“I see him,” Malcolm told Doc. “That’s what I do. I watch people and I see the ways they’ve learned to protect themselves and when they waver and when they reinforce their defences and I see them. He’s a good person who thinks he’s a bad person, but I would bet real money that the bad things he’s supposed to have done were done to protect other people. That’s who he is. I don’t know what made him that way. It probably has something to do with his father’s failures; he uses his first name. I don’t call my father ‘dad’ either. That’s how he stays strong, worrying about other people. Checking on the town. Boarding up houses nobody is even using because somebody might. You do it too. I know you won’t let me self-destruct. I know it’s safe here because you two make it that way. But I don’t think you’re... perfect. Just.... fundamentally good at the core. Underneath... alcoholism and baggage. But I think. Maybe that’s the part he’s not ready to hear. I don’t know. I always have too many feelings; this isn’t the first time it’s been a problem. It won’t be the last.”

He took a breath and sat up. “I think... I’m going to go to my room. Do some yoga. Read. I won’t disturb the others. You two should get some more sleep in peace.”

He started scootching towards the foot of the bed. It seemed like his exit. Rolling over Raylan’s spot on the bed felt like trespassing.