unnatural fascination that you cannot deny. My eyes cut over toward the nightstand, and I was nearly blinded by a fiery red 2:44. About put my eyes out.

I huffed in frustration, and snatched the covers up to my chin as I angrily turned away from the offending clock. I was facing Keith, who was lying peacefully (how dare he?!), and I watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, his lips slightly parted. My dick stirred a little as I wondered if some midnight sex would tire me out enough to get me to sleep. I usually sleep well after hot sex, and sex with Keith at any time was… hot. No way Keith would go for that when we should be sleeping, though. Not that he didn't like sex as much as the next guy, but he'd surely have something to say about the need for sleep over a 2:44 tryst in the night.

I reluctantly abandoned the thought. Still, Keith was looking sexy in the dark with his left arm slung dreamily overhead, his hair disheveled. I knew if I reached out and touched his face, I'd feel the rough sandpaper of his cheek where stubble had appeared while he slept on. Nothing bothered Keith to the point of sleeplessness. Nothing.

Me? Well, every worry I had went straight for my slumbering jugular. Worry felled me like a sword, leaving me in a wide-awake heap, sleep kept at bay. Stress always affected me that way, and for some reason, Keith felt the need to have rules around me lying awake and not discussing my worries. I don't know why he got so worked up about it.

"You need to wake me if you can't sleep," he finally declared once it became a habit.

"That makes absolutely no sense at all, Keith! Why should you suffer because I do?" I flailed my arms in exasperation at the very idea, while I argued and paced the floor. Did I mention I get a bit testy when I don't sleep? "We need to talk about this before you lay down the law."

It made no difference at all. None. He had serious opinions on the subject, and had no problem voicing them. "You can settle down, Murphy. We aren't negotiating this anymore," he had said with that damnable eyebrow raise that sent warning slivers of ice down my spine. "You wake me if you can't sleep, and if I find out you didn't – and I will know – there will be consequences."

I failed to follow his logic. The few times I chose not wake him, I wished later that I had because his secret crystal ball (not balls, I remind you) had ratted me out as usual, and Keith impossibly knew the impossible.

I'm on to him, though. He claimed it was my snappishness that typically gave him a clue, so I made a note to self not to be so grouchy. That, I could somewhat control. And I had done a fine job for the last two nights. Three days running and he had no clue. I was a genius, and apparently, a damn good actor.

For whatever reason, I bucked against the rule hard this time, throwing myself against it with enough force to leave a bruise on my shoulder. I was pissed and mad at the world, and somehow, it made me feel better - despite having been throttled for keeping it to myself in the past. Never mind that most of the time when I did wake him, he was generally somehow able to help get me to sleep. That thought hadn't managed to cross my mind in the wee hours of the night.

What had me stressed to the point of no sleep, you ask? Same thing that usually gets me: work. Three days earlier, a key member of our staff got the boot, generating all sorts of whispers of layoffs. Jerry wasn't laid off, but when we were told he wasn't being replaced, the rumors started flying – lots of rumors that didn't just involve why he wasn't being replaced, but why he was shown the door to begin with. Because of him leaving, my workload all but doubled, and yes, I was buying into the layoff rumors just a bit. My mind raced every night since Jerry was shown the exit, shifting gears between strategy on how I'd get everything done to asking myself what the hell we would do if I lost my job next.

Granted, Jerry was fucking the secretary. That rumor was true, and I knew I wouldn't do that – she isn't my type, having no dick and all that. Plus, I'm happily committed, but what if the rumors were true about our expense situation? Were we in enough of a financial crunch that someone else would have to go, whether they were fucking the help or not? I did a good job, but so did the secretary-fucker – I mean, Jerry. They didn't fire Carol. Was it because her paycheck had fewer zeros on it, or did they just really like the way she answered the phone?

I couldn't stop thinking about the threat of no job. I threw myself on my back and tossed my arm overhead, mimicking Keith's posture. Maybe having an arm overhead created some sort of magical sleep conductor or something. Maybe Keith learned that trick from the witch who sold him that damnable crystal ball. I squeezed my eyes shut and shouted, "shut up!" at my brain, which was running at mach 10. It didn't listen, naturally.

I rolled my eyes over to Keith and sighed. He looked so peaceful, and that pissed me off just a little. Yes, I know. It was jealousy. And yes, I remembered the rule, but I wasn't about to wake him. It was stubbornness, and I didn't care. If that Benedict Arnold of a crystal ball told on me, then tough shit. I'd have to live with the consequences. Despite my bravado, my stomach flip-flopped more than a pair of summer shoes at the very thought of consequences. Fuck it. I was suffering in silence. A silent night. I managed to bluff it for two nights so far. What would another night matter?

The covers rustled as Keith lazily rolled on his side facing me. I thought he might wake up on his own because his sleep conductor dropped limply in front of him. It had to break the connection, right? Could it still channel sleep if it wasn't over his head? I glanced upward toward my own, obviously broken conductor, which wasn't getting the job done even in the right position. Maybe I had a blown fuse or something.

I looked over at the clock again – couldn't resist. 3:35. How had that much time slipped by?! It was shoring up to be a 4-hour night, which was worse than the 5 hours I got the night before. I was a 7-hour a night guy – minimum. My sleep deficit was growing at an alarming rate, and that thought alone made it even harder to sleep. The pressure was on, and I was crumbling under it.

I resigned myself to the fact I wasn't going to get any more sleep, then spent the rest of the night figuring out how I was going to function when the alarm went off at 6.

~~~~~~

Three sleepless nights were taking their toll on me. It was all I could do to act normal around Keith and not let on, keeping the snappishness to a minimum. I didn't have to try so hard at work.

"Keith?" Carol asked cautiously.

I was thoroughly distracted by the mountains of paper stacked across the top of my desk, and I barely acknowledged Jezebel as I rifled through another stack. If she had managed to keep her legs together, I wouldn't have all the extra work from Jerry leaving, would I? I wouldn't be worried about layoffs, either, would I?

"What?" I barked distractedly.

"Um, that woman, Jenny Baxter, is on the phone again for you."

"Tell her to get a divorce already and leave me alone," I snapped. My shirt was immediately peppered with goo from her eyes popping, and I had a moment of contrition long enough to wipe the carnage off my front. I was in an office and had to look presentable, after all. "I'll take the call," I replied gruffly.

She gave me a curt nod then scurried away with her shoulders hunched protectively. I punched the button on my phone to connect the call, and picked up the receiver. "Jenny?" I asked as nicely as I could muster. I even tried to smile.

"He is treating me like I have the plague," she cried tearfully into the phone and I rolled my eyes. Why Steve thought I should handle these whiny-assed couples, I didn't know. I knew what he had told me.

"Murphy, with Jerry gone, we need someone to take over his relationship counseling clients."

I looked at him expectantly. Not only was it more than I could handle, het couples weren't exactly my forte. "You're kidding, right? What heterosexual couple is going to listen to a gay man on how to have a healthy marriage or relationship?"

"You have one, don't you?" Steve asked me with his chin tipped up.

"Well… not heterosexual, but relationship, yes…"

Steve leaned forward with his elbows on his desk, his fingers linked together casually. "Murphy, I can't think of another person in this office more qualified to talk about healthy relationships than you are. I don't give a flying fuck whether it happens to be with another man or with a woman. What you and Keith have gives you more credentials than Jerry ever had." He added that last bit with a look that made me think he had the taste of bile on the back of his tongue.

Wonder what his opinion would be if he knew our relationship worked so well because we used discipline? I could just see group counseling sessions. "This, ladies and gentlemen is a paddle," I'd say, holding up a solid wooden butt-whapper for the group to see. Then I'd give it a demonstrative swing and add, "When applied to the bare buttocks of your wayward partner…"

Well. Fuck 'em. I wasn't telling them our little secret. They could read about it on the internet like the rest of the world. Besides, I didn't think Steve would fully appreciate my recommendation on how to cure these couples' ills. We cured with counseling. Takes longer but does work on occasion.

"Maybe you should have offered Jerry some counseling," I suggested to Steve with a crooked grin.

"You think we didn't?"

I shrugged indifferently. "Not my business."

Steve sighed wearily and dropped back in his chair, rubbing his hand absently across his bald head before bringing us back on topic. "Look. I know it's a lot to ask of you, but they're not letting me replace Jerry right now. Grants haven't been approved; we just don't know what we're going to have to work with just yet. I need you, Murphy. I trust you to take on the extra work, and do it better than Jerry did when it was his job to do. I can count on you, right?"

Not fair! Goddamn psych majors! We have an advantage in getting our way because we're experts in people. Turning down the extra work when the request was posed as such would be like me saying, "Hell, no, Steve. Whatever made you think you could count on me?"

Well, I'm a psychologist, too. I narrowed my eyes at him. "Not a fair question, Steve, and you know it."

He laughed easily and gave a short shrug of acknowledgement, but without a lick of remorse. "See, why you're the man for the job? You're a straight shooter, Murphy. That's what most of these people need. Someone to tell them the truth."

And a good paddle. "I hate you; you know that, don't you?"

"I know," he smiled with warmth. "Would it help if I said, 'please'?"

"Damn it, Steve, you know I'll do whatever I can. But if I end up divorced myself because I'm working too much…"

"You won't. You understand relationships."

And Keith would have my ass if I worked that much. We both got that relationships took time together, and Keith felt like it was his job to reel me in if I appeared to have forgotten that tidbit. He would never let me work enough to damage our relationship, and that's what led to the problem.

I didn't know how I was going to juggle it all without sacrificing my butt, my sanity, and my work-life balance. I knew I needed to figure it out. Guess that's what I had been doing every night instead of sleeping. I knew Steve valued me as a person as well as an employee, and that meant I'd walk through broken glass for him. Barefoot. He always has time for me, is always interested in what I have to say, even if we disagree. He is not just a boss, he's a friend.

Thus, I inherited all of Jerry's idiot, dysfunctional relationship people, one of which was bawling in my ear on the phone – nails on a chalkboard. I clenched my eyes closed tightly, and they burned like sand was ground into them, despite the disappearance of the sandman.

I listened to Jenny Baxter pander on about how her husband did this and that to her, and tried to care. "Have you talked to him?"

She paused to think and sniffle. "I don't know what to saaaaaay," she wailed, and I pinched the bridge of my nose before I reached for my Costco-sized bottle of Ibuprofen.

"You didn't have any trouble telling me how you feel," I reported as I managed to pop the top off the bottle with one hand and shake a couple gelcaps onto the desk. "Do you honestly expect to get your relationship back on track when you can't talk to each other?" One gelcap tried to roll away, but I snagged it before it could escape, and tossed it to the back of my throat. I gazed at the bottle and wondered how long it might last.

"He gets so mad when I tell him how I feel!" she all but shrieked into the phone, and I pulled the receiver away in time to save my hearing. If I went deaf, would that be a worker's compensation claim?

"What did I tell you?" I asked slowly as if speaking to a 5 year old, enunciating each word. I think a child would be more inclined to listen and actually follow my advice, but unfortunately, I was dealing with adults, set in their ways. Paddle-therapy crossed my mind again.

She heaved a sigh before she admitted the direction I had given the couple. "I need to wave the flag."

"Yes. Then you need to calmly, without accusations, talk to him about your feelings in response to his actions. He isn't a mind reader."

"I'll… I'll try."

"Now, if he says he didn't intend things the way you've taken then, you need to trust that he's not lying to you. You said you trusted each other."

"I guess," she said in a weepy, watery voice.

It was all I could do not to explode. I replied tightly, as I pinched off the wick from the stick of TNT, "You can't have a relationship built on distrust, and if you can't trust one another, then we're wasting time." I paused a moment to let that sink in. "Are we wasting time?"

She sniffled. "N-no."

"Then go talk to the man you claim to love and trust, and approach it from that angle. Got it?" Jesus, if I could just shake her.

"Yes. I will. I'll talk to him."

Eureka! Talking! Communicating! What a novel idea! Why didn't *I* think of that?!

"Good."

"Thank you, Murphy."

"You're welcome. Call if you need me," I added, as if she wouldn't. They called at all hours of the day, these relationship people.

I hung up the phone, and glanced toward the front of the office where Carol was sitting, hunched up against the world, or at the very least, the office. People had been avoiding her like the black plague since the whole thing with Jerry, and I worried she might not be able to stand under the peer pressure. I knew what she had done, but aside from having double my usual workload, I didn't really care who slept with whom. But I hadn't exactly been helpful in the peer pressure regard, and it really wasn't anything against her. It was all the work I had on me because of her part in screwing the staff.

Still, Carol is a good person, a dedicated employee, and always able to hold us all together, even in the face of the whispers going around. And I liked her.

I went over to her desk to do a little relationship repair work of my own, and I could hear her sniffling quietly into a tissue as I moved up behind her. I looked toward the ceiling. Another crying woman. What made it worse was that I was partly to blame for this one, I feared.

I laid a hand on her shoulder and she sniffed quickly, wiped her eyes, and straightened up, giving me a weak smile. "Yes?" she managed to say around a stuffy nose.

"I'm sorry I snapped," I said sincerely as I moved to sit on the edge of her desk. "I meant to shoot, but I wasn't aiming for the messenger."

"It's ok, Murphy." She continued to smile, but it started to crack as a single tear coursed down her cheek before she could hide it.

I glanced back at the four-foot stack of shit on my desk. It would have to wait. I pulled a fresh tissue from the box on her desk and tucked it into her hand as I took it in mine. "Come on. Let's get a Starbucks."

"I'm fine … It's ok …" she protested, and pulled away.

"It's more than ok. I get coffee there all the time. Good stuff." She managed a tearful laugh. "Come on, I need a pick-me-up to get me through the afternoon and that load of shit that someone crapped on my desk, and I'd like some company."

I had been accused of being crass before, but I had no idea where that came from. "I didn't do it," she said. "But I shouldn't leave the phones..."

"That's what voicemail is for. No arguments." I grabbed her hand again and gave her a tug that she didn't fight against.

We walked across the street to Starbucks and Carol unloaded about the gossip and the pressure she was under. Jerry had fed her the old, My Wife and I are on the Rocks line of bullshit, and Carol had fallen for it hook, line and sinker. It was only after Jerry had Steve's bootprint permanently tattooed on his fat ass that he had to come clean with his wife who, hey, guess what? Wasn't the horrible bitch driving the ship of their marriage into the rocks. Jerry promptly turned his own boot on Carol before his wife changed her mind about withholding hers. There were boots all over the place, and not a hot cowboy in sight. So Carol was left to be the topic of office gossip, holding a broken heart and Jerry's boot.

God. See why I hate relationship counseling? It is fucked up. Sometimes I think Keith and I – oh, and our parents – are the only couples out there who have a snowball's chance in hell.

"I know you're hurting right now," I told her in my best It Will Be All Right counselor voice, "but believe me when I tell you, this too shall pass. As for the office gossip, it will become old news and people will find something else to talk about. I promise."

"I know. It's just really hard right now," she cried softly into her Venti Skinny Vanilla Latte. She had to keep her shape because fat Jerry was gone, and she was back on the market.

Which made me wonder… "Carol, you're a beautiful woman. What did you see in Jerry? I mean, we're both attracted to men, and I don't get it."

That made her laugh. "He's not much to look at, is he?"

I cringed at the thought of him naked with his curly hair – no, not *that* curly hair – his receding hairline, and 1980's glasses. I promptly obliterated that picture from my mind before it could leave me permanently brain damaged. "Actually, he's a little *too* much to look at, which is part of the problem. He could use a salad on occasion, for starters."

That really made her laugh. "You should see him naked."

"Please," I grimaced. "You had to say it, didn't you? I was trying not to think about that, thank you very much."

"But he made me feel…" she paused and looked up at me with lost and forlorn eyes. "Special." Her voice cracked on the word.

I processed that for a second, and nodded. "I could see how you'd be attracted to that." I reached across the table and took her hand. "You do deserve someone who treats you special, but only you. No threesomes allowed."

She teared up again and gripped my hand in return. "Thank you, Murphy. I really needed this."

"I needed it, too." I raised my Venti Mocha. "Caffeine. I'm not getting enough sleep with all this extra work."

"I'm sorry," she said sincerely. "This too will pass?"

"Like a fucking kidney stone," I replied with a crooked smile. "It's going to be painful during the process. Maybe I wouldn't feel it pass if I'm asleep when it happens."

"Are you taking anything?"

I waved the idea away. "I tried. Tylenol PM doesn't touch it. I was up until 12:30 the other night, awake at 4:30."

"No, not Tylenol PM. I switched to Advil PM and it really works for me when I can't sleep. My sister suggested it."

Hmm… "Advil PM, huh?"

"Works like a charm. I guarantee it."

I plowed through as much work as I could get through by 6:30 then headed home, but I had a stop to make. I went to Wal-Mart, eager to get my hands on Advil PM. I was desperate, and almost giddy with the hope that it would actually work. I scanned the shelves and saw it on the top level with a glow of calming blue light around it. Not really, but it sure seemed that way. I chose the 24 gelcap box over the 12, cautiously optimistic that it would work and I'd need more than the smaller box could offer.

I stuffed the box into my jacket pocket after I pulled into the garage, then smuggled it upstairs into the bathroom, tucking it out of sight behind the other odd and end pills we had in the medicine cabinet. It fit neatly behind a bottle of Tums as if it belonged there. It was a sign.

Before bed, I popped two gel caps in my mouth while I was in the bathroom after Keith went to bed. I closed the medicine cabinet door and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Dark circles colored the underside of my eyes, and I prayed to erase them that night. I wondered how Keith hadn't managed to notice. His crystal ball must be on the fritz. More likely, he was misreading signals and thought I was weary from overwork.

I don't know why I had been so stubborn about sharing my sleep issues to begin with. Maybe I wanted him to figure it out on his own. No, that couldn't be it. It was too late to turn back, anyway, as I had already sort of dug in my heels over it. Maybe I was jealous. How dare he be sound sleep when I'm wide awake? Dumb, I know, but remember, I was running on fumes. I can't be held responsible for incoherent thinking.

He looked dead to the world by the time I got in bed, arm pitched overhead channeling the sleep signal, but he stirred when I climbed under the covers beside him. "Asleep already?" I accused.

He worked his mouth into a cavernous yawn. "No. Waiting for you."

I pulled the covers up to my chin, and Keith wound his arm around my chest. "Liar."

He chuckled and woke up enough to kiss me goodnight. "Sleep well, Murph."

I could only hope. I looked at the clock and dared to close my eyes, hoping for all I was worth that Advil PM had something magical in it that Tylenol PM lacked. The next thing I knew, the alarm was nudging me awake and it wasn't the middle of the night.

It worked! It freaking worked!!! I had a new love in my life and I called him Advil PM. I knew Keith would understand.

Well, probably not. But like Jerry, I was keeping this lover secret from my spouse. Hell, I had been heading for the rocks myself, even if Keith wasn't driving the ship. My feet barely touched the ground, I was in such a light and cheerful mood.

I was whistling as I poured a bowl of cereal when Keith joined me in the kitchen. My mood brightened even more when I caught the scent of him, freshly showered and crisp for the coming day.

He surveyed me carefully and smiled in the face of my good humor. "You're in a good mood this morning."

"It's a beautiful day," I smiled back at him.

He leaned down and grabbed my face between his hands and kissed me hard, passing the slight flavor of toothpaste on to me. "I was beginning to wonder if you were getting enough sleep."

The cereal went down the wrong way after that statement, leaving me sputtering and coughing to the point of bringing tears.

Keith patted me firmly on the back. "Are you ok?"

I managed to swallow properly, allowing me to breathe again. "Yeah. Went down wrong."

It was perfect timing, too, if not done by design. "Did you sleep well?"

"Oh, yeah," I said, really needing the subject to change. "I'd better run."

"You're leaving early?" he asked as he glanced at the clock. He sat in his designated chair beside me and plopped his cereal bowl on the table. "You don't have 10 minutes to eat breakfast together?"

I was running, and that wasn't fair to Keith. I pulled my chair out and sat back down. "You know what? Work can wait. What's on your agenda today?" Yes, I did change the subject, didn't I? You would have been disappointed in me had I not.

"The usual. You?"

"The usual and the new shit. I'm going by Home Depot on the way to work and buy a shovel."

He laughed and shook his head. "I'm sorry you have so much on you right now. We should do something relaxing this weekend."

I glanced at the clock. "Yes, we should. And I should really go now." I stood up and kissed him goodbye. "It's Friday. Where do you want to go for dinner?"

"Maggiano's?"

"Sounds good. Meet here first as usual?"

"I'll be here waiting," he flashed me a Keith smile, the corners of his eye crinkling until they almost sparkled. I might not have noticed the day before, but with plenty of sleep? I could have jumped him right there on the table.

I sighed after I checked the clock to see if I could manage it and still get to work on time. "Some alone time after dinner?"

His smile deepened. "Oh, yeah."

I know I'm a grown man, but I swear I think I skipped all the way to the car. Nothing was going to bring me down. Nothing. I could honestly feel the difference in myself that day. I wasn't making stupid mistakes, wasn't snapping at everyone who looked at me halfway wrong, had no desire to kill every driver who got in my way. It was a miracle! God bless the makers of Advil PM. It would be a permanent part of our medicine cabinet, that was for sure.

I got more done than I had in days because I was focused, and able to think clearly. I took Carol for another Starbucks break to thank her for the great suggestion, and we had a nice chat. Even with the long Starbucks break, I made such a dent in my work, that I actually left at my normal time of 6:00 instead of 6:30. Keith was home already as promised by the time I got there, and I went into the house whistling something akin to Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah. My oh, my, what a wonderful day.

My whistle got tangled up in my lips when I walked in the door and saw Keith.

He was sitting at the bar, his arms crossed and his sleeves rolled up to the elbow with a look on his face that I knew as well as I knew my name. Something caught my attention and I knew right away what had painted that expression on my partner's face. There, in the middle of the bar was my box of Advil PM, glowing with an ominous red light around it, nary a blue hue to be found.

"Murphy," came Keith's flat greeting.

I managed to peel my eyes away from the box of Advil and slowly turn my attention to Keith. "Keith," I parroted, managing not to let my voice crack under the strain of knowing what this meant. I think I squeaked.

It was his turn to acknowledge the Advil, and he inclined his head toward it then back to me. My hands were starting to sweat. "Is there something you need to tell me?"

The silence dragged on for oh, about a lifetime. Or maybe it just felt that way. Even with the extra sleep, I wasn't doing a good job of coming up with an answer that wouldn't get my butt tanned like a slab of cheap leather.

"I bought that," I told him honestly.

He flashed me a mirthless smile that didn't come close to touching his eyes. The corners were as uncrinkled as freshly starched pants. I longed for the happy, crinkly Keith of that morning who had promised me a dinner out and gymnastics afterward. He tersely replied, "I figured."

He waited for more, not prompting, not goading, just waiting. My throat clicked as I tried to swallow. "What?" I asked innocently, trying to propel the conversation somewhere else. I'm not a shy man, but I would have felt far more comfortable if the spotlight moved from me and my handy dandy box of Advil PM. As it was, it was blinding me.

Keith picked up the box and studied it, then he read from it since I was blind, and couldn't see the words. "Advil *PM*," he stressed. He set the box back on the bar and looked at me, then he raised both eyebrows in question. He wanted an explanation, and by golly, he meant to get one.

I heaved a sigh of resignation. The jig was up, and so would my butt be in probably 2 minutes or less. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

"How long?"

"A few nights?"

"You can count, Murphy. I know you can. How many nights?"

I obstinately pursed my lips and looked away, answering the wall in lieu of addressing those accusing blue eyes. "Three."

"How many hours have you been getting?"

"Four to five. Ish. Something like that."

He leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees, his eyes boring into me intently, making me want to squirm. I didn't give in to the urge, but his next question almost made me crumble. "And at no point during the 2-3 hours you were awake did it occur to you to wake me?"

"Well, yeah, but I mean," I started.

"So it occurred to you and you chose not to do what I told you to do?"

"It doesn't make sense for me to wake you up to be miserable, too," I offered a perfectly rational explanation.

"That's not the point, and you know it."

His words were as icy as the North Pole, and sent a shiver down my spine. I did know it, unfortunately, and I knew my goose was cooked when I saw the box on the bar, and it wasn't even Thanksgiving or Christmas.

I nervously jammed my hands into my pants pockets, and tried to keep my feet still in the face of Keith's calm, cool demeanor. Purely unlike me, I was at a loss for words. "I don't know what to say," I confessed.

"There's really nothing *to* say, is there?" he asked me as he rose from the barstool. "Living room," he directed with a finger pointing the way as if I had forgotten where our living room was.

"But dinner—"

"Can wait," he proclaimed.

His finger stayed in position for as long as I could see, until I turned and walked the twenty or so feet to my final destination. I could hear him trailing me, like a lion stalking his prey. It was probably my imagination but I could swear I felt his breath on my neck. I wondered if I ran, really fast, if it would help. I'm a competent runner, but then so is he. Maybe if I climbed a tree. Lions can't climb, can they?

He was right on my heels when I stopped at the sofa and turned around. He surprised me by crooking a finger under my chin so he could look me dead in the eye. "Dead" being the operative word here. He said in a strong quiet tone, "It wasn't up for debate, Murphy. Do you understand me?"

Yeah. I did. Damn it. I nodded against his finger, swallowed hard to get enough spit to speak, and croaked, "Yes, sir."

He released my chin and nodded with an air of resigned efficiency before exhaling a short sigh, hitching up his dress pants, and settling on the sofa. He was in position, and he directed me to do the same. "Pull your pants down and bend over."

I really hated that part. With a passion. There was no way out of it, though. I took my jacket off and unfastened my belt and pants, pushing them down and out of his way.

I paused before sending my shorts to follow and decided to try to melt that stony expression he was wearing. "Keith," I implored simply, asking forgiveness with my eyes.

"Underwear." He was a rock.

I blew out breath of defeat then pushed my shorts down as requested. I got over his lap quickly to avoid having to stand there pantless and face him. Dropping my pants and shorts had a way of making me feel thoroughly naughty, as if I didn't feel bad enough already. I could stand the consequences better than seeing the acknowledgement in his eyes that I had broken a rule between us, and we both knew it. It was that look on top of me suffering from Pants Dropsies (trust me, it's worse than Swine Flu) that made me want to bury my disobedient self under a rock and never come out.

Once I was face-to-face with the sofa cushions, Keith said to my upturned behind, "Three nights, Murphy. Three nights you chose to disobey me."

Hell. Was I getting consequenced three times? I grabbed a sofa pillow and clutched it to my chest. This wasn't going to be pretty. He hadn't sent me for the paddle, but I knew his hand could do enough damage to make me think I wasn't much better off. That seemingly harmless hand was resting against my right cheek, emanating enough heat to make me notice it lying there. It was nowhere near as hot as it would be by the time he finished, I knew that without a doubt.

"I'm going to make sure you think twice before doing it again," he solemnly vowed.

And that was that. The heat from his hand that I felt before was like a cool breeze compared to what followed. He wore my sleepless butt completely out, and made sure he covered the most tender parts of my thighs, while he was down there. That stings like nobody's business, and it about brought me off his lap. His left arm clamped down like a vice holding me in place, and I couldn't go anywhere if I wanted to – and I seriously wanted to.

I bit my sleeve to try to hold it back, but I had tears streaming down my face long before he was finished. He had me wailing like a banshee into the tufts of my pillow. I was thanking my lucky stars that the next day was Saturday. At least I wasn't going to have to sit at a desk all day with a lingering reminder of what Keith thought of disobedience.

I thought he was finished then he decided to give the underside of my cheeks a thorough whacking before he landed a few swats to middle of my punished rear for good measure. Yes, the hand could be just as bad as the paddle, and it had effectively, thoroughly, left me consequenced. I don't think Keith appreciated me not waking him three nights in a row. Just guessing, but I'm pretty sure I'm right. I take that back. I'm positive.

I didn't get up right away - didn't trust my shaky legs to hold me just yet. All I wanted to do was bury my head deep into my soaked pillow and die, at least long enough for the pain in my butt to subside. I could rise from the dead after it went away. Keith left me to lie across his lap, and get myself together while he silently stroked my back with the same hand that put me into the state I was in.

"Do you know why it makes sense to wake me?" he finally asked when I was settled against him, the hiccupping breaths being the only sounds left in the room until he spoke. He stroked his hand over my hair. "Do you?"

I focused my blurry attention on a pearly button on his green dress shirt. My eyes burned worse than when I lacked sleep, my lids puffed up like a Pillsbury pastry. "It doesn't make sense," I dared to say. He smacked my raw butt with a pat that was too healthy for my taste. "Ow!" I hissed and shifted then corrected my answer. I'm a quick study. "No, why?"

"Because we're a couple. If you have a problem, then *we* have a problem. You don't sleep when you worry, so that's our problem. So what have you been chewing on during the night? Work again?"

I wiped my nose with my crumpled tissue, and nodded against him. "Yeah."

"Trying to figure out how to get it all done?"

"That and… other stuff."

He leaned back and cocked his head to the side so he could see me, and I turned my eyes up to him. "What other stuff?"

With that one question coupled with the release from being punished, it all came rushing out in a torrent. All the worry, all the stress, all the freaking out over the rumors flying around.

He laid a hand to the side of my face, cupping it tenderly. "Why do you think Steve asked you to take on Jerry's work? There are eight other psychologists in that office, but he asked you."

"Because he knew I was least likely to tell him no."

"Because he knew you could do it. I have no doubt in my mind that you're a valued employee. Not top of the list of those to be laid off, *if* that became a possibility at all, which it isn't as far as we know."

I closed my eyes as he began to rake his fingers through my hair. "It's hard not to wonder. Not to worry."

"I know it is. But if it happens, we'll deal with it. Together. Just like we'll deal with you being unable to sleep. If you wake me, we can talk or something. Maybe have some hot sex to wear you out," he said tenderly with a smile. I peered up at him, and saw familiar crinkles in the corners of his eyes.

If I didn't feel like a rung out rag doll, I would have begged him to take me post haste. "Don't think it didn't cross my mind. I had a feeling you wouldn't go for it at 2:44, though."

"If that's what it takes," he assured me. "But you have to wake me first, not lay there alone worrying half the night."

"Time gets away from me. I'm always hoping I'll go back to sleep then before I know it, two hours have gone by."

"We need a line in the sand then. How about 15 minutes?"

How about just a sandman? There hadn't been any sand to draw a line in. I sighed. "So, if I'm awake longer than that, wake you?"

"Yes."

"That might help." It wouldn't do a damn thing if I got stubborn about it, though. Keith's hand peppering fire all over my ass and thighs might. I was sure it would be a consideration in the future. Until I forgot how bad it was again.

"You don't sound too sure."

I blew out a breath. "It's not that easy. I get frustrated and… I don't know."

"You get mad and resentful at everything."

I shrugged. "Something like that."

He patted my butt with a little less force. "Don't consequences help with that? Is it not enough?"

I cringed and pulled away from the love taps. "Let's put it this way," I said with my nose as stuffed as a sausage, "rest assured I'll be waking you if I can't sleep tonight. You can bet on that and win."

He almost didn't let me have the Advil PM that night, he said because of the Advil part. He didn't want to undo all the work he had done. I think he also secretly wanted to test his cure for me not waking him, but I can't be sure. He finally gave in on the Advil after I assured him the effects of the drug would wear off long before the effects of Hurricane Keith did.

Even with the Advil, I found myself staring at the ceiling around my usual time of 2:30. I looked over at my partner beside me and he was sound asleep. I didn't wait for 2:45. He deserved it, and you know it.

I ground an elbow into his side. "I’m awake."

His eyes slid open in slow motion and he gave me a foggy stare. "Advil isn't working?"

"My butt hurts. Thanks a lot."

"You're welcome. Roll onto your side and come here," Keith said, opening his arm wide to accept me against his bare chest.

I squirmed against him and winced when my butt bumped against his groin. "It's your fault I can't sleep this time," I informed him.

"You had it coming, young man," he told me with a smile in his voice. I liked it when he called me that. It always meant I was forgiven. Unlike some toppish people, he meant it as a term of endearment. He never used that one when I was in trouble. I'd probably punch him in the mouth if he did. Well, probably not, but I wouldn't like it.

My lids were heavy and it hadn't even been five minutes. The Advil still worked its magic, despite Keith's sins and offenses against my rear.

"I must have gotten through to you. You woke me up this time," he said dreamily.

"I only did it to get you back," I said around a drugged yawn.

"If that's what it takes."

"You're a brute."

I felt his breath on my neck as he laughed behind me. "Not very nice, Murph."

"You're one to talk. Anyway, careful what you ask for."

"I'll keep that in mind. Is there anything keeping you awake that you want to talk about?"

The fog settled in before I could consider the question, and I fell asleep, thanks to Advil and Keith's strong support.

I could do without the strength in his right arm, I really could. The left one felt pretty good snaked around me, though. That I could live with. I could even sleep with it.

End.