He'd heard about the commotion in the bathroom. Even if he hadn't been on the IPD, he made a point of keeping an eye on the few people these days he could consider his own, and with some knowledge of Rogue's particular condition, it would have been remiss of him not to check in on her, both as a friend and what passed for a professional when it came to mutant problems, both former and current.

"Morning," said Jamie as she started to stir, though in reality it was fast approaching evening. He was sitting on the edge of the opposite bed, a pillow clutched to his chest to busy his hands. It was evident that he'd been waiting for a while. His coat was folded up beside him, and the sleeves of his black shirt were rolled up to his elbows. He'd slipped off his shoes. It occurred to him only as she woke that that might have been a premature move on his part -- he had, after all, no idea who he was about to be dealing with, and a quick getaway might be called for -- but walking for a month straight was enough to change anyone's definition of discomfiture. Worse came to worse, he'd be just fine in his socks.

Nodding towards the glass he'd put on the nightstand some time ago, he added, "You want some water?"