A/N: Well hello there, passing reader who has never seen me before, because I have never written Hameron before in my life! Which is sad, I know. Anyway, I welcome you. I should warn you I'm not a native English speaker. Now you may proceed.
In an Apartment Far, Far Away
'Sleep is for the weak,' he'd say with a maniacal grin if she were there, trying to coax him into coming back to bed. But she's not - and neither is anyone else - and that leaves him to be free to admit there are times in life when even geniuses need a good night's sleep in order to be useful the next day. Luckily, there's no patient waiting for his superheroical expertise at the hospital; no riddles to solve, no lupus to (finally) find sneaking among the cells and blood clots so that he would have to think about them at night instead of letting his brain rest.
Paradoxically, that brings up the one mystery that needs to be uncovered next - Why can't he sleep?
Scratching the nagging itch on his stubble, he moves to the side, letting his feet hang in the air for a while before finally setting them on the ground. Then he limps to the fridge in the next room, not bothering to switch the light on (even the moonlight seeping in through the window glass is too much to coexist with peace of mind), and takes the first can of beer he sees.
The thought of astral projection comes to mind all of a sudden. He remembers that one time he read a story about a boy who supposedly tried to leave his body while asleep and never "came back". Seeing as Cuddy had marched in with a bunch of files for him to go through and bless some with his delightful signature singing epic tales of sheer joy and deep interest, he proceeded to disprove the theory, using his minions and his board to do so. Cameron didn't engage in the discussion much. She kept frowning and got that puppy eyes look every time he, once again, stood proud and smirking at what obvious nonsense the whole thing was. The body doesn't work that way. Of course Cameron would try to prove him otherwise. Hell, she'd probably want to try it herself and "go" see a herd of zebras running around the savannah or some other pathetic visual. And then the lions would chase them down and she'd wake up crying.
Besides, only what affects you is worth paying attention to. Princeton is awfully boring at night. If he were to, hypothetically, try forcing his… conscience out of his body, all he would see are people sound asleep. Brunette people clutching teddy bears or other sentimental childhood keepsakes, people who need to get out of touch with their PMSing hormones and let a bit of reason lead the way instead, sound asleep. With that thought, he takes one swig of the beer, puts it back in the fridge and limps over to his bed.
In an apartment far, far away, not too many blocks away so that he would be too lazy to count them but way too many for that information to hold any significance to him, she can't sleep. At the same time, she's too exhausted to pretend she doesn't know why that is. He saved a life again earlier that day in the most horrible way susceptible to doubt, but it seemed no one let themselves be ruled by that instinct. To make things worse, neither did she, even though he has never done anything to earn her unwavering trust. Anything.
It's moments like these, when she feels weak and vulnerable and wants to run away like she did after… him, that she has to remind herself why she chose this fate in the first place; to help. To never have to see a woman like she herself once was, other than herself. So she sits up, pressing her knuckles into her eye sockets. It doesn't help her see the least bit, but given that sharp light would probably burn her retinas beyond repair at this point, she lets herself go on blind faith - once again - provided by the walls until she finds the medicine cabinet. She takes a sleeping pill and stumbles back.
Counting down from one hundred, she trails off and begins to think about other sleeping people as she falls into slumber. Grumpy, morose people who can't take the time to go through the looking glass and let flowers bloom in the grass covering reason.
Then again if they did, they wouldn't be who they are. Yawn.