She’d slid down in her sleep, until she lay across his lap, her head pillowed on his thigh. He never would have imagined that having someone drool on his pants would be adorable, and yet somehow it was. He didn’t want this to end, didn’t want her to wake and move away from him. She felt soft and warm, and he ached for her with a fierceness that shook him to his core. Shortly before dawn, she whimpered in her sleep, so he allowed himself to stroke her hair and whisper that everything was all right, that she was safe. She had quieted then, her breath evening back out into untroubled sleep. Somehow, it had felt desperately important that he was able to do this small thing for her. So he let her rest, until he could no longer ignore the sounds of the waking city. “Molly?” he said softly, shaking her shoulder. “Time to get up.” She blinked sleepily up at him, seeming confused for a moment. Then her eyes cleared, and she sat up, absently fishing a watch from the pocket in her quilted vest.
