From somewhere that's probably not in his dreams, Martin registers some appetising smells. There's the round, mouth-watering smell of bacon somewhere, and the back-of-the-throat catch that goes with really strongly brewed tea. Mmmmm.

Martin shifts in the bed, his stomach making its presence known, and helpfully, because it is morning, and he is still on the verge of sleep, his bladder chimes in as well.

He presses his face into the pillow still further, not quite awake, but not able to drift off any more, and refuses to move because he's just found the comfiest sleeping position and he wants to stay in it forever. He's not entirely firing on all cylinders yet, and hasn't really grasped the events that have lead up to this moment.