It was hard not spotting Doc. Doc didn't need the hat or the waistcoats or any of the age he'd brought with him to identify himself. Just that mustache and the way he walked. Raylan watched him wander in and gave him a whole five minutes before his lanky ass and sneakers were moving off the porch.

A surprise to no one was the bottle in his hand, but it was later in the day, things had been tended to, and Raylan was engaging in active mental distractions from the crater the last few days had left in his houses. There hadn't been a lot of time for catching up and it felt like it had been too long since he had a porch session with his fellow gunslinger.

Sidling up next to him, Raylan stared at the grave, knowing full well who was in it and offered the bottle over. "Nice of you to be brinin' them fresh flowers. Shame we don't have a few more, the colors are nice."

Yes, that's how he was choosing to start this out.