Malcolm x Raylan: Cowboy Surprise

Art was suspicious right off the bat when Raylan took a week off with the express note that his phone would be Out Of Order til the next Monday, but the Chief Marshal wasn't going to look gift horses in the mouth. Not when it suggested he'd have a few days of peace, until Raylan caved to turning his phone back on again. Still, he watched the younger Marshal walk out of the office and promised himself to check into the state of Harlan within 3 days to make sure that the place wasn't on fire. The smoke would reach him before he called, he was sure.
But Art didn't have much to worry about - Raylan had no plans on staying in the state for his vacation, beyond one day spent closing up Arlo's and securing it the best way he could before getting on a plane to New York City. He wanted to surprise Malcolm - it'd been near two months since they'd last seen each other and frankly, Raylan was tired of missing him. They'd called and texted, stayed in a fairly consistent, if odd houred, touch but it wasn't the same.
Once he landed, Raylan rented a car and navigated his way towards Malcolm's apartment, stopping to grab a bouquet of flowers. It was.. Extra, but Raylan didn't want to show up empty handed, just in case. Thirty minutes later, Malcolm's door buzzer was being hit, like Raylan was here to deliver something. Well, he was, but that was half the fun.

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"That's a good idea. That's half of why I wanna go there, if I'm honest. Drink beer on a beach, dip my toes into chaotic waters and the like.." The country came with him no matter what he did; Raylan could only manage it.
It felt, suddenly, like his mouth was full of words he didn't dare say and he resisted the urge to fully run away from it.
"So. What should we do til it's time to get all dressed up for your mother?"
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Fresh Air was good; it let Raylan find center again and frankly, the emotional load of being here and dealing with the Whitly family and their idea of 'normal' called for some centering. Raylan got dressed in short order; 'sleep' pants traded for jeans, plain button down pulled over the undershirt and his blazer and duster for the walk itself.
Once he was ready, he clipped his weapon in at his hip, kept his badge in his back pocket and got his hat. Didn't matter that he was on vacation - too much happened for him to leave his gun at home.
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"How was the trip up?" he asked. "Did you drive?"
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Raylan was grateful for the ease that Malcolm allowed and walked alongside him, easy with the closeness.
"Flew and rented a car once I got here. It's an 11 hour drive and I wanted to get here on at a reasonable time. Told Art that I was gonna take some vacation time and actually turn off my phone." Which was a massive step for someone like him. "Figure that Kentucky can survive a few days with my expertise."
He looked over at Malcolm. "You really okay with me having shown up without callin'?"
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Malcolm grinned at him.
"Okay with it? I loved it," he exclaimed. "You have a standing invitation to my life, okay?" He snapped his fingers, realizing something. "Speaking of which, in case Gil does call me onto a case, I need to give you keys to my apartment. You can't just sit trapped in there all day if I'm working."
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"A key huh? Well I appreciate being let out of the stairwell. If you hadn't been home, I would have waited." For what that was worth. "Just possibly boiled to death in my car," he continued with a pull of his smile.
"I'd offer you a key to my motel room but it seems most anyone can get it when they want to. The desk is easy to bribe, apparently."
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"I've already got one piece of property that I'm tryin' to off load," he started with levity, as though the idea of renting was beneath him somehow, even if that's exactly what he was doing at the motel. He couldn't just say 'Yes'. "Seems like taking on another one wouldn't be the most conducive to leaving for good. Plus. It's good for my savings."
Marshals didn't get paid nothing and Raylan did pretty well with his under $500 a month payment to the motel for his consistent room.
"Ya know. For that house, in Miami."
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As they came to the park, Malcolm led them onto one of the trails that criss-crossed it.
"Your friends at the office don't think it's weird that you live there?"
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"But apparently, I make it very clear how much I don't wanna be in Kentucky. They don't ask about it." He assumed they understood..
"My half? That mean you're gonna go in 50/50? Opens up our options a lot, you know; I'm not sittin' on nothing."
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He looked sidelong at Raylan.
"They all love you, you know," he said plainly. "I actually didn't meet anyone in Kentucky that doesn't love you. Your team, the village constable, that criminal in the bar..." He smiled a little. "You kind of pull people in."
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"Ah," he scoffed modestly. "They love the idea of me. I blame the hat. Everyone thinks I live in some Louis L'Amour novel or something. They don't get to see the divorce paperwork or the empty bed or the whiskey bottles. The gun, the hat, the gunslinging.. I get it." But it didn't quite fit him, to his mind.
"I just wanna help. Be better than Arlo was... To... make up for the wrongs he's done, to stop more of his kind.. I know it's not like your situation but.." It was his.
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"Do you really feel like none of them really knows you?"
Because if he did, then it was probably true and Malcolm knew what that was like, too.
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"Art does. Tim.. gets the drift." And they all drank too much. "But they know what I let 'em, and it's not much, beyond what their see with their own eyes. 'Love' isn't the word I'd use, with them."
But overall, he wasn't arguing Malcolm's point. "Trust me, for everyone in Harlan and my team that might love the idea of me, there's at least an equal amount of people who would love to see me six feet under. Always seems to come out about 50/50. Anyway, if they cared about where I lived, next we'd be doing... cake cuttings for a birthday at the office and wellness checks and."
He gestured the thought away with a shake of his head. "Too much trouble, if you ask me."
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Instead, he looked up sidelong at his profile. "Do you feel like I know you?"
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He'd never really thought about it.
"And you've even got a head start, with that training under your belt." Raylan wasn't a stupid man, and he was aware that Malcolm's face reading skills weren't paused or turned off just because he was the subject being analyzed.
He also felt like there was still more there to be chewed at.
"Why does it matter if they care about my livin' in a shitty motel by the week?" It wasn't a shitty question, just a curious one.
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"I haven't needed someone to care about me in a long time." He took care of himself. And even when he did need people to care about him, they fell into selfishness, leaving him in the same position.
"They've all got shit to deal with too. Tim's got PTSD, Art's got grandkids, Rachel's got her family and all that. And I wouldn't say they don't care.. We get on pretty well, no one lets anyone else get shot.." That clearly counted, in Raylan's books.
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But Malcolm was pretty sure not letting each other get shot was part of their actual job.
"I have PTSD and I care about you." He looked over with a wry smile. "Though I'm pretty glad Tim doesn't care about you in the same way I do."
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"Me too. It'd make the office environment more than a little awkward." But he got what Malcolm was saying, loud and clear. "And I think your PTSD is the only reason you can care without losing your mind with worry." If they were being honest. "Civilians.. aren't used to what the reality of the job is. Even if they read it on paper every day. That's what happened with Winona.. She couldn't take worrying about if I'd come home at the end of the day, forever."
Raylan looked over at Malcolm. "Much as I might have talked about it, I think we both knew I wasn't going back to teaching at Glynco."
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"See, you know me plenty well." He smiled over at him. "So what's at this park, anything special?"
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He listened attentively, glancing between the arch and Malcolm as he gestures only to smile at him. At the sweep of his normally tidied hair, at the infectious rise of enthusiasm, at the way Raylan could feel it tugging him upward like Malcolm was going to float away with him attached at the ankle or something. The last bit made Raylan scoff a laugh and grin with the slightest shake of his head.
"Of course it was. Do they have a plaque for that or is that something taught in schools here?" He meant elementary, middle and high school - Universities would, of course, end up teaching stuff like that.
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BAT. BASEBALL BAT. Shit, myself. :|
i knew what u meant <3
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He's gonna stop him before they hit the stairs.
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