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

[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?

It hasn't happened til it's happened. This place has already fucked over my plans to leave once. Art and Boyd and Boyd's shit.. He knew I couldn't say no.

Gun murder rates are high out here, and people like to draw down.. Statistically, one day, I'm going to catch it. Do I worry that's not going to happen? Yeah. I'm worried some dumb tweeker or gaterhunter from Florida is going to get off a lucky shot and it won't happen.

[His face had soured a little, stoning up as he swirled and emptied his glass again.]

Everytime I have to pull my weapon, its a new gamble. One day, I'll lose.

You think you're going to be killed in the line of duty.

[Somberly. He'd worry about it too, now.]

What... what does this whole Boyd thing entail? Maybe I can help you finish it and then you can get out of here.

Edited 2020-04-29 00:25 (UTC)

[Raylan didn't say anything and didn't nod but he pushed back from his chair and stood up to pad across the kitchen in search of tupperware. Yes, he did think that.]

It entails me catching him in the act of something. If I'm going to put him away, its going to be for a long time, not a couple of years with good behavior. I've.. I've gotta deal with him. For good. In a way that doesn't end with him in a pine box, if I can help it.

[Raylan came back with an orange tupperware container, likely from the 80's, and started moving pieces in, leaving one for Malcolm to decide over. He poured another two fingers, glancing at Malcolm from under his eyebrows with an earnest:] But thank you.

Just like I wish I could help you with your father. [He sighed and sat down.]

If I had it my way, we'd fly out to Miami tomorrow. The both of us. [But they both had things they had to do and nothing, not even each other would stop them from doing that.]

[Malcolm picked up the piece left to him and dropped it in the tupperware, then unfolded from the chair and wrapped his arms around Raylan, pressing his face into the marshal's shoulder.]

Well there's some kind of rule against you getting shot. [Said the man who showed up here because he got shot.]

[Raylan took another deep breath, hands running up Malcolm's arms. He'd missed this, this intimacy. Someone worrying about if he'd come home again, alive. Though, that was why Winona had left him, in part. Maybe Malcolm wouldn't.]

Is there? Ratified into law and everything? [He smirked with a tilt of his head into Malcolm's.] I'd say the same to you, but you've already broken that rule. That wound has probably dried. Want me to put a fresh bandage on it? I'm not trying to rush you into a shirt but we can't sit and soak in the could bes of the future. Doesn't do much but add worry to a heavy cart.

[Malcolm lifted his head to look at Raylan and nodded, but before stepping out of the way to let him work, he reached up and ran his fingers along Raylan's jaw, then leaned up and kissed him.]

[Raylan studied Malcolm's face and all the compassion in it, feeling himself fall a little more in love with Malcolm as he kissed him, hands coming down and around his waist. It was meant to be a chaste kiss, a way to relieve their emotions, the tension that the rough conversation stirred up, but Raylan couldn't help himself.

When it broke a few long moments later, Raylan stepped back, face and eyes flush with a hint of what they'd started, but he was, frankly, looking forward to laying down and wrapping Malcolm up in his arms.]

You, bathroom, now.

[After the tenderness and hint of heat in that kiss, the order issued made Malcolm smile fondly and nod before grabbing his t-shirt off the empty chair next to his and heading up the stairs. At this time the previous day he'd been sitting alone in his loft, considering whether he should text Raylan or not. He possibly had made the best decision of his life.]

[Raylan hadn't gotten most of what he wanted to get done done, but he wouldn't trade the difference. He followed Malcolm up and into the bathroom, pulled the first aid kit down from linen cabinet.]

How many times have you been shot before? This your first one?

[He had to think about it.]

This is my first bullet wound, yeah. I've been stabbed, though. Oh! And a serial killer knocked me out with a cattle prod once. [He made a bit of a face.] I've been beat up more than once. [More than half a dozen times, actually.] And I've been hit with the butt end of guns several times. Handguns and rifles. One time a guy threw me down a concrete staircase. [He looked at Raylan.] Does that kind of thing still happen a lot when you're willing to shoot people? I might have to revise my approach. [Noted with a bit of a laugh.]

[ Raylan started with some Neosporin, one hand settled on Malcolm's shoulder to help remind him to be on the stiller side while Raylan worked. His brow lifted a little in a bit of surprise belief - Yeah, that sounds about right, but he scoffed a little frown at the staircase.]

Only when they know I'm coming. I've gotten more than my fair share of assbeatings and pistol whippings. Does mean I get shot at and shot a lot, but sometimes taking a fist is better. I got strung up by my heel once. Dickie Bennett was hellbent on trying to break my leg. Too bad his breed of stupid is hilariously ineffective.

[Raylan laid the gauze over Malcolm's wound and started taping it into place.]

He wanted to break you leg. Specifically. ...Why was that? Who is he?

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