"I'm already paranoid, which is what happens, when people try to kill and kidnap you a lot." Desmond didn't have problem with a lack of control, really. He was never in control of his life even when he thought he was. "I was drugged when I was kidnapped, my brain got a little scrambled, I think I'm good without more of that. Even something mild like weed." It's an understatement of how badly his mind deteriorated to the point where he's not sure he could even survive a drug intake. That's all very much a question mark, but he's been sane-ish so far.

He pauses as he thinks. "I ... know how to make ... beer. Maybe. If I have ingredients. I had brewer friends. Not sure how we'd get what we need here, but it's a thought."

Desmond listens to her and tilts his head curiously. "Do you think you haven't been willing to ask him because you think you might be?" It's somewhat of a harsh question, but they're already talking about it, and he obviously has accepted where he's at life-wise so he's fine with it. Vaguely. He might be less fine later.