[If Dixon didn't drink at times when he shouldn't - every once in a blue moon going to work, often getting a car, always when he's sad or pissed off, ever - his life would look a lot different. It's built into his life and habits, a force both stabilizing and destructive.]

It helps with pain, actually. It really does, I'm not just kidding. [But he doubts he's going to talk her into helping him out here, so he just gives her a mournful look and takes his earbud back and pats her on the shoulder, gives her a soft squeeze to say thanks.

He lays down on the step, figuring that probably was a cue to at least get indoors but enjoying the twilight sky too much to want to leave it.]

No, I'll be alright. You make sure no one else needs you. [Having a hole in your back, as Trance put it, does not give a plethora of options for resting comfortably. "Slept on the floor" is a minor complaint compared to some of what they've dealt with, but it makes getting up in the morning uncomfortable enough when you're not dragging around an infected injury. He rustles around a little trying to get settled.] Thanks, though. Trance. I appreciate it.

[He does, and he doesn't want her to go really, but there's no good excuse for demanding she stay here and watch him doze off.]