tinstar | Malcolm x Raylan: Cowboy Surprise

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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Raylan scoffed a laugh. "More for you. Mind, it comes with bullets sometimes. Might have to invest in bulletproof windows in Miami."

Malcolm looked at him. "Is that something that's likely to happen? Someone coming to our house to kill you?" he asked, though his tone was all curiosity rather than trepidation. He frowned faintly. "Not that I can talk. All sorts of weird murderers seem to come after me and my family..." He looked at Raylan again. "They usually know my dad."

"Mm," he stated with a little nod of his head. "It's happened more than once, I'm afraid. I've spent more replacing the windows than I would like to think about." Raylan glanced over.

"To your house? And apparently everyone under the sun knows him." A fact that kind of irritated Raylan a little bit, if he was being honest.

"Then bulletproof windows is an investment I'm willing to make."

He took a careful sip of tea.

"Everyone under the sun knows him, but they don't usually recognize me unless they knew him really well." He looked at Raylan. "I was eleven when my picture was in the paper and most people who are, you know, serial killer fanatics... don't know my current name. So far." He winced slightly. "I'm a little concerned that it's going to get out there eventually."

"Valid concern, considering. The name change helps. I meant to ask, is that on paper or is Bright like your... stage name?"

He could see both being possible, but he had a hunch it wasn't on paper. Of course, Malcolm continued to surprise him so, anything was still possible.

"I changed it legally. I was trying to get into the FBI with a serial killer for a father," he pointed out. "It's on my prescriptions," he offered as evidence, since they were sitting on his counter. Easy to verify. "It's on all my documents now. Malcolm Whitly doesn't exist anymore. You can't find him anywhere after 2008."

Raylan hummed and nodded again. He didn't need to verify.. but he also knew it wouldn't stop him from looking at the med bottles when they got back to the apartment.

"Why 'bright'? Why not.. Smith or Jones or something?"

He looked at Raylan, then looked at his tea, then looked at Raylan.

"I've never told anyone this before," he admitted. A beat and then "Not that anyone has ever asked, either...."

It was possibly the world's least desired secret.

"Okay, well I knew I wanted to change it. And I wanted something simple, because I didn't want to draw attention to myself. If I wanted to draw attention to myself, I would have stayed the Surgeon's son. And so I thought about.... who I wanted to be." He glanced at Raylan. "He's all darkness inside. I wanted to be something else."

He'd been taking a drink of his coffee but he couldn't help but look over at the fact no one had asked.

"You wanted to be Bright," he echoed, nodding a little and smiling. "Well you have managed that. Especially in the mornings." A beat passed. "They don't ask about that kinda thing in your office? Should I be concerned about how much they care about you?"

It was a tease, but only half of one.

"Gil never asked why, he just said... okay. I mean, I think he just thought it was a good thing for me to distance myself from Dr Whitly. He calls me 'Bright' almost exclusively. I think he prefers it because it has nothing to do with... him. He calls everyone else in the office by their first name. He considers it... just my name. I appreciate it." He huffed a laugh and looked at Raylan. "My mother, on the other hand, has referred to it as 'a ridiculous alias', but I think she's mad that she kept the name and all its burdens and I shed it like a snake shedding its skin."

"Of course he did. Gil got front row tickets. Can't imagine that didn't leave a mark on him." And now that Malcolm was back under Gil's wing, Raylan could imagine that Gil wanted to focus on the now.

"Just figured the others mighta been curious, even in passing conversation. But I can't say I envy the repercussions of keepin' the name. That's a world of attention on a narrow set of shoulders. She's a strong woman to deal with it so well." Makes for strong kids too, though Raylan wasn't going to say that again.

Malcolm, for all his fragilities, was strong as hell.

Malcolm huffed a laugh.

"I think what they do know about me is plenty weird enough for them," he said. "We get along well, but... I think - like most people - they have a limit as to how much they feel up to dealing with."

At the beginning, the limit was a lot lower. He was the annoying little brother that Gil made them take along with them. Things were better lately, though.

He looked at Raylan as they exited the park and drew close to his building. "You never considered shedding his name?" he asked curiously.

"Maybe I've just got a higher tolerance." He didn't know why but he wasn't going to argue it.

The question had Raylan shaking his head, shrugging with his face with that bob of his eyebrows. "After 43 years, doesn't seem like there's much of a point. Only people that know it anyway is in Harlan and a name change doesn't get me outta the hat or what I'm known for. They're free to look up Arlo's rap sheet; shit. I'd hand it out myself if asked. No one is gonna be a fan of a petty, two bit criminal. Most interesting thing about it is the history, most of which isn't on more than some birth and death certificates. No name change changes where I came from." He glanced over, after another sip of coffee.

"I kinda like my name," he admitted. "Rolls off the tongue.. when they're not callin' me 'Rayray'."

And they'd have to recarve the gravestone outside of the family house. Not that he planned on keeping them there, but he'd gotten used to seeing his own gravestone with 'Givens' on it.

Edited 2020-05-18 03:55 (UTC)

What Raylan said made sense. Besides, he'd never planned to stay in the only town where the name meant anything.

But when he mentioned being called 'Rayray', Malcolm looked positively horrified.

"Who calls you that?" he asked. "That's. ...awful."

"People who think they know me well enough to incorrectly assume there's a way to shorten my name." Maybe for other people, but not for Raylan. He didn't bother to correct them, knowing full well that once a group of people knows you dislike something, they would use it until it was beaten into the ground.

"You don't get any 'Mal's'?"

He breathed out a laugh. "Not for a long time. Everyone at work calls me 'Bright'," he noted, no doubt following Gil's lead and he was grateful, "and my family would never..." He glanced over. "Every now and then someone at the FBI would get a little too... familiar. But it was usually someone I didn't have to know for long. Before that... private schools. Everyone's addressed by their last name there."

They reached his door and he dug out his keys and unlocked it, holding it for Raylan to step in before he followed up to the next door.

"Have you pointed out the 'Rayray' isn't actually any shorter than 'Raylan'?" he ventured. "Or is this person a lost cause?"

Raylan clearly thought the last was a little weird, pulling a face as he stopped long enough to let Malcolm unlock and open the door. Last names were for professional and militaristic use, mostly - everyone in a school felt.. horror movieish.

Stepping in and up the stairs, Raylan led them back upstairs as he answered, stepping back a little once they were on the landing, as he didn't know if the inner door was locked or not.

"Nah. Pointing it out brings more attention and hassle than it's worth and I'm not forced to see 'em that often. The majority of people just call me Raylan, or Deputy Givens." Once they were inside, Raylan ambled over towards the counter to free his hands enough to pull off his jacket and set his hat down.

Malcolm unlocked the inner door and then put the keys back in his jacket pocket before shrugging his jacket off and hanging it by the door. Then he carefully put the chain on and walked over to the counter to put down his cup of tea.

"Let me find you those keys," he said, stepping around the island to riffle through a drawer.

With his hands free and several doors behind them, Raylan could give in to himself and did so without hesitation, walking up behind Malcolm and sliding his hands around the man's waist as he stepped up against him.

Yes, that was better.

"Gotta say I'm surprised you've got spare keys on hand. Most people can't keep track of the ones they've got."

That was better and he let his weight settle back against Raylan's solid form just to feel it there.

"I figured if I ever did lose my keys, my mother could put her propensity for intrusion to use and let me in, then I'd have a set."

He found a ring with two keys on it - one for each door - and held it up so Raylan could see it over his shoulder.

"But now they're yours," he declared.

Raylan smiled at the weight and hummed his acknowledgement at the answer to his question, smile creeping wider as he reached up to take them and turn them over in his palm.

"Might have to look into actually keeping all my keys on one ring, now that I've got more than my room key and the car keys." Even he could hear the smile in his voice. It was almost embarrassing. "I'd offer you a motel key, but they'd up my weekly charge and I don't think you're going to be in Kentucky that often."

He pushed the drawer shut and turned around in Raylan's arms to wrap his own arms around him.

"And apparently I can con or bribe them into giving me a key at any time anyway," he pointed out. "That's not exactly 'bulletproof'," he teasingly chided, pressing a gentle kiss to his mouth. "How do you stay safe there?" he asked curiously.

Tucking the keys into his pocket, Raylan chuckled, bobbing his head in concession before greeting the kiss with a little hum and letting his weight sink forward, pinning Malcolm between the island and himself.

"That's what the gun is for. Not being there most of the time helps. Course, a smart man deals with his problems before they get to his shitty motel door." Or he tried at least. "It's avoided getting shot up so far, somehow. Not exactly a permanent residence."

Even if he'd been there for over a year now.

But he didn't pay any mind to any of that, choosing instead to kiss Malcolm again. When the kiss broke, he muttered, "I'm going to try my best to make sure you don't get caught up in any of my shit."

But he knew it would happen, sooner or later. It always did.

"Well, that's hardly fair, is it?" Malcolm returned with a smile. "You deal with my 'shit' every single day we're together."

He took one hand from around Raylan's ribs and threaded his fingers through the hair at his temple, up over his ear.

"We're in this together, right? That's what it's about. This, right here. And also all the shit. Whatever comes."

His head tilted a little with the fingers in his hair, eyes warm and curious as they studied Malcolm's face so close. "Your shit is only a danger to you," he replied softly, unable to argue against the pull of wanting to believe it would all be okay, to take refugee in the security that Malcolm promised.

He wanted this, this togetherness, this solidarity of selves against the world, but he couldn't help but worry that Malcolm would change his mind later. Still, that was later and Raylan wasn't going to let it sour or ruin the now.

"You make it very hard to argue, you know that?" Malcolm wouldn't have much of any time to answer before Raylan was kissing him again, less chastely then before.

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