The girls were quite a handful, and while Doc's never glad to see them go, he isn't complaining about the fact that he has Wynonna to share the load with. She doesn't mind so much when Alice turns up with a couple of bruises and a scratch she's particularly proud of - actually she gets irritable when Alice shows up looking more immaculate than when she left - but it's a different story with Winona. Doc takes the tirade in his stride, letting her blow off all that steam with his head inclined staving off the itch for a smoke, but he can't help but feel like there's a lot of pent up thoughts and feelings that she should really be talking to Raylan about - in a calm and controlled manner - instead of taking it out on whichever cowboy happens to be dropping little Willa off.

He's taken a lot worse from Wynonna, but it's a relief to get back, in a way that a man who has always been on the go can't honestly say he's intimately familiar with. The car rumbles to a quiet stop in front of the house, intrusive headlights that would have flooded through the glass windows having been cut off further up the gravelled-over driveway. That cigarillo he's been craving is in his mouth before he even ascends up those three little steps onto the porch. He doesn't want Raylan coming out the house and finding him a tired and defeated heap slumped in the chair, having been chewed out and screeched at by one of the bittersweet loves of his life, so he opts to stay leaning against the wooden pillar, feet crossed at the ankles, a thin wispy trail of smoke slithering from the silhouette of hat and hip-holstered revolver and boots up towards the stars.

Ain't nothing in this world that makes anyone feel old and weary like a venomous bite from a lover scorned. Lord knows he has invoked those furies, time and time again. Maybe, in some strange way, shaking off the restlessness and settling down in a place like this would be the least 'old and weary' thing to do.