Dewey's feet were shifting back and forth on the floor even as he didn't try to walk or move away, and his body held so taut he looked pained. As his chest heaved, Gale's grip on his hand tightened, and she stepped closer, nearly standing chest to chest. Her eyes bore with fierce, focused sincerity into Dewey's as she spoke again.
"Dewey, can you hear me? Do you understand? We're both safe. Your body is in withdrawal, and it hurts, but you're going to be okay. I won't let anything happen to you."
And damn it, she means it, with all the love she still has for him, so pained and furiously THERE in her heart. She won't let anything harm him, even his own body, betrayed by his years of self abuse.
When Dewey takes a breath, his face moving against her hand, Gale sees his body lose just a bit of the tension it carried, and some of the panic has gone out of his eyes. Still entirely focused on him, she stroked her thumb over his cheek, trying to bring him fully back into the present reality.
"Focus on me, Dewey. Tell me where you are right now. Tell me who you're with. Keep breathing, and squeeze my hand."
Yes, he can hear her. Yes, he understands. They're safe.
As her grip tightened, Dewey's instinctively did so too. He knew deep down that, no matter what rift was brought between them, Gale would protect him - surviving four murders tends to bring people close together. Gale could be one mean bitch, but he knew her more than anyone, and so he knew just how caring she was in the deepest part of her heart.
In his first conscious act, he released the death grip he had on his firearm and gently grabbed the wrist belonging to the hand that began stroking his cheek. Per Gale's instructions, he released a shaky breath from his mouth and took a deep inhale before releasing it slowly and repeating the process. When he felt his voice return to him, he answered "I'm at the hospital, in the cafeteria. I'm here with Gale...Riley."
He knew what he said, and he hoped Gale did too, but he left it open for her to correct him - he didn't feel like he could be the one to make that choice. Still, he wanted her to accept it. To hide from the possible rejection, he turned his face more into her hand where his lips just grazed her palm. God, he wanted to kiss her hand, but he held back and peacefully shut his eyes, basking in the nice, warm feeling before it'd be inevitably ripped away from him.
When Dewey's hand wrapped around her wrist, Gale swallowed, a light flickering briefly in her eyes. Although in her daily life she presented herself as the tough, unflinching hardass that she had always had to be, she had secretly always enjoyed the way Dewey's larger frame wrapped around her could make her feel small, cared for and safe rather than vulnerable. She noticed the way his hand fully circled her wrist and felt her pulse speed up beneath his hand in response.
Trying to refocus on Dewey, she gave him a small, encouraging smile when he drew several more breaths and began to speak, proving he was aware, he was grounding himself. As she heard her name leave his lips- including his last name- she stilled, her eyes wide. She didn't move away from him or release his grasp, trying to process what she had heard as her thoughts raced ahead.
Was it a slip of the tongue, using the name he was used to? No, he was aware of where he was and who he was with- the name had been a deliberate choice. But why was he calling her that, as though she were still his?
It was true that she had never filed divorce papers- every time she had started to look up the steps she hadn't been able to bring herself to follow through. Although she used the name Gale Weathers professionally, legally she was and still used Riley as her name. What was Dewey really saying to her?
And then his lips were brushing her palm, almost but not quite a kiss- lightly, but the sensation was there, his whiskers slightly scratchy against his skin. Gale felt sudden, strong emotion flood through her at this small gesture, and her chest compressed with confused hope mingled with pain. Had that been an accident? Deliberate?
She was so fucking confused. She wanted to pull back, to throw up all her walls to save herself any further pain, and at the same time to press into his chest and ask him to embrace her back. What she did was stay very still, her voice raspy when she finally responded, heart still thudding too fast.
"Yes. That's right. That's all right."
He could feel the fast pulsing of blood through the veins in her wrist on his fingertips - he hoped it wasn't because she was uncomfortable. He slowly, just to give her time to pull away if she wished, pulled the hand intertwined with hers close to his chest. He repositioned his hand to hold onto the back of hers and sandwich it between his hand and chest. With her hand placed there, the tightness in his chest unwound and his heart returned to its normal rhythm - although, with the past two years of alcohol intake, his heart rate was a bit over what it should be.
The smallest of grins curved his lips upward when she told him that what he said was right with a crack in her voice; that must've meant she heard what he said and allowed it. Then again, he could just be telling him that, yes, her name is legally Gale Riley, but considering who Gale was, he knew she would've corrected it if she felt otherwise.
He wanted to pull her entirely to him and wrap her in a hug, but he worried that it would be too fast for her; he rubbed circles on the back of her hand that rested on his chest as compensation. Now that he was calm, his body reminded him that the surge of adrenaline took every bit of energy out of him. His shoulders slumped ever so slightly and he released a tired huff. No, he couldn't fall asleep, he had work to do. He inhaled a long breath of air and cracked open his eyes to adjust to the bright fluorescent lights of the cafeteria hanging overhead.
Gale wasn't sure at first what Dewey was intending when he started to move their entwined hands. Her eyes shifted from his face to their hands and then back to his face, thinking maybe he wanted to let go entirely, and she made herself loosen her hand. But he surprised her by pulling her hand to his chest, almost cradling it, and resting it against his heart.
Gale almost stopped breathing, her eyes intent on his, unblinking. She searched his features, her own heartrate speeding up as his slowed down, a softer almost vulnerable look coming over her as her lips parted slightly. Dewey held onto her hand, rubbing the back of its skin, and she could feel her touch physically settling him, regulating his body again, even as she felt less regulated than ever.
She wanted so badly to pull him to her and bury herself in his arms. She wanted to say fuck it to the hospital, the Carpenter sisters, and Ghostface, to leave Woodsboro behind and just drive off with him- anywhere but here. But she couldn't bring herself to move- not first. Not now. Nor could she gather the will to pull away. Instead she stayed exactly as she had been, close against Dewey, hand against his heart, inwardly shaky, outwardly showing no emotion except the fear mingled with wanting in her eyes.
"Is- do you- feel any better?"
Her own voice sounds like a stranger's to her ears.
"Mhm," he mumbled, looking into her eyes through his lidded ones. It wasn't a lie, he felt ten times better than he had just minutes ago, however he still felt sick. The exhaustion his body felt didn't help - now he didn't have the energy to ward off the pain, even in the slightest bit. His mind immediately thought of cracking open a cold one to numb it, but he warded off those thoughts to the best of his abilities, even if he desperately wanted one. "Tired though," he added, if his laxing figure didn't give it away.
He knew Gale wasn't going to allow him to go back to his trailer, but he didn't have anywhere else to go - well, he technically still owned their house, but he didn't know if he could go back there, not yet anyway. Whatever it was, he knew he was going to follow Gale's direction as not only was he delirious but there was no way she was going to let him sleep in a cheap motel, and not by himself.
The sweat that coated his skin was now seeping into his clothes, and he was starting to become aware of the smell - which meant that Gale would be able to as well. He hated having to stand up in showers now that his age was catching up with him and adding to his already uncomfortable back pain - sometimes it got so bad that he refused to get up to take one. He didn't want to smell like a worn out sock with Gale around though, so he began to mentally prepared himself for the pain that was inevitably going to shoot up his spine.
Gale didn't need Dewey to tell her that he was tired. It was obvious in the sudden ease of his posture, the slowing of his heartbeat beneath her hand, and the drooping of his eyes. As she continued to take in every small breath and movement, every slight change in his expression, she saw with new concern that Dewey was perspiring, beads forming at his brow. She could feel his shirt growing damp where her hand still rested on his chest, and Dewey was correct in his understanding that she could smell him sweating. It didn't disgust her, as it would with anyone else. It only furthered her concern for him. It was clear that even if Dewey had managed to pull out from the state of delirium and fear he had been in just moments before, he was still sick. This was not something that would go away in minutes or even hours. This was something he would have to suffer through.
Gale's mind went to work quickly, although to the casual observer, little would seem visibly changed in her except a slight increase in her breathing rate. Hand still held to his heart, her wrist grasped by Dewey's gentle but steady grip, she felt somewhat lightheaded and shaky, but kept herself rigid, spine straight as she thought through their situation.
She knew she could not in good consciousness allow Dewey to go seek out a possible killer now, not when he was in acute withdrawal to the point of hallucinations and physical agony. It wasn't just reckless and stupid, it was a guaranteed distraction and death sentence, not just for him but anyone who might try to look out for him and protect him. If he wouldn't admit himself to the hospital, then it was time to get the fuck out of there and address the acute problem at hand. Let the Carpenter girl wait another day- the killer tended to always wait for a big scene of deaths at a party anyway, not a hospital. Besides, it was getting later, almost 9 pm, she realized with a start when she let her eyes drift briefly from Dewey to the clock on the cafeteria wall. The cafeteria workers were pointedly clearing out the food area and beginning to put up the chairs and sweep the floor, obviously wanting her and Dewey to get out of there, out of their way.
If Sam wasn't staying with her sister overnight, Gale reasoned, it was too late to meet her anyway. It could keep. Right now, Dewey was what she was concerned with. If he was going to try to stop drinking- and he could not, she would not allow him to be drunk while facing off with a killer- then they needed to get him through the worst period of the withdrawal he was going to endure. He needed rest, he needed constant access to water and food and painkillers. He needed someone watching him, making sure he stayed as calm and physically stable as possible, and if he refused to let hospital workers do it, the only logical person to enforce this was Gale.
With this in mind, Gale made her decision. She let her thumb graze over his face, and her hand in his, still pressed to his heart, gave his fingers a squeeze.
"Dewey. It's getting late, I don't think Sam is going to be at the hospital anymore. And if she is, now is not the time to talk to her. Not like this. You need rest, you need to get through the worst of this before you can help her. Think about it. How are you going to go against the killer like this? No. I refuse to allow you to do something so reckless. You- we- are going to get out of here and get you somewhere you can be comfortable, where you can try to sleep through some of this."
Even as she said this, she realized the problem. She could not let Dewey go back to that horrible trailer, not with all the empty bottles and undoubtedly full ones that would so easily draw him back into a quick cure for his pain. She thought briefly of going to their old house, but that felt immediately wrong, painful to even consider. Gale had already booked a hotel room through her production company for her time in Woodsboro, and though she hadn't yet checked in, it occurred to her that it was the only real option. She could not let Dewey be alone, not now, not like this. No matter how awkward or uncomfortable- how potentially painful- it would be, she had to keep him close to her, for his own safety. No one else was going to monitor him like she would, and after surviving seven murderers four times now, Gale refused to let him die like this.
"You're coming with me to my hotel for the night," she informed him. "You're going to sleep and fight through this, and we'll start over tomorrow. And no, this isn't an option. This is the plan, and it's going to happen right now."
A satisfied huff left his nose when her thumb rubbed his cheek - he truly missed this feeling. God, he's a fucking idiot. How could he have left when Gale so clearly would've heard him out back in New York?
He could see the sunset out the window, so he couldn't agree more that it was too late - the hospital probably wouldn't allow visitors at this time anyway. As much as he wants to throw himself into the fire to protect the girls, he knew deep down going in the way he was would be his downfall; of course, at the time he made his decision to help the Carpenter's, he was accepting of that fact and even expected it. And maybe he still thinks that, but he wants to last as long as possible in keeping Sam and her sister safe.
As he expected, Gale gave him no choice in the matter of how things were gonna go for the night. What he didn't expect was that she was going to take him to *her* hotel room. As far as he could remember, if the few occasions he had to bust a drug deal or two told him, the hotel only offered one bed - they really should've called it a motel, but Woodsboro has a flair for the dramatics. He's sure he'd be getting his own room for Gale's comfort and he'd happily oblige to it, even if his heart called for otherwise. He nodded to affirm her demands.
With reluctance, Gale slowly stepped back, withdrawing her hand from Dewey's face. Her fingers remain in his though even as she gently pulls their arms down. She swallowed, debating whether to drop his hand, but he hadn't let go of hers, so she chose not to. Shooting a quick glance towards him and seeing that he was in agreement, she led him out the cafeteria, walking in quiet to the rental. She stayed vigilant, looking around them as they exited for any signs of a black robed figure or a white mask, but they managed to reach the rental without incident.
The drive to the hotel was also quiet and uneventful, though Gale's mind certainly was not. She couldn't seem to think one track without her mind taking a sharp detour in the opposite direction. She glanced occasionally at Dewey as she drove, checking on his condition. Pulling into the parking lot of the hotel, she got her suitcase out the trunk and waited for Dewey to get out with her. It crossed her mind that he didn't have any extra clothes or a toothbrush, but she wasn't a out to drive back to his trailer at night. Oh well, he would have to make do.
Inside the hotel, Gale gave the front desk clerk her name and received the room key. Turning back to Dewey, she raises an eyebrow when he seemed to be waiting for something more.
"Well? It's on the second floor, come on."
He couldn't tell if he should've been embarrassed by being a full grown man being led out of a hospital like a child, but he didn't care. It felt nice having Gale hold his hand, and willingly too; she could've let go if she wanted to, but she hadn't - then again she could be doing so just to make sure she didn't lose him like a kid at the mall. His back creaked as he ducked into the rental, a pained hiss passing through his gritted teeth at the pain. It was only now that he realized his pain medication was back at his trailer, and Gale had already made it clear that he wasn't going back there. He'll just have to deal with it.
The hotel looked as towny as the rest of Woodsboro, but it was easily one of the tallest buildings there, even if it only went up three floors. Getting out of the car hurt just as much as it was to get in, but he expected nothing less. He wanted to offer to carry Gale's luggage, but she'd probably give him a look that says "Do I seriously look like I need your help?". It was bright inside as opposed to the darkness that fell over the town outside and so his eyes squinted in response. He waited as Gale checked in and presumably booked a room for him, but when she didn't turn around and hand him a key like he expected, he couldn't help but look confused.
She wanted him...to be in her room? His brain almost couldn't comprehend it, but then again it seemed that Gale was taking to being responsible for his wellbeing like a lost puppy she found on the side of the road. He followed her but he couldn't help but ask, "You want me to go in your room? With you?"
At Dewey's confusion, Gale turned, now standing outside the hotel, prepared to walk up the outside steps to get to their room on the walking balcony area. It had crossed her mind briefly that this "hotel" was the very same that Maureen Prescott, Sidney's mother, had frequented with the men she had affairs with. It wasn't a pleasant thing to overly consider, so she shook it off, refocusing on Dewey.
"Well, yes," she said, her voice defensive even to her own ears. "You're in withdrawal, Dewey, someone needs to be there if you have a seizure or medical crisis. And being alone in a room in Woodsboro, in the state you're in, with a killer on the loose and this place's undoubtedly shitty locks, is asking for trouble. I think it's practical to stay together for now."
She paused, her hand moving unconsciously to the hand on her suitcase, and pulled at its fingers before she added, "Unless you would rather not. If you really don't want to, it's... fine. We can get another room and work it out."
It wasn't fine, but she couldn't exactly say that. Not if she wanted to keep any degree of pride.
Well that made sense; leave it to Dewey Riley to forget about anything that's going on with him to worry about other people's comfort. "Alright, yeah, that makes sense," he admitted as he approached the stairs. He followed Gale to the room and patiently waited a she unlocked the door. When the finicky lock finally opened and Gale pulled down the doorhandle, Dewey grabbed the door and opened it wide enough for her to get inside first - it's not only common courtesy as he was the man and she the woman, but she was also the one with the luggage.
The inside looked more like a motel then a hotel; it was a large space, he'd give it that, but it smelt of moth balls and there was a suspicious stain in one corner of the room - one that he preferred not to figure out its contents. "Nice place," he joked dryly as he closed the door behind them. There was a desk at the corner of the room, luckily the corner opposite of the stain, with a big comfy chair. There was only one bed, but it was around the size of a full double; he'd leave the bed for Gale and take the chair - it's not like he hadn't passed out in his own armchair back in the trailer.
"If you don't mind, I'd like to, uh...take a shower," he said sheepishly. "U-unless you'd like to go in there first! I can wait."
Gale blinked, briefly taken aback by Dewey holding the door open for her. He always had, but in the two years of their separation, she had forgotten, and Gale Weathers wasn't the sort of woman most people dared to hold a door for. She went ahead, rolling her eyes and tutting at the room's interior. It was definitely a step or several down from what she was accustomed to, but it was Woodsboro, and she had little choice beyond going back to her old home. And that would be far more uncomfortable to her than sleeping on scratchy sheets and putting up with a weird smell.
She too noted the single bed, and immediately started wondering the logistics of sleep. Gale decides inwardly though that she won't sleep, since Dewey is the one who obviously needs it more, given his condition. She can take the chair and use the time to watch that he's okay and research anything she can find out about Samantha Carpenter and her family as well as the current murders.
"No, go ahead," she said, waving a hand in his direction as he asked about a shower. She usually took hers in the morning, although she did also take a fairly considerable amount of time in the bathroom in the evening. It was necessary, as she had to remove makeup, do her skin care routine, and remove her contacts. Dewey had always been patient with her time in front of the mirror in the bathroom, she remembered with a pang.
As he went ahead into the bathroom, Gale went to the small mirror over the desk, using it to start her routine. Although they obviously had shared a bathroom while married as a routine, often with one brushing their teeth or peeing while the other showered, but things were obviously different now. Still, it felt strange to think of Dewey naked so nearby for the first time in so long.
She took out her contacts, removed her makeup, and made a quicker job than usual of cleaning her face, listening for Dewey, just in case something happened in the bathroom where he needed help.
She didn't hear anything concerning and so gathered up her things and put them back in her suitcase, retrieving the light purple silky pajama top and bottoms she had packed to sleep in. She had pulled on the bottoms, removed her shirt, and was in the process of taking off her bra to put on the pajama top when the bathroom door opened.
Given permission, he sauntered to the bathroom and flicked on the light. He turned and locked the door before approaching the shower and turning the handle. The pipes in the walls shuddered before water sprayed down into the tub. He undressed from his sweaty clothes and stepped into the shower, his back protesting to having to step over the tub edge.
He rinsed himself off before taking the laughably small complimentary shampoo bottle and squeezing its contents into his hand. He brought his hand to his head and rubbed in the shampoo, practically massaging his scalp to remove the sweat that imbedded itself in his gray hair. The bar soap neatly resting on a ledge barely smelled of anything, but it would have to do. Stretching his arms behind him made his arms ache and standing for so long has taken a toll on his feet. With a grimace, he shut off the shower and placed a hand on the shower wall.
With great pain, Dewey stepped out of the shower and dried himself off. Without any other clothes in his possession at the moment, he opted to redress himself in the same clothes, minus the jacket. He exited the bathroom and was looking at the floor, but when he raised his head, he got a full view of an almost topless Gale. When his brain finally caught up to him, he covered his eyes and walked backwards to the bathroom door. "I-I'm so sorry!" he exclaimed as he used his free hand to open the door. On his way back into the bathroom, with his eyes covered, he accidently bumped his head on the doorframe. He grunted in pain but found his way back inside and shut the door.
Gale startled, her hands flying to grab her top and hold it up against her breasts. Her face flooded with heat that she could feel through her neck and chest as well, and yet a part of her wanted to laugh too. It was such an overreaction on Dewey's part, to be so mortified to see her not even fully or partly naked and to react as though it were some sort of hugely traumatic breach. She did bark out a short, sharp laugh when he hit his head, unable to hold that back. Quickly pulling off the bra and on the top, she called back to him.
"You're safe, all skin is covered. You know, it's not like you saw anything you haven't before, you hardly just violated me."
Still, her ears are still red as she waits for him.
He waited at the door for a response from Gale confirming he was allowed to leave the bathroom. In the meantime, he rubbed at the spot on his forehead where it smacked against the doorframe. He cringed at the sore spot but pulled his hand away from his face when Gale called out to him that she was decent. He left the bathroom again and puffed out a stressed breath. He knew what he saw wasn't the first time he ever had, as a matter of fact he's seen a *lot* more, but considering their status to one another, he didn't know whether or not she was comfortable undressed around him again.
"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, limping over to the armchair and sitting down in it; the cushions were more comfortable than he thought they were gonna be, so he buried himself in the chair - not that it would ever be more comfortable than the one he had at his trailer. Comfortable, or at least as comfortable as he could get, he shut his eyes and wrapped his arms across his chest, squeezing them slightly.
Ever since he was born, Dewey was a cuddler. As a baby, it was a blanket. As a child, his favorite dog stuffed animal - he called it Barney. As a teen, it was the extra pillow he always had on his bed. When he became an adult, he tried to stop the cuddling, but once Gale came into his life, he had something new to cuddle up with. He loved cuddling with Gale the most out of all his cuddle buddies because she was able to cuddle back, and it was the greatest feeling in the world. When he was without her, such as the past two years, he would wrap his arms around himself to get a semblance of that same feeling - it never was though, but it was the best he had.
Gale ignored Dewey curling up on the chair, assuming that he was just giving her space since her suitcase was still out on the bed. Zipping it up and putting it on the floor, she removed a small travel bag from its front storage area and carried it into the bathroom, taking her turn at brushing her teeth and using the toilet. When she re-emerged and saw Dewey coiled into a ball on the chair, eyes closed, she stopped, narrowing her eyes at him.
"You're not sleeping in that chair, you won't be able to walk or stand up tomorrow if you do. You don't have to share the bed, I'm wide awake anyway and have work to do."
She tries to keep from sounding hurt or offended that he seems to prefer curling up in a chair, torturing his poor joints, rather than potentially sleep in a bed with her again. Knowing Dewey, he thinks he's being a gentleman or something stupid like that.
Taking a bottle of Tylenol PM out of the travel bag, she quickly Googled whether she can give it to someone safely in withdrawal. "Here, it says on this website you can take this, that it might help with muscle spasms, shaking, and anxiety."
Seeing his arms around himself, she felt a sudden ache in her chest and couldn't quite remember why. Then she realized that it was because as she watched Dewey hugging himself, and she remembered the not that distant sensation of his fingers in hers, his heart beneath her palm, his lips against her hand.
Dewey had always been affectionate when he got past his initial shyness with her and when they were "on" rather than "off" in their relationship. He had always seemed to find it so easy simply to kiss her for no reason or to rub her back, run his fingers through her hair, or pull her into a hug or onto his lap. It was something she had initially had to get used to; Gale had rarely got so much as a pat on the back as a child, let alone hugs, and in sexual interactions, the people she had been with had not seemed interested in much beyond sex itself and the limited foreplay leading up to it. But with Dewey, the affection she had first been bemused by had quickly become something she loved and looked forward to. She loved cuddling up to him on the couch, holding his hand walking, falling asleep with her head in his lap or with his arms around her. It was the most loved and security she had ever before experienced, and the loss of it left a void almost as huge as the man himself absence.
She felt annoyed, even angry at herself for it, but she wanted it again, to have just last one night of Dewey holding her as he slept. Trying to cover the mixed emotions in her eyes, she kept them down as she handed him the pill bottle.
His eyebrows furrowed in confusion before he could even open his eyes. What work? Was the network really making her work despite Gale not even being there to broadcast? Or did they send her to...? No, she wouldn't have agreed to come here to cover Ghostface again. And why wouldn't she sleep? As a matter of fact, why wouldn't she take the bed? It wasn't room, therefore it wasn't his place to take the bed. "Your room, your bed," he stated - there was no argument to him, but he was sure Gale was going to argue back.
When he squinted his eyes open to see her reaction, he saw Gale with a bottle of pills; apparently they'd help with his withdrawal. At this point, if he couldn't have alcohol to counteract the affects, he'd take what he could get. When she handed the bottle to him, she was looking at the ground, hiding her face. What was wrong? Was she mad? Sad? Probably mad.
"What's wrong?" he questioned cautiously - if she was mad, he didn't want to provoke her.
Gale rolled her eyes, but since they were directed towards the floor rather than at Dewey, it was possible he didn't see. "You're sleeping, so your bed. Be real, Dewey. If you really want to help those kids tomorrow, you have to be able to get to them. Sleep in a ball on a chair, while in withdrawal, and then see how great a job you do with your help."
When he asked her what was wrong, Gale tensed, turning to retrieve her laptop mostly so she has a reason to continue to avoid looking at him. Fussing with setting it up at the desk and plugging it in, she answers finally, "Nothing. I'm about to work. Take the bed, Dewey, don't be stupid."
Ok, she was making sense. The chair was comfortable, but not *that* comfortable, and scrunching up his back was an awful idea. He conceded and set his feet on the ground before heaving himself out of the chair. When he limped over to the bed, he watched as she dug through her luggage to retrieve her laptop and stated that she'd be working. He scoffed lowly to himself - of course she'd want to work rather than sleep. If there was one thing Gale was, it was a hard worker, however it tended to border on overworking herself.
He sat on the bed and turned his head to her. "You should sleep too," he started. "You won't be able to help either if you're working off of zero hours of sleep."
So one victory accomplished. Dewey was going to sleep in the bed, the only reasonable thing to do in the circumstances. One less thing for Gale to worry about.
She watched him move to thr bed out the corner of her eye, trying to look as though she was focused on the laptop. At the moment her mind has gone blank and she can't remember the first thing about what she had intended to research. She could feel Dewey watching her even before he spoke, and that certainly wasn't helping her to pretend to ignore him.
"I do fine without sleep," she said somewhat irritably, rubbing at her temples with one hand. "I do it all the time and I work perfectly fine."
That wasn't exactly something she had intended to say, that she often doesn't sleep, and she regrets it immediately. It's true, often because she simply doesn't want to lie in her big, empty bed alone and hope not to dream. Sometimes it feels easier to just invent tasks to do until morning comes, or to do extra work that is rarely noticed or appreciated.
"I'll be fine," she repeated more stiffly. "You need the bed and you need to sleep, so just sleep already. Coffee exists for a reason."
"Coffee only works for so long," he argued. "Take it from me, Gale, I know a thing or two about using 'drinks' to get me through the day," he added matter-of-factly, using his lame hand to put air quotes around 'drinks'. He was shocked, and quite saddened, to here that Gale went nights without sleep - he wouldn't be surprised if the reason had to do with his absence.
In his last ditch effort, Dewey pushed himself to his feet once more and approached the desk Gale sat at. He reached past her and shut her laptop with one hand and used the other to pull back her chair. He knew what he was about to do was just about the riskiest thing he could ever do to Gale Weathers, and his back was going to kick his ass in the morning for it - but fuck it, he knew he was strong enough.
He grabbed Gale by her waist and heaved her out of the chair. He braced his back for the inevitable onslaught of punches and limped back to the bed. Once he reached the bed, he gently set her down to lay on her back and then pulled away. Groaning heavily from the effort, he circled back to his side of the bed and joked "Now was that so hard?"
"Coffee works all day if you keep drinking it," Gale argued, although there was some truth that she had to drink more and more to be able to just function on the days she didn't sleep. "And coffee isn't going to send me into seizures or death if I don't drink enough of it. Not a valid comparison."
When Dewey stood, Gale turned her head, mystified as to what he was doing. She squawked an indignant protest when he shut her laptop, and when he braved lifting her up off the desk chair, she went rigid, torn between anger at him asserting his will against hers and the uncomfortable desire to wrap an arm around his neck to pull closer.
"Hey, what the hell, Dewey! Put me down, I told you-"
But then he lay her down, crawling into bed beside her, and she cut herself off, blinking with surprise. She hadn't expected him to actually plan on sharing a bed with her.
She started to stand just out of stubbornness, but the faint but persistent headache that had started some thirty minutes earlier intensified quickly when she started to sit up, and her eyes grew hot and pained with the heaviness of her actual tired state starting to hit. It's been a long day of travel and a roller coaster of emotions, and whether or not she wants to sleep, her body seems to be telling her otherwise.
"Fine, if you'll just go to sleep already I'll lay on the bed," she muttered, keeping her tone annoyed and sarcastic, but even the less than luxurious mattress, thin blankets and flat pillow already was starting to feel like considerable comfort.
She pulled the covers back and slipped under, careful to keep her body apart from his. She lay still, very aware of her own breathing not quite on rhythm with his before she spoke.
"...good night."
It was the first time she had said it to him in two years, and the strange familiarity and yet difference of it now brought a lump to her throat she tried to swallow down.
"Deal," he mumbled as he pulled off the covers and laid down on his side of the bed. He instinctively slept looking inward towards the bed, meaning he was looking in Gale's direction. He closed his eyes before she thought he was staring at her. "'Night," he responded to her.
His legs curled into his chest and he lay an arm under the thin pillow, his other hand sat in front of him on the bed - it wasn't too far out so as to give Gale her space. As he waited for his body to take him to sleep, he thought about the nightmares he was going to have. When he was plastered he'd conk out and wake up in what felt like a second into the next day, but with limited alcohol in his system, the nightmares were sure to come back. They were always the same though; either it was Sidney being shot dead, Gale being the one of the other side of the glass, Sidney being trapped in the hidden room behind a bookcase, or Gale getting more than a knife to the shoulder.
He was sure whatever happened tomorrow or the days to follow would be another situation for his mind to play out in horrific ways - that is, if he survived.