At least she wasn't difficult to wake. If he'd had to do any actual jostling in order to rouse her, he likely would have lost the nerve and ended up just standing their awkwardly clearing his throat and hoping she'd come to. Not that he was feeling any less awkward about this whole situation now that she was awake. "Er, that's — it's fine," he managed to get out, though it wasn't really as though she needed his permission or blessing to sleep on a bench at the Museum; he had no more right to this particular area than she did. "I imagine you've been busy, then?"

It wasn't as though she would have planned to fall asleep (or at least, Alfred couldn't think of any earthly reason why she would have; there was no outcome that would have been helped along by such an intermediate step, at least not that he could fathom), so she must have been exhausted, he assumed. There were a few tell-tale details in her appearance that seemed to confirm the theory, and he couldn't help but feel a little twinge of something at the thought. Perhaps it was only sympathy (he had certainly had his fair share of sleep deprivation throughout his life), but it seemed to have something in common with tender protectiveness, too. Alfred tried not to think about it too much.