Well. He hates to be the bearer of bad news, Malcolm, but other people have been there and done that already, to the both of them. There is nothing he could possibly do in that very bed that could hurt either Doc (Henry, whatever his name is) or Raylan more than how they've already been hurt, when their fingers coast along a cold indent in that gaping, empty space next to them and the person they so desperately had wanted to wake up next to were long gone. No amount of flailing or screaming can cut as deep as abandonment masquerading as a bittersweet goodbye.

"You can't," Henry replies after a stretch of quietness and stillness. He has already shared enough of their trade secrets for Malcolm to know that the two of them have already learnt their lesson. Nobody can hurt either of them anymore. Never again.