a/n: This is my first every fanfiction story, so I hope it all goes well! It is Auggie's POV (in case you can't figure it out).

Disclaimer: Covert Affairs and its characters belong to USA Network (characters welcome). All rights reserved, of course. I just like to play with them every once and a while.

One A.M.

It's amazing the things you learn at one in the morning. For instance, I can hear the soft whistling of the wind and the leaves tumbling across the deserted roads. Train whistles are much louder… I feel a 'if a tree falls in the forest' question coming on.

My typing is different at one a.m. Quicker and more spastic than normal. Every key click seems louder than a gunshot. I type faster at night and as I sit here typing this, I wonder why I'm finding this out. I should be asleep at one a.m.

My room feels different, too. Almost ghost-like. I can feel the curling breeze from the open window, the curtains fluttering every so often. I can hear the fabric rustling softly with each passing breeze. The computer screen is giving off a surprising amount of heat and I can almost feel the light warming my face. I imagine what my bedroom looks like at one a.m. It's doused in a strange mixture of falling moonlight, streetlights, and the bright light of the computer screen.

My fingertips feel rounder at one a.m. I'm sure there is a long winded explanation for this. Touching anything feels different with dulled, slower senses; yet, part of me almost feels cat like in my nocturnal state. If you wander the city at one a.m., no one will notice you. Everyone is asleep.

Her window is different at one a.m. No one notices me standing there. The window feels cooler; like it's a sheet of ice as opposed to a sheet of glass. Like mine, her window is opened slightly to invite the summer breeze inside. The drapes are sheer and feel like something from a fairy tale and the very sound of their movement in the early morning's breeze stuns me to a near hypnotized state. I hear her soft breathing from inside the room. The rosebushes under the window are inviting and their thorns stand as a warning to keep out. I'm no braver at one a.m., and startling her at such an hour would not be sane or romantic.

One a.m. must be a time of magic, as ridiculous as that sounds. An hour that is truly unknown. An hour of difference in the monotonous world. It feels like I am the only soul alive or awake, conscious of the world around me. The sounds and movements all belong to me.

My own voice is louder; my breathing and sighing and even blinking is audible and you'd swear the entire world would be awake at my subtle, quiet command from such noise. I should be asleep at one a.m.

What could possibly keep me awake? Annie's new op. Dear God, the promise and threat and approaching like lightning mission that is beating down the door to my sanity. I should be thrilled for her (she's wanted an opportunity like this for ages) and dreaming peacefully, but instead it is one a.m. and I am awake and shaking in my own fear and anxiety that is riddling my body with sleeplessness. Such a trivial matter, really, but I have lost all sanity and my insomnia will not rest until this simple matter of my life is solved. The only thing that could possibly stand in the way of my peaceful slumber is her. That stubborn, sarcastic, warm-hearted, proud, amazing, beautiful, frustrating woman who keeps me up at all hours pacing, just wondering what to do about her. How can a guy like me keep her safe?

I haven't slept all week. Two weeks? God, when was the last time I slept? I've been living on energy drinks and drinking coffee at every meal. I think I'm a tad addicted. My hand twitches between meals. That's normal right? It's been a slow down spiral since we found out about the upcoming op. It started with one cup; I'm up to five. Or is it six?

I'm an addict, but coffee isn't the worst of my drugs. I'm addicted to the sound of her voice, her laugh, her smell. I'm addicted to her hair—it's intoxicating, really, when she teases me, flicking it and sending a collision of smells into my senses. I'm addicted to her heels; the click of those stilettos which I can only imagine make her legs look fantastic. I've lost it, I'm aware, but what if something were to happen to her on this mission? I'll die a slow painful death.

This should be illegal. The effect she has on me? They could bottle it and sell it to terrorists. It's worse at one a.m. I was literally outside her window before I talked myself out of sure death.

I'm counting down the hours to my demise; I know I won't make it to the CIA building before I collapse and convulse or something equally dramatic, but it's one a.m. and I know she's asleep and I just want to be there. And not in the creepy stalker/rapist way, but the just-hearing-you-breathe-is-enough-to-find-fulfillment-in-life kind of way. Having her asleep on my shoulder just once was like heroine straight to my bloodstream.

This is insane and I cannot take it anymore. I'll die. I swear I'll die. She has to have some clue, some hint, to what she does to me. Something must allude her to the fact that I'll never sleep again if something isn't done because I am slowly but surely losing my mind to her a little bit more every night. She makes a guy want to be a drug addict. I will swear off coffee and energy drinks and everything that has kept me alive the past month (oh God, it's been a whole month hasn't it?) if she will just stop the torture. I'll do whatever she wants. No matter the degree of humiliation or pain or how much it costs. I'll do it just make it stop. If she'll just make it—

"Auggie? Auggie wake up. It's time for work. You told me to come pick you up, remember?" Oh God, that's her voice. It finally happened. I've snapped and I'm hallucinating. "Up, sleepy head!"

"How did you get in here?" I mumble, my eyes still closed and my head resting next to the keyboard.

"I'm a CIA agent, Auggie," Her laugh rings out in my head, "And you keep your spare key under the mat."

I yawn and rub the sleep from my eyes. I hear her heels click as she walks across the room towards me. I feel the air move as she leans over my shoulder.

"Did you seriously fall asleep typing on the computer? What does this say? June second, one a.m…One a.m? Auggie!" Sitting up, I close the document, fingers flying over the keyboard, my elbows quivering as our fingers brush.

"I couldn't sleep," I shrug. Apparently, this is not a hallucination; or maybe it is just a very good one.

"Are you ok? You look terrible." I can smell her shampoo mixed with her detergent and Jo Malone grapefruit and it's like inhaling crack only better because I'm fully aware of what's going on. So maybe it's worse.

"I'm terrible. You could end my suffering now, you know."

She almost laughs, but that would probably kill me so I'm relieved when she doesn't. Instead, she places her hands on my forearm and leads me to my bed. The sensation of her skin on mine sends my heart into overdrive.

"Yeah…get some sleep, Aug. I'll tell Joan you're sick or something."

I manage to groan her name and cling to her arm as she gets up to leave.

"August Anderson. No coffee. Ever again."

"Please?" I practically whine.

"You really need to sleep." She tugs the blanket loose, pulling it over me, forcing me to lay down with one arm and I absolutely melt like hot wax and do whatever she wants. And then she does it; she kisses my forehead and I know I'm screwed.

I'm hopelessly addicted. And yes I've gotten my fix and I can finally sleep with some peace, but I swear to all that is holy when I wake up it will be one a.m. all over again. Had she any sympathy, she would kill me now.

In my state of absolute haze and mental absence, my unconscious thoughts become to unconscious words and I mutter the stupidest thing I have quite possibly ever spoken in the form of an 'I love you' to her as she stands up. Before I can hate myself or throw myself from the window, my mind has started to fall deeper into the realm of sleep; a place that we have not visited in a very. Long. Time.

I would trade anything in the world to keep her up until one a.m. for just one night. Then she would finally see what her very presence does to me. And maybe she would understand that I could never love another woman as intensely as I love her.

a/n: Part 2 companion oneshot of The Insomnia Trilogy coming soon…apparently, Auggie isn't the only one staying up all night…