"I was sleeping on an inoffensive patch of grass before Raylan invited me over one night," Doc confirms. Not like that. Not at that time, anyway. "Then he picked up someone else who is struggling without medication and needed a bit of help," he explains vaguely. That was enough of a cowboy hat signal shone into the night sky to have gotten Doc running over to lend a hand. If Malcolm wants to go around telling everyone he meets that he is off his meds, that is his prerogative, not Doc's to talk about.
"Everyone has offered to pitch in." It wasn't intentional for the house to have ballooned to the size it did.
He does bristle a bit at the mention of family. It requires him to be a kind of vulnerable to talk about this, and he is too sober-hungover to be in that state, to be able to muster up the words. It didn't sound like she'd said it to bait an answer out of him but he is a little wary nonetheless, feeling like any response he could have given would have been the wrong one. In the end, he doesn't respond to it. He simply puts on his coat and makes his way to the door, letting her leave first before stepping out after her and closing the door behind him.
"Well. Much as I would prefer you not to be a pariah for once, it is just as well that I have been here seven weeks and that I would do anything for you," he finally tells her, though he is not making eye contact, leaning back and looking down at his coat collar in an effort to straighten it. "Banked all the morsels of goodwill that you could ever hope to squander."
no subject
"Everyone has offered to pitch in." It wasn't intentional for the house to have ballooned to the size it did.
He does bristle a bit at the mention of family. It requires him to be a kind of vulnerable to talk about this, and he is too sober-hungover to be in that state, to be able to muster up the words. It didn't sound like she'd said it to bait an answer out of him but he is a little wary nonetheless, feeling like any response he could have given would have been the wrong one. In the end, he doesn't respond to it. He simply puts on his coat and makes his way to the door, letting her leave first before stepping out after her and closing the door behind him.
"Well. Much as I would prefer you not to be a pariah for once, it is just as well that I have been here seven weeks and that I would do anything for you," he finally tells her, though he is not making eye contact, leaning back and looking down at his coat collar in an effort to straighten it. "Banked all the morsels of goodwill that you could ever hope to squander."