[Day... she's stopped counting]

[hattie_notqueen]

The chair wasn't any more comfortable the second time she attempted to sleep in it.

She spent most of the night tossing and turning and, to be honest, fretting. She was worried about Kitt: how he was acting, how he'd been when they'd found him, how he was so intent on being something he wasn't.

She worried that it was her fault. She worried that it was over, all of it.

By the time the light started peeking over the tops of the heavy curtains, by the time she heard the staff outside beginning their morning routine, she couldn't remember if she'd ever been so tired before. Not even being held hostage, or having to stay awake when sleeping would have KILLED them, had ever made her feel so tired.

This was all emotional. She was exhausted.

Finally, she stood, opened the doors and scooted past the staff once again and headed upstairs and into the shower, leaving her clothes where they fell as she shed them. She just didn't care anymore.

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[ki2k.insanejournal.com]

He'd fallen asleep in his clothes, strewn across the bed, looking rumpled and gangly. Normally by this time he'd be awake, getting ready for work on a weekday or just up to read the paper on a weekend, but with everything that had happened he was just drained.

Waking up wasn't fun. If he hadn't already personally experienced it, he might have said that he finally understood the metaphor of being hit by a truck. Images of Goliath sprang up behind his eyes, unbidden, and then sleeping anymore suddenly became an impossibility, no matter how tired he still was.

He opened his eyes just long enough to get his bearings, then stumbled across the room with his eyes closed, wondering if that counted as more sleep. He stripped awkwardly along the way, so that by the time he opened the door to the bathroom he was already naked.

He opened his eyes only when the sounds of the water already running finally filtered through to his tired brain.