[he probably sees archer flinch back at the sight of those eyes, before he remembers why they're like that.]

I feel like... the how is pretty obvious, Barry. [archer staggers over to the bed, flopping down on the edge of it. it never occurred to him that it was bad to see him treat himself like this when he's just spent three years in a coma. he never really thought or wanted people to care.] No, I'm--

[he pinches his nose for a moment, head swimming. his hair is sticking up all over the place -- possible evidence that he at least tried to lapse into unconsciousness earlier.]

--not going to puke. I'm fine. It, listen. I'm... shit, this carpet is cleaner than mine... [he shakes his head again, struggling to concentrate.] Asshole! Listen. I'm, I'm sorry for being such a dickhole earlier. Really! I'm not-- this isn't a joke. We're friends now, right? After Russia?

[god and it's a good thing he's too hammered to hear the desperation in his voice there.]

I'm not mad at you! You're my... non double crossing buddy, defier...er of Asimov. I am going to puke.

[look, he can still walk without his cane for a short time but his bad leg is clearly not taking a lot of weight and maybe help him before that carpet is nastier than the one in the agency's mainframe?]