He coughs a short laugh and sighs, closing his eyes. "Well, ain't no Tommy in here. I don't even know a Tommy."

And in any case, he's too tired, mentally and physically, to figure out how he knows Kate and why he was wearing a hockey t-shirt when he woke up.

He clears his throat and swallows, licking his lips as that not-forgotten taste returns to his tongue. It's persistent, almost burning, even nagging at him.

Opening his eyes again, he asks with casual hope,

"You don't happen t'have any, uh-- booze around, do ya?"