Allison rolls her eyes, but it’s more playful than anything else. She has no intentions of asking him to do it (yet, anyway); it’s not like Patrick is awake to worry about what he may think. She’ll cross that bridge when she gets there, she decides.

As the mug is set in front of her, Allison is about to protest, the smell of coffee making her stomach do a twist that is far from comfortable, but she wraps her hands around it, anyway. Her hands feel clammy as she tries to keep the nausea at bay, and at least the warmth from the hot liquid helps her with that.

“Well, thanks. I’m not sure you’re his type,” she says with a small laugh, “but I appreciate it, anyway.”

She glances at the clock on the wall, as if it’s the first time she’s realizing what an ungodly hour it is, but it’s really her way of stealing a glance at Klaus in the process, as if that glance will help her figure how he’s doing and feeling.

With a sigh, she shakes her head. “Morning sickness. Apparently it can be a middle-of-the-night thing, too.” It’s not technically a lie, she thinks. She is nauseous, she just doesn’t want to say it began after having a nightmare with him in it.

“I didn’t want to wake Patrick up with my tossing and turning, so...here I am.”