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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"It's important," Martin all but growled. "About something he asked me. Tell him it's about her and give him the choice."

"Sure, next time I get the chance. You have a good night now."

Raylan hung up the phone and dropped it on the counter top, heading straight for the scotch. Just a few more fingers.

Malcolm was still watching Raylan from his seat at the table with a sort of wide-eyed trepidation. Raylan pouring himself another generous glass of scotch was not a good sign.

"What did he want?" he asked hesitantly.

"He's got something to tell you. About her," he answered with a look from under his eyebrows. "He threatened your mother's acquittal. Pullin' out that many stops makes me think he's a little desperate. It's up to you if you call him. I don't care if he knows I was lyin' about you being on your way to New York or not."

Malcolm fidgeted in his seat.

"He's not going to tell me anything new about her," he said, but his confidence was shaky at best. "It was a ploy."

He flexed his hand, finally realizing it was reacting.

"I shouldn't call him. Giving him what he wants is like feeding a feral animal. It just keeps coming around after that."

Raylan took a healthy sip of his whiskey before he came back around towards the table, leaving his phone on the counter. He'd been a little worried that Martin would have called right back for something more.

"I wouldn't turn your phone on tonight either, in that case." Instead of returning to his seat, he went to stand next to Malcolm, free hand sliding around his neck gently. thumb brushing up and down the side. "You're in line with your agreement with him; it didn't come with any additional strings. You don't have to do anythin' you don't want to."

The idea that Raylan was controlling Malcolm was ridiculous.

Malcolm looked up at him and clenched his fist, bringing it under the table to sit on his knee, whiteknuckled. The hand on his neck was grounding and soothed him, his fidgeting became a little less agitated.

"I probably have seventy-two unheard messages," he said with a nervous laugh. He sighed. "He's probably been talking to Ainsley. If he knew I'd be here with you? Ainsley probably told him."

"Ainsley doesn't quite see him the same as you and your mother, does she." He bent over to press a kiss into Malcolm's hair before straightening and coming back around to take his seat. There was still a bit of dinner left on it and it had been good. He wanted to finish it.

"When did she start talkin' to him?"

Malcolm shook his head, though he unconsciously leaned to follow Raylan's hand as it left him.

"Intellectually, she understands what he is. But she didn't... see what I saw. And she never had any contact with him. She got it in her head about... 8 months ago... it was shortly before Christmas..." Between the first time and the second time Raylan and Malcolm had met. "She got it in her head to do an exclusive interview with him. The one Jeremy saw on TV. And that was when they started talking. I have my suspicions that she still visits him, but I don't know for sure."

Under the table he was bouncing his leg and he hadn't picked his fork back up. At least half of his food was still on his plate, small portion that it was to start with.

Raylan didn't expect to see Malcolm eating anymore tonight. Which was a shame.

He pulled a flat face as he stabbed another scallop. That meant that Ainsley was still sweet and naive enough to think that people could change, or could honestly weigh the whole 'More good than harm has been done' idea. That one was a dangerous one.

"I can't say she doesn't have a right to know who her daddy is," he reluctantly allowed with a breath before popping his bite in.

"Our mother did the best that she knew how to do, but I think we both could have used more balance. She was kept completely cut off from him and I was... allowed to immerse in him. And it's not benefiting either of us," he admitted.

He swallowed and looked down at his plate.

"I stopped talking for a couple of months after the trial," he admitted. "I just... shut down." He was on his way to a related point, but he paused, hearing his own wording and remembering Raylan's from the previous day. He looked up. "Have I told you this? I haven't told you this..." He normally had a good memory. He was sure he hadn't told him this.

Raylan shook his head softly. Gil had told him about it, but he wanted to hear it from Malcolm if he was willing to retell it. Maybe it'd have more insight then what Gil was able to glean.

"It's okay, keep goin'."

He nodded. Okay. "Well. Everything was just. So much. It was so much and I couldn't cope with it. That was when I started seeing Gabrielle, my therapist. And once she sort of... got me... mostly managing my emotions again, one thing that kept coming up was wanting to reconcile who I'd thought my father was with the monster that murdered people for fun. So I told my mother I wanted to talk to him. And she didn't want me to, but... I wouldn't drop it. So she let me see him. And he said he didn't understand why he did it, but between us, we could work it out." He watched Raylan's face for a moment. "He made me feel like I could help him and we could help each other and we could somehow still be some kind of a family and he did that on purpose, I came to realize later. He sucked me in because he wanted that control. That influence. That's what he's doing to her now, but she can't see it now any more than I could then."

Raylan nodded back as Malcolm started, reassuring him in the safety of being able to speak as freely as he wanted. Could work it out. Uh-huh. Raylan kept his face in the gentle, well schooled expression that he used when he was paying attention and reserving judgement.

"I don't suppose she'd listen if you told her either." The Whitly's being the kind of people they were. "When you realized, did you confront him or just cut off connection?"

"I didn't really understand it until I'd already cut off the connection. I told him one day that I was applying to Quantico and I would never be returning. He lost his temper. A lot of nightmares I have where I'm trapped in his cell are of that day. I bang on the door and the guard doesn't come." He looked at Raylan. "He sent me letters after that. I burned them without reading them."

Raylan bobbed his eyebrows and sat back, glass in hand. "Can't blame you there." He took a deep breath before taking another sip of his glass, eyes settled on Malcolm.

"I know you've got your reasons for sticking with him and New York but honestly darlin, I can't wait to get you away from there. Away from these people that just.. want to use you to make themselves feel better and more valid by tellin' you what you are and aren't."

"I forgot what it was like," he admitted. "Before last week, when we got this place, I forgot what it was like. Breathing."

"I think you got a few years of catchin' up on breathin' to get to." He looked over the dinner table.

"Ruined your appetite, didn't he?"

"It doesn't take that much," he said a little mournfully. He took a breath. "I'm just. Going to get it over with," he said, getting up resolutely. "And then maybe I can calm down. I won't, with this hanging over my head."

He went to the counter, where he'd discarded his turned off phone the previous evening, and picked it up, powering it back on.

There were, indeed, over fifty new messages. He ignored them and dialed Claremont, asking to be put through to Martin Whitly. He put the phone on speaker and set it on the counter, looking across the room at Raylan, clenching his fists on the counter preemptively.

"My boy!" Martin crowed happily as he answered. Malcolm winced faintly.

"Dr Whitly. I got your message. What did you want to tell me?"

"I presume you remember our arrangement. Twice every ten days."

"I still have eight days before I'm late," Malcolm replied evenly.

"Yes. Your... friend? Knew that as well. I understand you've grown quite close since I saw you both together. Though - I have to say - I sensed a spark even then..."

Malcolm cut off his gleeful rambling firmly. "You told Raylan you had information about the girl in the box that you wanted to relay to me. I'm listening."

"Malcolm, honestly. What kind of manners has your mother been letting you get away with, you just jump right to the..."

"Good-bye, Dr Whitly..."

"Wait. Okay. I just wanted you to know that this investigation into this girl you claim you saw... it's getting into very dangerous territory. Dangerous to you. Dangerous to your mother. Dangerous to your friend in Kentucky. You should leave it alone before someone gets hurt."

Raylan couldn't argue that so instead, he collected the plates, swiftly clearing Malcolm's into his own stomach before bringing them into the kitchen with a glance at Malcolm as he kicked the call on speaker and set it on the counter.

The dishes could wait. Raylan didn't want to make any unnecessary or telling noise, so he opted to walk around behind Malcolm instead, wrapping his arms loosely around his middle.

He looked at Malcolm at the warning and held his tongue, letting Malcolm drive this conversation. He shook his head slightly. Dangerous was something he was used to; the threat was nothing concerning, in his opinion.

Raylan's arms around him were like a shield or a secret weapon or a grounding rod. Slowly he unclenched his hands after that shake of Raylan's head, letting them rest on top of Raylan's hands at his stomach.

"Dangerous in what way? Who even cares about this girl except me? Nobody's shown up to claim her in all the months since Christmas."

"There's a reason for that, Malcolm. She's not what you think. You need to stop looking. Let her be."

"You've said your piece. If that's all then..."

"Malcolm. I'm not playing a game here. Believe it or not, I'm trying to be a good father. You need to listen to me."

"I'll take it under advisement."

"Malcolm Whitly, don't you dare..."

"Good night, Dr Whitly." He ended the call, then turned his head to look at Raylan. "That was new."

Raylan was frowning gently. "What could make him that scared? For a guy who doesn't care about you, that was a pretty specific warning." It wasn't even guiding - instead building on Malcolm's long term goal.

"Why try to throw you off questionin' now?" He looked at Malcolm. "What was the last thing you got from him on her? Eve, right?"

"I didn't get that from him. He doesn't know about her, unless Ainsley told him." A beat. "He didn't specifically admit to her existence but the night I stabbed him, he did admit he brought me on the camping trip to kill me."

Raylan had meant more when they'd met but there was no practical reason to correct the understanding.

The camping trip wasn't much help. "I know you told me the bare details of that one." He was curious to know the whole story but he didn't want to make Malcolm's anxiety worse by asking him to recount it.

"He ever use that tone before?"

Malcolm's expression was both puzzled and a little troubled.

"No, not exactly. But he'll use any tone that gets him what he wants. He doesn't have shame. He just needs to be in control."

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