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

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..

You have me. [A promise. He smiled. Then Raylan noted the chicken burning and let go to let him work.] Oh no. I distracted you. [A minor amount of disappointment for not being vigilant, but none for being distracting.] I can already tell you there's way more in the first batch than I can eat.

[When Malcolm left again, this was another moment that would replay on the theater of his mind. How did he get so lucky? Even if this, for some reason, didn't work out, Raylan wouldn't change a second of it for the world.

Clicking off the oven, Raylan moved the oil off onto another, cooler burner.]

Then I know you'll have your fill. Get a couple plates for the cabinet? Up there. [Raylan nodded his head towards the appropriate one.]

[Malcolm turned almost 360 degrees to follow Raylan's gaze to the cabinet, standing on his toes to get the plates down from one of the higher shelves and setting them on the table.]

Cutlery?

[It would work out if Malcolm had any say in it. He was willing to work for it.]

If you want it. It's in that drawer there. None for me. This is finger food.

[Raylan followed with a tray of the chicken, sitting down in his spot with his scotch glass and taking the darker pieces.

He hoped it worked out. He wanted it to work out and would do everything in his power to help it work out. Malcolm made him happy and if Raylan ventured a guess, he'd think he made Malcolm happy too.]

[Raylan definitely made Malcolm happy. He'd smiled more times since he arrived than in the previous three months combined.]

If it's finger food, then it's eaten with the fingers; I wouldn't want to have an unauthentic experience.

[Malcolm took his glass and sat as well, watching Raylan for cues on how to approach it, so he also plucked a piece from the pile.]

I like the smell. It's not as...overpowering as I was expecting.

No chance of that now. [Raylan's smile curled again.]

That's a promising start.. [ Watching Malcolm in return, Raylan just.. bit into the drumstick. He was waiting to see what Malcolm thought, mindful that Malcolm's politeness might encourage a less than fully honest response.]

[Ooooh no. He couldn't just munch it off the bone like that. He got up.]

I actually really do need a fork. [Explained as he went to grab one. And a knife. He needed small pieces. He needed one small piece, first, then to wait and see how it sat. He could just eat it to be polite, but he could also end up spending half the night on the bathroom floor throwing up, which was a) not sexy and b) way, way below 'being held while he slept' on the scale of how he wanted to spend the night. Time to prove his mother right about him eating chicken.

He cut into the meat, then sliced that normally bite-size piece into four pieces, then ate one of those, careful to get a piece with the coating.]

That is really tasty. [Better than he was expecting, despite the near universal delight people seemed to have for fried chicken from Kentucky. He set down his utensils for the moment.] That's your step-mother's recipe? It's definitely not as heavy as I was expecting.

I won't tell anyone, I promise, [Raylan said with a chuckle. He knew Malcolm's food problems were something the man would have to deal with for the rest of his life, it wasn't funny.. but the slightly horrified widening of Malcolm's eyes at such a simple action was. Raylan would continue to eat with his hands.

His eyebrows lifted a little with a nod of approval and a pull of his smile.]

She'd be proud to hear it. Prouder still that I didn't mess it up. Well, most of it, anyway. It's not something we'd have more than a few times a month, but it was always a dinner to look forward to. She'd cream potatoes, put out some corn with it if it was a Sunday dinner. I always liked her cooking.

[And now Malcolm did too, in part. Raylan nodded again and took another bite. ]

[Malcolm pulled his legs back up into the chair, cross-legged again, a couple locks of drying hair falling across his face as he shifted his weight. It just seemed like an informal sort of a table, not like the delicate etiquette of eating at his mother's house. His stomach wasn't turning yet, so he ventured another small piece.]

Are creamed potatoes the same as mashed potatoes or are they something else?

[Any time he'd worked in the South, he had not indulged in the food. He was curious. And he felt like he could ask Raylan without any weird pressure about having to actually eat it.]

[It was strange and also delightful to see Malcolm so relaxed in a kitchen where relaxed didn't happen often. Where Raylan hadn't sat like Malcolm was since he was 10.]

Same thing, just smoother. Creamy. No little chunks. [Raylan didn't mind the questions and didn't take them as interested requests.] She milled it, I think. I didn't pay as much attention as I should have, I guess, [he huffed with a breath before taking another bite.] But she still taught me what little I know.

How'd you learn to cook your meals? Necessity?

I could probably handle a bit of that.

[Look at him eating Southern. He took another small bite.

He nodded at Raylan's question.]

I moved away. I had to eat something, contrary to what my mother might suggest about my habits. I figured it out. [He held up a finger.] I am not great at it. But passable.

Yeah? Maybe I'll be able to scare up a recipe. [For as rough a lady as Helen was, a product of her environment, she was a tidy lady.]

[Raylan smiled at the finger.]

I figured you would have just ordered out for ten years. [See, he paid attention.]

[Malcolm laughed self-deprecatingly and cut some more chicken off the bone.]

I thought I was the profiler. [Teasing. Way to call him out. He looked up slyly.] I ordered out fairly frequently. [He looked at the chicken pieces.] Oh! [He set his cutlery down and picked one up with his fingers and popped it in his mouth, grinning.] Finger food.

[Raylan rolled his shoulders in a shrug, glancing slidelong at Malcolm, face curled in amusement.] Maybe you rubbed off on me.

[The smile broke into a full grin at Malcolm's success at eating food with his fingers. He never thought something so small would bring so much joy to anyone over 8.]

Looks like you got it down.

Edited 2020-04-28 20:00 (UTC)

If it stays down, we're golden.

[Maybe not quite what Raylan went, but it was Malcolm's number one concern with new food.

He looked over at him from under his brow as he considered possibly trying another piece and whether that would be pushing his luck.]

What was your favourite thing about growing up here?

[The memories of traumatized people tended to focus on their trauma. This was something his therapist taught him. Not everything in his life had been bad. There were good things to remember if he thought about it. He bet there were good things in Raylan's life or he wouldn't have turned out to be so good. He'd been more like that Crowder character he'd talked about earlier.]

[ It wasn't quite, no, but it worked. While Malcolm deliberated, Raylan finished cleaning one leg and started in on his second, and last.

The question had Raylan putting down his elbows, forearms on the edge of the table as he considered it, brow pinching.]

I never thought about it.. The fairs were alright? [He offered it with a sympathetic wince and a little sigh as he sat back, face still screwed up in thought.]

I hate the hills and the poverty and the crime and the.. stupid people out here, with a few exceptions. [ He shook his head. ] Beyond that it's something I know, a community that everyone is locked out of.. I don't know.

[He looked over at Malcolm at that. Sure, there had been good times, but it was more connected to the people than the place. And if his people weren't dead, they'd gone bad and he was riding the line.] All I know is that if I stay here, I'm going to die here.

And you don't want that. [That was established.] You want to go back to Miami. But you have a plan to do that. Do you worry that's not going to happen?

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