"I don't know what I want anymore," Doc says with a sigh. It is the most honest he has been in a while. Or maybe he wants too many things. Sometimes it is easy to just throw in the towel and claim to not know instead of facing up to the fact that he does know, and trying to figure out what to do with what he knows.

He finishes his drink and his eyebrows furrow at the strength of the moonshine closer to the bottom of the cup. He might look fine on the outside but the hangover is shredding him to pieces on the inside. If Malcolm had kicked up a ruckus last night he had slept right through it, which probably sets his limit to around one and a half bottles if he wants to be able to function the next day.

"I'll try 'em," he agrees. "And I'll." Try not to be so... alcoholic. "Behave. Next time. Hope I didn't say or... do anything, make anyone uncomfortable."