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It's so hard to sleep. Dennis lies awake at three am watching the bold red numbers on his alarm clock blink as if to mock him, teasing him as they ask why he’s still awake. Outside it is raining, soft and assured. The restless sigh of the wind raps against his bedroom window and it too teases him for being so wide awake at this hour. Outside the city sleeps, it rests its heavy limbs along parked cars and vacant traffic lights, and there lies Dennis, awake with his eyes burning up at the ceiling.
There are a lot of things eating at him tonight. Things that keep his heart hammering in his chest and thoughts that keep his mind from being still. He sighs and rolls over onto his side as if to quell the worry that spikes in his chest. He’s so tired and yet there’s something in his head with hands like claws or talons reaching out to keep his eyelids from staying shut. He groans perhaps a bit too loud into his pillow, the groan turns into a cry or a scream or a hollar. It is a little bit pained and a little bit tortured, a restlessness tangling itself up in knots in his chest.
"Oh my God," he cries out all elongated and dramatic into the fabric that he bunches his fists up into. "Just let me go to sleep please," he mumbles through a strained staccatoed laugh.
Outside the rain permeates the quiet cavelyness of the apartment. It comes down in a hushed and tender fall, cocooning around Dennis’ sleepless form. And above the faint roar of the storm, Dennis can hear noise coming from the kitchen, the clattering of cups and pots and pans in the sink all sustained in a way that sounds like it’s trying really hard to be quiet. He hears a whispered curse beneath a frustrated breath, smirking to himself as he pictures Mac in the kitchen, trying to be discreet while he hulks around the confined space with ungainly hands and feet.
Dennis hears a knock at his bedroom door though he doesn’t move, he stays on his side with his back to the door, face still buried in the pillow. Mac opens it just a crack so the light from the living room splits through the dark of Dennis’ room. It curves its artificial beams of light around his figure wrapped up in the blankets and then slinks back out when Mac shuts the door behind him. Dennis hears a mug touch the wood of the dresser beside his bed, feels the weight of the mattress concave to Mac’s body that sits just on the edge of it. It moves beneath him as he leans over to switch the light on, making Dennis groan heavily.
“I know you aren’t sleeping,” Mac says, though keeps his voice low. He nudges Dennis’ shoulder and he rolls over, glaring at him while he sits up. He doesn’t say anything to Mac, just grumbles something undescernerable under his breath. “I made you tea,” Mac says instead of trying to decipher his moodiness.
Dennis looks over to the mug on the nightstand, he side-eyes Mac as he lifts the mug with both hands, holding it to his mouth while he takes a cautious sip, the warmth from the tea coalescing with the chill brought by the rain storm still coming down hard outside. “Thank you,” Dennis says softly, dragging his thumb around the rim of the mug. Mac smiles at him and smirkes, making Dennis glare and scowl. “Don’t get cocky, I’m being nice this one time. Never again.”
Mac hangs his head with a laugh, nodding with quiet defeat. “Yeah okay, I know. You’re so mean, the absolute meanest,” he taunts.
There is something so endearing with the way he says this, Dennis can’t help let a smile break though his stern frown, hiding it behind the mug. “Exactly, I am mean. Do not let my charming features distract you.”
Mac has such a way of distracting him, had such a way of quelling whatever ache surged through his chest. This gentle demeanor they had with one another that was strictly reserved for moments like these, their usual sharpness dulled for an hour or two in the limbo between three and four am, where for a few moments they let themselves be soft and unassuming, allowed a certain thing like love to simmer between them in small acts like making eachother tea and staying awake until the other could finally get to sleep. Dennis is so grateful to him for that, for knowing all of these things he couldn’t say out loud, things he would think but never dare to speak for fear of how real it would sound in the quiet of his room.
“You’re charming alright,” Mac says. “Dunno about mean though, you’re kinda a softie sometimes.”
Dennis wipes his mouth with his sleeve and sets the empty mug back down on the nightstand, “No way bro, when have I ever been a softie?”
Mac follows his movements the whole time, something Dennis is vaguely aware of. He can think of a million instances of softness between the two of them, but settles on something lighter. “Uh, the entire time you had that nasty junkyard cat. You were like, genuinely emotionally attached to him, you had a soul connection dude.”
“Special Agent Jack Bauer was more than a junkyard cat, and we absolutely did have a soul connection.”
Mac chuckles, "If I didn't know any better I think you'd be leaving me for a cat."
"Please," Dennis scoffed."He's not even here anymore so," Mac eyes him, not completely sure if he was teasing and the smirk Dennis gives him says he might not be.
It’s getting harder to keep his eyes open. Mac props his elbow up on his leg, chin resting in his palm. He stares over at Dennis who has the blankets bunched up around his frame, still looking restless and a bit unsettled. Mac wouldn’t ask what was keeping him up so late, wouldn't bother listening to all the ways he was haunted at the night because Mac already knew them so well.
Mac catches himself beginning to drift off and takes the heel of his palm to his eyes, trying to force himself awake though exhaustion had him feeling heavy and drowsy with sleep. “Move over,” he grumbles, pulling himself up to the headboard beside Dennis. He pushes him over as he finds his place in the sheets, lifting his arm up and waiting for Dennis to fit himself in. “C’mere,” Mac mumbled, groggy with dowse.
Dennis hesitates only for a second before letting himself settle in Mac’s arms, the weight and warmth of his body filling up the empty spaces that were all echoed with anguish moments before. Dennis rolls himself over onto his side a bit, let his arms wrap around Mac’s torso as he pulled himself in closer, as if Mac’s arm wrapped around him was all that was keeping him together. He felt Mac’s hand in his hair, calmly and rhythmically pulling through the curls by his temple. He sighs into this touch, leaning into the quiet intimacy and tenderness reserved only for moments like this when he was restless and in desperate need of it. They weren't like this all the time, and Dennis would never ask for it outright. He would never beckon Mac into his room except through deliberate sighs that he made sure were loud enough to carry across the apartment.
Dennis closes his eyes while Mac kept his hand somewhere on his head or shoulders. He’d fallen asleep, his chest rising and falling in time with the dying storm outside. The wind would pick up every now and again with a trickle of rain teasing at his window. The alarm clock on his night stand reads four thirty am, but the numbers didn’t fall so harsh on his eyes anymore. The faint brush of dawn that is peeking through the buildings of the city is a welcoming sight, now that he’s all curled up in Mac’s arms. He mumbles something in his sleep and pulls Dennis a little bit tighter, falling further into the mess of pillows on the head board. Dennis smiles to himself and waits until it’s bright enough to get up and make them both a cup of coffee to start their day.