Nights with John were always a gamble.

Sometimes he had nightmares that had him jolting awake every few hours. Sometimes he had nightmares he couldn't wake from and you had to coax him out of it. Other nights he slept like a baby. And then there were nights like this, where he couldn't sleep at all.

You'd seen it coming when dinner wasn't enough to wind him down for the evening. He'd cleaned his gun about three times, reorganized the filing cabinet where he kept all his mission debrief copies, and still found enough energy to pace the perimeter.

"John," you called, slightly amused by the sight of your boyfriend checking the windows like an overeager guard dog. "Come help me in the kitchen."

John's footsteps were heavy as he entered, his large hands immediately going around your waist. "What? Did you cut yourself? Is something broke?"

You laughed softly, leaning into him. For better or worse, this was your John. Always eager to fix.

"Everything's fine. I just need help putting the bowls back in the top cupboard."

John's blue eyes seemed to soften as he realized the task was mundane. No one needed saving, nothing broken needed fixed. Just put the dishes away.