tinstar | Malcolm x Raylan: Cowboy Surprise

"Well... the list is in my phone, which is absolutely not being turned on for at least twenty-four hours." Because Raylan suggested it and it sounded like the best idea all week. "But I definitely remember basil, oregano, parsley, dill... thyme... lemongrass... " He reached across Raylan to lift the lid of the grill, then had to untangle from him to test both the chicken and the beef with the meat thermometer. "It's done," he said, putting them each on the plate and covering them with tin foil.

"We bring it in to rest, right? Can you grab my glass?" he asked as he headed in with the plate.

"Absolutely not," he echoed with a pointed lift of his eyebrows. The phone needed to stay off. He was being greedy and he knew it, but he didn't care. He wasn't going to be answering his phone either.

Nodding at the question, Raylan pushed off and grabbed Malcolm's glass as they headed inside.

"Will you consider a tomato plant too? Fresh tomatoes should be valued like gold, in my opinion."

Malcolm's brows shot up as he set the plate down on the table.

"When I was looking up patio herb gardens, I definitely saw something about growing tomatoes in containers!" he exclaimed. "You want that? We can have that," he confirmed, nodding, as he headed for the fridge to get the salad. "Oh!" he said, snapping his fingers. "I found an amazing ring design," he added, speaking of things he was researching online while he was in New York trying to take his mind off his father's blackmail. "Remind me to show you after supper."

"I've seen people grow 'em out of those big plastic buckets," he offered as he set Malcolm's glass down on the table along with his own and followed into the kitchen to get forks and a couple of knives.

He was already ready to snack on some fresh tomatoes.

His eyebrows lifted again as he followed Malcolm with his gaze, back to the table. "I will." You betcha.

"Good work with Jeremy today, by the way. Never thought you not drivin' would be a boon, but you were right to not promise him anything."

A plastic bucket? It would probably be a handpainted ceramic pot. Malcolm had an aesthetic to maintain.

Malcolm put a serving spoon in the salad, looking up when Raylan mentioned Jeremy.

"Oh, thanks. I mean, in an emergency, I know how a car works, but. That would have been a drive I didn't come back from."

He spooned out a few beans and pulled the foil off the meat, cutting himself a third of the chicken breast.

"Likely after he made me watch him carve someone up in the name of his 'art'."

"The only art I'm interested in is this steak." If they could avoid talking about carving up people while he was carving up meat, that'd be great. He didn't mind it most of the time but when it was real on the nose, he couldn't help but feel his skin crawl.

"It looks good," he complimented as he spooned out some salad. "I feel like we should take a picture for proof, just so when you tell your mother she can't call you a liar."

And something satisfying to look at after a long day, especially with Malcolm across from him.

"You think you'll sleep tonight?"

Malcolm's eyes drifted from Raylan's face to the steak with a little 'oops' of a face shrug. Though, at the notion of taking a picture, he smiled broadly.

"You'll have to do it; my phone is inactive," he pointed out happily, cutting a bean into thirds to eat a piece.

When Raylan asked about sleep, he looked up from dissecting the bean and shrugged a shoulder. "For a bit. I always sleep at least a bit when I'm home with you."

She oughta believe Malcolm in the first go but Raylan knew that wasn't going to happen. Still - "I'll leave the food instagram shots to the millennials. They're better at it."

Ainsley could teach him, not that he really wanted to know.

Raylan nodded a little somberly at the answer, not expected much difference. He was grateful Malcolm would get any sleep, so he wasn't going to push or complain. "Tell you what, once I lay down, the only thing that's gonna wake me is you."

He'd tried to stay busy while Malcolm was away.

Malcolm smiled into his plate, then looked at Raylan as he tried another third of a bean.

"You need to catch up," Malcolm said. "But the room is soundproof so if I listen to music with my yoga, it won't wake you up."

He hadn't been doing it when Raylan stayed with him; he hadn't wanted to make noise.

"Guess I'm gonna have to set alarms again." Clearly, something he already did when Malcolm was gone. He didn't mine.

"Better that you get your entire morning routine back." He was steadily working through his meal, somehow evenly going between them. "But don't be afraid to wake me up if you need me. I don't mind."

Malcolm looked at him with practised innocence.

"But if I wake you up whenever I need you, you'll never get any sleep," he noted. "I'm not sure that's good for your health," he added with an impish look, cutting a small sliver of chicken and poking it towards Raylan's plate with his fork before putting it in his mouth. "Did that really turn out okay?"

Oh he caught that and his face curled in amusement as he took another full forked bite. Charmer.

"You're better for my health overall, I think," he argued conversationally. "And it did; it's delicious," he assured with another lift of his eyebrows and a pointed bite. "We'll turn you into a cook yet. You can cook dinner for me anytime the urge strikes you."

"That could be a lot if it makes you smile," Malcolm observed. He ate the last third of the bean and started cutting up another. "I guess if I take up cooking, I'll have to take up eating, huh?"

"That might be part of the plan but I won't tell anyone if you won't. Gotta admit, it's a pretty slick one, huh?"

Like this whole thing was some secret ploy to get Malcolm to eat more. Raylan grinned behind another bite.

"At least to taste the food, if not in a meal."

"That's a relief, because I'm almost certain I can't manage more kinds of food and more volume of food," Malcolm said good naturedly.

He watched Raylan for a moment while he chewed another third of a bean.

"We should make sure the house in Miami has a decent kitchen if we're going to make a go of cooking on a regular basis."

"I would never ask you to," he replied, eyes dancing above another bite.

"We can't order out all the time and I'm not havin' some chef come in night after night.. No offence. The meals at your mama's were pretty but.. Too pretty. Too small, really. Too many courses, ect ect.." He nodded. "I think cookin' will be good for both of us, for different reasons."

"I don't want staff in our house, Raylan," Malcolm assured him with a laugh. "Though I can see why you'd want to clarify that situation," he admitted gamely. "Working on life things, remember?" He sliced off a small bite of chicken. "I just want... a reasonable sort of a life."

"Good," he replied with a faint nod as he cut another bite. He liked where this 'Working on Life things' seemed to be heading.

No more babysitters or maids or servants, no matter what the elite rich called 'em now. Raylan didn't begrudge people making a living by any means, but it seemed just as backwards as Harlan was sometimes, just with Money.

"Though I don't object to caterin' when the situation calls. Still.. When your mother and Ainsley are there, we got plenty of good joints to pick from. She's traveled, right? Your mother?"

"Oh, sure. When we were kids she used to take us to the south of F..." He paused. "Actually, I'm not sure her travels really qualify for what you're asking," he conceded.

His face curled. "Maybe not. I doubt France has much range of culinary skills outside the continent, or if they did, it'd be covered in butter and pastry. Then again, I never got to see it from beyond the airport."

"She always means well, though. It can be hard to remember, which is why I remind you," Malcolm said. "Sometimes it's my mantra when she leaves my apartment after an uninvited visit. 'She means well she means well she means well.'"

"If she didn't, she wouldn't have taken you to the South of France," Raylan agreed. He didn't blame or condescend to Jessica because of her wealth, only because of the way she looked at people who didn't have it. People like him.

"I know she loves you. I know she means well." But Good intentions paved the road to hell or some shit and it looked just as damaging as what his father had done. But as a son who'd lost his own mother, he would tolerate all her shit, for Malcolm's sake.

"Which is why we'll take her into high class restaurants instead of pulling up at a food truck and watching her turn a different shade of pale."

"I think we should eat at our house," Malcolm said matter of factly. "When we visited her, she invited us to what makes her comfortable. When she visits us, she can join us at our table, eating what makes us comfortable."

"It's an option. If that's where you wanna start," he said amicably. It wasn't his decision to make and a very large part of their relationship was Raylan letting Malcolm make his own decisions. He wasn't here to raise him.

"How do you feel about a hotel for her? Just so she can have her own space." He didn't know how many rooms a house the size Malcolm was thinking had, nor the habits around staying with family when you were in town. It was an exploratory question.

"She might prefer that," Malcolm mused. "I'll offer her the option. I don't know if we'll have a guest room. I mean. I guess we should. But if we can only have two bedrooms, one is ours and one is Willa's and that's it. If we can get one or two more... then we'll see."

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