"I thought we were talking 'bout Raylan," Doc points out quietly, hiding his expression behind the chamomile tea mug he's picked up and holding by the rim, shifting the focus back onto the troubled Kentucky boy. Taking a small sip, he averts his gaze from Malcolm's piercing stare, sweeping across the countertop and finding a spot on the askew rug to fixate on. Setting his cup down, Doc leans to one side a little. If they wanted to lay out his own troubles, they would need something a lot stronger than chamomile tea, and somehow get Doc feeling a whole lot less reserved than he is now. And as nimble as Malcolm has proved himself to be, he only lets his walls be scaled when he knows there's a bigger one he can hide behind.

"I'm just speculating about angry men. You would know them better than I would." Forcing a smile that manages to reach his eyes, Doc finishes his tea and brings it to the sink.