tinstar | Text Overflow: It's just a flesh wound

[Raylan bobbed his head in acceptance. Mother's were like that, but he didn't want to aggravate her anymore than he would in general. He came to fetch the seasoning bottle, pausing to dump some in before stowing it away and leaning against the counter, glass in hand.]

Yeah. Shoot.

[Malcolm took a swallow of scotch, then looked over.]

Right after you left New York, my father called me. He said you attacked him in his cell for no reason. [He held up his hands to hold off any potential protests. Malcolm had no questions about Raylan's character.] I know you wouldn't just... attack a person. And I know he lies and exaggerates and wheedles people. But he did have bruises on his face. So I was wondering what actually happened. [He picked his glass up and looked at Raylan over it before taking a sip, his tone still careful.] And...why did you go there at all?

[The mention of Martin had Raylan lifting his eyebrows a little, and the lie given made him huff with a little shake of his head, eyes dropping briefly, but the tenseness in his jaw and the way his eyes set into seriousness belied any levity Malcolm might hear.]

I went there to see how he'd react. To Quarles being dead and you nearly having your throat cut because he.. can't keep his mouth shut.

[Oh, Raylan was still mad about it. Martin Whitly bothered him on many levels, only some of them due to the man at his table.]

His answer was... Unacceptable.

[Malcolm stared at him a moment, processing that. Raylan told Martin about him almost getting his throat cut? His heart moved into his throat, wondering what Martin thought about that.]

......What did he say? [Asked with trepidation.]

Not enough. [His jaw flexed again as he glanced into his glass and took a pull.]

Reacted like I'd told him you'd stubbed your toe. Called you his 'little guy'. [His disgust was almost palpable as he looked back over at Malcolm.]

He only reacted when I said Quarles had tried to finish what he started and the reaction was to get offended over me having a temper about it. [A beat passed, Raylan's expression slipping into one of careful treading.]

It was the fact that he was more concerned about the continuance of his legacy via you having kids.. I mighta popped him more than once... Or twice.

[He wasn't going to apologize for it but.. The way he looked at Malcolm expected it. Expected some kind of.. push back against Raylan having done what he did. That's what most people would do when one of their parents got punched out by their crush.]

...You punched him because he acted like he owns me?

[Malcolm took a sip of scotch, his eyes lingering on Raylan. Nothing resembling anger was there. Maybe a small amount of mirth.]

That doesn't bode well for him.

I punched him because he cared more about making it about him then understanding or caring that it was about you. This ownership bullshit is just more arrogant fatherhood. Arlo told me I was his all the time when I was small. 'I brought you in this world boy, I can take you out of it'.

[ Raylan had to move and did, setting his glass down so he could get the chicken. The oil should be hot enough, he figured and it gave him something more productive to do than think about his own childhood abuse.]

Maybe one of those punches was for that. [he admitted.]

I think he considered taking me out of it.

[He watched Raylan work; watched the tension in his frame.]

Did Arlo ever try to take you out of it?

[He didn't want to agree with Malcolm. He didn't want to agree that his father could even consider it but he did. Even if Martin didn't go through with it, Raylan didn't doubt that it crossed his mind.]

Not on purpose.. [Carefully, Raylan dredged and layed several pieces into the oil, filling the kitchen with the sound of it.]

You asked me, back in New York, what Arlo did to me. Said I told you what happened to Frances but not me.. [Rinsing his hands, Raylan found a kitchen towel and started drying them as he leaned back against the sink.]

Arlo would come home drunk just as often as he left drunk and when he got a hair up his ass, he'd start screaming and beating on Frances. She'd run off on up to the hollar and leave me here.. [Raylan looked over at Malcolm.] Arlo was never done with her when she left. But I couldn't leave. [He looked back down.]

When I could, I'd run away to Helen's. When I couldn't, I got drug up to the hollar to watch him yell for her and grab me up by the collar to try and.. get her to come down for the sake of me.

[He emptied his glass, silence somehow pressurized, despite the warming bubble of the frying chicken, eyes finding Malcolm's again.]

So yeah. Maybe not on purpose, but he tried.

[As soon as Raylan said 'in New York', Malcolm's eyes widened slightly. When he asked that question in New York, he thought he'd either misread Raylan's interest in friendship or that he'd ruined it. Either way, it had been an excrutiating few minutes where Malcolm had regretted everything.

But Raylan was answering the question.

And the answer was as heartbreaking as he suspected.]

So you were more his leverage than his son.

[He hoped Malcolm could understand why he wasn't keen to jump in and start telling those kinds of stories.]

I don't know what I was. He wanted a lot of rights to me and what I did and thought, just because I was his, he had those rights. Frances never stopped him and didn't come down from the hollars for me so I don't know that I was effective leverage either.

I'm sorry.

[He did understand; talking to people he didn't know well about his relationship with Dr Whitly wasn't his favourite thing either.]

Do you think Frances didn't come because she knew he wouldn't really hurt you?

I don't think breaking an arm counts as not hurting me. [It was offered gently as Raylan stepped forward for the scotch bottle, and another two fingers.]

I think she didn't come down because she was afraid he'd kill her one night. I don't know why she didn't leave. Sometimes I think she didn't leave because as much as she left me with him, she didn't want to abandon me completely. Older I get, the more I get how hard it can be.. Sometimes.

Edited 2020-04-27 22:51 (UTC)

He broke your arm? ....On purpose?

[As much as Malcolm believed Dr Whitly was capable of murdering him to save himself, he was also reasonably sure it would have been as quick and painless as the Surgeon's medical training allowed him to make it. As much as he tortured strangers to death, he wouldn't have beaten his children.]

Lotta jerking, when you're in Arlo's hands. [Raylan got some tongs and flipped the chicken, checking it over and pulling the pieces.]

I stayed with Helen for two months after that incident before Arlo demanded that she return me back.

She married him after he broke your arm and beat his previous wife so badly she wouldn't come out of hiding to save her child?

Yeah. For Arlo, for me.. For her sister's interests. [For Raylan mostly, or that's what he couldn't help but feel.]

You know, she would have told us both to mind our own fuckin' business. [he said with a huff as he dredged and dipped the last set of pieces.] Arlo was on a lotta meds. He served in Vietnam. The bipolar disorder didn't help the PTSD. They.. tried to understand.

[He couldn't. But they'd tried. Helen at least, had tried.]

I have PTSD. I'm on a lot of meds. And I feel like... if I thought that made it okay to beat people up because they were nearby when I got mad, I wouldn't have any business having a family.

You're not Arlo. [The comment came with a turn of his head to speak over his shoulder with a pointed glance at Malcolm.]

You're. Better than him. Shit, than most of the people in the county.[The rest came as he rinsed his hands again before turning around to take his former position against the counter, arms folding over his chest.]

Your PTSD is from suffering. His is from shells and killing. His is rooted in causing violence... He mighta had no business having a family but he had one. [And Raylan was unlucky enough to have been born out of it.]

It's good, that you still love your father. Even if you're horrified by him, scared by him. Martin Whitly is an asshole and a murder and half a dozen other things but.. [Raylan looked up.] I believe that some part of him does love you and would be heartbroken with rage if something serious happened to you.

I'm just saying that everyone has choices and if Arlo couldn't choose not to be violent, he could have chosen to set you free. He chose selfishness.

[He swirled the scotch in his glass.]

My father chose that too.

[He unfolded himself from the chair and walked over, pressing a kiss to Raylan's shoulder before picking up the scotch and refilling his glass.]

Yes, he did. [To both counts. Something in Raylan softened at the sweet, passing kiss and his arms unfurled to catch Malcolm and keep him against his side.]

They certainly did a number on us, didn't they. [ Raylan leaned in to press a kiss to Malcolm's head.] They don't get everything.

[Malcolm turned and reached up and wrapped his arms around Raylan's neck, looking up into his face.] They don't get anything that's important. We have choices too.

[Raylan spread his legs to better fit Malcolm against him, hands coming around his waist. After a moment, Raylan leaned forward and settled their foreheads together with a deeply drawn but soft kind of sigh, eyes closed.]

I've tried to hold onto what's important with my choices. It keeps getting stolen away by things outside my control.

[In the moment, this felt impossibly right and Raylan was impossibly grateful for the connection and the cases that landed Malcolm Bright in his arms. But he knew he couldn't let himself get away with it. Instead, he lifted a hand and cupped Malcolm's face, kissing him with a soft, chaste intensity.]

Thank you. For letting me talk about it in my own time.

I've never wanted to force you into anything. I just want you to understand that I'm here if you need anything. Even when I'm not actually here.

[Raylan breathed a huff before sighing softly again, hazel eyes searching blue.

I think I just need you. Can I keep you?]

You haven't. [He'd allowed Raylan to embrace part of it and while that hurdle was by no means cleared, they'd made great strides. A beat passed before Raylan gave voice to his thoughts, not able to find anything other than the truth to say.]

I think I just need you.

[A very specific smell hit Raylan's nose and he swore as he gently offset Malcolm to snap up the last pieces of chicken.. He was glad the first batch was larger.] These.. I'll eat these..

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