He's almost reluctant to get his mess on Malcolm but the gesture is nice and before he can do or say anything about it, Malcolm is serving up his favourite drink of the day.

Doc is rather grateful for having the tumbler. He unfurls from his withdrawn pose and places his wet elbows on the edge of the kitchen counter, raisin-shrivelled fingertips rubbing the rim of the glass. Mention of Callisto has Doc cracking a somewhat hollow smile. He never makes eye contact with Malcolm but he is listening and verbally responsive, so. He is at least one level above catatonic.

"She seems like quite an irate lady," he observes quietly, not knowing that Malcolm can communicate with her. Doc has stuck his other head into enough crazy pussy to know when he's encountering one from afar. Yes, he worries for Callisto, but he has enough self-preservation tendencies to know to keep some respectable distance also.

"We could have used this rain last week. Put out the Town Hall fire." And no doubt it would have been a damper, raining on Raylan's impromptu parade. But Doc wouldn't have worried so much about the fire potentially getting out of hand had it been pouring down like this.