It began with the missing cutlery.

Christine had opened the kitchen cupboards and had been met with a missing set of forks and spoons. At first, she had gasped unsure if she should be concerned that they had been robbed or concerned at the robbers for such artefacts were quite worthless and would not be of value among the other things in the house. She had hummed and tapped her foot against the kitchen floor trying to recall if she had perhaps performed her duties of washing quite late at night and had placed the objects in the entirely wrong place. Failing to find anything significant, Christine had wiped the sweat off her brow and eyed her husband as he appeared through the kitchen door. She then asked him about the missing cutlery and he had merely lifted his shoulders and shrugged, innocently stating that he had no idea.

She then had to point out that a fork was poking out of his night robe. The rest were found quite conveniently littered in their bedroom. The man had simply scowled at it, dictating that such events were isolated. And she need not to concern herself with such trivial jitter.

But then plates started disappearing and appearing. And the kitchen would get tidier.

It took a few weeks of light sleeping for Christine to finally figure out what it was that caused her husband to be connected to such erratic activities.

Erik – slept walk.

Or rather, he slept did. Christine had stalked him as he elegantly descended down the stairs and into the kitchens (in entire darkness). When he reached inside, Christine had to suppress a gasp as he even managed to turn their light on. She slipped past him and watched, bemused and with a gleam in her eye as he began to manoeuvre around the kitchen with no trouble whatsoever. Christine had to point out quite gratefully at this point that he was definitely better at moving around the kitchen asleep than he was awake! She had her back against the back wall of the small room and was astounded as she watched him (with eyes entirely closed) brew himself tea. It was there that she was certain that he wasn't awake for she knew two things her husband despised - Erik hated opera being butchered by amateurs and…

Erik hated tea.

She was entirely at a loss as he dropped a spoon and still despite in the state of unconsciousness…had the sense to retrieve it. Shaking her head out of shock, Christine decided that intervening was probably unwise and decided to observe instead what it was her husband was capable of achieving while his mind was at rest. For a mind like his, she knew sleep was crucial for his brain always seemed to be on some overdrive when he was awake. Although it would seem that the energy never faded as he was completely able even if he was sleeping.

For a whole hour, Erik performed all sorts of tasks that Christine was certain people beneath such a state should not be capable of doing. He tidied the kitchen worktop, played Mozart's Turkish March twice (he began again for he seemed to have realized that he had pressed the wrong key at one point) and he was even whistling. It perplexed Christine for Erik told her that he could not whistle!

And another thing – he even ate! Despite being together for a while, Christine knew Erik did not eat meals very often. They sat together at dinner yet he very rarely ate more than a mouthful as he much preferred explaining how he cooked the meal. But she, at a closely unbelievable distance, watched him eat a whole plate of food from last night's meal of chicken that she had cooked. There had even been a cross of dismay at his face (the dismay that normally indicated that she had not been gracious with the seasoning) as he finished the chicken and then wiped his face elegantly with a napkin. He washed the plate quite gracefully and then – at the end of the hour, stepped out of the kitchen as if nothing had happened!

Unsure if she should be concerned or utterly amused, Christine watched as he effortlessly ascended up stairs – did a small stretch – and crawled back into the bed with no dust of guilt whatsoever.

His body was still. Blinking, Christine softly leaned forward and prodded him on the shoulder. She had to suppress another gleeful giggle as she was reprimanded with a 'hmm..hmm…' – so he was sleeping! How odd! Returning back into the bed, the woman shook her head deciding she shall sleep on it, as they said.

Whistling softly as she wiped the table clean, Christine performed her morning routine of dusting the various pictures that hung on their kitchen and dining room walls – and ignoring the number of stray music sheets that littered the floor. Reaching the cupboards, she opened them and was mentally picturing what it was she required to shop for this evening when she heard the door squeak open. Leaning back wickedly, the woman eyed as her husband walked in – reflective as ever, as if the day had just ended when it was only beginning.

"Good morning." Christine greeted softly.

"Good morning." He echoed back as he manoeuvred his way past the dining table, grumbling as he almost walked into a chair in the process.

Christine said nothing afterwards and simply watched as he sat by the kitchen table and read over the headlines of the morning newspaper placed in front of him.

She walked towards him and innocently placed a steaming mug by the side. Christine pivoted and waited casually as a slight shuffle signalled the newspaper resting back onto the wooden surface. There was a gap of silence. And then a loud and equally theatric splutter–

"Christine – what – what is this?"

"Tea." Christine challenged simply, turning around and smiling.

His face was one of utter mortification. The grimace deepened as he realized that she was actually bemused.

"But you know I hate tea, woman! Why must you –" And then realization seemed to dawn on his face and his expressions instantly softened, "I have been venturing again….but how? I have tried to reduce my inward stress…"

Christine simply smiled, nodding and pointing to a spot just below his neckline on his shirt. She watched as he located the fleck and brushed it off with a disgusted sneer.

"What was that?"

"Chicken."

"I ate your chicken?"

"Yes. And you enjoyed it…"

There was a small, deep chuckle as the man opened his newspaper and relaxed his shoulders, "My, my," He mused, "I must agree…I must have beena sleep."

Christine rolled her eyes, grinning as she joined him. The instances of the nightly ventures decreased a lot after that and Christine had two conclusions for this sudden change.

One, since he assumed that the instances were stress-related – perhaps the exercises she had advised him to ease pressure had helped him to relieve mental tension, thus eliminating the sleep walks. Or, it could have been because Christine had decided (against his pleading wishes for Erik was silly sometimes) to close their bedroom door entirely, preventing him from even stepping outside.

"If my subconscious is clever enough to brew tea, do you not believe that he shall be smart enough to turn a door handle?" Erik asked one evening as they sat down to hear his newly written piece. Christine glanced up at him, setting aside the bemusement that he was referring to his sleeping self as if he was an entirely different person –

"He wasn't clever enough to ignore the harm of my cooking…" Christine innocently commented.

And the conversation ended there, deciding that there was much better things to fawn upon while one's eyes were open.

A/N: One shot number four. Just a sweet little one, inspired by my roommate and I musing about sleep walking one night. Oddly enough. But yes, thanks for reading this far! Hope you enjoyed it.