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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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.

It was a self-soothing gesture, but easily mistaken as closed body language, especially by people in a particular line of work with limited training in interpreting body language. By the time Raylan returned to him, he was rocking faintly back and forth, one foot to the other.

At the unexpected command, Malcolm just blinked at him a moment.

"...What?"

"Your wrists," Raylan said more gently. "I wanna see if I left any marks."

Once he made sure Malcolm was okay, he could move on to the hugging and reassuring. Followed closely by a shot to calm his nerves.

Malcolm unfolded his arms and held them out, hands still balled in tight fists, though it didn't completely mask the right hand's psychogenic tremor.

"I didn't mean it," he said softly. "It was an accident."

Taking the into his hands, Raylan inspected them, minding the left more than the right and thumbing over the redness he saw there before looking at Malcolm from under his eyebrows.

"I know you didn't. I'm sorry I hurt you," he said, lifting Malcolm's wrist up to kiss it. "You're a lot stronger than you look, ya know."

"You didn't hurt me. You saved my life," he said with a pinched expression. He finally unfolded his hands and they trembled as he hesitantly reached for Raylan's ribs, running them over the contours carefully. "I really didn't hurt you?" he asked, clarifying what he was looking for. "I didn't hit you or... shove you into anything?"

"Mm," was his only reply to that. He was sorry he had to hurt Malcolm, even if it was to save his life. Raylan shook his head again, sliding his hands around Malcolm's shoulders to pull him into a hug.

"Just scared the hell outta me, that's all," he assured, pressing a kiss into his hair. "We're both okay."

Squeezing him, Raylan pulled back a little. "And I need a drink."

Edited 2020-09-02 20:52 (UTC)

When Raylan pulled him into a hug, he clung to him, tears threatening to return as he buried his face in Raylan's shoulder.

A drink. Right. Okay. He straightened up, nodding, attempting to school his face into something that wasn't falling apart. What did everyone always tell him? Pull yourself together. You're no good to anyone when you get like this.

"I... won't. Have one."

Though his eyes wandered to the tidy row of pill bottles on the counter as he considered adding an additional xanax to his day.

He smoothed his t-shirt down.

Raylan frowned softly as he watched Malcolm hastily try to pick up the pieces of himself. Not having a drink was probably a good idea, but that wasn't the reason for Raylan's expression.

"Hey," he said softly, taking Malcolm's face in his hand to urge his eyes back up. "Don't do that. You don't have to. There's no one to put a show on for here." Not even him.

Malcolm let out a shaky breath and nodded.

"I'm... trying not to think about being a horrible burden that's going to ruin your life," he said, swallowing hard. "I could have taken us both off the roof. I was careless. I know better."

"You were comfortable. Not reckless. Fallin' asleep with me is not recklessness. You aren't ruining anythin'." As much as Raylan wanted to be gentle about it all, he couldn't help a bit of the underlying steel and leftover anger seeping into the echoed word.

"I still want to marry you. I don't care what happens. I don't care how many times you sleepwalk or how many times I've gotta save you. It doesn't matter. Nothing changes that."

Malcolm flinched slightly at the bite, but he did appreciate the underlying sentiment and he reached for Raylan again, because he'd have seen the flinch and Malcolm didn't want him to edit himself anymore than he wanted Malcolm to.

"I know that," he said softly, fingers playing at the edges of Raylan's shirt. "Underneath the... anxiety, I... I know that," he admitted, drawing closer. "There are a lot of voices in my memories that tell me what I can't do but... they're not right. I know they're not."

The flinch immediately made him feel guilty. He knew it wasn't Malcolm's fault. This thought path wasn't intentional. But they'd just gotten on one of happiness and surety - Raylan did want them to fall off it. He had to hold onto this.

His hands slid a little further, a little tighter around Malcolm's waist as profiler stepped in, dark eyes locked on Malcolm's face.

"Then I am talking to your anxiety," he said, more softly. "Any risk that's here, I'll own. That's not yours to bear. I'm choosing this. You don't get to." Malcolm was stuck in his own head and Raylan understood that. All he could do was continue to be a steady wall of consistent protective need and want.

Malcolm closed his eyes and leaned forward into Raylan's chest again.

"I'm not okay," he whispered like it was a secret.

He tried to keep it a secret.

"But I feel like I am when I'm here with you." A beat. "When my brain's not attacking me," he conceded. Stabbing him on the inside. Making him jump off a roof on the outside.

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