Oh, he knows this conversation. Has had it multiple times. But even a better marshal than the one lingering close by couldn't get much out of Doc Holliday when he decided he didn't want to talk. It's unlikely that Raylan would succeed.

"Am I under arrest?" he counters, too tired and hoarse to have any bite in those words. Pulling the cushion away so he doesn't sound so muffled, he looks over at Raylan, one arm dangling off the edge of the couch the only evidence that he hadn't become a boneless lump overnight.

"I had one bottle and couldn't stop." He thought they had an agreement about not talking about their drinking. Folding his arm back, he closes his eyes and scratches his eyebrows, breathing out a sigh. "It happens."