Slumber
by Kat Hughes
Disclaimer: Actually there’s such a lack of Trekdom in this that I doubt you could sue me. No one has the copyright to the name "Tom" do they??? But if not… Paramount/Viacom thanks for Star Trek.
Jenn's note on Kat's story: I was inspired by this. Very sweet.
***
His throat was dry.
She was sleeping soundly. Hair a mess. Legs tangling with the sheet. His sheet, no, her sheet now.
Her breathing was light and she wriggled slightly. Long nails dug skillfully into the bed. Her neck arched a little, head turned towards him. Lips flat.
She mumbled something.
He grinned.
Her foot was showing. She moved her ankle, using her toes to pull at the sheet.
She looked a little cold. Had she asked him to turn the heat up? No, she’d specifically refused.
She brought her elbows down from above her head and pulled them tight to her body. Fists wrapped.
He wondered if she was dreaming.
He hadn’t wanted to fall asleep. But somehow he didn’t have a choice in the matter. He was in shape. Rarely slept. Drank too much coffee. Indulged in late night hover-ball with Harry. Then he’d met her. And sleep had become a necessity.
He could live with it.
She rolled over, still mumbling something incoherent.
He’d often watched her sleep. The first time, the last time, times in between. Before they were even a ‘they.’ It was always a little more interesting watching her then. Not that he didn’t enjoy every given moment now. But then it had more of a scientific edge to it. He studied her every breath. Paid slight attention to the way her hair fell across her face. Watched the easy fall and rise of every ridge. Wondered what exactly it was about her that had captured him so completely.
Now he didn’t search.
He just accepted.
She reached an arm up. Running the underside along the mattress. Pushing her palm high into her pillow. Stretching the muscles that ran down her back.
He grinned again.
He often wondered why he smiled when no one could see him. It had never really been an involuntary action, smiling. Always something for show. But lately he seemed to have taken it up as a hobby. And that grin, that often times even he found infuriating, would play on his lips.
The hand clasped at the pillow and she shuffled her hips a little moving higher up the bed. She was near consciousness. Trapped in the time when you know you’ve got to wake but can’t quite recall who you are or where you are.
Unsurprisingly, in a time that seemed long dead, that had been his favourite part of the day. Not anymore.
He toyed with the idea to wake her. Maybe to talk, to have breakfast, to stay in bed.
It had been a long time for him since breathing had come this easily. Since purely living had been enough. Since lying in bed, watching the woman he shared it with, had been a wonder in itself.
He decided to stop skimming through the poetry database. It was obviously having an effect.
She rolled back to face him. Her hair across her face. Legs sliding along the linen, toes pointed.
Often, when he got like this, contemplative, and as deep as you could get at 6 in the morning, he’d realise how much he loved her. Not that he didn’t always realise. Just that it seemed to hit home more at these kind of times. A time when he didn’t need to flirt, or avoid her questions or just smile. Although sometimes he couldn’t help the smile.
A time when he could just think.
Decide that he didn’t really have that much to think about. Correction, too much he wanted to think about.
Other than her.
And he didn’t really have to try to think about her, he just did.
"Tom?" Her eyes were still tightly shut, and the words seemed directed more at the pillow than him.
"Yeah," he replied softly.
"Get some sleep." She turned away from him now, rolling over onto her side, hands digging into her pillow.
He didn’t respond. Her breathing had grown deeper. Sleep had once again claimed her.
He closed his eyes. Moving himself so that he had his arm around her. She softened into the embrace.
"I love you," he whispered softly.
She knew.
Fin~