Better sleep habits

Nick
Pen has been allowed to rest a day or two since what will come to be known, at least to Nicholas (Pen will likely find something more poetic) as the Bath Disaster.  They ate pizza that night, and Nick went to bed with her after that if only to ensure that she went at a reasonable hour and went to sleep, and he made her breakfast the next morning.

That day passed, uneventful.  The ducky resumed its rightful place alongside the tub.

Saturday morning: Pen leaves the shower to find Nick already out of bed, which will strike her as unusual.  She will find him downstairs making breakfast again, bleary eyed and wild-haired and standing over the stove.  Pancakes of some sort, as it appears (ricotta pancakes, in fact.)

Elaine
Saturday morning, and after her shower, Pen climbs back into bed only to find that the reason to climb back into bed is no longer there, and she runs her hand over the emptiness for a moment, gazing at it with her cool cheek against her pillow for a moment before she drifts in search of him. The smell of breakfast guides her.

And so, Pen pads into the kitchen, her hair already very nearly dry but around her face in a particularly wild halo of ruddy copper, of Venus' color, brightness and shadow, wearing a velvet robe of dark lake green or sea green siren green forest green the softness of it a shadowy kind of soft, and as she pads into the kitchen she is belting it loosely. Her eyes are very clear; she is not bleary eyed.

"What a wonder; what are you making?"

Nick
"Pancakes," he says.  "There are a few strawberries left in there too."  He says it after only a moment's delay: this time it takes for him to hear her words, process them, and process his own reply enough to allow the words to form on his lips.  His eyes remain fixed on the pan; this early it requires all of his concentration.  He simply does not have the energy to divert elsewhere.

"What are your plans for today?"

Elaine
"I thought of seeing whether you wanted to go to the farmer's market, then I was going to read for an hour, write for an hour after that, then devote myself to the forge for a little while. The late afternoon onward is free, except where it is pledged to you; oh, wait, it is all pledged to you. Oh! Except for six o' seven, because I do want to move this vial of gold flakes to a more propitious place and wrap it in a different colored linen, in the interest of experimentation. What are your plans? Would you like me to make you coffee or tea?"

Nick
"I would like to go to the farmer's market," Nick says, though again with this slight delay between her words and his.  Processing time.  The gap will grow narrower and narrower as he moves toward wakefulness.  "Some coffee, maybe."

He does not always drink it; this morning, though, finds him desirous of it.  He listens to her describe her day's plans, and there is a thoughtful little nod here.  He flips a pancake.  "I was planning to do whatever you'd like to do, and spend some time in the garden."  That, of late, has taken up much of his weekend: both the gardening and the studying.

He flips another pancake.  "How are you feeling?  Still tired?"

Elaine
He says some coffee, maybe, so Pen disappears into the pantry to return with coffee and filters for the coffee pot, and she is engaged in opening the bag while Nick flips one pancake and then the next, and she is looking down into the bag the weight of which she lets rest on her chest and she is breathing deeply of the scent. Pen does not often drink coffee either, but the smell. She could roll in it. He wants to know how she's feeling, and if she's still tired, and her answer is a thoughtless, "No, I woke clear as quartz, and I'm as bright as diamonds," because the secret truth here is Pen, while she hasn't forgotten about the Bath Disaster, has no idea that Nick might still be bothered by it or that she fell asleep so, and so the memory does not shadow her thoughts at all. "How are you feeling; I know you're still tired. Do you think you'd ever like to become a morning person?"

Nick
Pen responds to him thus, and Nick knows this secret truth: he knows that Pen is untroubled by the incident, knows that it has not occurred to him that he is otherwise she would be talking to him about it because Pen is often more direct that way.  "I don't see that happening without using Life," he says, not without humor, and there is a smile tinged with rue there on his lips.  "I am still tired."

He scoops both pancakes up and deposits them on a plate in one smooth motion, then uses a measuring cup to ladle out two more mounds of batter onto the iron.  "What had you so tired the other night?  Working too hard?"

Elaine
"The question stands," she says, with the flash of a smile; it's a dazzling, swashbuckle-y smile; wasted on a dim morning. It should belong to twilight; conspiracy; silver-tongued wastrels.

Coffee scooped, machine on, rumble rumble bubble bubble boil and trouble. Pen braces herself against the counter, and watches the pancake batter bubble (boil and - we get it) with the same blank fascination (intent, intense) that cats give gold fish.

"What other night? Do you mean when I fell asleep and the bathtub overflowed? I don't know; physical imperfection, I suppose. What does it mean to work too hard, anyway?"

Breakfast philosophy topic: go.

Nick
Pen's smile draws one from Nick's lips: it is dazzling enough to cast a light into his thoughts for a moment or two, and banish whatever shadows hang there.  "I don't see myself wanting to become a morning person," he says, "but I guess it would help me keep up with you.  And I'd be in a better mood when I went to work."

Hospitals hang their yoke upon a set of regular daytime hours: some people are not made for them.  One pancake bubbles in the center; Nick flips it.

"Well, what if you had fallen asleep in the bath itself?  I might call that working too hard," Nick says.

Elaine
"I could help you be in a better mood when you go to work," Pen says, or promises, solemn; her voice is an invocation, which is to say meditative.

What if, Nick says.

Pen doesn't move, but her eyes flick to the side so she can measure Nick's profile. "Mm," she says.

Nick
There is another little smile at her suggestion, or promise, whichever it is.  Under other circumstances he might have made some sort of reply or suggestion in kind, questioned her: these are not those circumstances.

Nick is still focused on what he is doing; there is not any particular tension in his features or in the motion of his hands.  She cannot read anger there, though anger in him (particularly directed toward her) is a rare thing as it is.  He waits, at first, for her to say more, and after a moment passes he says, "It worried me, coming home to find you like that."

Elaine
"I'm sorry," she says: solemn, earnest. "I don't know why I fell asleep so thoroughly; we could get a bigger tub. A Roman-style bath."

Nick
"That's..."  His words fail him, and he struggles to find them, grasps at them but they are all the wrong ones.  So he sighs once, and flips another pancake.  "That's not what was bothering me, Pen.  At least, not just that."

He ladles out another two scoops of batter and then turns away from the stove to face her.  His eyes are clear now too, clear as the flame at the base of a fire, clear as starlight.  "I'm concerned that you kept pushing yourself past the point of exhaustion.  I want...I just want you to take care of yourself, that's all."

Elaine
He is serious enough that her good humor ebbs and she becomes more aware of the edge of the counter under her palms. This early, she is wearing only two rings: her wedding band, and a ring on the finger belonging to mercury, set with sapphire. Her thumb finds one and strokes, and she turns so her hip is resting against the counter and she is facing Nick more fully too.

"I do take care of myself; come on, Nicholai, you can't tell me you've never fallen asleep in the middle of a chapter or a movie, because I'll know you for a liar."

Nick
"Well, I have," he admits, and he half turns from her but only to glance back at the pancakes on the griddle to make sure they are not burning.  It has not been nearly long enough for them to burn (they are not yet even bubbling) but he is ill at ease.  It is so reflected.

"But that's...I mean, it's different to push yourself so hard and so often that you're exhausted all the time.  That's what I meant."

Elaine
"You think I'm exhausted all the time?"

The corners of her mouth tick downwards, and she slides her right foot up her left leg, shifting again so her back is against the counter, her spine is gently curved.

Nick
"Well...no."  Nick's brows furrow, and now he leans back a little farther against the oven handle, against the stove, where the ridge makes a light indentation in the back of his hip.  "I just...when you forget to sleep, or eat, or stop and rest it just makes me worry for you.  That you'll make a mistake when you're tired that could've been avoided if you rested."

A beat.  "I just don't want to see you hurt, or worn down.  That's all."

Elaine
"I don't forget to sleep," Pen says, and whether that is true or not, she thinks it is. Pen reaches out - there's a hot pan to be careful of - to curve a hand around Nick's waist, above the hip. "And I'm sorry I caused you this worry."

If a real liar, if a devil, if some nefarious thing, could bottle Pen's earnestness: they'd be able to sell a snake back its skin; to sell Hell to an angel. Because she truly is earnest: clear-eyed and thoughtful-seeming and concerned. But she is also Hermetic, and so:

"But don't you think it's good to be ready to perform without eight hours of sleep at your back?"

Nick
Pen reaches out to him, and Nick can read her earnestness here, her concern: he knew it would be there, and it has softened his approach even further.  It is difficult to be upset, however concerned, with a person who means so well, who is so genuine.  Pen is beguiling this way.

So he catches her hand there at his waist, and a corner of his mouth quirks.  "Of course," he says.  "But doesn't it defeat the purpose if you're never getting eight hours of sleep?  Tired becomes your normal, so you have to go a little bit farther."

Elaine
"I don't concede that point. You can learn to get along on less sleep. Not ... no sleep, but less sleep. Nicholas, would you still have been so bothered if I'd just fallen asleep at my desk?"

Nick
"I don't know," Nick says, and this is honest, accompanied by a pulling together of his brows.  "But it...I mean, you didn't fall asleep at your desk.  You fell asleep when you were doing something else.  Even if it was in our home, it concerns me."

Elaine
"I fell - " Pen says, but there's nothing to gain by argument, so she changes her mind after (impulsive) beginning. He caught her hand at his waist; she wants to slip it around and find the small of his back.

"What can I do to make you feel better?"

Nick
"I..."  The muscles in Nick's forehead relax and then furrow again as his brows are tugged back together.  While not entirely new territory for him now, it was, at least before, far more common for him to sit on such concerns and worries rather than give voice to them.

"I guess just be more careful about taking breaks.  I...I want you to be around for a long time."  It would not be the first time Pen was compared to Icarus, and he knows this, and he knows it troubles her, and so: he does not say this.

Elaine
"What if I'm only around for as long a time as you are?" Pen says, her tone arch; goading, even; a test, a challenge. And she pulls Nick near to her, and says, "Which means to get what you want you have to take care of yourself, too. I hear morning people live longer." She doesn't hear that; she is trying to get his goat.

Nick
Nick steps closer to her; behind him, the pancakes on the griddle are beginning to smoke, there around the edges.  They smell for a moment of caramel, of the moment of caramelization; but it is only a moment.  After that, there is only char.  His eyes are on her, and so he has not yet noticed it.

"When do I not take care of myself?" he asks, with another lift of the corner of his mouth.  "I'm...I'm doing my best to look after myself more.  To want things more.  You know that."

Elaine
"To want things for yourself more." Pen, gray-eyed and clear-sighted, has noticed a wisp of smoke, but it is not sufficient enough to make her abandon the conversation. "And you know when you do not take care of yourself, and I do know you do your best. Your best is the best." Pen: she kisses the side of Nick's neck, behind the ear, pushing his curls (his hair has truly grown unruly) away. "Pancakes are done."

Nick
"Yes," Nick agrees, though there is still that little point between his brows that indicates that he knows that the topic has changed, has been turned around.  His forehead smooths again when she kisses the side of his neck and he makes another noise of assent: for a moment, does not move, pancakes being done or no.

Eventually he does turn, though it is too late to save the edges of these two.  He grimaces and wiggles the spatula under them, turning off the burner with the other hand.  The pancakes are deposited on the plate.  "So will you be more careful about taking breaks, then?"

Elaine
"I am careful," Pen says, because that is the honest thing to say, and look, Nick's coffee is done! She takes the pot out and pulls his mug (there's always a mug, claimed by one's psyche, the mug, the mug of preference) down from the cupboard. "Do you want to eat outside? In the hammock?"

Nick
"I know, but...more careful," Nick says, reaching to pick up the plate of pancakes and to take another, empty, plate: and forks, which he places on top of the pancake stacks.  He does not have the arm room for syrup or butter or jam, not without placing everything at risk of being toppled.

"I'd like to eat outside, but we might end up with pancake all over us if we eat in the hammock," he says.

Elaine
"I will be more careful about my sleep habits," Pen says, quite virtuous, and quite virtuous she also takes up the syrup or butter or jam plus Nick's coffee, using ye olde waitress skills and a lack of care about whether or not anything breaks to aid her. "And we might, but we also might not," she says, with enthusiasm.