"God made us to stop their sufferin', there's no stoppin' Life or savin' them from it," he argued gently with a shake of his head. Trouble would always follow men like them, that was a fact that Raylan had long settled his protests with. It wound together both strands of their conversation in it's own way, but the second half of what Henry had said was more important than following arguments on God that could be had when they were sweat soaked and sheet tangled.

It wasn't that he didn't know he'd do terrible things for Henry. It wasn't that he didn't know that Henry would do terrible things for him - shit, he already had. But those few, simple words were enough to cement it all in a reality that didn't have shifting sands underneath it, as most all of them did. In the reality they would never have, and here, they were going to have each other.

That didn't mean he was going to let the man do any kind of cutting. Raylan had stubbornly cemented this mess and whatever Luck God was watching over him was just going to have to deal with that.

Raylan let his eyes flutter shut with Doc's as he leaned their faces together and hummed a short, contented note into the chaste kiss, lips following for a fraction of a second for a great set up to the following kiss. This dangerous, equally foolish man, out here in his own mess with the Marshal. "I plan on keepin' you all night," he murmured warmly. "With only the sweetest kinda suffering. The moonshine and a fully empty upstairs with not a single soul plannin' on comin' by. Paradise."