He fell quiet while Raylan talked. It may have only been a week or so but they have fallen into quite a comfortable, intuitive pattern with each other. They are the kind of men who would not inadvertently step on each other's toes, knowing when to let the silence stretch and when who should fill it.
There are no interruptions. Only drinking. There is little else that can be done now, dredging up all this past.
"You can be both a good man and an asshole. I have known many of those too." He flashes a rueful little smile over at Raylan. The two are not mutually exclusive. He reckons they forge the best kind of assholes in the fires on those hills. In fact you have to be an asshole sometimes to do the right thing. That's just the way of the world.
When they told him he had a few months to live, he didn't want to do medicine anymore. He wanted to live life, see new places, meet all the people worth meeting before his time was up. Moved somewhere warmer - they said it'd help the cough - started gambling, sleeping around. They were too busy chasing outlaws and shootout highs to follow where the drunks went, stumbling home beating on their women and children. They could've been heroic. They chose the thrill instead. And now he looks at Raylan. Looked, at John Constantine. And man. He didn’t have time but he ended up wasting all of it anyway.
"I'm sorry you had to go through that alone, Raylan." Doc couldn't have been there for him, he was busy counting mould in the bricks in his prison, but someone should've been.
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There are no interruptions. Only drinking. There is little else that can be done now, dredging up all this past.
"You can be both a good man and an asshole. I have known many of those too." He flashes a rueful little smile over at Raylan. The two are not mutually exclusive. He reckons they forge the best kind of assholes in the fires on those hills. In fact you have to be an asshole sometimes to do the right thing. That's just the way of the world.
When they told him he had a few months to live, he didn't want to do medicine anymore. He wanted to live life, see new places, meet all the people worth meeting before his time was up. Moved somewhere warmer - they said it'd help the cough - started gambling, sleeping around. They were too busy chasing outlaws and shootout highs to follow where the drunks went, stumbling home beating on their women and children. They could've been heroic. They chose the thrill instead. And now he looks at Raylan. Looked, at John Constantine. And man. He didn’t have time but he ended up wasting all of it anyway.
"I'm sorry you had to go through that alone, Raylan." Doc couldn't have been there for him, he was busy counting mould in the bricks in his prison, but someone should've been.