The laugh was good; Raylan was worried that the joke might have stuck too close to home, but seeing Malcolm have a sense of humor about it meant good things. It meant that the fact he suffered these things didn't crush him all on its own.

"If we don't have screwdrivers, we've got Doc's sharpened butterknife and we can punch one that way. I've done it before, it's not that hard." Raylan pushed up to throw his legs over, hand carding through his hair with a breath as he righted things within himself. He'd enjoyed that too much for it to be okay, but that churning would be chewed over later.

"Meet you downstairs in ten?"