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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As soon as Malcolm skittered up and out of his chair, Raylan was half rising, hand already slipping to the grip of his gun, glancing at the doorway and gaining a sudden unmistakable pinch of confusion.

Raylan looked at the women and waited for them to do.. well, anything. When they exchanged nothing but more confused looks, Raylan stepped over to Malcolm, turning his back to the ladies to do so and leaning in.

"You okay?" Oh yes, he had questions, but they could wait.

"He's hallucinating," Ainsley supplied helpfully. "I'm guessing you haven't spent a ton of time together if you've never seen this before," she ventured.

While she was talking, Malcolm opened his eyes and cautiously peeked over Raylan's shoulder to see the doorway. Empty. He swallowed heavily and nodded his answer to Raylan's question, pressing the heel of his shaking hand to his forehead for a moment.

"I'm fine," he managed, still anxious, but starting to calm down. "It's okay."

"I told you not to go down in the basement," Jessica noted grimly, taking a large swallow of wine while the housekeeper bustled around them, picking up Malcolm's spoon from the floor and putting a clean one on the table.

"That's not what causes it!" Malcolm directed past Raylan's arm in a rare angry outburst that Jessica met with a defiant look.

"Oh, then what causes it?" she challenged.

"A chemical imbalance in my brain!" he retorted. He looked down and took another deep breath, then looked up at Raylan's face. "I'm okay," he said more confidently. "She's gone."

"Technically, she was never there," Ainsley pointed out, still helpful.

He's hallucinating. Like it was nothing. Like it was the weather or a bad opinion left in the back of her mouth. Raylan couldn't believe these people. Even after so many years, he couldn't imagine not providing a more firm rock of reality for someone like Malcolm to lean on.

He slipped a hand around to pat Malcolm on his hip before turning back around, fully aware of the stony unreadable coolness in his face that lent to a tight jaw.

"Pretty sure your ex-husband caused it," Raylan shot with a low but level tone at Jessica as he sat back down and nearly emptied his glass in one go. Better that Jessica take the blunter edge of Raylan's quick temper than Ainsley.

"Well, I can't argue with that," Jessica said, pouring herself more wine.

Malcolm's illnesses were inconvenient at best and embarrassing at worst. Some were worse than others. They'd existed around them for a long time. Jessica had poured money into every kind of therapy she could find. His continued suffering was a failure for her as a mother and exasperation was easier to express than the blame she harboured for herself for not protecting him.

"You have a gun in the back of your pants, don't you?" Ainsley observed like nothing just happened, pointing at Raylan with her fork as Malcolm slipped back into his chair.

It was good that the reasons weren't aired; Raylan's everything wouldn't be able to withhold the words that spilled from him. He busied himself with pouring another two fingers as he glanced up at Ainsley before glancing back at Malcolm.

"I'm a federal officer," he replied, as though that answered everything succinctly. "I hope that's not a problem." His tone suggested that he'd be very agreeable to their agreement. "I've got my badge on me if you'd like to see that too."

"And you're right," he continued, deciding to just go ahead and dive into that pool. "Malcolm and I haven't spent whatever qualifies as a 'ton' of time together, a cumulative 15 or so days in each other's space. Text and phone calls don't allow for those kinds of things and my being who I am can understand not laying out whatever is wrong with you over calls. Tends to put people off."

He was getting sassy. "But that's something that we plan on working on, as the work allows."

Fuck it; there. What better way to steal the dance than kill the thunder with a more direct blow.

Malcolm clenched his fist against the shaking, which was just starting to subside, as they discussed guns and badges, but looked at Raylan as he went on, offering a watery smile before giving the doorway another cautious glance.

He didn't pick up the new spoon. That was all the dinner he'd be attempting that evening. His stomach was knotted with anxiety.

Ainsley, for her part, already looked approving at his gun and badge toting, but smiled outright at what he said next. She was absolutely certain that, if the monsters in Malcolm's head had been real, Raylan would've shot it. Probably right between its beady monster eyes.

Jessica considered him for a moment, then took another drink of wine.

"Anybody want to talk about literally anything else, please?" Malcolm said, clenching and unclenching his hand on top of the table next to his plate.

Jessica reached over and covered his restless hand with hers, stilling it. "I trust Gil's been keeping you busy with those cases you like so much. What gruesome horror story have you been on this week?"

"Oh. I... helped with a strangers on a train sort of arrangement. They thought they were being clever. I don't know how. The strangers on the train always get caught. I closed it the day before yesterday."

Raylan didn't know how to take Ainsley's smile and fidgeted with his glass as he watched her. He supposed he ought to pick up his fork and keep eating but he couldn't bring himself to fall into the charade of normality again.

Maybe this had been a bad idea. Raylan chewed over that as Jessica helpfully redirected the conversation.

"Strangers on a train?" he asked, unfamilar with the term.

Malcolm was beginning to perk up again at Raylan's question.

"It's an old movie where two strangers meet on a train and they both want someone murdered and they decide to commit the perfect murder by killing each other's victim. They'd have no motive to kill a stranger and the person who wanted the victim dead would have an alibi."

He looked around for Louisa, no longer too proud to ask. "Can I have a glass of water?"

She slipped away to get it.

"Anyway, something always goes wrong. In the movie, one of them got cold feet and couldn't go through with their murder."

"Huh," He grunted as Malcolm came to the end of all of it. "Interesting. So your case was.. someone not going through with their end and the murderer getting caught? Sounds like Clue."

"Actually, in this case one of the murderers was careless and his DNA was in the system. I got him to confess the whole story," he admitted.

Louisa brought his water and he thanked her, then handed her his soup bowl.

"It wasn't as twisted as it looked when they started, though."

"Is it ever?" Raylan finally grabbed his fork and ventured to take another bite, still hungry for all the 'action' and tension.

"You gonna take the next case when he calls?"

"I always take his cases," Malcolm said, recalling what he and Raylan had talked about earlier in the day. "I don't think he would have called me for that one if he knew it was going to be so straight forward. He tries to give me space between cases. He thinks I get too obsessed."

"Well, of course you do," Jessica pointed out.

He shrugged and took a drink of water.

Raylan smirked a little smirk of victory, taking another bite.

"Assholes never rest," he quipped. "'Course, I turn my phone off when I'm on personal time and Art is happier that way, if he had a say in it." They were both weights on their boss - Malcolm was attracted to trouble and Raylan was trouble.

Malcolm laughed. "Art treasures you. Don't let him tell you differently."

Ainsley swirled her wine in her glass. "Who's Art? Your boss?"

"Art Mullen," Raylan supplied with an amused curl of his features at Malcolm before looking over at Ainsley. "Chief Deputy of the Lexington office. We taught Firearms at Glynco; the Marshal's training center. I was brought in for the locals. They don't trust outsiders, even of 20 plus years."

He looked over at Malcolm. "You wouldn't know it by listening. One day I should get him in a room alone with you; I'm sure he's got some deeply unflattering stories for you."

"I hope so," Malcolm told him. "I can tell him that his consternation would be more believable if he didn't have so much fond exasperation on his face."

"So, like, the way Gil looks at you," Ainsley surmised.

Malcolm looked like he was going to protest, then conceded with a shrug "Pretty much."

"He has accused me of being an emotionally crippled child that he's been saddled with," Raylan granted. "Though I think 'consternation' would make him laugh. Much like it might make Gil."

It was, unarguably, something the two men have in common.

"But Gil knew you quite a bit younger than he knew me."

"Um, yes. Gil met me when I actually was an emotionally crippled child," he pointed out.

"And thank god for the fact that he's still looking out for you," Jessica concluded. "At least you had one decent rolemodel in your life. Are you going to attempt dessert?" she asked.

Malcolm looked over at her and shook his head, pulling his glass of water a little closer.

"Have you made any progress on the Crowder case?" Malcolm asked Raylan.

Raylan's eyes danced between Malcolm and his mother, not missing the affection in her quips or her questions.

He glanced and Malcolm before shaking his head. "Our CI isn't cooperating and I've yet to lure Boyd into making a stupid mistake. But now we've got old money down in the hollars lookin' to control the oxy and weed business down there. We'll see how it comes out. Maybe they'll provide the opportunity I'm lookin' for."

He glanced at Jessica and Ainsley. "None of which I'm sure is appropriate here but.." It was better than their previous subject.

Jessica waved it off with a certain amount of resignation. Malcolm was largely not looking haunted anymore. It was a tradeoff she herself had started by asking him about his last case.

Malcolm still felt on the edge of anxiety and he shifted in his seat, then got up. "I'm just going to go wash my face," he told them and disappeared out the door.

Ainsley turned her attention back to Raylan with Malcolm's departure. "Oxy and weed, huh?"

Raylan opted to take another drink as Malcolm slipped away, glancing at him briefly before turning his attention back to Ainsley and her curiosity.

He ducked his head with a half chuckle and a smile. "Easier shitkicker on shitkicker crime. They keep the task force busy trying to up it to heroin but they're never quite that successful. It's honestly amazing that some of these people are even in the business, stupid as they are. That's the states area though, not the Marshal's service, and a blight on it at that."

It was a sad state of poverty, but Raylan's easy going way and his tone being one of an amusing story, it eased that quite a bit.

"Sounds like there are a lot of interesting stories to tell down there," Ainsley remarked.

"Oh, not this again," Jessica said. "You're angling for a promotion off the wandering beat."

Ainsley shrugged. "But I got into this to tell interesting stories." She looked at Raylan. "I actually would like to see your badge," she confessed. "But not because I don't believe you. I just want to see it."

"A few," Raylan granted. "People tend to focus more on the blood feuds that are still running, but mostly, it's just sad. You can find that anywhere."

Giving a facial shrug of a lift of his eyebrows, mouth corners turning down briefly as he pulled his leather wallet style badge out from his inner jacket pocket. He flipped it open and handed it over to her.

While she looked at it, Raylan looked over at Jessica. "You're wrong about train hobos, but you're not generally wrong about the area. With the amount of guns and lack of education down there, sometimes people make less than.. wise choices." It wasn't hard to see the parts of why Raylan wasn't promoting anyone being in the state, himself included.

"I suppose you'd know more about it than I do," Jessica acknowledged, setting her knife and fork across her plate.

"It looks like a sheriff's badge in a Western," Ainsley interjected as she looked at the badge. She looked at Raylan. "Matches the hat."

He did, thank you very much. Looking back over to Ainsley, he pulled a smile. "And the boots, apparently. I suppose it still looks that way because we work all over the country. Kinda a universal symbol at this point. You should see the one I wear on my belt."

If Ainsley dug, she'd find the tellings of what the cowboy or 'the guy in the hat' had done. Raylan leaned into it now - let the sight of his hat strike a little fear into a bad guy's heart.

"Some cases, it sorta is like a western. I loved 'em as a kid, but so did a lot of other people. There's always someone who wants to draw down like we're at the OK Corral."

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