The jolt was not necessary; Iris was stirring once they were inside her apartment, and she had her eyes open, though not focused, before Peter got her through the living room. She recognized the voices, not the shapes, and she was disoriented enough, tired enough, to take them at immediate value. "Peter?" Fighting her way through dark cotton, she focused on him. "Micah's here? I'm asleep?" It wasn't a sleepy, uncertain series of questions: it was a search for order and information, despite her state. Both of them she equated with dreams, her dreams, and just then (without short-term memories available) she could think of no reason they would be in the same place with her unless she was dreaming. She knew it was Micah's apartment, she could smell it, and she didn't think to panic.