As Malcolm laid down, Raylan let his hand fall onto the smaller man's upper arm, back of his fingers brushing softly up and down the few inches he had reach to without too much movement. He knew what he'd rather do to wipe that look of concern off Malcolm's face, but he settled for shifting little closer, not disencouraging the bump of fingers against his hip or the intimate way they were wrapping around Malcolm. Whatever hesitations he might have had of unabashedly embracing Malcolm in bed, Henry clearly did not.

The fingertips at his elbow made him huff a little breath of amusement as his hand slid over Malcolm's chest with an unconscious faint hum of satisfaction until it was draped all the way over him, the heat from Doc's chest nearly against the backs of his fingers.

There wasn't anything he would add to Doc's apt comfort beyond his own weight and heat and secure presence and a echo of, "It's okay."

He would bet that them being there was more comforting than 'its okay', but actions always were, weren't they.