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 looked at the box, then looked at Raylan again. "The instructions make it look so simple," he almost pouted. "I thought I'd at least get it up and painted in a day."

He was not used to finding learning things difficult.

"The guy in the video built the whole thing in, like, an hour and a half."

"Yeah, but I bet he was a pro or something," Raylan dismissed with a bob of his head and a smile. "I bet he didn't manage a box on his first day."

He smiled at Malcolm.

"Ya did good." He looked back inside at the meal and then back again. "How much longer til dinner is done?"

"It's done now!" he exclaimed with some excitement. "I just need to plate it."

He went back inside and into the kitchen, setting nine scallops on one plate and three on the other and a serving of beans on the first plate and couple of beans on the other. He then rummaged in the fridge and set a sprig of fresh parsley on each plate, grabbed a couple of rolls of silverware and carried them over to the table.

"Ta-da!" He looked at Raylan. "What do you want to drink?"

Raylan turned them towards the door, following Malcolm inside and shutting the doors behind them as he went.

"You cooked, I'll get my own drink. And yours too. What do you want to drink?" he asked as he gestured to the table before heading towards the kitchen himself.

"There's sparkling water in the fridge," he said with a charmed smile, sitting down. "I'll have a glass of that."

He slid the napkin ring off his silverware and set the napkin across his lap.

"One sparkling water," Raylan echoed, as he pulled two different glasses down, putting scotch in one before reaching into the fridge to pull out and pop open one of the fancy bottles. Once Malcolm's glass was filled, he came back with both of them and took his seat after setting them down.

"What brought on the scallops?"

It was easier than talking about his conversation with Art and he assumed that Malcolm would eventually ask about it. Generally, he was too curious to seem to help himself.

"I was thinking 'what's quick and edible?' and came up with 'seafood' and went from there." He cut one of his into quarters and took a careful bite, then pointed at the plate with his fork. "Solid food two days in a row."

"These life things might be doin' you some good," he said playfully as he stabbed one and popped it in his mouth, humming shortly after with a nod. "Good too." The scallops, that was.

But he was hungry and Raylan wasn't a man to mess around when it came to his food. The next few minutes would be busy with that before he finally broke for air and a sip of his scotch.

"We got a new player in Harlan today. Avery Markham. Old Country Crime money. I think Boyd might go after him."

A cool case was definitely the way to distract Malcolm from asking about Art.

"Go after him? In what sense? To kill him? To show him who's boss around here?"

He barely got the question out when Raylan's phone rang.

Raylan frowned at the tones coming out of his pocket and leaned back to fit his hand in, fishing out the reliable blackberry he'd stubbornly stayed with for so many years. He didn't recognize the number but that didn't mean anything for a number that was so widely findable.

"Givens," he answered, brow pinched in a faint concern about what was going to mess up his dinner.

Malcolm hoped Raylan didn't have to go back to work, but he didn't say anything, carefully cutting a bean into thirds.

"Raylan!" came the cheerful voice on the line. "It's Martin Whitly. Can I call you 'Raylan'? Deputy Marshal is a bit formal when I hear we're practically family these days."

The phone was pulled away from his ear so he could stare at it like it had shocked him or something and abruptly hung up the call, eyes lifting to Malcolm.

"How did your father get my number?"

Malcolm just stared at him like he was speaking another language.

"...What?"

The phone rang again.

He looked at the number. Same one. He could let it go to voicemail, but if this had to happen, he'd rather get it over with.

"Givens," he answered, hopeful that it wasn't Martin and knowing in his bones it was.

Time to start the dance. At least he had scotch in front of him. And Malcolm.

"Raylan! It's Martin. I think we got cut off," he said breezily. "Anyway, I understand you and my son have grown pretty close in recent months and I haven't been able to get ahold of him all day today. A little birdie tells me he might be there with you."

"Connection out here does tend to be touch and go." He wasn't sorry.

"How's that?" he asked, giving no specific directly, but looking for how Martin 'came to understand' anything about him and Malcolm. "Your birdie got a name?"

Just in case he wanted, ya know, ~options~.

Malcolm couldn't glean much from Raylan's end of the conversation, but his hand had started to shake without him even noticing and he was markedly more antsy than he'd been moments earlier.

"Oh, you know how the grapevine is," Martin answered lightly. "So can I speak to him? He hasn't returned any of my messages and - I don't know if he told you - but he and I have an arrangement."

"Eight days out from now, if you saw him day before yesterday," he replied, standing up and grabbing his scotch for a swig. There was no use in fighting against what Martin already knew; it was just a new deal of the hands.

"But if he's not answerin' his phone, I don't know what to tell ya. Probably in airplane mode, bein' on the way back to New York and all."

"I haven't been able to get through for the last eleven hours. Long flight back to New York. Where are you living these days? Moscow?" Martin noted in the same light tone, but with an edge. "I only need a minute," he said. "Put him on the phone."

Malcolm stared at Raylan; Martin was looking for him, specifically. He pressed his lips together and watched.

"Mm, well, I mighta asked him to turn off his phone while he was here for obvious reasons. The man deserves a break from his family, now and then.. Why do you wanna speak with him? You really oughta save this for your time with him. Put it in a list with bullet points if that helps."

Raylan was very specifically not looking at Malcolm right now. He wasn't going to leave the room but he didn't want to make what he could feel from Malcolm worse with assumptions he didn't currently have the time to reassure or fix.

"I realize you two are bosom chums these days," Martin said, "but that's between him and me."

Malcolm wasn't sure to make of Raylan not looking at him. He bit his lip and leaned in his direction. He could take the phone, if it would help.

It was at that point that Raylan should have wished him good luck and hung up the phone again.

Instead, "How'd you get this number?"

"It's not that hard when you know the right people," Martin told him. "Can I assume, based on your clumsy stonewalling, that you're at least attempting to look after my son?"

Raylan smirked. "Stonewallin' against what you already know and what I'm not ashamed of ain't much. Seems a waste of time to me."

No matter what Martin knew, he was no closer to getting to actually talk to his son. Raylan had that power.

"It's not like I lose anything. You don't gain anythin'." He shrugged. "I'm sure your little birdie will tell you how I'm doin', why should I?"

"Raylan," Martin chided, "you're not doing him any favours, you know; keeping him away from his family. My son... he has a lot of problems. He needs his base of support." A beat. "Of course you probably know about a lot of his problems. Which does make me wonder why you'd take them on. And then I think... maybe you like that he's a broken toy. He doesn't have a lot of options, after all. He's not going anywhere. The more you ply him with affection, the more beholden he becomes to you, the more you can control him."

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