Alex doesn't wake with a start but with a slow burn. He stares at the back of his eyelids for the longest time, trying to make sense of the dream, before finally opening them. His jaw is tense, pained from grinding his teeth in his sleep. It's hard to pinpoint who exactly he was -- the man with the gun or the man with the bullet hole between his eyes. Seemed like he knew more about the former but each felt fairly cold inside. Felt like wandering through a dark hall littered with sharp objects and potholes. Not an unfamiliar feeling, just maybe a bit more finite. A bit more all encompassing. He can feel his breathing finally start to speed away from the deep labored inhales of sleep.

It's clear he's up for the day.

Quick glance at his phone tells him it's 4:36 am, about three hours before he needs to be up. His movements are wrapped in measured sluggishness. He moves out of his bedroom and toward the kitchen. Three hours is a long time to be alone with your thoughts, especially when they're all jumbled around. Couldn't go bug Izzy; he gave the girl a hard time but would never deny her sleep. If he could make it another hour and a half there was a chance he could talk Everett into an early morning sparring session. That would be a great way to get some of the fuzz out of his head. Only time would tell if the idea would ride or not. He moves over to the kitchen sink, turning the facet on with intent on getting the coffee pot but something makes him pause. Something keeps him in place for a few very long moments.

He stares at the water.