He mumbled something about 'damn sun' muzzily and stumbled out of the bed, drawing on his discarded trousers and plopping himself in the chair at his desk.
The bags under his eyes were larger than usual, and he felt like he had been run over by a particularly nasty, unruly pack mule.
"ugh," he mumbled, and bent over at the waist, stretching his back.
He knew he should be up and about all ready, but with a glance at the bed, he found he was really dreading leaving the occupant of said furniture.
It's just reconaissance...you've done this a million times before. He'll be all right. Especially if he stays in your room.
He stood, retrieving the scattered maps and his plans journal that had fallen to the floor the previous day. He scowled at the thing, hating its bloody contents, but understanding the necessity of it.