Yeah, they don't need to bear witness to Raylan sulking. Doc has fallen into a comfortable kind of quiet on his own, walking around inside an abandoned house, leaving only wet footprints in his wake. He is more careful, picking up and putting down possessions he thinks of as still having an owner that might come back for it. He is used to that vagabond life, drifting from one place to another, never having anywhere to call home or anyone to call family. Not until recently, anyway. With every turn and every unfamiliar piece of technology he comes across it becomes cemented into him how he is always an intrusion on someone else's space. In someone else's timeline. He has broken enough things in his own time, and space. He doesn't need to be breaking more.

He chances upon a good sized reel of rope from a modern galvanised anchor, still on its spool. Turning it over in his hand, he taps it against his palm a couple of times before taking one last look around and stepping outside.

Doc rejoins Malcolm, following his footprints - yes, he's memorised their different footprints - where he can't see the young man's silhouette, and hands him the rope once he's caught up to him.

"Between the three of us, Mister 'Most Expendable', you would have the most experience with restraints to know if this'll snap or hold the weight of the plank." Yeah, Doc knows it'll hold. But he habitually leaves these openings for Malcolm, these little doors ajar for him to sneak a few words in, just the tip of his shoe until he's comfortable to start talking.