Raylan clucked softly in disagreement, disapproval, head turning a fraction like he was looking over his shoulder but he wasn't going to dare suggest that Tim's fingers should stop what they were doing. It was the first and only thing that wasn't coffee or moonshine that made him feel even half human or any fraction of good.

"I wanna know what kind of person you throw Malcolm over for."

I'll go anywhere you go, Raylan, if it's what you want.

"You don't have to do that. Not when you're not in the shape to defend yourself. If Neal doesn't understand, h-." Raylan paused, jaw working a little. "He punched me because he loves Malcolm. He punched me because he views this.. This without Malcolm knowin' as cheating." Raylan looked back into his lap, eyeing his bottle again.

"You wanna hear the funniest part?" And it was funny on some level. "He gave me twenty four hours to tell Malcolm or he will." Which was the real root of what he was suggesting. "I have to tell him tomorrow. I don't want to do it here. Stain the whole block with the ghost of a bad memory."

He didn't mind telling Tim, as raw as it all was. He wanted to trust Tim with all this, with the interior details. To really be able to count on that steady back up presence and trust it with the care of the soft parts of it.

"I'm sorry, Tim. For puttin' any of this on your plate."