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 hoisted his eyebrows. "Think you could stay that way?" If nothing else, Raylan was very confident in how well he could do his job.

"I've still got a few contacts out in the swamp, he wouldn't get far," he promised with an amused look over at Ainsley.

The fact that Malcolm had to burn his clothes made Raylan laugh, the push so unexpected that he wasn't able to even pretend to try and hide it. "Ah, and I know you're not joking either. Though I'm not sure you had to."

Ainsley grinned back at his amused look. He had contacts in the swamp.

Malcolm ducked his head and smiled broadly when Raylan remarked on his laundry. "I had to. I really did. There was no drycleaner in all of D.C. that could get the smell out."

Of course he wore clothes that needed drycleaned to hunt a murderer in a swamp. That was the nature of the ridiculous person Raylan had gotten himself mixed up with.

"If you ruined half as many clothes with the FBI as you do with the NYPD, I shudder to consider it," Jessica remarked.

"I probably ruined twice as many. My pursuits are largely urban now. There were a lot more... ravines and caves and out of the way abattoirs in my FBI endeavours."

"Did you just say 'abattoirs'?" Jessica asked, leveling her gaze at him.

"Yeah, my last collar was at a disused abattoir in rural Utah."

"Oh dear god."

"This is why I never talked about work, mother. You always got that face."

Jessica looked at Raylan. "Do you run around abattoirs much?" Because she was pretty sure this kind of predicament was a Malcolm thing and not a law enforcement thing.

An unconvinced 'Mmhmm' was given, eyes narrowed playfully as he sipped his scotch.

He hummed at the sudden question, eyebrows lifting with the sound before he settled again with a uneven bob of his head. "As I don't know what an abattoir is, I can't say."

"It's a slaughterhouse," Ainsley supplied.

"Ah," he sounded glancing down almost apologetically before looking back up, "In that case.." Raylan winced a little. "Wouldn't call it 'much' but I have seen the inside of one in the last 6 months."

He'd spare them the fact that he watched a man get his arm cut off while confronting Raylan - If Jessica made that face over a plant that put the meat on her plate, he'd hate to see the passing horror of his tales.

"We go anywhere we're needed so I've been around. Both a perk and burden sometimes."

"Mm, but I imagine your had sides of beef on hooks if anything, while the one Malcolm ended up in probably had rows of people hung on them," she said, clearly thinking it was an exaggeration.

"Only three people were on hooks," Malcolm assured her. "He'd put the rest in jars alr..." He took a cue from her face. "You weren't asking," he surmised.

"Pigs.. and an arm." He shrugged with his eyebrows again. "I don't see murder as often as he might, but I see plenty of it, unfortunately." And he was much less excited about it; stopping murders before they happened was his job.

"An arm." Jessica took a drink of wine. "I see why you get along with my son."

Malcolm shrugged, glancing at Raylan with the hint of a smile that got through his attempt not to smile.

"Among other reasons. You probably wouldn't be surprised at the stomach needed for jobs like ours."

Frankly, it was nice to not have to protect Malcolm from the more gruesome edges of the reality of murderers and the stupid or insane.

"But he's proved very good at his job and at least three people are still drawing breath in world for it. Greater good and all."

"According to Gil, it's a lot more than that," Jessica conceded with a sigh.

The housekeeper collected the empty dessert plates, setting a tupperware container in front of Malcolm. "The extra raspberries. In case you want something later," she said softly.

"I'd tell you to stop coddling him, but we know that's not going to happen," Jessica told her. She ducked her head in concession and left the room. "He used to help her in the kitchen," she informed Raylan. "He always wanted to know everything about everything."

"And now I can make a passable egg," he pointed out. "Those were life skills."

"He's probably got a running count." The only thing people had a running count on for Raylan was the number of bodies he'd put in the ground.

Amazingly, Raylan managed to not make a face at the way Jessica told him the tale, like he was supposed to somehow agree with Malcolm letting servants do the work or agree that some affection was coddling.

"To be honest, I'm not really seein' a problem with any of it. Then again, my daughter is only 6 months old. I haven't learned much yet."

Jessica's eyebrows went up and so did Ainsley's, but if they were checking Malcolm's reaction, he wasn't surprised.

"You have a child? That young? What happened to your... girlfriend?" Jessica asked.

It was selfishly gratifying to shock them.

"Mm, ex-wife," Raylan corrected. "And.. ex-girlfriend, I suppose, more recently." Several times over, sadly, but his love life was none of their business, outside of Malcolm. "She decided it wasn't workin' out, a few months before Willa was born."

It was the most affable way he could offer it, warm and a little self deprecating pull of his features. If one didn't know him well, it would look and sound like he was talking about nothing of importance.

"That happens to a lot of cops," Ainsley said knowingly.

"I take it your daughter lives with her, since you're.... here," Jessica noted.

"And dinner was lovely, but now we have to go," Malcolm said, getting to his feet and scooping up his tupperware of raspberries.

Jessica sighed at him, but got to her feet, stepping over to set a light peck of a kiss on his cheek, then looked past him. "It was nice to see you again, Raylan. Please stop by if you're in town again."

She hoped he was with Malcolm long enough to be in town again.

How Ainsley knew what a lot of cops loves lives were holding up was a question, but a question that would clearly have to wait as Malcolm stood up. Raylan stood up a moment later with him and nodded at Jessica after realizing he had no hat on to tip about halfway through.

"Thank you for having me, it was my pleasure." He looked over at Ainsley with a little smile and crooked his head again before stepping around all of them and following Malcolm towards the door, picking up his hat and slipping it on his head as they walked away.

"Said too much huh?" he asked softly as they hit the door.

He shook his head. "No. Just enough. It just seemed like a good place to put a pin in the third degree." He looked at Raylan as they stepped outside. "Unless you want to tell my mom more about why your wife left you and you ended up stuck with me," he said, raising an eyebrow slightly. He could see which way it'd been about to go.

"'Stuck' is not the word I would use," he countered, closing the door behind them and adjusting his hat again with a deep breath.

"Your mother isn't the first or the worst to ask questions and just because a question is asked, doesn't mean I have to tell the truth. Polite people don't get past 'it didn't work out'." And when they pushed past that, he pushed back.

"That could have gone worse."

"Another reason I thought it was a good idea to leave now."

He slid his hands into his pockets, since he knew holding Raylan's was out of the question, the tupperware lodged in the crook of his elbow.

"Mind if we walk for a bit?" he asked as they started down the sidewalk. He needed some air. The hallucination had left him with a general ill-at-ease feeling he was trying to shake.

Raylan nodded and fell in line, looking up at what little sky he could as they made their way. After a moment, he looked over at Malcolm.

"What triggered what happened at the table? Your hallucination."

He took a breath like he was about to speak, but let it out, then swallowed and looked down at the sidewalk.

"Brain chemistry is complicated," he said, the technical answer being his go-to for dissociating. "I take an antipsychotic to mitigate the... psychosis. It's a symptom of PTSD. But a little change of levels... a little cortisol, a little adrenaline... I find these dinners with my mother stressful," he admitted quietly. "And I think that's what did it." He dared to look over at Raylan. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about... them. They could honestly happen at any time; I should have said something." His eyes widened slightly as he realized how that sounded. "They're mostly under control, I promise." He frowned faintly. "This is too crazy, right? It's too much?"

He watched the sidewalk pass under his boot tips, which was easier then looking at Malcolm and not being able to slip an arm around him or something.

"My being there made it worse," he surmised.

As Malcolm continued, Raylan couldn't help but reproitize his working relationship with the man. Reality was what it was, no matter how he felt, and it was something a smart man would take into account, considering what it was they did for a living.

"Too much for what?" He knew, but he wanted to let Malcolm argue the stance if he really wanted to. Get it out of his system or something. "Too crazy to work with, too crazy to date, too crazy to be in love with?"

There was almost an underlying tonal challenge, however soft it was. Go on, Malcolm. Try to convince Raylan Givens to feel some kind of way he doesn't.

He'd taken to studying the sidewalk again and frowned but didn't answer when Raylan suggested he'd made it worse, but when Raylan ran down the possibilities of what it was possibly 'too crazy' for, his attention whipped over to his face and he stopped walking.

"Your being there didn't make it worse," he said evenly, watching his face, choosing to address his previous statement instead of that one. "It made it better. Like there was a safe place to regroup."

Raylan stopped with him, turning a patient, barefaced expression over as he shifted enough to be half facing Malcolm with the lean edge of his frame.

"Your mother wasn't hugged much as a child, was she?"

"I don't really know," he admitted. "They're not super warm people, though." Raylan didn't want to talk about his grandparents, really. He was sure.

To be in love with.

It rang in his mind like a church bell and he felt both incredibly grounded and like he was about to faint.

"I..." He swallowed. Usually it took a lot more touching to get his brain to short out like that. "Should I get a taxi? I'll get a taxi."

Stepping towards the curb would help with that, but he was rooted to the spot, his eyes on Raylan's face.

"Much as I've seen, money tends to do that, for some reason." He wasn't going to ask tonight, but he would ask eventually. Tonight, they had plenty to process. Malcolm's grandparents would hold.

Raylan's face curled in soft amusement. "We already done walking?"

He laughed self-consciously and nodded faintly.

"I don't want to be out here anymore. I want to get home."

Where he could properly appreciate what Raylan just said.

"Had enough of the rest of the world," he admitted with a wry smile.

He hummed his acknowledgement, smile spreading a little as he stepped backwards, turning somehow with those long legs, to flag a taxi down. Thankfully, this street seemed to be a popular one and getting one to pull up next to the curb happened more easily than Raylan honestly expected.

He opened the door and gestured for Malcolm to slid in before doing the same.

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