It's two in the morning and Jennifer Jareau can't sleep.

She has tried everything in the past hour; counting sheep, drinking warm milk, even listening to her own breathing as she makes futile attempts to clear her mind of any serious thought. Each and every attempt has failed, leaving Jennifer with no choice but to lie in her bed, staring aimlessly at the blank ceiling and picking out the tiny hairpin cracks in the paint, making a mental note to grab a paintbrush from the DIY store after work.

It's two-thirty in the morning and Jennifer Jareau can't sleep.

She listens to the rhythmic plink of the water hitting the washbasin in the bathroom. She knows she should probably get up and turn the faucet off fully, but she can't bring herself to move. Her duvet caresses her frame, keeping her body at an almost unbearably high temperature. She kicks it off irritably, pushing it to the other side of the bed, amazed at the fact that no matter how warm her body is her feet are still freezing cold.

It's three in the morning and Jennifer Jareau can't sleep.

She can hear the tiny snores and sniffles from the room adjacent to her own. Henry, Jennifer's son, is fast asleep in his own room, living in the land of dogs and fire trucks and whatever else it is that little boys dream of. His rhythmic breathing seems to lull Jennifer into a trance, her head miraculously clearing as she begins to drift off. A noise pulls her from her almost-slumber, and she curses under her breath as she sits up, turning on the lamp. There is no way she will sleep now, and as the luminous glow of the alarm clock tells her she has just under four hours left until she has to leave for work, she feels like crying.

It's half-three in the morning and Will LaMontagne is finally home.

Throwing his keys into the basket beside the door, he walks up the stairs slowly. He should have been back hours ago, but almost two months of paperwork had been begging for completion, delaying his journey home. He has heard the movements from the house's only master bedroom; he knows JJ is awake. He tries to be silent as he tiptoes past Henry's room, unwilling to wake his son at this early hour. The lamp in the room is on, and JJ is sat in bed, quilt wrapped around one leg, hair falling naturally over her shoulder. Will has never seen her look as beautiful as she has now, her radiant smile extending right to her sleep-depraved eyes.

It's four in the morning and both Jennifer and Will are asleep.

Curled into each other for warmth, their bodies intertwine, legs tangled together in what looks like an extremely uncomfortable game of Twister. But still their heavy breathing can he heard throughout the apartment. The duvet has been resigned to the floor, the couple happy to gather warmth from one another. The lamp is still on, the artificial light dim but visible. The sun is beginning to rise, the first tendrils of morning casting across bare skin.

It's five in the morning and all is still.