Fortunately for the both of them there was no elbowing or kicking. The night rolls on by with minimal incident until the sound of Malcolm's strings of apologies start to pull him out of the depths of his sleep.

The obvious misunderstanding initially went over Doc's head. He was still half-asleep when he stirred, sitting up with his thumb pressed against the side of the bridge of his nose. He is still fully clothed. As is Raylan. The idiot's even still got his belt on.

"Malcolm," his voice low, commanding, breaking on slightly hoarse like dark chocolate and gravel even in his sleep-steeped state. A firm hand is steady on Raylan's upper arm. Protective, still, and reassuring. He's got this.

"You wouldn't have come if it was nothing," he points out quietly, futile as it is to not wake Raylan now. "Come here." He gestures with a lean to the side and a couple of curled fingers.

"Tell me what's wrong," asks Doc I don't have paternal instincts Holliday.