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

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?

Cause I broke his when we were younger. Gave him a hellva limp. The Bennetts are another known family down here. Mags Bennett used to run the family, but she's gone now. Used to make a hellva Apple Pie moonshine though. Of course, she also used it to..

[Raylan stopped, glancing at Malcolm in the reflection before patting him and stepping back.]

Anyway, Dickie's had it out for me since high school. I'm surprised he was able to get the knots right enough to hold me.

All done.

[Malcolm's gaze in the mirror was assessing.]

Did she... do something to you?

[Asked as he turned around.]

Mags? Nah. She liked me well enough. Remembers my family and their troubles. I've turned my head once or twice to the weed trade they used to run. Bigger fish.

[Raylan chewed over it a second longer.] But she's killed a few people. Cyanide in the bottom of their glasses and her famous apple pie moonshine.. [He lifted his eyebrows at Malcolm as he spoke, before turning and heading them back out into the hall.]

So don't take nothing that you haven't watched get opened, is all. Mags was the only kind to do that, far as I know, but the new generation is still young and dumb. Might try to take up old mantles or something.

[ He took another deep breath.] I think I'm going to sit on the porch with some more of that scotch you brought. Wanna join me?

[It was cute that Raylan thought Malcolm might not want to be wherever he was at while he could be.]

Yeah. I wouldn't mind another small glass. [Play it cool, Bright.

Malcolm pulled his shirt on and, once they were sat on the porch with the scotch, he glanced over.]

...So the matriarch of the weed-growing family made illegal whiskey and also was a serial killer. And none of these things were bad enough to even be on the radar for the cops around here. [He glanced around the seemingly serene countryside.] This sure is a neighbourhood.

[It was a beat up couch, one that had likely been kicked around and Raylan had to move a screen off it before they could both sit down. He took a shallow pull of his glass and listened to the crickets fill the night air.

Scoffing, he bobbed his head.'This sure is a neighbourhood' felt like a funny understatement and Raylan smirked.]

People out here have been making moonshine since before prohibition in the 30's and the cops are kept busy with worse things. Doesn't help that there are places where the cops don't go, not without swat and a damned good reason. You get too many drunk hillbillies with guns and you're asking for trouble. Doesn't help that the people in the police department are these people too. Willin' to take bribes, smudge paper for money and profit. That last one isn't too different from anywhere else in the world but the rest of the world has more people to see it and call bullshit.

More people who actually give a crap about right and wrong and who dies in-between.

You care about those things.

[That much was obvious. But it was also obvious that that was a reason that being here was so hard on him.]

It must be frustrating to have to deal with it all, all by yourself.

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