He stays a steady presence by her side until they wake, covering her hand with his, hip to hip (or, well, hip to ribs; she is much shorter than he is), and shakes himself awake when they reach the door. Everything feels much worse out in the world. In the dream, in the mission, he could focus. Now, muddled with sleep and nightmares and watching girls be-- be controlled-- he wants to burrow under his blankets and not come out.

But he promised her cocoa. He promised her. He can't leave her alone to those memories.

He crawls out from under the blankets, tugs his fingers through his tangled hair, and shuffles out to the kitchen to heat up some milk for them both. She can probably hear him; he's making absolutely no attempt at being quiet.