Chapter Text
Insomnia
It's hard to say when it starts; it's a gradual thing that begins with them going to bed in their own beds like normal fucking human beings and ends with their co-dependent asses tangled up in bed beside each other every night.
The one thing Jen does know, however, is that she can't fucking sleep without one quirky brunette pressed tightly to her front. Of course, she'll never admit out loud that she needs someone else next to her to sleep (so close, despite the king-sized bed), even if she is half in love with said someone, and so their, uh - arrangement - carries on without discussion.
Judy is a wrapped up parcel of compassion and understanding and a puppy-like need to please so she doesn't bring it up, even when Jen starts to just assume they'll fall into bed after a languid glass of wine; even when she edges closer throughout the night to entwine their legs together and twist their bodies so close that she's not sure where either of them begins. Judy doesn't even comment when Jen presses a kiss to her collarbone one time as she murmurs goodnight, peppered with shaky breaths and pulsating hearts, and she lets Jen pull her tightly against her chest, hands ghosting against her waist, her stomach, lips pressed into the crook of her neck.
It's just too much sometimes, too intimate; it feels like they're teetering on the edge of something, too much and too little all at once. Jen's never been a tactile person and she's moaned at Judy's co-dependent behaviour on more than one occasion, so she's surprised to be the clingy one. She's the one who shifts closer on the sofa, who closes the gap between them in bed and who reaches to play with the rings on Judy's hand absent-mindedly as they watch TV late at night. Non-existent boundaries blur and morph into something else, something that must be more than a sleeping aid because why else would her skin buzz when Judy touches her, electric (pathetic) yearning setting her skin alight.
It's probably not at all healthy, but they don't talk about it- even as Jen lets her barriers down to sweep the hair from Judy's forehead and rests a hand on her thigh a little too high to be entirely platonic.
(Jen pretends not to notice the way Judy's breath hitches and she melts into her touch, tries to pretend she doesn't live for those tiny moments).
It becomes a game of "oh for fuck sake, come here", (aimed at Judy even though they both know it's Jen who needs Judy like fucking air), and "ew, gross," when Judy suggests cuddling (which Jen, of course, takes up without hesitation and will initiate anyway if Judy doesn't) and Jen needs it as desperately as she needs air. She's always been a terrible sleeper, even more so since Ted's death and the events that followed; sleeping next to Judy results in the best fucking nights' sleep of Jen's life, a solid eight hours for the first time since she was a child. It's been her best life choice in, well, a long time.
For the first time since her life fell apart (see: her husband's death, Steve's death) things are actually kind of perfect- well until a reappearance of Judy's girlfriend shuttles her back into something darker than just insomnia.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Judy's nights spent at Michelle's steadily increase until she's only home maybe twice a week. Henry asks about her often, if she'll be back for breakfast in the morning and Jen answers with non-committal "maybes", feeling more snappy and irritable than usual. Even Charlie comments on it one morning with a sarcastic comment about her and Judy breaking up again.
(Jen just throws the apple for his lunch at him and smiles despite herself when he catches it last minute and huffs out a "j-heeze" on his way out the door.)
In all honesty, she's jealous.
She's not even sure why; Judy's her friend and yeah, apparently she's developed some kind of weird dependence on her to sleep. Still, it's deeper than that, and she knows it (there's no way in Hell she's going to start acknowledging it though).
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Three consecutive nights of Judy spending the night elsewhere and Jen's at breaking point. She's so fucking tired that she's googling sleeping tips on her iPad before realising what she's doing.
The results have no positive impact on her spiralling mood; pages and pages of results that she's pretty sure are pure bullshit.
The first result, of course, is to limit alcohol intake.
Jen slams her laptop lid down in annoyance and pours another glass of rosé anyway as if to spite whoever came up with such a shitty idea.
(But maybe she just spites herself when hours later she's still lying in bed, wide awake.)
The next evening she doesn't put a new bottle of wine in the fridge to chill for the first time in a long time- never mind that she has three in there already. She pulls out Judy's camomile tea instead, hoping that if that doesn't help maybe that fact that the smell reminds her of Judy will.
(It's so fucking gross that she pours in down the sink after one disgusting sip.)
She's kind of pathetically hopeful when she goes to bed but her alarm goes off at six and she's barely slept.
(The next night she has three glasses of wine.)
Jen sees Karen the next day on her driveway, but before she can make an escape, she's listening to the play by play on her and Jeff's divorce. Ever the concerned neighbour, she comments on how tired Jen looks almost immediately. She's launching into, "light some scented candles, me and Jeff swear by them- or used to…" and she doesn't stop talking until Jen's about to start pulling her hair out.
However, Karen's unwelcome help plays on her mind until she opens up her iPad and Googles next day delivery on Amazon candles. Realising she's actually considering advice from Karen of all people she shuts it off in a huff and blasts her music through her headphones as she goes for a run.
Later, she breaks her resolve and throws a candle in the cart as she's doing her food shop. A quick look around to see if anyone's watching and she throws five more in with bullshit scents like "Morning Mist" and "Honeysuckle Valley" and "Calm Chamomile"- fuck it.
She needs all the help she can get.
She lights three in her bedroom late at night, but the strong smells combine until she's choking on thick, floral air and blowing the damn things out.
(She should have known better than to listen to Karen's advice.)
Jen honestly feels as if she's going insane. She's not sure if it's lack of sleep or something deeper because this absolute shit show started when she was getting the best fucking sleep of her life wrapped in Judy.
"Jen? You still up?" Judy knocks on her bedroom door late one night, peeking her head around the corner to see Jen curled up under the covers, glasses on and book in her hand. Jen ignores the pathetic stutter of her chest at the sight of her friend.
(And who could fucking blame her; Judy looks nothing short of angelic with the hall light illuminating her slim frame.)
"Fucking always." Jen puts her book down and stretches her back before looking up at Judy. She falls just short of casual as she continues, "I thought you were out with Michelle tonight?"
"I was, I just got back," Judy smiles softly. "I thought you'd be asleep by now."
Jen lets out a harsh laugh. "No," (and it's funny because, of course, she's not asleep when the woman she's apparently using as a fucking comforter is out with her new girlfriend).
Judy comes further into the room and shuts the door with a soft click. "Uh, Jen" she starts hesitantly, awkwardly shy. "Can I sleep in here tonight?"
It's strange hearing it said aloud because they've never actually verbally voiced their arrangement. It's just sort of happened unconsciously, Judy following Jen up the stairs after a glass of wine or switching the TV off in Jen's room and slipping under the covers.
"Just get over here, Judy," Jen says finally, just as Judy is about to turn and leave.
Judy doesn't waste any time and slips beneath the covers before turning on her side to face Jen. "Don't you think this is a bit… weird?" she whispers.
"Fuck yeah," Jen replies roughly, and she honestly does. Because they're just friends and friends definitely don't do this and anyway Judy has a girlfriend now.
She settles under the covers anyway, switching off her bedside lamp, and Judy curls close, her hair tickling Jen's nose and lips pressed in the crook of her neck.
Jen's asleep in minutes.
They shift back into their old routine too easily. Judy snuggling up against Jen on the sofa, glass of wine in her hand; Jen slipping her hand into Judy's as they sit in bed watching crappy TV; Judy sneaking back into the house after a date with Michelle and pressing against Jen in bed under the covers.
It's fucked up, but it works.
(Jen sleeps like a fucking baby).
Unsurprisingly, it all falls apart.
It's early in the morning when Judy's phone goes off, cutting through the comfortable quiet of hushed breaths and snores that envelopes the bedroom with a piercing ring that makes both women wake.
They'd been out drinking the night before, so Jen was feeling rough; head pounding, eyes too heavy to open. She does nothing except groan and flex the limbs that are currently wound around Judy. When the alarm is still going off 30 seconds later, she swears dramatically and flails her arms pathetically to hit Judy on the leg, mumbling at the other woman to stop that fucking alarm.
(Both are too drowsy, too hungover to realise that it's not an alarm disturbing the quiet of the morning, but an incoming face time).
Judy groans and squints through the morning sunlight streaming through the gaps in the curtains. She's half asleep and not with it when she presses accept on the incoming call from Michelle in a move that she thinks is just shutting off the alarm.
"Hey babe," Michelle's voice comes through the phone speakers, slightly muffled but clear enough to make Jen wake up fully. Fuck.
Judy might not have realised, but Jen damn well knows that it's not going to go down well that Judy is currently snuggled up in Jen's bed, Jen's arms wound possessively around Judy's middle and their legs tangled together.
"Hey," Judy replies obliviously, letting out a content sleepy sigh as adrenaline hits Jen like a ten-ton truck, bracing herself for the inevitable.
"Uh, where are you?" Michelle eventually says, and the tone of her voice finally jolts Judy into awareness. In one swift movement, Judy has disentangled herself from Jen and has sat up, hair sticking up all over the place and only wearing a bra.
"Oh, uh, I must have fallen asleep in Jen's bed," Judy says, nervously laughing and scrambling to get out of bed and pull her t-shirt over her head.
"Wearing basically nothing?" Michelle says, and Jen can hear the scepticism dripping from her tone.
"It was just a heavy night, we had a lot of wine-" Judy continues and then she's walked out of earshot into the hallway.
" Fuck," Jen swears and flings an arm over her eyes.
Jen can't get hold of Judy all day, and she has flashbacks to the one other time this has happened and feels nervousness scratch at her chest. She busies herself cleaning the kitchen (trying to ignore her absolute beast of a hangover) and stops herself after leaving a seventh voice mail on Judy's phone. It was clear the woman was trying to ignore her, any more than that would make her look even more pathetic than she already did.
Later, Jen's on the dark side of drunk when Judy finally comes in through the kitchen door, soft knock before hesitating when Jen doesn't answer.
"Hey," she says, voice wavering.
Jen turns to face Judy, a nearly empty glass of wine in hand. "So what, your phone isn't working any more?" she says sharply, alcohol clouding her judgement and removing her filter.
Judy flinches. "No. No, I just had to… sort some stuff out. With Michelle."
Jen's defensive; she doesn't know what happened with Michelle, but this feeling that it's not going to end well for her own heart sits on her chest, crushingly heavy. "She's annoyed?"
Judy smiles sadly, head tilted to the side. "She was… she felt weird seeing me-" she pauses, searching for the right words, "-with you."
Jen just nods slightly, wine glass to her lips and eyes trained anywhere but Judy.
"It's all sorted now, though." Judy continues, forcibly upbeat. "She's actually- we've actually decided to move in together. In her new flat." there's an edge to her voice like she's worried about what Jen will think.
Jen doesn't think. She feels numb, and her mind swirls, somehow filling in the gaps that moving in with Michelle means not seeing Jen; it's incomprehensible.
It feels as if Judy is abandoning her (their) family, and she knows it's not fair, but she doesn't care. "You've only known her five minutes," Jen laughs eventually, mean and sharp. She doesn't look at Judy as she takes a sip of her wine, swilling her glass, but she can imagine the hurt on her face too well.
"Two months is hardly five minutes!" Judy says eventually, grasping for words. "Besides, you asked me to move in here when you'd only known me for two weeks."
She knows it's too far, but Jen laughs harshly anyway and says, voice dripping with misplaced spite, "and the truth came out and proved that I was wrong to do that, Judy."
Judy turns away and the sheer agony of it, the finality, makes Jen surge forwards, wine glass nearly toppling over as she pushes it haphazardly on the counter to free her hands. She doesn't think; she just pulls Judy to her with a well-placed hand to her wrist, and it's just all so easy. Judy's just the right height that a tilt of her chin here and a slight lean there and their lips meet, nipping and pulling harder than intended.
It's sloppy and desperate but Jen's skin prickles with the perfection of it, like she's just been waiting for this moment and now that it's here it's overwhelming her. She slips her fingers from the soft skin of Judy's cheek down her neck and arms and to her hips before sliding back up to her ribcage, the other hand deep in those fucking curls (finally).
Jen turns them so that she has Judy pressed up against the kitchen work surface possessively. She has the vague idea of lifting her up onto it (legs around hips, hands slipping down between them) when reality seems to catch up with them and Judy pushes her away with a firm push to her chest that leaves Jen's head whirling.
"No!" Judy's voice suddenly rings out, awfully loud in the silence that has engulfed the dimly lit room and strong despite the way her voice breaks mid-word. She's suddenly five feet away in a blink-and-you'll-miss-it movement which leaves Jen awkwardly empty and cold in all the places their skin had been touching just moments before.
"No. No, please don't just do that, Jen." Judy continues, anxious, cautious anger bubbling up as she brushes her bangs out of her eyes and straightens her dress. "You- you can't kiss me and make it go away."
Judy straightens her back and lifts her chin up, but Jen can see unshed tears shining in her dark eyes.
"Oh, all right, so this is my fucking fault now?" Jen gestured to herself wildly before running a hand through her hair and letting out a harsh laugh. "Judy, this is so beyond fucked up-"
(She knows it's her fault.)
"Yes!" Judy stage whispers, aware Henry is asleep upstairs. "Yes, Jen. This is so fucked up, but-" she swallows, unshed tears in her dark eyes glistening in the half-light. "But I have a girlfriend. And this isn't fair."
Jen laughs harshly and gestures wildly. "What, and sleeping in my bed every night is fair?"
Judy raises her chin as her breath catches in a half sob in her chest, eyes meeting Jen's for what seems like forever in this charged moment, before turning and leaving.
Jen doesn't go after her.