Hank didn't think it was much of a choice. Sleep sober on the floor versus absolutely anything else at all. He knew which he'd prefer.

"Alright," he groaned, pulling on the side of the bed to get himself up. "Be gone wit-chu. Cover yourself up and don't choke on your own vomit," he told her, brushing his jeans off and heading towards the door. "Charming asshole out."