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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"One of those, please," he said with a long finger directed at the glass as he tossed his beer bottle in the trash. "Feels like we oughta celebrate a little, right?" Grinning, he came over to collect it. "You gonna join me or should we spike a cup of tea."

He wasn't teasing. Tea was something Malcolm did and a shot wasn't a glass. Couldn't hurt that much.

"I will have one," he said with a broad smile, pouring it. One glass wouldn't hurt much. He collected it up and followed Raylan to the couch to curl up with him.

"What's good?" he said of the TV. "Is there a baseball game on?"

"Let's see," he started as he sat down, trading his glass momentarily for the clicker so he could move through the menu, elbows leaning on his knees as he did so. He didn't get far before he ran across something better.

Raylan looked over after highlighting one 'Red River'. 1948 by the summary. "How do you feel about old westerns?"

Malcolm grinned as he wandered over to sink onto the couch next to Raylan.

"I feel like I'd like to get to know them better," he replied, taking a sip of his drink.

Raylan grinned in return at that answer and happily clicked it on so he could lean back into the couch, slouching down a little so Malcolm could fit against him more comfortably. As the credits started rolling, Raylan couldn't help but keep his smile.

"I used to watch Rawhide and Ponderosa when I'd go to Aunt Helen's. I've always liked westerns. Louie Lamour books too."

"I would not have guessed that about you," Malcolm teased, snuggling up to him. "What's this one about?"

Raylan flashed him a playfully stern look that broke into a smile as he took a sip of his scotch.

"A cattle drive up from Texas, I think it is, ultimately. John Wayne is the main guy, finds a kid along the way and takes him in, raises him as his own. Been a while since I seen it myself."

Malcolm set his glass on the coffee table when it was empty, draping the now free hand over Raylan's knee.

The movie was fascinating, less for the subject matter or the old style of acting than for the insight into Raylan's childhood entertainment and how it had impacted him.

But being awake for over 48 hours was a stretch, even for a chronic insomniac who'd been living a roller coaster two days. The warmth and the scotch and the gentle pace of the film had Malcolm nodding off without really realizing he was sinking into sleep.

Raylan's glass followed soon after and they shifted a little so he could put one leg up on the couch, reclining them both a bit more. There was a reason Raylan had suggested going to bed after a little TV and while he did love Red River, it probably wasn't the best thing to put on with the intent of actually getting in a bed.

Raylan didn't fall asleep in front of the tv often, but Malcolm's weight and the eventual steady breathing that he didn't quite consciously register as sleep worked his magic on him too. He hadn't been up for 48 hours straight but he was running on 4 hours sleep over the last two days and he didn't realize he was slipping into unconsciousness soon enough to do anything about it.

The last thought he had was 'We'll get up to go to bed in a few minutes', then nothing.

Malcolm woke up inside his dream. He got out of bed and wandered out into the hall.

He thought he heard something. He walked towards a door.

In reality, he did get up from beside Raylan, moving curiously through the big open space of their living room and dining room.

"Hello?" he called - in the dream and out of it - as he moved towards the sound.

In the dream, someone emerged from the door. In reality, Malcolm's face, seemingly awake but sound asleep, registered surprised recognition.

"What are you doing here?"

He paused, then followed something invisible towards the terrace door. "Hey! Where are you going?" he called. When he pushed the door open, he ducked as he moved through it, like it was much smaller than it was.

Raylan stirred a little as Malcolm got up, but it wasn't until the 'Hello' that Raylan's brain put everything together and woke him up. Something Was Happening. Blearily, he pushed up onto his elbows with a questioning "Malcolm?"

What are you doing here?

Raylan tried again as he sat up. "Malcolm, c'mon, lets.. go to bed." He turned the TV off and stood up to watch as Malcolm opened the terrace door, frowning deeply before long striding his way over to catch up.

Yes, something was happening and clearly his calls hadn't gotten through.

"Malcolm," he tried again, this time with a hand under Malcolm's arm to try and gently stop him from going to much further than the step and a half he'd gotten out there. "Baby, wake up."

"What is this? Why are you..."

Raylan took his arm, but it wasn't Raylan he saw. A moment after the hand took him by the arm, he suddenly jolted away, wide-eyed with fear, in the only direction he could move: towards the railing.

"NO, DON'T!" he shouted, scrambling backwards until his back hit the railing. "Stop," he pleaded. "Stop!" He was grappling for purchase, looking for a way past the obstacle behind him, to safety.

Having not expected such a strong reaction to a gentle touch, Malcolm was more than able to tear his arm out of Raylan's grasp, but Raylan rushed after him as he headed towards the railing with another useless, "Malcolm!"

Heart beating adrenaline through his veins, first order of business was getting himself between Malcolm and the railing. The only way he could think to do that was grab the back of Malcolm's shirt with one fist while the other swooped around Malcolm's midsection, lifting him off the ground as Raylan pivoted to put the railings behind him.

"Malcolm!" he repeated again, this time louder and more forceful.

He screamed, clutching his midsection and thrashing in Raylan's grasp, half doubled over, one hand holding his stomach while the other reached for anything to help him get free: the arm of the chair, the barbeque, the wall, the door handle.

Malcolm's fingers clawing over the arm of the couch as Raylan forcibly moved him unevenly a few feet forwards only added to the chaotic noise now ringing in his ears, and a lucky grab towards the passing barbeque was the only thing that stopped him from getting any further. The sudden added leverage was more than enough to send them tetering towards it and force Raylan to set Malcolm back down on his feet.

Letting of Malcolm's shirt, Raylan slid his now free hand under and around Malcolm's death gripped arm to grab his wrist. He knew he couldn't get Malcolm to let go without hurting him and pressed his weight in to trap Malcolm against it.

"I'm not gonna let you throw yourself off the goddamned roof," he said with a heavy accent and a sharp tone into Malcolm's ear. "So wake up" The last words came with something a shake of him, the only physical part of it all that wasn't restraint.

Malcolm struggled through the words, but between the last gritted 'wake up' and the shake, something switched like a light and he blinked in disorientation, finding himself pressed against cool metal, pinned by a body. He was breathing heavily from the exertion.

"What... what happened? Where..."

His eye grew wide as he realized, tears already pricking at them.

"No no no no no no..." he prayed under his breath.

When the struggle stopped, when the tension ebbed out from Malcolm, Raylan could only hope he was, in fact, awake. The first few words were only a comfort because Malcolm wasn't struggling anymore, but he couldn't help a passing worry that Malcolm still wasn't. His grip was steady around Malcolm's wrist and was the first place he let go, slowly uncurling screaming knuckles and moving a now shaking hand to rest on the barbeque handle.

The following muttered plea was, twistedly, a good thing and Raylan let go of the tight half breath with a faint tremble as he dropped his forehead onto Malcolm's shoulder. He had to consciously make his right arm loosen to grab the barbeque handle as well. It held his weight, kept Malcolm right where he was, and gave them both a few seconds to breathe.

"It's okay. Everything's okay."

The cops that would arrive at the door in about 5 minutes might disagree.

Malcolm was shaking as he turned to look at Raylan, expecting a black eye or a bloody nose or worse.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked desperately, trying to look him over. "What did I do?" he pressed even more desperately.

Raylan pulled his weight back enough to let that happen, shaking his head at the question.

"No, you didn't." The 2 am light pollution would be enough to note there was no blood, at least. "You came onto the terrace. I stopped you. You freaked out and ran yourself to the railings. I didn't want you throwin' yourself off.. Did I hurt you?" He had been holding onto Malcolm's wrist pretty tightly.

The sound of sirens peaking and vallying their wail started to creep in and get louder. Raylan took a deep breath and let it out shakily as he looked over his shoulder towards the edge.

"Shit." He had to force himself to let go of the barbeque too so he could straighten fully. "That'll be for us."

Malcolm's eyes trailed to the railing, lifting a hand to touch Raylan's face like he was making sure it was there.

His wrist would likely be sore and a little purple by morning, but in the spike of adrenaline and anxiety, he hadn't noticed it yet.

When Raylan said the sirens were for them, he blinked at him in confusion. "...You... you called the police?" he clarified in disbelief.

It was. No mirage here, just one adrenaline high cowboy; stressed, worried and tired.

"No, but I'd bet bottom dollar someone did. You screamed like I was gutting you the entire time we moved. On top of the 'No, Don't', I'm sure it gave them the wrong impression."

The sirens pulled into the lot and cut short, but the dancing blue and reds were unmistakable. Raylan stepped back walked inside to turn on some lights and pull a shirt on, just in time for there to be a classic kind of cop knock at the door.

Malcolm followed him inside, but lingered just inside the terrace door, shaky hand balled into a fist and braced against his leg, feeling very small and guilty.

"Bring your badge," he said in a whisper as Raylan passed him, pulling on his shirt to get the door.

Thankfully, Raylan had taken off his gun and badge on the counter which was closer to the front door than the bedroom where he usually dropped it and on Malcolm's suggestion, though it was half done just to comfort him, tucked his badge into his back pocket.

"Lexington PD, Ope-" The words were interrupted by Raylan doing just that and holding the door open wide with a blinking look of expectation on his face.

"Evenin' Officers."

"Evenin'," they replied, boldly looking in at Malcolm and the apartment through the door. "We got a call about a domestic disturbance. Everything okay with you folks?"

"Yeah," Raylan said with a reassuring pinch of his face and nod of his head. If someone didn't know better, he looked casual and relaxed, answering like they were talking about how their mama's were. "I'm a Deputy US Marshal," he explained, pulling out his badge to show it before tucking it back away. "My friend here has a bit of a sleepwalkin' night terror problem, but we got him woken up and set right."

One of the cops looked at Malcolm again. "Sir? You alright?" The question was innocently pointed enough - they wanted to hear it from Malcolm, not the guy they automatically assumed would be the aggressor, considering how Malcolm looked at the moment. But the underlying question was more serious. 'Do you need help? Is this an abuse situation and you're just scared to say something.'

Raylan didn't hold it against them, even if he couldn't help but be a little angry at the unspoken insinuation.

Malcolm folded his arms across himself.

"I'm okay," he said. He unfolded one arm to turn and point at the terrace. "I was having a nightmare. Sleepwalking. Almost went over the balcony." He gestured towards Raylan. "He pulled me back," he explained, tucking his arm away again, hoping the close call sufficiently explained why he was shaky. "So I wouldn't fall."

Closed body language didn't provide much of any confidence and the pair of cops had no issue letting that show on their face as they looked at Raylan again, a little less trusting than before. But they had no reason to take it any further.

"Well hopefully he only has the one. Neighbour's described it as a horror show. Maybe soundproof your apartment?" One of them glanced over at Malcolm again and nodded his head before nodding it at Raylan and leading his partner off.

Raylan closed the door behind them and took another deep breath, jaw tightening as he breathed in and loosening as he let it out before he looked over to Malcolm.

"Let me see your wrists," he said with a gesture as he walked back over.

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