It's not the most peaceful sleep he's ever had, plagued as it is with half-formed thoughts and ideas. A boatload of what if's? and what about's? that circle around and around in his head, that by the time Vasquez nudges him awake, Faraday wakes without much difficulty.

(A marked change, considering the only thing liable to wake Faraday when he doesn't want to be woken is a sense of impending danger.)

He grumbles unintelligibly to himself, scrubbing sleep from his eyes – and while Vasquez might have cleaned himself up, Faraday looks like he's hardly gotten a wink of sleep for how restless the remainder of the night had been for him. He peers up at the other man in the morning light, and—

For a long while, he's simply stricken, startled by the change of appearance. It's... nice, he's startled to find, even Faraday prefers the man in his usual gear. The white linen shirt with its embroidered design, the unruly curl of his hair, that made him look road-worn.

(What startles Faraday even more is that he realizes he has a preference.)

"Look at you, all dolled up," Faraday murmurs wryly, his voice rough and thick with exhaustion. "Don't see you gettin' all nice and cleaned up when it's just me."