"Well," Doc starts, sniffling and ducking his head. Raylan lighting up some good old peace of mind is stirring up Doc's craving for a late night smoke himself. He ain't lazy enough not to go reaching and rummaging for his cigarettes, but he doesn't want to crowd Raylan in by the window.

"I'm... sure they call it all sorts of things, other than 'enjoying ourselves' and 'spinning our wheels'. Fooling around. Funny business. Finding God. Rigorous sex." For people who claim to not be asking anything of each other, they sure seem to be asking a lot, all wrapped up in that one question that old married not-couples have probably been asking each other since the beginning of time. What are we doing here?

It's not that they're deliberately keeping secrets. They just. Haven't been quantifying 'this' in any meaningful way. Trying to do so feels like risking the safe harbour, the companionship they find in each other. But it seems the fantasy of carrying on as they were is now over.

"You and I both know where and how this ends. Is my being here, while we're here, not enough for you anymore?" Doc asks quietly. Because this here feels a lot more than just a divine revelation of gayness right now. This feels dangerously close to treading the L-word waters.