"Maybe...I like you worrying about me," Ganymede murmured gently, shifting over to lay on top of Raylan, stretched out with his chin resting on the man's chest, watching and listening to what he said--and how he said it. It told volumes that Raylan wouldn't say what bothered him lest it bring consequence for someone else. "Oh, I don't think it's the only thing you're good at by a long shot. You're a smart man, Raylan Givens, no one can deny that. And the world is always going to need people like you--no matter how much it tries not to."

Ganymede has seen that over the years and centuries, and it's pointless to ignore the necessity of having men who are willing to kill when necessary. Ganymede himself has killed, and he doesn't regret it. The lives he took were forfeit to him for a reason. "I think it says that you've learned people have to want to be saved. You're ahead of most of us in that respect, honestly." He'd been guilty of falling into that trap himself, of trying to dig someone else out of a hole they were in, at the expense of his own well-being. Ganymede tilted his head and laid a gentle, thoughtful kiss over Raylan's heart. "What are you worried about it saying?"