He knows he's probably in trouble as he drags himself up the stairs. He only went down to have a quick pint, and pick up some more wine. He's been gone about five hours now, he estimates, though it's really hard to care. Sitting on the garage floor after a scrap has left him stiff as a board, and freezing cold. The half bottle of Scotch - not to mention Guppy smacking him on the melon a few times - means his head's pounding. Everything aches, and he wants nothing more than to climb into a warm bed, and stay there forever.
But he can't do that. Enough of this. He's been trying so hard, but it's time to throw in the towel. He can't go through another encounter like that. All that's left is to tell her.
He lets himself into their room quietly, half hoping she'll be asleep but knowing he'd have to wake her up anyway.