Martha's voice filtered in slowly, like a buzz-turned-hum. It itched at the edge of Blake's consciousness, tugging him from a half-slumbering twilight. The last of that fast-acting concoction processes through his system and he soon enough, John's blinking against the invading light.

"Mmm, hey," he replied, his voice soft, smile easy. He stretched like a cat in the sun, oddly satisfied and feeling almost rested. Their experience must have been drawn from one of those quirky, independent movies because John didn't immediately want to get up and and do anything. It was only after he reminded himself of the intention behind the whole exercise that he found the energy to pop up to his feet.

His hand reached out for her, an offering to help her to her feet. "Did great, Martha," he said, only barely avoiding a yawn as the last vestiges of sleepiness fall away. For once, he didn't bother to ask, and retook a position in front of her. He followed through three familiar moves — something they'd practiced earlier — and raised almost a challenging eyebrow at Jones.

Had it helped at all? Was she more connected to herself than ever before? Only time (and a short demonstration) would tell.