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It ain't only the West that's wild
For a sizeable state, Kentucky people had a way of getting around. The whole idea of small towns being hard to get out of was eased when you got to travel a little bit, even if you landed back in the same depressing place. Nevermind that most of Kentucky looked that way- people knew people. People saw New people like they were glaring thumbs and now that Raylan had moved, people were seeing him elsewhere. They were seeing Malcolm to, who, for all his good intents, still hadn't rubbed off all of the tells of New York.
The jeans and tshirts were a start.
Raylan knew that, at any given time, there was a chance that someone was watching him. It was a fact of life he'd long come to grips with and with the dust he tended to kick up, it was bound to bring out the brave idiots with something to prove. Malcolm being who he was, it made Raylan only a little nervous to bring him into the scope of trouble, instead of the furious protective scenarios he had to instill in Winona to be sure she'd be safe.
Having left Malcolm in the early mid morning to go to work, Raylan had no idea who it was strolling up to his door.
Three solid but measured polite knocks were rapped on the door around 1pm.
The jeans and tshirts were a start.
Raylan knew that, at any given time, there was a chance that someone was watching him. It was a fact of life he'd long come to grips with and with the dust he tended to kick up, it was bound to bring out the brave idiots with something to prove. Malcolm being who he was, it made Raylan only a little nervous to bring him into the scope of trouble, instead of the furious protective scenarios he had to instill in Winona to be sure she'd be safe.
Having left Malcolm in the early mid morning to go to work, Raylan had no idea who it was strolling up to his door.
Three solid but measured polite knocks were rapped on the door around 1pm.
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The knock on the door made him look up. It was a little ominous for someone to knock, rather than buzz. He knew how the police got into the building a few nights earlier but... there was no reason for them to be there again.
He got up and peeked through the peephole, frowning faintly before opening it, though he left the chain on.
"Yes?" he asked, facing the man through the opening. He didn't want to avoid seeing his eyes, after all.
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"Good afternoon, I got a medium pepperoni here for this address? Made it under 30 minutes, hope you won't be askin' for it to be free, my boss says one more does he might fire me," he said, clearly joking with a little lift of his eyebrows and an almost unsure pull of his friendly smile.
He hit all the right marks, tonal and otherwise, but there was something in his eyes that tended to make people a little anxious. Something he couldn't help, either way, so he leaned on his generally affable tone.
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"I didn't order a pizza. Or buzz anyone up. Maybe you have the wrong apartment. Whose name is on the order?" he asked too innocently.
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"Oh, ain't this--," he pulled his head back a little, lifting the box slightly to look at the sticker there before he read off their address. "We got it under the name of Bright?" He huffed a little laugh that anyone else would take as a little self-deprecation as his eyes came back up almost apologetically. "Thought that was a strange name, myself, but-" he huffed another breath of self amusement as his chin lifted back to a normal height. "Well my name is Boon so. I get people kinda bein' assholes about names, pardon my language."
A perfectly respectful, polite young man, for all intents.
He glanced down the hall with a little soft gesture of one index finger down it. "Am I at the right door?"
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There were options to be discarded there.
"I'm not goin' to shoot either of them unless I have to." By the way.
Harlan bucks hard too
It only pushed him harder up and down the mountian. One last climb, hopefully, he didn't want to come back up here again if he could help it.
No evening text came.
Instead, Malcolm's phone would light up around 8:30 that night with Art Mullen's name on his caller ID.
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When his phone rang as he was shrugging off his jacket, he hoped like hell it was Raylan, because he was going to call him anyway, once he'd poured a healthy glass of scotch.
He pulled the phone from his pocket, but when he saw Art's name, he frowned in confusion.
"...Chief Deputy Mullen?" he said by way of answering.
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Not like Art expected the answer to be 'No', given the time, but he tried to not assume on other people's actions in their freetime or guess what that was. He kept his first words lighter, but let some of the deep concern he had slip in with the rest.
"It's about Raylan." Just in case the answer was 'no'.
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"What can I do for you, Chief Deputy?"
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"Raylan got shot." He didn't sugarcoat it or blunt the edge - there was no real way to do that either. "He's in the hospital down here in Lexington in stable condition, but. It's not 'not serious'. I figured you might.. want to know. In case you wanted to be here or something."
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"What happened?" he asked with the same forced evenness.
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Have a laugh Malcolm, on the house.
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Timeskip: To Miami, and BEYOND
The boxes were almost emptied, things had almost found all their places and Raylan had official gone back to work a few days before.
Tonight, he was coming home late - an almost early midnight but he was glad to be home and glad to know that someone would be there to greet him. Though he was never sure what time Malcolm went to bed when he was left to his own devices. Walking in, Raylan looked around as he took off his hat and hung it on the hooks by the door.
"Malcolm?"
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His face lit as it landed on Raylan, and as soon as Raylan approached, he was leaning up looking for his kiss before asking “How do you feel about terracotta roofing?” He scrolled down the page on his screen. “They’ve got a lot of it around here.”
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"They look good, but they've gotta match the outside of the house. Stucco maybe. You've clearly been busy. Sorry I'm late. Had to deal with somethin'. Find anything worth lookin' at in person yet?"
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He had to laugh at the rush of questions and he took the glass without hesitation. "Yes I do, yes, I did, and the guy Mob was trying to smuggle 14 Cubans onshore for god knows what. We've been tracking the 'delivery' for days. Turns out it was more than 14 and when they got onto the deck, there was a little bit of a scramble. Diaz-" His new, most recent partnering, "- is gonna be due a promotion for it too. 36 people, we ended up detaining. And the largest cache of guns and drugs I've seen in a while. DEA is havin' a field day."
God he loved Malcom for this; this interest in his work, in the plans and bad guys thwarted with no care that it brought his fiancee home at all hours of the night.
"Have you been lookin' at houses all day? I'm takin' tomorrow off, if you wanna go look at some."
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He gives Raylan a kiss, then shrugs almost sheepishly at the question.
“I was going to? But Gil facetimed me from a crime scene and I helped them with that for a few hours. Double homicide. Fits a pattern of two other double homicides in the last couple months. Oh! I left you some dinner; are you hungry?”
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Several months after the wedding
Inside the house, past the kitchen and dining area, both full of cops milling around, in the living room, Malcolm is standing shirtless and barefoot in sweatpants, a little blood spatter on his face, staring dully at a spot on the floor while a police officer collects samples from under his fingernails. He’s shaking faintly, but appears on approach to be otherwise unharmed apart from bruising just starting to bloom on his right shoulder and under his left eye.
As Raylan approaches closer, there’s some blood pooled on the floor where Malcolm is staring.
One of the plainclothed cops sees the Marshal’s badge and steps past Malcolm.
“Deputy Givens?”
She starts to introduce herself, but at the same time Malcolm’s eyes snap up at hearing the name and they find Raylan’s face, his whole expression almost melting in relief and he starts to step towards him when the cop kneeling beside him, still holding his wrist as he takes his samples, yanks him back in annoyance.
“Hold still. I’m not done yet.”
Malcolm startles, stilling, but his hand starts to shake.
“I said hold still!” the cop admonishes.
The detective, not expecting any sort of reaction from Raylan on the commotion behind her, continues “Your CI seems to have been involved in an incident.”
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There was a grip of fear on him when he saw the gurneys, momentarily worried that Malcolm was under that sheet; something to make his long stride somehow even longer as he pushes his way into the house, dark eyes searching for his husband. The wave of relief is sharp and while he stops when the detective steps up, his eyes don't leave Malcolm's.
'An incident'. Raylan's gaze flashes to the detective, anger split 3 different ways. The cop for pulling on and being so harsh with Malcolm, the detective for being so blasé an attack on his home, and whoever was stupid enough to think they were gonna get away with this without a hellva lotta trouble.
"He's my husband, not my CI." It was a chilly, steely kind of response as he continued walking in, followed quickly with- "Give me a minute to talk to him. I'm gonna want what details you've gotten." The look in his eye was trouble, daring her to stop him.
The detective blinks but steps out of the way a moment later to letting Raylan stride by and stand over the cop collecting forensics. He doesn't hesitate in reaching out, hand sliding to cup Malcom's face as he searches those panicked blue eyes. He would rather hug Malcolm, collect him up and reassure him, there were too many people and too much to do. The forensics would be important when the case that would come down the line was tried.
"It's gonna be okay, okay? Wanna take a deep breath and tell me what happened?" He had about a hundred questions and no doubts that Malcolm could see the storm that was kicking around in his chest despite all his valiant efforts to remain level-headed and civil. This wasn't Harlan; it was Miami and that kind of hillbilly reaction wasn't seen for what it was.
That didn't mean that someone wasn't gonna get the full Harlan fury experience anyway.
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“I… “ He looks in the direction of the short hallway to their bedroom, then up at Raylan again. “I think they broke the lock on the patio door in the bedroom. I d…” His voice trails off. “Don’t be mad,” he says shakily. “I didn’t latch the security bar across them. I was going to make tea and go sit out there. But… they came from there. They just… walked in here. One of them had a gun.”
“The gun you shot him with,” the detective fills in bluntly. “The knife he stabbed the second intruder with was from that knife block,” she adds, pointing into the kitchen.
“He shouldn’t be dead,” Malcolm tells Raylan earnestly. “I know I missed the brachial artery.”
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One hand comes out to his side, a quiet command to wait and stop interrupting towards the Detective, even if it does no good and he ignores the exchange for a shake of his head at Malcom.
"I ain't mad. And self-defense," he says with a sharp glance at the Detective before a softer gaze came back to Malcolm as he continues. "Is perfectly legal in the state of Florida. That one was screamin' bloody murder when I was walkin' in so as long as no one pulls it out without a doctor around, he'll be alright."
Raylan didn't know but he sure as hell hoped. His expression darkened into a serious, deadly focused one, chin dropping slightly as he keeps on.
"And when he wakes up from surgery, I'm gonna be there." He looks down the Forensic tech. "You about finished? Can he have his hand back?"
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The detective steps closer to Raylan. "When the unis arrived, he asked them to call a US Marshal. That's all he told them. 'Call US Marshal Raylan Givens'. Of course they assumed he was a CI," she tells him. "Do you think he was the target or are you into something?"
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"We all know how well LEO's listen to 'Call my husband'." It was the only remark he'd make on that explanation. Malcolm had clearly lead with Raylan's usefulness and authority to the situation. But her question is a good one.
"I'll be honest with you, Detective Havso, my line of work? I wouldn't be surprised. Did you get names off the suspects?" They would talk for a few more minutes before Raylan nods and steps back towards Malcolm, one hand moving around his back to guide him further into the house.
"I want you in a hotel tonight. For the next few nights, actually."
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