"Yeah, yeah, go on you braggart," he sighs, attempting at something playful when she mentions the private doctor, but it comes out flat.

Sleep would go a long way, really, but he knows that withdrawal is nothing more than staring down insomnia with a body full to bursting with pins and needles and fire. Give it a few days and he might feel like he has control over his nerves again, but for now he doesn't. He wiggles around in the bed before he negotiates his head into her lap, an arm draped across her knees.

"They're gonna put me in restrains when they get in here, so don't freak out, okay?" He laughs softly, clinging to her like a lost child. "And while a hotel sounds like everything I want right now I should stay here. This is gonna be a doozie," he winces as his stomach seizes up again in his gut. "And when we'll get on a jetplane and kiss this sorry fucker goodbye. Over martinis though? God, a martini..." He rolls onto his back, looking up at her, turning his head once to speak into her belly. "You hear that you little shit? Martinis. I'll have your mom's, for your benefit, of course."