Between Raylan and Doc it would be stiff competition to see which one of them could get the most number of self-styled 'bad boys' shitting their pants running for the hills - and without so much as even uttering one word. No doubt the girls would get sick of the old men and their protective streaks, but one day he hopes they'll come to understand just how much they mean to them, and forgive their bark being much louder than their bite.
"I never said anything about your drinking," the old cowboy points out, turning his hands up towards the ceiling and giving Raylan one of those 'I 'unno what you're talking about, son' shrugs. He hasn't yet had to hold up Raylan's hair and rub his back while he's bent over the toilet throwing his supper up, but he would be surprised if he had to one day. They're too seasoned drinkers to put each other through that kind of mess.
Doc is rather appreciative of Raylan backing down from what could have been an ugly fight this time around, nonetheless. He honestly wouldn't have minded the Marshal riding shotgun, but sticking around to childproof the place a little more is probably a better use of their time than them both bickering in the front seats.
"You can drop 'em off while I get started on cleanup," he offers as a sort of compromise. Raylan doesn't drink much when the baby girls are around and Doc... well. He tries to cut back as much as Raylan does, to varying degrees of success. The tiny double trouble tag team is almost as hard work as Wynonna and Winona, and he can't help winding down the night with a drink in hand and a cigarillo between his fingers to reward himself for a hard fought day won.
"You're probably more popular with them anyway, playing that shark song that drives me up the wall." He would not claim to be a man of refined taste, but the shark 'song' does not music make, and it's banned from defiling that sacred space inside Charlene.
we are all old men tbh
"I never said anything about your drinking," the old cowboy points out, turning his hands up towards the ceiling and giving Raylan one of those 'I 'unno what you're talking about, son' shrugs. He hasn't yet had to hold up Raylan's hair and rub his back while he's bent over the toilet throwing his supper up, but he would be surprised if he had to one day. They're too seasoned drinkers to put each other through that kind of mess.
Doc is rather appreciative of Raylan backing down from what could have been an ugly fight this time around, nonetheless. He honestly wouldn't have minded the Marshal riding shotgun, but sticking around to childproof the place a little more is probably a better use of their time than them both bickering in the front seats.
"You can drop 'em off while I get started on cleanup," he offers as a sort of compromise. Raylan doesn't drink much when the baby girls are around and Doc... well. He tries to cut back as much as Raylan does, to varying degrees of success. The tiny double trouble tag team is almost as hard work as Wynonna and Winona, and he can't help winding down the night with a drink in hand and a cigarillo between his fingers to reward himself for a hard fought day won.
"You're probably more popular with them anyway, playing that shark song that drives me up the wall." He would not claim to be a man of refined taste, but the shark 'song' does not music make, and it's banned from defiling that sacred space inside Charlene.