Doc nods. It is a given that he will at the very least continue to look after everyone here as best he can, and he did not need to be asked to. He cannot make any promises for the entire town, but of course he will try, with their neighbours, and those at the Boarding House.

"Since you asked so nicely." Doc raises his hand and almost lowers it onto Raylan's knee. He changes his mind at the last minute and plops it on that sliver of space between them, creasing the sheets, so near yet so far, and ducks his head, obscuring half his smile in shadow.

"Who am I to refuse?" Leaning to one side, Doc pulls out his cigarettes and matches from his pockets, tossing them onto the bedside table. The bed groans and creaks as he leans forward and moves to stand a bit, shuffle closer towards Raylan. One leg swings onto the bed and then the other, stretched out down the length of the mattress.

His palms move from being firmly planted on either side of his butt to reach behind his neck, a fist in his shirt collar pulling it up and off his torso, tossing it aside onto the floor. A recently healed bullet wound beneath his right collarbone made by a gun that last rolled off the assembly line over a hundred years ago is made visible for a brief moment before he tugs his askew singlet down properly and runs a hand through his hair, keeping his hand on the back of his head as he lies down, looking up at Raylan. His other hand stays resting over his abdomen on top of his undershirt, as though it's guarding other secrets of dangerous past encounters.

"Suppose this was how you were planning on solving our shortage of beds?" Doc asks, mildly amused.