Lying there and staring at the ceiling
Waiting for a sleepy feeling...

The cold air sent a chill through him as he stripped down to his underclothes, a black muscle shirt and gray boxers. As much as he wanted to leave his uniform on the floor, he forced himself to fold it and set it on the nightstand. Walking home in the morning dressed in wrinkled clothes might suggest that he'd been up to unseemly activity the night before. The last thing he needed was anyone thinking he was on a "walk of shame."

Rolling back the covers, he slipped into bed. The flannel sheets were soft against his skin, nothing like the scratchy, utilitarian fabric he was used to. Warm, too. He pulled the blankets up to his chin and finally let his heavy eyes close, taking deep, even breaths.

In the silence, the clock tick was deafening. On any other night he might have been able to block it out, but in an unfamiliar environment in his enervated state, it was aggravating. He rolled onto his side and pulled the blankets up to his ears. He must have looked rather amusing, all bunched up like this. At least he was warm.

More minutes ticked by than he cared to count. His previous position having become uncomfortable, he rolled onto his other side and pulled his knees to his chest. Heartbeats thumped in his ears. He rubbed his eyes. Still heavy, still sticky, and now they hurt to close. He was exhausted, every limb ached, so why wasn't he sleeping?

The realization that he was too tired to fall asleep was a frustrating one.

Muttering curses under his breath, he sat up. The clock's minute hand was just past the ten and its hour hand almost on the three - 2:52 AM. He usually got up around seven and left for the Complex around nine. He could probably get away with going in at ten just this once, but that still meant getting up around eight. If he got up at quarter to eight, that would give him time to find his way home. That only gave him about five hours of sleep, but he'd gone longer on less. And that would require him to fall asleep right at this second, which was very, very, very unlikely to happen.

He fell back with a thud, the mattress squeaking under the impact. This was not going to be a good day at all. At least he'd messed with the timestamps and the reports weren't on a deadline. Not an official one, at least. But even that depended on whether or not Tarkin was just attempting to scare them. He was hedging his bets that yes, he was, but he wasn't quite sure anymore.

He racked his brain for any tip, any trick he could use to calm his racing thoughts. Only one came to mind: counting backwards from one hundred. He doubted it would work, but what did he have to lose? He folded his arms across his stomach and forced his eyes shut.

Ninety-nine, ninety-eight, ninety-seven-

He was just starting to drift into unconsciousness when shriek ripped through the room. He sat up and listened. It was too loud and too clear to have come from outside, but he couldn't hear any sounds of a struggle coming from inside the house. Could it have been Tua, having another nightmare?

A second scream followed by muffled sobbing confirmed that that was probably the case. He sighed. Neither of them were going to get any sleep, were they? He considered rolling over and ignoring it, but he decided that he'd better wake her. Having two sleep deprived officials attempting to type up reports would not end well.

He swung his legs out of bed and padded into the hallway. The crying grew louder as he approached her room, confirming his initial suspicions.

Before he could raise his hand to knock on the door, it opened. A distraught Tua slammed into his chest hard enough for him to stagger back a few steps. She tried pushing past him, but he grabbed her arms and held her still.

"Minister, you're dreaming," he said firmly. She broke his grip and tried to run past him again. He clamped his hands on his shoulders and gave her a hard shake. "Get a hold of yourself!"

She screeched a barely coherent curse at him, a sound that made his hair stand on end. He opened his mouth to retort, but stopped when he saw her face. Her eyes were wide and wild, glassy and unfocused. This wasn't a nightmare. This was a night terror, and she was going to hurt herself if he didn't hold her still.

She took advantage of his hesitation to throw his arms off and dart underneath them. He snatched the back of her nightgown and pulled her into a bear hug, one arm around her torso and upper arms and the other around her waist. She squirmed and spat more curses at him, but he held tight.

"Minister Tua, you have to listen to me." He kept his voice low and even. "You have to wake up. I don't know what you think is happening, or where you think you are, but it's a dream." A full-body thrash threatened his grip, forcing him to readjust his position. "For the love of god, you need to-"

A lucky kick sent a flood of pain shooting up his spine, escaping through his mouth in the form of a strangled yelp. He could take a broken bone without so much as a hiss, but nothing in the galaxy could dull the agony of a kick between a man's legs.

He fell forward. She wriggled out from underneath him and stumbled to her feet. Infuriated, he snatched her ankle and pulled. She hit the floor with a crash and a pained cry. Five minutes ago he might have felt bad about hurting her, but she shot first and he was losing his patience.

Biting back curses, he hauled himself to his feet and stumbled over to her. The sobbing woman scrambled backwards, but he was faster. He dropped on top of her, straddling her waist and pinning her wrists above her head.

"Tua," he growled.

She squirmed and kicked, thrashing her head from side to side. "Don't hurt me, don't hurt me, please don't hurt me-"

"Tua-"

"No!" She thrashed her legs, just barely missing the spot between his legs.

His patience ran up. Lips curled into a snarl, he grabbed her jaw and forced her to look at him. "Maketh!" he roared.

She went silent. Pale brown eyes focused on his, the glassy look slowly fading. The fear was still there, but it wasn't the wild, irrational terror of before.

He lowered his voice. "Maketh, listen to me," he said. "You are having a nightmare. There is nothing to be afraid of. You are lying on the floor in the hallway of your own home. I am not an attacker, I am not a monster, I am not the Inquisitor, I am not Tarkin. It's just me."

She blinked several times. "K…Kallus…" she mumbled.

He nodded. "Now listen: I'm going to get off of you, and you're not going to kick me. Understand?"

"Uh-huh."

Nausea gripped him as he stood, but it passed. She sat up and pulled her legs to her chest, wrapping her arms around her knees. She looked scared again, but it wasn't the same terror as before. Now it was just confusion and discomfort. Between her bedhead and the long white nightgown, she looked like a ghost.

He sighed. "Here."

He took her soft, slender hands in his own and pulled her to her feet. Placing one arm behind her legs and the other behind her back, he scooped her up and turned toward her room. She let out a squeak of surprise and threw her arms around his neck.

A wry smile twisted his lips. She was completely at his mercy. He'd be lying if he said that the idea didn't turn him on, but saner thoughts prevailed. He was a cruel, cold man who could kill without remorse, but there were lines even he wouldn't cross.

With a deep sigh, Tua rested her head in the crook of his neck. Puffs of warm breath against his skin made him shiver. He wanted to push her face away, but he thought better of it. She's just tired, he told himself. It didn't mean anything. She wanted somewhere to rest her head.

He took a deep breath to steel his nerves, only for it to turn into a gasp as she brushed her lips against his throat. Thankful that the darkness hid his blush, he clenched his jaw and entered her bedroom.

A sweet smell wafted off of a dying candle, flickering in the dark and casting weird shadows on the walls. It was a modestly-sized room, dominated by a large bed. The sheets were in complete disarray, no doubt due to to her thrashing, but the pillows remained undisturbed.

The mattress squeaked as he placed her onto the bed. "And there you are," he said. "Sleep well, Minister."

With a curt nod, he turned on his heel and made for the door. Being aroused on any terms that weren't his own drove him crazy, and the sooner he removed himself from the situation, the better. Ideally, he'd go take a cold shower, but it was three in the morning and he had no desire to bathe anywhere that wasn't his own apartment.

Something snatched the hem of his undershirt and he turned around. Tua was sitting up, knees pressed together as her legs dangled over the edge of the bed. Her voice was so quiet that he almost didn't hear her words.

"Stay with me," she said. "Please."

He stared at her. This was an unexpected turn of events. "With all due respect, it wouldn't be appropriate for me to…"

"I-I know, but..." She wrapped her skinny arms around herself. She looked like a terrified child, with watery eyes and a grimace.

Why he chose now to start caring now, he didn't know, but something told him to stay. He laid down on the other side of the bed, stretching out to full length. The mattress squeaked as she wriggled closer to him, laying her head against his chest. He hesitantly draped an arm over her shoulders. She curled into his embrace, pressing herself against him and laying her arm across his chest.

"Thank you, Kallus," she murmured, already half asleep.

A small smile appeared on his face before he realized it had happened.

He watched the candle cast shadows on the wall, the flame making them flicker and dance in hypnotic ways. Tua breathed slowly and quietly beside him, the steady rhythm of sleep. She twitched and whimpered occasionally, but a gentle squeeze and she was quiet.

How much time went by before he yawned, he didn't know, but eventually he couldn't keep his eyes open. He took a deep breath.

Ninety-nine, ninety-eight, ninety-seven…

Epigraph taken from "I'm Only Sleeping" by the Beatles.