Whenever the noise or movement stirs Alistair from rest, he rubs the nearest patch of Cullen's skin he can reach, murmuring sleep-blurred reassurances. S'okay; or, I'm here. Or sometimes just small, soothing, but ultimately incoherent noises.

Two things finally rouse Alistair for good: first, the rhythmic scratching of Gru pawing at the door, and second, the smell of something mouth-wateringly good drifting from the kitchen.