Eliot had been having the nicest dream. Maybe his subconscious had noticed the shift in the bed and decided to buffer him for what was to come?

No, probably it was just the island having a sense of irony.

Either way, he was muzzier than usual when he woke up to Hardison shifting around. So he just reached over to tug him back into place without opening his eyes, and murmured, "s'okay, darlin'. You're jus' havin' a bad dream."

His accent was extra thick when he was sleepy. It wasn't anything near a posh Georgian one, but it was unmistakably a southern drawl. . . .