[He'll appreciate it when he's more sober, Iona, I promise you that. And did she just eat... her finger? No way. Did he just imagine that?

Poor Michael looks highly confused, at both the edible finger and her question.]

Already? We haven't been here that long. [He seems to be thinking about something, then:] Two hours, ten minutes, thirty-five seconds. Thirty-six. Thirty-seven... [He's going to keep counting, please stop him.]