Meredith huffs out a quiet laugh, pulling the covers close against her before slipping her arm over him again. "Mm, good. It'd better be." Maybe she contributes to the trouble, but if he says she makes it better, then that has to be enough. It doesn't really matter what she thinks when it comes to that, does it? Only how he feels about the matter. As long as she helps, that makes it worthwhile, too. She's more pleasantly tired and less appealingly sore than sleepy, the ache in her side throbbing dully, but the idea of moving hardly even occurs to her. "I thought we weren't taking a nap," she says, drowsily teasing.