Doc grunts in noncommittal agreement, clearly not the biggest fan of such cryptic commands from on high either. If you are to fuck with a man you owe it to him to fuck him in the face, or in his back, or up his ass. Flushing scrolls down from heaven and flooding the heathen-infested sewerage out isn't going to win anyone over anytime soon.

He watches Raylan move like an old man to the chair out of the corner of his eye, hesitating when he lifts a hand to touch Raylan's elbow and stopping just short of it on his way over. They end up brushing arms like a Victorian scandal, but it's enough of a sentiment to convey Doc's concern.

"That was-- before Alice." Doc lowers his gaze, deciding he doesn't want to look at the men in the mirror anymore. Breathing out a sigh, he raises his forearm and rests it against the doorframe, watching Raylan whilst tilting his head and scratching his eyebrow. This isn't a porch and there's no moonshine around, but they seem to be talking nonetheless.

"Of course we... need to go back," Doc repeats like a broken record, even though he sounds like he's just toeing a line he doesn't entirely believe in. "You do too. Whatever you think about the people in your life, there is more just than chasing down miscreants by day and messy motel rooms and empty whiskey bottles by night."