A different person is to blame for this. Unrelated to my "Petty Crimes" series (this is actually set within the show's canon).

They have different ways of dealing with insomnia, probably because the two of them are so wildly different. Charlie doesn't really get insomnia. Sure, some nights it's harder for him to fall asleep than others, but mostly his sleep is untroubled, and when it does take him longer to fall asleep, a belt of whiskey usually does the trick.

Not Meyer. Charlie doesn't know what runs through Meyer's head, but something keeps him from falling asleep. It happens often enough that Charlie sometimes stumbles into the kitchen at five in the morning to see Meyer still awake, reading a newspaper and nursing a cold cup of coffee with bloodshot eyes, and even then, it takes Meyer awhile before he can get a few hours of sleep.

The first time, it happens by accident. Charlie decides to stay up with Meyer while Meyer tries something different. He's saved working on the ledgers until they leave their own little casino for the night, and now he's got them spread across the kitchen table and his sleeves pushed up to his elbows.

"Man, this better work," Charlie yawns, lighting a cigarette. "I'm lookin' at this, an' already, I'm tryin' not to pass out."

Meyer doesn't look up from the books, but a small, fond smile crosses his face for a few moments. "No one's making you stay here, Charlie. You can go to bed."

Charlie yawns again and rubs the bridge of his nose. "Nope, I'm stayin' 'til you fall asleep."

"I don't even know if this will work," Meyer says, tapping his pencil against the table. "You should go—"

"Shut up an' do your math," Charlie says.

Meyer shakes his head, that fond grin back on his face. "If you insist, Charlie."

So Charlie sits there, lighting a cigarette for Meyer and trying not to fall asleep before him. Every now and then, Meyer lets out a yawn and rubs an eye, but he doesn't stop working. It's actually a little fascinating, and Charlie distracts himself by lighting another cigarette off the one he's nearly finished with and watching Meyer. Lines appear on his forehead as Meyer's brows knit together and he takes a drag on his own cigarette, tapping the end of his pencil on the table for a minute.

Charlie pushes his chair out from the table and starts pacing the kitchen. Meyer appears unfazed—actually, he doesn't seem to notice at all. Even when Charlie stretches out his hand and runs his fingers through Meyer's hair, Meyer's pencil never stops moving across the ledger.

The minutes tick by and Charlie sits back down. He lights one cigarette after another for both himself and for Meyer until his pack is empty, but before Charlie can say anything, Meyer's reaching into the pocket of his waistcoat and pulling out his own case and setting them on the table. Charlie laughs and ruffles Meyer's hair again. "My little addin' machine," he says fondly, and if it weren't for the smile grin tugging on the corner of Meyer's mouth, he'd think he didn't even hear him.

But Meyer doesn't smile enough. Admittedly, when he forces a grin, it's creepy bordering on downright terrifying, predatory and disturbing, sinister and a bit insane. But when his smile is genuine, it reaches his eyes and Charlie can't help but smile back when he sees it.

Meyer's smile slowly fades away until it's just a shadow, and Charlie rubs his eyes. Little by little, his own eyelids are getting too heavy to keep open, and he tells himself to get up and walk around—if Meyer can stay up and do this, he can, too—but then he thinks that a minute or two isn't going to hurt anything, and besides, Meyer won't even notice. He's completely absorbed by the books.

Charlie's eyes drift closed for several long seconds before he blinks them open. It's a struggle to stay awake, and after nearly ten minutes of fighting, he succumbs. Using his arms as a pillow, his head falls forward and he's asleep in seconds.

Wake up! Mey's still up! his brain suddenly screams at him, and he jerks fully awake, snapping back in his seat. "Sorry, I'm still up," he mumbles quickly, rubbing his eyes.

And then he registers the sound of soft breathing, and when he looks over at Meyer, he's slumped forward with his eyes closed. His head rests on his left arm, but his pencil is still clenched tight in his hand, poised on the ledger. The ledger that Meyer is now drooling on.

Charlie has to laugh to himself. Meyer looks somehow ridiculous and adorable.

"Okay, little man, you can't sleep there," Charlie murmurs. He reaches over and takes the pencil out of Meyer's hand, and then moves out Meyer's chair just enough pick him up without hitting the table.

Meyer's lighter than he looks, but carrying him is still exhausting. By the time he gets to Meyer's bedroom and sets him down, he wants nothing more than to go back to sleep, but he forces himself to pull off Meyer's shoes, waistcoat, and tie. He sits on the other side of the bed to take off his own shoes and tie. At the last minute, he decides there's no point in getting his waistcoat and shirt wrinkled if he can't help it, and so he takes those off, too. Then he slumps back in Meyer's bed and pulls the blanket over both of them, and falls right back asleep.

"Charlie."

He slowly pulls himself awake. "Huh? What's goin' on?" He blinks and rubs his eyes. Meyer's awake, sitting up in bed, and sunlight is streaming in through the window.

"I distinctly remember falling asleep on the table last night. How did I get here?" He sounds suspicious for some reason Charlie can't figure out.

But Charlie feels his face heating up. Nothing wrong with it. Couldn't let him sleep at the fucking table. What kind of asshole does he think I am? "I... I carried you," he stutters out.

Now Meyer's face is turning red, and he rubs the back of his neck. "Why?"

"Sleepin' at a table fuckin' sucks, stupid. Worse than not sleepin' at all. Besides, I don't hear youse complainin'," he adds.

Meyer licks his lips, opens his mouth, and then closes it again. He looks like he's trying to figure out what to say, but nothing's coming to him. "Alright," he says finally. He slides out of bed, puts on his shoes, and mutters, "I have to finish the books" before slinking out of the room.

It's not gonna happen again, Charlie tells himself. Tonight he'll stop before he falls asleep at the table.

He's wrong. That night, the exact same thing happens, and Charlie again finds himself carrying Meyer back to bed, and the next morning, Charlie tells Meyer that it's the last time that's going to happen. But they both know it's a lie, and for some reason, neither of them minds all that much.