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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"So long as you don't have anything in it," Raylan said with a roll of his shoulder and a half bob of his head that said it was fine. "Whatever gets the job done," he said of their conversation with a pull of his smirk as he walked around to the front of the car and slid in.

He met Jeremy's eyes in the rearview. "Keep it nice and polite and I might crack a window." Better the carrot than the stick, Raylan felt, though he was not above using said stick. But he was following Malcolm's lead on that.

Jeremy leaned forward eagerly as Malcolm slid into the car.

"Did you see her?" he asked, ignoring Raylan's offer of a cracked window.

Malcolm put on his seatbelt and then half turned in his seat to look at Jeremy. "I saw her," he said grimly.

"What did you think?" he pressed.

"I think you made an innocent person suffer to stroke your ego," Malcolm said matter-of-factly, "and if it's Martin Whitly's company you want to be in, you at least have that in common with him."

Jeremy looked like he was trying to decide whether that was a compliment or an insult.

"Jeremy, I don't know what it is you think I do, but I'm not, like, an art critic for serial killers. I put them in prison."

"You know more about them than anyone," Jeremy told him. "Everyone talks about it; you understand them."

"Yeah, I do. That doesn't mean I agree with them. I studied hard to figure out what makes sick people do sick things and do you know why?"

"You're interested."

"I'm interested in stopping them so fewer innocent people die to stroke their egos."

Jeremy started to look agitated. "You said we could compare my work to the greats," he growled.

"Happy to," Malcolm said mildly. "Who were you thinking of when you killed your last victim? Martin Whitly? He's been on your mind since the interview, right?"

"He's probably the most famous serial killer of the last twenty years. I want that."

"Well, you're not going to be Martin Whitly with a couple of spree killings and a nascent methodology; let's be real."

"I want you to put your profile of me on the internet!"

"No, you really don't."

Jeremy kicked Malcolm's seat hard. "YES I DO!"

Raylan didn't linger, pulling them onto the road that would get them back onto a blacktop in a few minutes. Plenty of time for the conversation to progress. He listened silently without much of any reaction but that was something that changed with a sharp look into his rearview at Jeremy's temper tantrum.

With a tightness in his jaw, Raylan pulled them off onto the dusty sidebar and eyed the man in his back seat through the mirror.

"I'mma tell you this once," he started, oh so calmly. "Kick my seats or scream again, you will ride to Lexington in the trunk, and no one is gonna have any conversation."

Malcolm shifted in his seat where he could watch Raylan take command with a warm fondness on his face where the prisoner couldn't see it. Jeremy looked at him sullenly, but didn't protest.

Once the car moved back onto the road, Malcolm met Raylan's gaze very briefly - he was okay - and then turned around again.

"Profiles don't make killers look good, Jeremy, and if you understood why you've done what you've done, you'll understand that. If I post all the reasons you kill on the internet, you're only going to look like the sad little man that you are."

Jeremy's face started to contort to rage again, but Malcolm spoke before he could.

"Have you ever read a profile of Martin Whitly? He's a lot less fascinating when you understand he's nothing but a malignant narcissist who killed people for kicks because their lives mattered less than his curiosity and his need to exert control. He ruined lives. Not just his victims, but their families. And his own family. And if the press does show up to camp outside your mother's door, do you think she's going to thank you for the attention? She won't. You're a selfish little boy who thinks people owe him something because he had a hard time making friends. That doesn't make you any version of great."

Jeremy screamed and lunged forward, the seatbelt restraining him. "WHAT DO YOU THINK THEY'LL SAY ABOUT ME IF I KILL THE FAMOUS SERIAL KILLER HUNTER, HUH? WHAT WILL THEY SAY THEN??"

Jeremy only got to the word kill, into his scream before Raylan, who'd unbuckled himself during their back and forth, swiftly turned, one arm over the back of his seat as he stretched to punch Jeremy dead in his face with no regard for kindness.

With a deadly kinda look, Raylan slung the door open and slid out, swinging Jeremy's door open just as hard. "Get outta the car," he said, not waiting to reach in and drag Jeremy out by the front of his shirt, eyes dancing back and forth around the horizon in a half second before he popped the trunk and started frog marching Jeremy back there.

"Get in," he said roughly, no longer inviting the man to anything.

There was no sugar on this lemon, not anymore.

Edited 2020-08-18 01:28 (UTC)

Malcolm got out of the car when Raylan did, but he stayed on the opposite side of the vehicle from Raylan and Jeremy.

Jeremy was stunned by the punch and the pull, but started struggling as Raylan told him to get in the trunk.

"THE FUCK I WILL."

Raylan shifted his hands, one grabbing a fistful of his shirt while the other grabbed the back of his jacket and using the force of balance, he pushed him into the trunk. When Jeremy inevitably tried to push back up with the momentum that got him in there, Raylan punched him again and slammed the trunk shut.

He eyed Malcolm as he came back around the car and paused at the look on his face.

"What? He was givin' me a headache." It was his entire excuse and he looked almost innocent as he slid back into the driver's seat.

Edited 2020-08-18 02:00 (UTC)

Malcolm slid back into his own seat and looked over at Raylan with a barely suppressed smile.

"You know, if you punch everyone that threatens me, you're going to have a sore hand."

"We'll invest in a lotta frozen peas."

He was very serious about that as he pulled onto the road, heaving a deep breathed sigh as they got going again, ignoring the faint sounds he could hear from the trunk.

"What do you want for dinner tonight?"

Malcolm considered it. "If you want to order in after all this, we can get Chinese. I could do rice." Plain, steamed rice. "Maybe some sort of vegetable."

Like a psycho killer that just threatened to kill him wasn't riding in the trunk after getting punched into submission by his extremely sexy cowboy Marshal boyfriend.

"That counts as more substantial than soup, right?"

"I could knock down some Chinese, yeah," he replied with a faint nod of his head. Just another day at the office, here.

--

An hour or so later, Raylan pulled off the road again and looked over at Malcolm as he popped his seat belt. "We're about twenty minutes from life out here; let's see if Jeremy wants to play nice the rest of the way."

Getting out and walking to the back of the car, Raylan propped one hand lazily on his gun as he popped the trunk, head tilting a little to see under the edge as it came up. "If you can keep your mouth shut, you can ride the rest of the trip up front." The lift of his eyebrows is what made it a question, somehow.

Malcolm also got out, keeping some distance but lingering where he could help Raylan if he needed another set of hands.

Jeremy nodded tightly, struggling his way out of the trunk under the Marshal's watch, seemingly willing to march back to the backseat.

Then he spotted Malcolm and twisted away from Raylan to charge at him.

"I WILL EAT YOU LIkE HANNIBAL LECTER!" he screamed as he did so. "THEY WON'T CALL THAT SAD!!"

Raylan put one hand under his arm to help him out, a tight grip that was clearly not tight enough as Jeremy twisted away, but Raylan wasn't terribly concerned. His face contorted as two long half ran steps put him within arm's reach of the stupid man. Plently of room to grab him with both hands at the back of his jacket and hurl him into the side of the car.

"You know, shit stains like you just never learn the lesson that life is out here to teach ya," Raylan said, like he was almost disappointed. "You could save yourself a lotta pain. Lunge at him again, I'm gonna havta shoot you, you understand."

Malcolm pressed his lips together and shook his head faintly, stepping up behind Raylan's elbow.

"I told you that you wouldn't like it if your profile was online. At least now you'll still be 'whatshisface; the guy that killed all those women'," he said as though it were a consolation prize.

"I'm going to make you suffer," Jeremy growled, though his eyes kept darting to Raylan.

Malcolm nodded. "If I had a dollar for every sad murderer who said he'd make me suffer.... or did make me suffer," he conceded, "I wouldn't have to do this anymore." He gave Raylan a pat on the shoulder and got back in the car.

Raylan's heavy gaze didn't leave Jeremy's face as Malcolm spoke, nor when he was patted on the shoulder. You don't take your eyes off a feral dog, just in case you have to put them down. Once Malcolm was in the car, Raylan could relax a little, though he didn't at all.

"C'mon," he said, reaching down with his left hand to grab Jeremy by his elbow again. "Back up." Once on his feet, Raylan started moving him back towards the back end of the car and nodded at the still open trunk.

"We got about another thirty minutes, so. Get comfortable." Don't make him put you back in, is what his everything said with no words at all.

"I'll ride in the seat," Jeremy grumbled, letting himself be put back into the car.

He stared intently at Malcolm's profile, but he didn't say anything or try to attack.

Malcolm glanced back over at him for a second with an odd look, then turned his attention to Raylan as he got in. "Thirty minutes, huh?"

Jeremy was lucky Raylan was in a decent mood, because he fully planned on stuffing the man back into the trunk. But maybe the threat of shooting him had garnered them enough time to get to where they were going before that had to happen.

Raylan didn't really wanna shoot people, but they made him.

"Less than, I promise ya," he said with a subtly dangerous edge to his voice.

He made it there in 15, only slowing down so that he didn't skid into the parking lot. Instead of parking underground or in the garage, Raylan chose his normal spot, next to the Marshal's entrance.

"Alright, everyone out." He'd get out and tend to Jeremy, with a tighter grip on his arm than he had before. If he was concerned about the signs of abuse on the man, he didn't show it.

He wasn't concerned.

Once in the building, Raylan was able to give Jeremy over to the booking cops who'd take the wild bastard over for them and with an adjustment of his hat, Raylan was happy to see the back of the man.

"Well, at least I didn't have to shoot him," he started as he looked at Malcolm.

"That instability is how he snapped to take a life in the first place," Malcolm noted. He glanced around. "What's next?"

Usually, after the case, Malcolm was sent home until the next one they decided they needed him for. He looked at Raylan. "I can help with the paperwork."

"Good because you gotta make a statement too, detail out how it all went, you know the drill. The rest of the team'll be back in not too long, maybe an hour. We get done right, we might be able to skip out and miss them," he said as he ambled them towards the Marshal's office that Malcolm was familiar with.

Them and the questions that they'd inevitably have.

"That's what we want to do?" he clarified. "Miss them?"

He'd have kind of liked to get to know Raylan's friends, but he was also aware of how precarious a situation they were in. "I can keep it concise," he said. "If we miss them, can we go home?"

"You like 'em, don't you?" he guessed as he opened the door into the offices and walked in, nodding in greeting at the few people that were there.

"But yeah, after the paperwork, that's where we're headed." It was already coming on three, what with all the driving they'd had to do and the chase into the hollar. Definitely a full days work.

"I don't mind missin' 'em, but if you've got questions or anything for them.." He could linger, take a little less time on the paperwork.

He did like them, insofar as they seemed interesting and competent and decent and he conceded that with a tilt of his head at the question.

"No, no," he said quickly to the offer. "I mean, my interest in them is... technically more of an interest in you, if I'm honest. I'd like to go home. We can stop and get something for the grill on the way. I'm willing to try my hand," he offered as they drew near Raylan's desk.

"A study in how Southerners mess with each other? I see what you're after," he teased as he took his hat off to set it on the printer before sitting down in his chair and pulling open his desk drawer to rifle through the small stack of papers there.

"What happened to Chinese?" He glanced at the chair at Rachel's desk. "We can sit here or in the conference room. Conference room is probably better."

"Conference room," Malcolm agreed. He could sit across from Raylan. Nobody would be walking by to overhear them talking. "And we got back here fairly early, so I thought it might be nice to have a barbeque that didn't have the pall of my family's problems hanging over it."

He'd returned to New York missing Raylan bitterly. It was different when he was prepared to leave, even though he never wanted to. Being forced to leave on such short notice had poked his anxiety. He knew they hadn't done it on purpose, but the fact that his mother didn't really approve of him seeing Raylan and that his father wouldn't if he knew, it almost felt like they had.

"I had an idea for a side dish," he said as he slid into a chair at the conference table. "I found this salad online that's basically just fresh green and yellow beans tossed in a light vinaigrette sort of dressing. It sounded...nice." And edible.

With paper and pens, Raylan let them into the conference room, making sure to gently shut the glass door behind them before setting out their paper and settling down in a chair.

"I wouldn't say no to a fresh type salad," he agreed. "Even if you don't do the grillin'. Though I can't say it wouldn't be nice to see." Just for the sake of it.

"We don't even have to bring them up." He started by writing his name. "But I wouldn't be object to hearin' how they are, overall."

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Figure we can maybe fast track them to JUST OUTSIDE OF TOWN SO HE CAN ask him if hes ready to behave

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