Quatre's leaning back against the hay bales mostly, but his shoulder is a warm weight against Trowa's own. His words are a little slower, a little more deliberate, than usual; you'd have to know him well to hear the drowsiness underneath, but Trowa does.

It's faintly strange, this situation, but not unwelcome.

It's Quatre, and they're in a private place with no deadline, and Trowa can keep watch. So there's no reason to rouse him to alertness.

"[Probably in the background,]" says Trowa, who doesn't see why anyone wouldn't do so. That's what contingency plans are for. "I haven't seen signs of anything focused. [Milliways isn't the] Bats' [jurisdiction. They seem to be mostly off duty here.]"