His side of the bed was empty. Light shined under the door; low incoherent voices from the television made their way to my ears.

He had actually turned in with me when it technically wasn't the next morning. But after nearly an hour of tossing and turning and mumbling to himself, he threw back the covers while declaring that he couldn't get comfortable. I didn't stop him since he was keeping me awake, and watched silently as he pulled on his pajama bottoms and limped out the door; then I untwisted the covers and stretched out. I was a bit relieved and didn't want him to see it, as I didn't want him to take it the wrong way. Sometimes it pays to hold your tongue no matter how incongruous the remark might seem. It took me way too long to learn that.

Two hours after that I was awake again and still all alone in bed. The empty side loomed large like an endless desert with no oasis in sight. Why was he still out there? What the hell could be so interesting on television at this hour? I suddenly wanted him here with me. I wanted to run my fingers through his coarse hair. I wanted to feel his warm skin touching mine. I wanted to feel his breath on my neck and his rough, restless hands all over me and his heart beat with mine. I wanted to rest my head on his chest and feel him lightly stroke my neck as I fell back asleep. He wasn't coming back to me anytime soon and I wasn't in the mood to be all by myself. If I wanted him, I had to go to him. So I got out of bed, pulled on some sweats, and opened the door.

He watched me with curiosity and a touch of concern as I walked over the sofa. One of the zillion monster truck shows he had recorded was playing. His mouth opened to speak, but I didn't give a chance. I flopped down next to him and threw my arms around his neck. That certainly caught him off guard, then I heard him chuckle in spite of himself. He was too amused to be cross with me.

"If you're going to drag me back to bed," he began, rubbing his hand up and down my back, "just be sure to give me an extra Vicodin for the leg."

"Don't worry, I'm not dragging you anywhere you don't want to go," I said and nuzzled his neck.

"Thanks. What are you doing up?"

"I needed my fix."

Another chuckle. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Jimmy. Now what are you doing up?"

"I woke up and heard you out here, so I decided join you."

"I'm the moon and you're the tides."

"Um...yeah, if that's how you want it." Where he came up with those goofy analogies I'll never know.

"It is."

He turned back to his show and I settled back to watch it and watch him. Good old-fashioned insomnia was keeping him up, not depression. Depression had been put on the back burner. He was coming back to his old self. Dosing his coffee was helping. It really was helping and I wasn't going to feel guilty about it. If I have to drug him behind his back then so be it. It was a hell of lot better than standing off to the side and watching him fall apart.

Monster trucks were never my thing but I settled back and tried to watch it anyway. It was boring beyond words, as it was all the other times I tried to watch, and soon I was nodding off despite the roaring of the engines and crunching of innocent cars. There was a rough shaking of my shoulder and my eyes flew open.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty," Greg said. "You're snoring and I can't hear the TV. Go back to bed."

I sat up and rubbed my eyes until everything was blocked out with spots. "Come with me," I said.

"No can do."

Why not?" I demanded.

"Jimmy, either I go back to bed with you and keep you up all night, or I stay out here and leave you alone so you can some of the sleep you obviously need."

"You need to sleep sometime too, you know."

"I know, but that time isn't now."

"When will that be?"

"It will be time when it's time."

"When?"

"Jimmy, I don't know. All right? I don't know. Now go get some sleep and stop all your damn worrying. I need you well rested tomorrow so you can make me a good nutritious breakfast."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." His insomnia was doing all the talking. Arguing with it was an exercise in futility. If he were to come back to bed with me he would be right up again as soon as I fell asleep. Well, maybe not. Maybe his insomnia needed a better reason other than 'I want you to'.

"Remember what happened on the sofa earlier?" I asked coyly, knowing damn good and well it was burned forever into his memory.

"My back is still recovering from it," he deadpanned. "Stop trying to be such a damn acrobat when you're on top."

"There's plenty more where that came from," I said, ignoring his sarcasm and standing up. "And there's much more room on the bed."

I padded to the bedroom. Ten minutes later he was sliding under the sheets to join me.