I Can’t Get No Sleep
Just a little something that took up too much space in my brain. No warnings, gen. audiences, implied hotchgan, insomnia.
If sleep was for the weak, he probably should have changed careers years ago and become a strongman for some travelling sideshow. Two or three hours, four if he was lucky, that was all his mind and body were willing to give him. The nightmares were part of the problem, but nothing he couldn’t handle. The far bigger problem was his body. After years of abuse, getting shot, beaten, stabbed, garroted, blown up, thrown down stairs, and basically dying, every day presented a new - or sometimes very familiar - problem. Some nights he lay awake shivering despite the two duvets and heating blanket. Other nights he got so hot, he had to kick each and every blanket off the bed. Only to put them back 10 minutes later when his body decided that a 85 degree Floridian night was too cold to survive without at least three layers on top of him.
Sure, his doctor had prescribed some very good sleeping aides, but they were so effective that the one time he took them on a case, he woke up to three of his agents almost breaking down the door to his hotel room because he didn’t show up for breakfast, wasn’t already at the local precinct and didn’t answer his phone. All of them remembered what had happened the last time no one could reach him.
Another problem were those hotel and motel mattresses. Some of them so soft he felt as if he was drowning, others so firm that the carpeted floor felt more comfortable than the bed. At least in this regard, he wasn’t alone with his complaints. More often than not, Reid, Rossi or JJ blamed this specific part of their accommodations when they downed the 4th cup of coffee at breakfast.
At home, things were better. He kept the bedroom at a constant temperature, his mattress was almost perfect, the nightly noises were familiar, and yet often enough sleep eluded him. When all the tricks and remedies he knew didn’t help - taking a walk, a bath, warm milk, tea, counting sheep, and everything else imaginable - and he knew that he needed the sleep, there was one thing that always worked like a charm.
So, once again, he stood in front of the by now very familiar door, a sleeping Jack cradled against his shoulder, hoping for the two inhabitants to welcome him and his son in. When the door opened and the warm air and familiar smells engulfed him in a hug of familiarity, he immediately felt more relaxed.
“That kind of night, huh?”
He nodded.
“Ok, you know the drill.”
A tired smile was answer enough for Derek. He took Jack out of Aaron’s arms and carried the still sleeping boy into his makeshift bedroom. When he returned to the master bedroom, Hotch was already in the bed with Clooney acting simultaneously as protector, weighted blanket and heating pack. A combination that never ceased to work its magic powers. In the time it took Derek to turn off the light and get comfortable, Hotch was already asleep.
“Good job, Clooney.”
The dog’s wagging tail was the last thing that registered in his mind before he too drifted off.
