What Came After – Ryan & Ezra – G

[in-futility.livejournal.com]

Still 2005. Not even a whole day after the post before this one.

At some point, Ryan Bertrand woke up.

He didn't wake up at all where he thought he would -- instead, he woke up on a couch, in an unfamilliar living room with a lot of wooden objects, though admittedly fine-looking ones -- and quite a bit of tasteful blue, and his first thought was along the lines of fuck, Vaughn is going to kill me. The second thought was more along the usual bewildered lines.

His hand fished around the couch he'd fallen asleep on for his glasses, and pulling them on realized just how bad the headache was. Almost as if the room had read his mind, the next thing his eyes fell across was the table next to the couch, complete with water and asprin.

And a note, which he picked up and read:

Corin --

Hopefully you'll find this note before freaking out and trashing my apartment. I'm hoping so, anyway. I can't remember how many drinks you had last night any more than I can me, but I do know it was enough for both of us that self-propelled transportation seemed unwise. You also refused to give me an address of yours before you were halfway asleep on your feet, and since I wasn't about to leave you to fend for yourself like that, I had Nancy get us a cab and brought you here. Don't worry, you didn't end up riding the Vespa while you were unconscious, or anything like that.

No idea when you'll be waking up, either -- I left around ten, and I should probably be back between three and four. Bathroom's behind you, down the hallway, door on the left. You're more than welcome to use it, if you like. Anyway, my point is supposed to be that you're welcome to stay, unless you're in a hurry to leave. Your bags are in the closet by the door, if you are. And if you're not, I'd like to apologize for getting you drunk on Nancy's generosity by getting you dinner. Not at the pub. Promise.

-- Ezra

He laughed, and shook his head, downing a couple of painkillers, and took the other man's advice -- over to the bathroom, and then back to sleep.

At some point, a light came on, and that was enough to start him towards waking up again.

That, and the sounds of a person coming into his own apartment and making the sort of casual, thoughtless noise as someone would, and then a muffled curse and the much louder sound of someone trying to be very quiet.

Bertrand pressed his eyes further shut, making a crunched sort of expression, and then sleepily opened one eye.

"Nnng," he said, expressively, and closed it again.

"Hang on, let me get the lights," Ezra said quietly, and a moment later the room was dark again, much more pleasantly. "Right, sorry, thought you'd have left after all," he continued, moving over to where Bertrand could see him more easily. "Not actually used to people crashing on my couch and then still being there later. You all right? Was the alcohol a bad idea after all? You don't seem to have randomly started bleeding again in the night, or day, which is probably a good thing..."

"I, um," he said just as eloquently as he had spoken previously.

"I was too --" Bertrand paused, and remembered, then, that he was in fact Corin Beauregard, and had to speak like him. It was hard, after a satisfying and decent rest. "Um, too tired, couldn't really bring myself to, to go anywhere after all. Figured, um, you wouldn't mind. Usually I, uh. Only drink about a pint, not, uh, whatever I had."

"You started on amaretto sours. I think. I don't actually remember what we were drinking," Ezra said, ducking his head and giving Bertrand another smile, crookedly. "Anyway, I'll guess you haven't eaten since, and probably should -- anything in particular you want? If it's not too fancy, I probably have it, or could make it, that sort of thing?"

"Not much I won't eat," he said quietly. "Except, um, except I'm allergic to peanut. And horse, but that's, um, probably not a problem."

"Damn, so much for the peanut-butter-and-horse sandwiches I was planning to give you for dinner," the younger man joked, stuffing his hands in his jacket's pockets again, absently. "-- Uhm. Lessee. You had pasta, I had chicken... you like curry? Or would you rather something simpler?"

"I, um." He smiled. "I do, yeah. I don't -- don't really want to make you do anything more for me, though."

Being Corin, in this case, was easier, he thought, because he wasn't even sure how to actually respond to any of this. Not being sure what he, Ryan Bertrand thought, he felt more comfortable acting the way he, Corin Beauregard, would.

"Well," cheerfully enough, "you know, I nearly ran you over, might've almost killed you twice, what with thereafter plying you with alcohol, with Nancy's help. I'm a downright menace, I am, and it's not like I don't need to eat, too. Besides, I like talking to you." Ezra shrugged a little, smiling again. "You don't need to stay, if you'd rather go, but I absolutely refuse to let you use the idea that you're an imposition as an excuse to go, because you're not."

"I should, um, should probably call my wife," Bertrand said, because he really should be phoning the Vaughn-Blairs, who would be concerned. If Bianca was done acting like a complete and utter fool about this Callahan thing, anyway.

"But then, uh. I'll stick around for, for dinner."

"She's not going to be upset at you for disappearing all night and then staying out even longer?" Ezra asked, studying his carpet. It was a very nice carpet, Oriental; also blue, along with most of everything else in the living room that wasn't made of wood.

"Ha," answered Bertrand, smiling thinly. "She'll be, um. She'll be a little upset but not, uh, not angry because I'm too. Um. Too loyal. Don't even have any friends, really, outside work and, and her."

"Sounds rather lonely, really," Ezra said softly, after a moment, and glanced up long enough to give him an equally thin smile, before turning on his heel and heading into the attached kitchen. "Phone's on the table behind the couch, by your feet," he called back over his shoulder, before disappearing halfway inside the refrigerator.

Bertrand was about to say that he liked it that way, because Corin was a recluse, really, and Corin didn't care for anyone besides Senica.

And yet, somehow, he couldn't bring himself to say it to someone who was being so kind to him, really, so he reached for the phone, dialed the Regents Park flat, and when Bianca answered, instantly went into a Corinesque speech.

"Sen? I, um. I'm sorry I was out so, um, so late, I got into a, um. Bit of an accident, sort of, and then ended up getting drunk, somehow, don't, uh, don't ask about the connection, you um. You know me."

He could hear Bianca trying not to laugh, and she replied, quietly, "Do I need to start screaming? Are you with someone? Where are you? You're impossible, by the way, you know."

"I um. Yes. No, I'm safe, just, uh. Don't expect me for dinner?"

"All right, darling," Bianca said airily. "I'll tell the butler the same."

"No, no, your, um, your things are, they're fine," 'Corin' continued. "I uh. Y'know. Love you."

Hanging up, he figured he'd tell her -- and Cary -- the whole thing later. Probably. However much he remembered, at any rate.

"No horse, I promise, but are you all right with lamb?" Ezra called after a few moments, almost drowned out by the clatter of some sort of pile of kitchen implements.

"Um. Sure," he called back, fiddling with the phone cord after finding his glasses.

And taking more aspirin.

"Get you anything to drink, meanwhile? I'm guessing you don't want something with alcohol in it..."

"... Um, lemonade, maybe?"

"Right, sure, I -- ow -- yeah. Ow. Anyway. Found it!"

He stopped sounding like he was inside the refrigerator, anyway.

"Um. Do you want to come in here while I'm cooking, maybe? Easier than shouting back and forth..."

Bertrand blinked, and slowly stood up, brushing shaggy hair away from his glasses.

"Are you, um. Are you okay?" he asked, sticking his head in the doorway.

"Yes. More or less." A rueful smile, as Ezra glanced up, sucking on the side of his thumb. "Dropped it and it landed on me, which saves you from having to lick it off the floor if you were dead set on it, but left a bit of a mark. My friends aren't the only ones with a clumsy streak, I'm afraid." He nodded at a jug on the counter, along with a glass. "Please, help yourself, and I think you can find a seat from here. Theoretically."

"Yes," is what Bertrand said, but the truth was more along the lines of 'barely,' as he only suddenly realized he didn't have his cane, and overcompensated on the right and stumbled.

"Verdamnt!" he exclaimed, temporarily forgetting that Corin didn't speak much German. All this time around Bianca had him swearing in German – and her swearing in French.

"-- shit," the other man mumbled, dropping something else on his hand -- probably a pan, and definitely not a knife, judging both from the sound and the lack of blood. He was also next to Bertrand a moment later, catching his arm and keeping him more-or-less upright. "Shit," again, before a much warier "are you okay? Should I just suck it up and get you your lemonade anyway, and do you need help getting to a chair? God, I'm sorry, I'm just wrecking you, aren't I."

"No, um, you, uh. It isn't you. I was, um, already, already kind of like this, with my -- my leg." At least, he thought, he had a leg, considering the way that shot had been angled. It was a miracle he could keep up one of his other personas, the one without the cane.

Ryan Bertrand had a cane. Corin Beauregard dragged his foot. Michael Fontes was a mystery.

"Usually I uh. Have a better sense of balance, not dizzy so much, I can um. Control it and not overcompensate. I can, um, make it from here."

"All right," Ezra said, slowly. "Fine. I believe you. And I think probably I'm going to help you anyway, because I already managed to trick you into a headwound last night, which is probably slightly to blame for the dizzy. So there."

"Considering I thought, I thought your nice T5 digital dash Vespa was, um, was shooting at me. Wasn't really tricking me. It isn't like, like you tried to get me to, to crack my head on the ground."

Ezra chuckled a little, straightening up once Bertrand had a hand on the chair, and pulled back, studying the floor and pretending he wasn't blushing slightly. "-- thank you, and I'm at least mostly certain she wasn't. I could be wrong, I've only had her a week, like I said... probably several times last night, but yes. And you're right, I wasn't trying to, but still, if I hadn't come by you wouldn't have cracked your head, now would you?"

"Probably not. I could have, um, still, if anything else startled me or I lost my footing like, um, like I just did," Bertrand said, shrugging.

"No, see, you're supposed to take advantage of my vague guilt while it's still around," Ezra said dryly. "I haven't actually been Catholic for about twenty-five years, so the guilt doesn't stick around nearly as much as it used to when I was a kid. If you're not careful, I'll start teasing you instead."

"Well that's um, that's what my brother, and, and my cousins, and Sen's, and um. Everyone else does. Makes fun of it. I don't, um, don't mind."

Ezra raised an eyebrow, eyeing him over his shoulder, as he crossed the kitchen again back to his mess on the countertop. "See, and you say that, and I'm reminded again that I don't usually mind not having family, because that doesn't actually sound particularly pleasant, whether you mind it or not."

"I'd, um. Rather not have them either, usually," Bertrand admitted.

Or, he thought, it was Corin admitting it. He liked his family -- he liked his brother, and his brother was the only one he had.

"I'll promise not to, if you like," Ezra offered idly, wielding a knife at a giant hunk of meat. He might have been clumsy sometimes, but he didn't seem to be having any trouble in the form of cutting off his fingers; somewhat relieving.

Incredibly relieving, on second thought -- it'd save Bertrand from having to call a bus, as Bianca would have said, a contagious Americanism if there ever was one.

"Oh, I really don't, um. I don't mind. I get tired of them because, uh, because I don't like being the, the one who does the work for everybody and then gets, gets ignored."

"I'm actually finding it nearly impossible to see you as someone who'd get regularly ignored," Ezra said thoughtfully, attention directed towards his hands. "Although I suppose, not likely to ever meet your family, I've no way of knowing at all what they're like. Possibly they're all loud enough to be in the opera, or some such, and as you actually speak in normal human tones, you're quite drowned out."

"I don't, um, actually go out of my way to speak," he confessed. "Er, at all, really. Not social. At all. So I don't, um, I don't try to be noticed and nobody bothers."

Bertrand wanted to kick himself. Corin was not supposed to have this much of a story, was not supposed to gain his own friends. That was the point of having Corin; to have an identity that didn't have too many strings.

Ezra set the knife down carefully, after a moment, and turned around, studying him silently. Eventually, he said, "you really don't have to stay, you know. I mean, I thought I was fairly clear about that, and all -- I'm not going to be offended, or anything, if you'd rather go home and have dinner with your -- your wife, I mean, because I thought last night that that was a fairly enjoyable dinner, and all of that, only there was a fair amount of alcohol so it's entirely possible that I completely misread the entire situation, although I really can't say I think I did. But I might have done, and if you're actually so uncomfortable as all that, with having dinner, you really can leave, if that's what you want. I'm glad to have you stay, I rather like you, really, but if you're uncomfortable -- if you don't want me to bother, and you like your obscurity -- look, just say so, I can give you a lift if you like, or call a cab."

And Bertrand looked at him, tilted his head a little bit to the side, and realized two things.

The first thing was that he suddenly felt incredibly guilty about what he'd said, as the other man did seem almost genuinely upset. And the second thing was that he had absolutely no idea why, seeing as he never found either Corin or himself all that pleasant company, and didn't tend to think other people would either, without an actual proper introduction.

Then again, coming close to hitting someone was a proper introduction in the old days.

"I, um. Don't. Don't really want to spend the evening with Senica," he said simply, leaving the comment up to interpretation.

Ezra smiled again a little, faintly, and went back to studying his floor. "How flattering," he murmured, quite dryly. "On the other hand, if you can afford to buy and carry around the things in my coat closet at the moment, I'll take a wild guess that you could probably also afford dinner for yourself and a hotel room to boot, if you wanted to avoid her and have privacy as well. I've spent rather enough time around people who didn't actually have any sort of genuine interest in talking to me, you see, and for all that I could've just picked myself up last night and driven off, and we wouldn't be having this conversation in the first place, it's --" He cut himself off, taking a slow and careful breath. "Right. Anyway. Don't stay here just because you don't want to be somewhere else, all right? My cooking isn't that good."

"No, I, um."

Bertrand felt he really, really wanted to kick himself in the gut again, and furthermore he wanted to kick Corin, because if he'd been himself he would've been willing to offer a longer sentence than that, willing to explain himself more.

Stupid Corin. Maybe he'd never needed to deal with other human beings, much, but Bertrand could, and wanted to.

"Didn't mean it like that. I'm not, um, I'm not the best talker, really maybe what I meant is, um, I'd rather be, be here than with Senica? Not just because of, of her, but because you've -- been very nice to me, and um. I like your company. And I didn't, um, didn't buy them, just to be clarifying everything at once, I, I found them."

"However you came across them isn't really the point," Ezra noted, after another brief moment of silence. He also turned around, as he spoke, picking up the knife and starting back in on the meat again, shoulders not set quite so tensely. "Anyway, sorry and all for going off, a bit, just it's rather been a strange time of things lately. Not all bad, but mostly confusing, at least for me. That chair comfortable enough? I'd rather not make you stay in it if you'll only fall over when you try to stand up again."

Bertrand shifted, just slightly, and then nodded. "Yeah. I'm, I'm fine. But that's um, it's okay, and if you want to, er. Want to talk about it? I'm a good listener. Not so much a, a good talker, but a good listener."

"Oh, I rather doubt you'd actually want to listen to it," Ezra said lightly, finishing up whatever it was he was doing and washing his hands and the knife. "I wouldn't want to, and I'm the one as lived through it all, but thank you rather for offering. You're the first one as has, even. Is your lemonade holding out?"

"Quite, um, quite well," he said, taking another sip and then holding up the glass in salute. "Eventually I'll, um. Come up with something nice to do for you."

That made Ezra laugh, oddly enough, and then he started talking about food, and then the entire kitchen started smelling of food, and hangover or not it smelled quite good, really. And then not so long after that Ezra ended up sitting next to him as they kept talking, or rather Ezra kept talking a great deal and he would occasionally interject a mumble. Not long after that the food was actually done, too, and tasted as good as it smelled and not actually any better, which meant that at least Ezra had been honest in pointing out he wasn't a fantastic sort of chef. It was better than merely edible, however, and good enough to make him feel actually hungry a few bites in.

Ezra was quiet as he ate, slowly picking his way through his food, and more than once Bertrand caught him watching him, or Corin, or both, instead of eating or talking either one. It was rather odd to hear him be so quiet.

"Did I um. Do something in particular to be worth, uh, feeding, and watching, and, and helping, so much?" he asked finally, twisting Corin's ring about. The contagious habit spread from Fitzwilliam to B to Vaughn to himself, and showed no sign of stopping.

When he was wearing the ring, anyway.

"-- right, no, sorry," Ezra stammered, blushing and quickly looking down at his plate, fumbling for his glass. "Just sort of -- used to watching people when I eat, is all, and like I said I like you, certainly enough to try to keep you around when the other option is being bored and alone all evening or else pretending to be fifteen years younger, going out to a club, and making a damn fool of myself. I hope you don't mind."

"If, um. If I minded, I would've left. I probably, um, probably should go home at some point, but ..." Bertrand trailed off, not sure if he really did need to go or not. He was still a little angry at Bianca, and didn't really want to be around for the lover's quarrel he was sure to come across eventually.

"Well, um. I don't really, um, don't have to, for a while."

Ezra laughed again, grinning at Bertrand as he twisted around in his chair. They were fairly large chairs, for that matter, which was probably a good thing -- especially considering the way Ezra seemed to think it necessary to pull his knees up to his chest, wrapping an arm around them, facing Bertrand while still picking at his plate.

"Does this mean I should try thinking up things to keep you here?"

"It, uh. Probably wouldn't be hard," Bertrand confessed. "I'm easily, um, distracted from the point. It's a, a career flaw."

The other man gave him another grin, reaching for his drink. "I suppose there's no need to break out the handcuffs in order to distract you, then. Pity. How about a film?"

He almost mentioned that he did, in fact, have handcuffs in his coat pocket, but how would he have explained that, exactly?

"Anything, um, anything you like, sure." Bertrand smiled.

"Well, something that would keep you smiling would be a good start," he said, thoughtfully. "You said you're ex-military, so I'll guess that wartime action movies would be something of a faux pas. Ummmmmmmmmmm." A moment later he was on his feet and already out of the kitchen, disappearing through the doorway into the living room, muttering to himself not quite audibly.

He reappeared a moment later, peering in at Bertrand. "Do you have anything against Canada?"

Bertrand was really from Canada, but seeing as Corin wasn't, he opted against saying that.

"Um, no," was all he did say.

"Bruce Willis?"

"... nothing, um, against him either?"

"How about him being a mob guy who moves in next door to a dentist? Or have you already seen it and you're not the sort to like rewatching movies, in which case if you don't mind the sort but don't want to watch that specific movie I can... go, and look for another one. Yes."

It sounded a bit like an old case, but pretty sure he hadn't actually seen the movie, Bertrand said, "No, I -- I'm fine with that. Pretty sure I've, um, I've never seen it."

"Right then. That works. Good." Ezra grinned again, leaning in the doorway. "Um. So... at least we know, once you're done, because I'm not meaning to rush you, or anything, don't think I am -- shutting up, sorry, right."

"No, I'm um. Just a second." Bertrand took another sip of lemonade, likely the last, and half-smiled. "Glad to move, um, anytime, just need a little, little space to do so. Leg's hard to pull up sometimes."

"You want a hand? Or -- I don't know, an umbrella maybe? I don't actually have a cane here, although I think I have three or four at the shop. Not terribly useful there, I suppose."

"Would an umbrella actually hold me?" Bertrand asked doubtfully.

Ezra opened his mouth and then closed it again, eyeing him thoughtfully. "All your weight? No. Half of it, though, I think it would. Don't know if you ever had reason to read those Egyptian mystery novels by Elizabeth Peters, but I think whoever made this umbrella wanted it to suit as a weapon for Amelia Peabody."

Bertrand raised an eyebrow again, and laughed.

"Had quite a reason, I swear those novels might, might tell the story of my life. Have a friend named Selim, actually, and, and Bianca's a golden blond who, er, controls a foundation trust. And we, um, we get shot at a lot, out there, too."

Ezra grinned, chuckling too. "I'd accuse you of kidding, only you really don't seem the sort. That a maybe on the umbrella, then?"

"If, um, you're willing to risk I might, might break it. Peabody had a um. A sword in one of hers, as, as I recall -- Bianca used to want one. But if we were, er, if we were in the novels, they'd all hate me. I, I sell what I find." Bertrand was still a bit more amused than he should have been, and that's why he said something he shouldn't.

"And if, er, you liked those books a lot, um, I could easily show you the, the places sometime. Seeing as it's where I am, um, half the year," was out of his mouth before he got the chance to actually consider what he was saying.

Ezra grinned again, a bit more wryly. "Next time I have an overly enthusiastic buyer, I'll keep your generous offer in mind," he said. "Buying the Vespa rather cleaned me out for now, I'm afraid. Half a moment and I'll be back with it," he added, suiting actions to words.

"I mean," he said, taking the offer of umbrella and attempting to use it to pull himself up -- and to his surprise, it worked, and did not produce a sword out of the front either, "were I not, um, affiliated with, um, the Foundation and, and my family, I would never have those pieces I brought back here."

"Where'd you find them, anyway? -- bearing in mind that I'm better with European antiques. Go on in and make yourself comfortable, I'm just going to grab something to drink so we don't have to get up again."

"Luxor. Followed a couple of, um, raiders. That is how it's really done, a lot of, of the time," Bertrand explained, settling back in his previous couch corner.

"Is that as dangerous as it sounds?" Ezra asked curiously, bringing in two glasses of lemonade and hovering by the couch. "And do you need to put your foot up or anything? I don't actually have an ottoman here, but if you want to stretch out or something, I promise I won't bite."

Bertrand shrugged again, and nodded. "It. Yes. Mostly it's not what I'd, I'd call safe, at any rate. And my foot's, my foot's okay, it's not bothering me, so much, um, no. Not, not yet. Might, um, later."

"That works, then," Ezra said cheerfully, settling at the other end of the couch and leaving the drinks on the table beside him. He was back on his feet again a moment later, humming something under his breath as he belatedly set up the DVD. He came back and sat down just long enough to be sitting before bouncing up again to get the lights. "Right," he said cautiously. "I think that's it. Anything else you can think of?"

"Not, er, not so much, no," stammered Bertrand in the most confident way that Corin possibly could have, "Still very good of you, um. To want to have me over for a film, as it were, even if, um, I didn't so much want, want to leave anyway."

"I am always willing to entertain a willing houseguest," the other man said, giving him an extravagant bow before settling in on the couch again and starting the movie.

Which they watched, for some time, before it got just slightly odd. Bertrand laughed at the bit about the way a Canadian made a hamburger with its special sauce, as of course that's the way he ate a hamburger, and then, very slowly, things started to become slightly more familliar.

And it was possible that Ezra didn't notice at first, and Bertrand hoped he didn't notice at first, when he started to cringe at every gunshot on the screen.

It was stupid, and silly, and yet he couldn't help it.

Ezra glanced over, and then leaned over, keeping his voice low. "You okay? Is -- what, is it your foot, the movie, something else?"

Bertrand swallowed.

He hated this. He hated its existence. He hated the thought that it made him unfit, and hated it even more when he had to lie about where it came from -- but, thankfully, not what it was.

"I have, um. Have flashbacks, sometimes -- it's not a, a big deal, I just sometimes -- a certain kind of gunshot sound, just that, that one particular one. I don't, don't mind."

"Do you want me to turn it off? I'm sorry, I should've -- it won't bother me, I mean, and I don't want to bother you --"

"-- no, I'd rather like to, um, to see the end."

He might have been shaking, a little, but he was far too stubborn to consider otherwise.

Ezra reached for the remote, pausing the film anyway, and twisted around on the couch to study Bertrand, biting at his lip.

"If you're sure," he said, slowly, and rather doubtfully. "It's -- only you look, really, rather as if you're about to have a panic attack, or maybe in the middle of one, and just because I like this show doesn't mean I want you to be having flashbacks in the middle of my living room and not do anything about it. So if you can come up with something to make it -- better, or at least not so bad, I suppose --"

"Things that clear it up are. They're not. It's. Don't bother," he stammered again, twisting his own fingers in his shaggy hair. "I'll be. Be okay. Promise."

"No, look, this is -- my fault, and all, I picked the movie, so just -- look, just shut up and come over here, all right? Promise I won't bite, think I already did once." Ezra reached over, tugging ineffectually at his arm, pulling him back away from his corner of the couch.

Bertrand Looked at him, bewildered, but obeyed, brushing the hair away from his eyes again and straightening to sit up closer to Ezra, not hiding in the corner any longer.

"I, I don't think you bit me," he offered.

"-- no." Ezra laughed, under his breath, pulling Bertrand over until he was leaning against Ezra's shoulder, and reached up to start smoothing a hand over his hair slowly. "No, I meant I'd already promised once. I try not to make a habit of biting handsome strangers," he concluded, finding the remote and starting the movie back up again.

That should not have felt so damned good, Bertrand reminded himself as he settled there more permanently.

He absolutely shouldn't have managed to relax again and been able to be reminded of past trauma so peacefully, but he was.

Eventually Ezra resettled on the couch, too, shifting over until he was stretched out a bit more, with a hand still combing through Bertrand's hair, ignoring the fact that if Bertrand were to shift six inches in any direction he'd probably end up lying on top of Ezra.

It was probably a very good end to the movie, too, except that Ezra managed to find a spot on his head he didn't even know he had, and it was growing rather harder to keep his eyes open and try to focus on the screen. Besides, he'd still get the gist of the very end of the movie with them closed, wouldn't he?

That didn't, particularly, explain why shifting around to get more comfortable led to him opening his eyes and realizing that there was quite a lot of light coming into the apartment from somewhere behind him, and the television was off, and sitting up showed that Ezra was sprawled halfway off the couch in what looked like a very uncomfortable position, soundly asleep.