Normally, Helen's body can handle a lot. But normally she hasn't been recovering after pretending to have blown herself up, lived the last 114 years in a state of near-constant stress -- particularly the last one -- or finally had a row with one of her oldest friends over the whole ordeal. She had, quite frankly, overrun herself and her body had needed the rest. Apparently it had chosen that particular moment and place to give out on her.

At some point, she should make breakfast happen, but right now she doesn't particularly want to. Things like this may or may not have also led to her body giving out on her.

"I've had worse," she replies softly, her lips twisting slightly. She has had worse. The various places she slept in or on during the two World Wars say enough as to that. Now, if she were lying down next to him and fell asleep on him that way? That would be much better. Not that she'll say as much.

"Well, then, shall we uncork the genie?"

As though she has to ask at all. She motions towards the book for him to do the honors.