It's like getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Charlie's immediate instinct is to freeze - or as close to it as is manageable with how his leg shakes just from being upright - and then he slowly, painfully, makes his retreat of four laborious steps back to the couch he shouldn't have been leaving in the first place. The sound of him collapsing back down onto it is significantly less subtle than when he'd clawed his way to his feet (and that hasn't been terribly quiet either).

"The bloody things itch; you can't expect me to just lie about all day."