Hello everyone! Here's a pretty angsty drabble (definitely what I would have loved to see on the show). It's set in season seven.
Enjoy!
12. It's okay. I couldn't sleep anyway.
Just for this once, Cuddy was the one who couldn't sleep.
He probably thought she didn't know, but he barely ever got more than five hours of sleep. Mix chronic pain with a restless mind, and you get bouts of insomnia, only worsened when he's on a case. He didn't toss and turn, when he got up to read or pace around or listen to music he was very careful not to wake her in the process; but sometimes she woke up in the middle of the night for no particular reason, and he either wasn't in bed at all or he was staring at the ceiling lost in his thoughts.
Tonight was one of these nights when she couldn't get her brain to shut up. She'd think about Rachel, about the hospital, about her own demons, about that article she read. Her own thoughts were so loud and alive that she couldn't keep her eyes shut. So she watched his chest rise and fall for a while, hoping the steady movement of his ribcage would lull her to sleep.
But then she saw his face twitch. She switched her bedside lamp on, caressed his forehead and his cheek and whispered his name.
"No," he shouted, thrashing around. She had to shake him more decidedly.
With him, deep sleep often came with nightmares.
His eyes flew open and he looked around, breathless. She touched his shoulder, tried to attract his attention.
"Sorry," he rasped once he'd focused on her, so low she wasn't sure she heard him. "Woke you up."
"It's okay. I couldn't sleep anyway." He lay his head back down, on her pillow. "Do you want me to leave the light on?" she whispered.
He took her arm, wrapped it around his shoulders and shook his head no. She reached out to switch the light off and held him tighter, letting him bury his face in her chest.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"No."
"Okay." She stroked his head softly as she lulled him back to sleep. "You're okay."