Yeah, well, everything Doc does is a little hot, especially seen through lost-all-the-shits-I-was-gonna-give-three-glasses-of-'shine-ago lenses. Raylan will just have to get used to it.
"God made men like us withstand the pain so that other people don't have to get hurt." Other people like Malcolm. Like Neal. Maybe, to a certain extent, even like Tim. But Doc isn't going to talk Raylan into fixing this mess he's made tonight. Not until he's sobered up enough to start slicing off limbs to save his bleeding feet. And if Doc is the one who has to do the cutting then so be it. Tomorrow he'll sharpen his knife. Tonight they can just enjoy their last supper. Indulge in whimsical little fantasies.
"I would have stayed." For Raylan. In some back country. For as many years it would take until it came time to dig a hole under the big old tree and bury an old man he was happy to have called his friend. If the logistics and complications of it all wasn't something either of them had to consider, he would have even stayed there 24/7. This is a promise he is willing to make, because they are both realistic and tired and bitter enough to know that they're just dealing in hypotheticals, and that nothing stays forever before shit happens to one or the both of them. Not even cowboys on porches where they might belong.
"We don't have years," he agrees quietly, leaning in close until their foreheads and noses are touching, and he can close his eyes and breathe in that eau de shampoo-moonshine-Raylan. The arrival of summer brings with it promises of unpleasantly balmy nights to come. They should make the cooler nights last while they can.
"But you have me now." Boldly stealing a soft, chaste kiss from Raylan's lips. "Here." And another. "I don't mind. A little more suffering."
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"God made men like us withstand the pain so that other people don't have to get hurt." Other people like Malcolm. Like Neal. Maybe, to a certain extent, even like Tim. But Doc isn't going to talk Raylan into fixing this mess he's made tonight. Not until he's sobered up enough to start slicing off limbs to save his bleeding feet. And if Doc is the one who has to do the cutting then so be it. Tomorrow he'll sharpen his knife. Tonight they can just enjoy their last supper. Indulge in whimsical little fantasies.
"I would have stayed." For Raylan. In some back country. For as many years it would take until it came time to dig a hole under the big old tree and bury an old man he was happy to have called his friend. If the logistics and complications of it all wasn't something either of them had to consider, he would have even stayed there 24/7. This is a promise he is willing to make, because they are both realistic and tired and bitter enough to know that they're just dealing in hypotheticals, and that nothing stays forever before shit happens to one or the both of them. Not even cowboys on porches where they might belong.
"We don't have years," he agrees quietly, leaning in close until their foreheads and noses are touching, and he can close his eyes and breathe in that eau de shampoo-moonshine-Raylan. The arrival of summer brings with it promises of unpleasantly balmy nights to come. They should make the cooler nights last while they can.
"But you have me now." Boldly stealing a soft, chaste kiss from Raylan's lips. "Here." And another. "I don't mind. A little more suffering."