The loss of momentum and the general restlessness of the passengers in the car must start to rouse him, because by the time she's peeling her jacket off him and talking in low tones Charlie doesn't jerk awake so much as just shift up into it. Still it takes him a second - a few moments of blinking at the upholstery pattern on the seat back in front of him - before he straightens sharply and breathes in, presses the heel of his hand to his face and draws his leg back out of the aisle. People are getting up, getting their baggage down.

"Shit," he mumbles, voice thick from sleep. He helps untangle the sleeve of her jacket from where it's pinched between his side and the arm rest. "How long was I out for?" But it isn't really an important question, certainly not one he needs answered. He fumbles under the seat for the cane.

As much as he just wants to stretch his legs and get back on solid ground, he also has no desire to fight through the throng of passengers in the aisle. Instead he waits, spinning the cane absently on its base, as people work their way off the car. "Are you hungry? I'm starving," he says instead of apologizing for being so bloody slow. Anyway, surely she worked up an appetite hiking the length of the train right?