Raylan had kept watch on that post when it went up, only glancing away for his conversation with Kiryu but once it became clear that James wasn't going to go gunning for anyone, he figuring biding his time wasn't going to be an issue.
He needed it himself, really. He knew they were going to have a conversation about this, he knew that they had to, otherwise it would stick in the back of someone's craw. He needed the time to sort through what might happen and how it all might go.
Standing in the kitchen when James gets home, Raylan lifts his chin a little in greeting as he rehomes his bookmark and sets his novel off to the side, palms coming to rest on the island counter as he greets him.
"You alright?" He knew James hadn't been in danger; the necklaces they wore were paying off already.
If anything he might've got a slight uptick of his heartbeat as he beat the everloving shit out of a punching bag, but not enough to raise alarms that something was wrong. However, the question posed is still a rough one.
"Not really. But I've beaten as much of the anger out as I could on one of the dummies in the gym." Actually, his knuckles are split a bit, mostly cause he has dry skin and he was just really going to town on that punching bag. He moves into the kitchen so he can rinse the blood off his hands at the sink.
Raylan turns and follows, pulling a dishtowel up, ready to take James's hand in his own so it can be gently dried. Better that he beats his knuckles up on the bag than someone's face.
"Ya know, if we weren't in this situation that we're in, I'd suggest you go and talk to Kiryu. Gives a good fight. Fair. Might actually get you goin' in the way you're used to, especially with Izzy's shit tucked up under your collar. Once it's all over and dealt with.."
The suggestion was left out there for James to pick up or ignore if he wanted.
Progress, even small, but there were plenty of faces, like Izzy or Fitz he'd love to introduce to his knuckles. He's trying to behave himself though. And when Raylan takes his hands he gingerly lets him tend to carefully dry them.
"Kiryu and I have an arrangement, but right now, I can't go to him for that. If I fight him, it's going to be personal." It could cross lines, he might lose his grip on that side of him thirsty for blood.
"Kiryu's Izzy's warden." He starts, unsure if Raylan knew that considering his suggestion. "I'm not exactly keen on how he's fucking handled him so far or the fact that little fuck is still armed after what he did to Roman, let alone how he drew on you."
But then there was that elephant hanging in the room, he almost says something, but part of him wants to hear Raylan admit it.
He kept to his task, wrapping James's hand gingerly, face stoically unchanged. "I know. About Kiryu being his warden. I've already talked to him."
Raylan leaned against the counter, eyes lifting to study James's face.
"You're pissed that you earned a few extra shadows. That you were dealt with differently. I get that. But Kiryu didn't know, because I didn't tell him. Because this was somethin' I expected to deal with without drawin' attention to. In ways he might understand. But I knew it would blow up and I tempered myself. Sure, Izzy drew on me. And I had my gun. I wasn't attacked."
"No. I'm pissed that fuck is walking around with three god damned weapons after stabbing someone. Especially when Kiryu has his file and damn well knows what kind of a threat he is. Roman won't be the last person he guts. And my post, probably won't fucking change that. I murdered Fitz, but it wasn't with my blade and I still had my sword confiscated for months. I was thrown in Zero AND I had some kind of magical restriction placed on me. I doubt Kiryu will do any of those things." He doesn't know for sure, but he can feel it just judging by how Kiryu responded to him, avoiding what had happened and more willing to point fingers, rather than blame himself for his lack of judgement.
"You could've got yourself killed, Raylan, and no one would've fucking known but me. The fuck were you thinking?" He pauses.
"You didn't even tell me what you were going to do to be sure nothing happened. You couldn't trust me with that?" He frowns.
"Because maybe, if you'd have clued me in at all, this could've gone differently."
"A general threat alone is not reason enough to disarm the guy. Or you. Only makes things worse. Now that he's stabbed someone.." Well, Raylan would like to see him disarmed but that's up to Kiryu, either way. He wasn't allowed to have an opinion on it. He'd already stepped over the line, himself.
"He wasn't gonna kill me. And if he was, he woulda gone down with me." These were risks that Raylan was very much used to taking.
"Baby, look - I'm sorry that my temper and I aren't great about plannin' things out enough to even have room to warn you. It ain't about trusting you. I trust you. But I'm capable of handlin' the what ifs and maybes. And I don't know how my tellin' you would have changed the way things have gone. You jumped ahead of talkin' to me first - I'm fine. He's fine, Roman will be fine. Everyone's fine™. And how I handle Roman bein' stabbed is on me and me alone. It ain't on Kiryu if I didn't tell him." It's his fault, and he can shoulder that better than he maybe should.
"No, I'm talking about the time between him stabbing Roman and you seeking him out. He shouldn't have been armed and you shouldn't have to tell Kiryu shit, he didn't do his fucking job. Izzy is his responsibility, none of this shit should've happened in the first place." He hisses through clenched teeth, but his sharp, agitated expression drops to his hands as he slips them free of Raylan's grip to just flex his fingers.
"And if he'd killed you, I'd have killed him a second time for good measure." He murmurs, but when Raylan says 'baby, look' he does flick his gaze up again.
"It sure as fuck is on Kiryu, it's his goddamned job. He doesn't get a pass on fucking up his responsibilities." He shakes his head and steps away.
"See, this is the fucking problem. All of this bullshit trying to keep your inmates from killing each other, it shouldn't have to be all on you to clean up the mess." But he's tired and frustrated and he doesn't have a punching bag in their cabin. He's half tempted to go next door and flip his fucking desk for good measure.
"So he should have just known that Izzy stabbed someone without anyone telling him? That's not fair." It was asking something impossible and sure, maybe Kiryu needed to keep a sharper eye on Iz but without any reason to know that he needed to do that...
"It's not all on me to clean up - I shoulda told him and gone to him before doin' anything else." There's not a lotta good light for Raylan to stand in here, but he wasn't going to let Kiryu get kicked around for things he couldn't help, or for things that Raylan failed to do.
"I wish you woulda talked to me first, darlin'." He wasn't admonishing or yelling or pissed in anyway - his tone stayed low and quiet, private for no reason other than the What Ifs and the whole 'it could have all been avoided if Raylan had X, Y or Z'. "I never intended this to get outta my pocket."
"Well, you and Jedao don't seem to have any trouble." He sneers and shakes his head.
"Even if he couldn't have prevented Roman from getting a knife thrown at him, he should've known it happened before you ever got your bat and went after him. He should've been keeping a watchful eye on him and knowing what he was up to at all times. He has his file, he can intuit plenty about his character to know he's not to be trusted. He's a fucking pirate, you people seem to at least understand we're fucking slippery, dangerous criminals, and pulling us out of our element and into this place is gonna set lots of men from my time into a very volatile state regardless." He frowns.
"But either way, it was still Kiryu's responsibility. If one of my men went out and murdered another man from another crew, that would be on me as his Captain. I'd get all kinds of hell for it even if in the end it would fall to us and the other crew to decide what the fuck is reasonable to do with my man. It's still my fault if it happened because I didn't keep him in line. Do you understand? Surely there's some kind of hierarchy in your Marshal service." How often did Art get his ass chewed out for shit Raylan did?
"It's not just about what happened to you two, there was a whole lot of other things, constructive things I had to say and suggest. It feels like every time I pick up this stupid fucking device someone was killed." He waves his device and chucks it on the counter.
"But apparently I'm a damned fool for bothering to attempt change, or look for something better for everyone on this godforsaken boat." He sighs, dragging his hand across his brow.
"And frankly, I don't know if I can handle hearing it from you too. So forgive me for getting any kind of notion that I could maybe light a fire under others for positive change." He's not mad at Raylan, he doesn't even blame Raylan for any of it, even if he probably should. He's just frustrated and tired and maybe he didn't punch out enough of that energy at the Gym after all. He feels like he's been kicked all over by every single person on the Barge and he just wants to slink away to lick his wounds. So he'll try to step away to go to the bedroom.
Raylan watches silently, chin dropping the further James went on about it all. The funny thing was, Raylan was just trying to take it piecemeal but all his conversations today had been riddled with tension and blame and it had all fallen on him. Sometimes, the best way to approach an inmate was to give them some breathing room, try to find a bit of respectful ground to stand on. Raylan didn't think that point would be taken very well either.
"I wasn't sayin' that you were a fool," he replies, voice a little louder to reach James's ears.
"I'm gonna go get a drink," he continues as he grabs his hat and slides it up onto his head. He didn't have another fight in him today. Not this kind of fight. Maybe James would be calmer when he got back. "I'll be back in a bit."
As he heads for the door, he can't help the rolling rising fear that when he does come back, James and all of his things will be gone. It'd match the tone of the day, anyway. He'd only be gone about an hour, long enough to go upstairs and sit broodily over some whiskey, chewing over all the different conversations that he'd had today and what they meant going forwards.
He stops short, just inside the doorway of their bedroom when Raylan anounces he's leaving and he turns back to the doorway as if nearly about to call to him and stop him. But he bites his tongue and lets him go, watches him go with a slight pained furrow on his brow, but fire in his eyes. And when his lover is gone he just slinks into their bedroom to pace, teeth grinding.
He sits on the edge of the bed, hands running through his mussed hair. Then he gets up and paces, into the bathroom, glaring at himself in the mirror, back out again. Pacing restlessly till he sits on the edge of the bed again, leg bouncing, fingers fiddling with the necklace and rubbing his thumb over the smooth shape.
He'll get up and leave the apartment to go next door. He's not sure what he's meant to accomplish just that something pulled him there. He stands, eyes moving around the room and it's familiar angles and smell of the sea and wet wood. He moves around his room to the desk, leaning on it briefly until something in him just boils up and cracks like thunder and without realizing it he has overturned his desk. He crashes around a bit more, till his room looks like a hurricane tore through it, but the small shelf of books is unharmed. He breathes, ragged, great huffs until he calms down some.
There, on the floor in the wreckage of his overturned desk is Thomas' book, Marcus Aurelius' Meditations. He stoops to pick it up gingerly and smoothes a hand back over his head to fix his hair in place. He runs his fingers over the pressed-in design on its cover or thumbs through the pages. Drifting, thinking of his failures, how he's changed, everything deafening between his ears. He'll head home then with the book.
Raylan was gone long enough to have never known he even left their apartment. By the time he comes back, Flint is sitting on the couch, book open, Pumpkin on his lap and gently stroking her back as she dozes. Looking for all that nothing has happened.
Three beers, four glasses of whiskey and two pool games by himself down, Raylan's internal scars flair as he comes up to the sunbeaten red hotel door, it's shiny '7' almost mocking him with the threat of the cabin being empty. The necklace beat steady against his chest but he wasn't sure he could trust that either. He glances over at James door, taking some small relief in seeing the same solid door that the Admiral had moved down.
He couldn't stand here forever though. He takes a deep breath and opens the door with a step in. And stops.
James was still here. How he looked came second to him being there at all. He was here, looking for all the world like everything was okay or something. Breathe, he remined himself, closing the door and taking off his hat to hang it. His full holster was pulled off his hip and sat on the thin credenza that decorated underneath the hat rack.
"You feel better after your shower?" James's hair was still wet, but he looked and felt calmer. Less like he was going to angrily vibrate out of his skin - the question was more an opportunity to see How James was. How the rest of this conversation might be headed, for better or worse.
James's eyes flick up briefly over the edge of his book as Raylan comes in and the familiar waft of alcohol hits him. He turns a page in silence letting the other come home and settle in.
The loaded question of if he was feeling better wasn't one he felt he could answer so he avoids it instead.
"How much have you had to drink?" Curious, but almost a little judging, like a housewife questioning her drunk husband who's just wandered in too late while she sat up waiting for him.
It was a familiar question but Raylan didn't really mind it outside of the fact that he'd heard it come before some nasty exchanges. Exchanges he didn't have to worry about getting into because he wasn't that kinda asshole.
"A few. Enough." Enough to numb some of the shit stirring around his chest. Enough to make his accent a little heavier and thicker around the edges.
Raylan comes around and sits next to him on the couch, leaving enough room where they didn't touch but not far away at all. He didn't want distance to be the reason that they got off on the wrong foot.
There's a little bit of a look in that side glance from his good eye that says the answer he got is not good enough. He doesn't push it though and closes the book to set it aside and gently wakes up Pumpkin to coax her off his lap and onto the floor. The foot he'd had propped up on the table is put down as Raylan comes to sit with him, by him, but with still some noticeable distance.
"Enough for what, exactly?" Oh no. Not his turn.
"Do you think I'm angry with you?" Other than giving a damn about his partner's well-being, he's wondering if Raylan wants to know if he 'feels better' because of worrying about how much of those uncomfortable feelings were angled at him.
So the answer was 'No'. Okay. Raylan sighs softly and rubs at his forehead briefly.
"No, I don't. But I do think you're angry and in some spots, rightly so. You've got some valid points. My disagreein' with one isn't me disagreein' with the whole lot or callin' you a fool. I went and had enough to drink that I don't feel like shit for tryin' to have reasonable conversations today."
He fails to see how leaving and getting yourself shitfaced would improve your ability to be reasonable, but he's not about to say that lest it be taken as something passive-aggressive. Which is far from what he's trying to be right now.
"Why did you feel you needed to leave?" All of these questions are spoken calmly and not from a judging or accusing place. It's not meant to be a fight, he's genuinely asking to try and figure out what is going through Raylan's head about all of this.
"Because you needed time to calm down in the shower and I didn't want to stand around chewin' on my liver, doin' the aforementioned self loathing in the silence while you did. You were next door to accusin' me of callin' you and your ideas stupid, and anythin' I coulda said in that moment was only gonna make it worse. Better to let you have the time to clean up and calm down before it's broached again."
"You were very adamant about the fact you think I should've talked to you first, as if that should've stopped me from going on my tirade about how fucked this whole system really is. And I was frustrated and disappointed by the fact that everyone who commented seemed to think I was an idiot for even bothering to propose anything." He shakes his head.
"I never said you thought those things, I just wasn't in a place where I could handle it if you did. And my frustration and anger was never angled at you but I was being open and honest with you about what I was thinking and feeling in the moment." And he couldn't seem to handle it and he needed to walk away and it hurt.
"You asked me if I feel better? I don't have an answer for you because it's much deeper and more complicated than that. I'm fine, I'm... numb. I'm done wasting my time on anyone else but us. Fuck'em. I just don't have it in me anymore to fight. I'm not that man anymore." He doesn't really know who he is yet, he hasn't fully reinvented himself. He was hoping to find inspiration in Meditations but just ended up...numb.
That stung a little. He hadn't been adamant at all, he had been soft and honest, hell he hadn't even made eye contact. "I said 'I wished', James. As small and as soft as I could," he defends with the same 'no sudden movements' air that had been engrained in him his whole life.
He wasn't going to point out what he could have. The sneer, the insinuation that Raylan didn't understand the hierarchy of discipline, the implication that he was somehow pissing on James's community building desires. It wouldn't do anything but prompt more argument.
"You're right about the amount of people that die here. There's a conversation to be had in that. And we should be tryin' to make this place better. You don't gotta be Flint to do that."
It had been repeated to him at least twice, and despite how soft Raylan had tried to be in it, some of what he said just felt (To Flint) like he had done something wrong. He'd been so tired of being told how wrong he was by everyone. But it came from a place of feeling raw and defensive. He felt like he'd been flogged by the entire Barge for daring to have an opinion.
There's a soft slow inhale and a breath, seeing the hurt, hearing the way that Raylan shrunk and recoiled or seemed... afraid? Cautious? He wasn't sure. Like an abused puppy, trying to be small and not get hit. He didn't like that he was doing this to Raylan, making him react that way when they were just trying to talk.
"A lot of my bite came from all the responses I had about the same topics, it put me on a knee-jerk defensive. I... I wasn't trying to take it out on you, I'm sorry." He wants to touch him, but he's afraid he'll pull away if he tries.
"All I got from any of my discussions was how wrong I was, how I didn't know anything or my own faults being lashed back in my face. I realized I've wasted my breath."
"I just, I'm tired, Raylan." He pauses, "Miranda once said to me, the first time I met her, she said, truly great men are made great because of their relentless pursuit of a better world, they never give up because they don't know how."
He casts his eyes down to his hands, "If there's a thing I've realized is I am just simply not a great man, or even really a good one. Perhaps I was never meant to be. It's not for me, every time I've tried it's broken me. I can't do it anymore. I'm tired of wasting what precious little I have left on trying to improve things for everyone else. Especially for people that don't care enough to help themselves."
This time he can't help himself, he reaches for Raylan's hand, "I have all I need here, right here." He squeezes his hand for emphasis. "I just want to focus on this, on us."
'I'm sorry' weren't small words to him in this kind of situation. There was a worry that James might swivel back but Raylan had to disregard that because there was no world where he wasn't going to give James the Chance. He believed the sorry, and he wanted to reach over and take James's hand at the never easy apology.
He didn't. He felt like James wasn't done and didn't want to get in the way of the flow.
But his eyes studied James's face while it was turned towards him, his profile when it wasn't. He wanted to interrupt, to protest James's self view but that having air was important too. There was no hesitation in the way Raylan's hand gripped James in return, tight and desperate to hold onto that plainly stated dedication.
"There's a reason I don't ever talk to the press," he says after a few long moments, eyes still on the side of James's face, before he drops his eyes to their hands as his thumb brushed back and forth.
"Lotta people hear what they want, focus on that with some hellish blinders. Miranda's view of it all is all well and good but.. Left of incorrect, in my opinion. Because you are a good man. You wouldn't give a shit in the first place if you weren't. There's nothin' wrong with stepping back until you feel.. better equipped to handle those kinda arguments. There's an innate bias against Inmates makin' those kinds of speeches in the first place which- That really ain't about you or what you've done, but an issue with the whole place. Fuck 'em if they can't see the rest of the conversation but.. I got no doubts you'll do this again. There's a reason you're drawn to it, baby. A good reason."
Raylan looks back over at him again. "I'll focus on whatever you want us to focus on, either way. You're not in this alone."
James closes his eyes a moment to take another steadying breath as Raylan calls him a good man, and tries to encourage him his head and heart are in the right place for it. He squeezes his hand a little more, letting the gentle brush of his thumb soothe his ache. He sighs.
"I don't think these things, the ideas can come from me. I don't have enough sway or respect for anyone to hear me. I've done nothing to earn it." Except for the few that respected him for what he did on the Galley but even then...
"I know I'm not the only one who has tried or the only one who thinks what I have said but when it came down to it... all I heard are the echoing voices of opposition and accusation." He lifts Raylan's hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles.
"I just want peace in the end. I want to feel less useless to protect what I care about." He flicks his eye up to Raylan.
"And perhaps both of us should do better with communicating with one another."
Practically speaking, that was very likely true and it was an uncomfortable place to be. James wasn't the only one that got sucked into that trap; Raylan does more often than not and it's a hard pill to swallow.
"Maybe not right now. But we got nothin' but time, and all situations change. You'll find a more successful way to make the argument. Find folks willin' to join you on that side of it. Willing to have the debate in good faith. I'm just afraid it's gonna take another Barge wide attack of some kind. We've had a few good ones. A 'healthy' one, I suppose we could call those weird ass wounds. Kinda worried we're due another ugly one just to even it all out..
He looks over then.
"I've been.. trying to shield you from my bullshit. Better to see if I can get away with it without you findin' out and losin' your mind in rage or worry. There's-" He takes a deep breath, searching his lovers face. "There's gonna be times and places for us to protect each other, but me goin' out with my temper under me isn't somethin' that.. that needs protectin' from. I haven't lost my temper like that more than a few times here. It's not pretty.. And its the only time a little bit of who and what I really am gets to take a breath.. I'm a Marshal for a reason.. My file's as big as it is for a reason. The system protects me in the long run and if I die again, it's gonna be because I've gotten slow, possessed, or out-thought. I'm not scared of it, dyin'. And I think you are."
It was understandable, but James wanted raw honesty and Raylan trusted him enough to try it out. Communication, right?
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He needed it himself, really. He knew they were going to have a conversation about this, he knew that they had to, otherwise it would stick in the back of someone's craw. He needed the time to sort through what might happen and how it all might go.
Standing in the kitchen when James gets home, Raylan lifts his chin a little in greeting as he rehomes his bookmark and sets his novel off to the side, palms coming to rest on the island counter as he greets him.
"You alright?" He knew James hadn't been in danger; the necklaces they wore were paying off already.
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"Not really. But I've beaten as much of the anger out as I could on one of the dummies in the gym." Actually, his knuckles are split a bit, mostly cause he has dry skin and he was just really going to town on that punching bag. He moves into the kitchen so he can rinse the blood off his hands at the sink.
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"Ya know, if we weren't in this situation that we're in, I'd suggest you go and talk to Kiryu. Gives a good fight. Fair. Might actually get you goin' in the way you're used to, especially with Izzy's shit tucked up under your collar. Once it's all over and dealt with.."
The suggestion was left out there for James to pick up or ignore if he wanted.
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"Kiryu and I have an arrangement, but right now, I can't go to him for that. If I fight him, it's going to be personal." It could cross lines, he might lose his grip on that side of him thirsty for blood.
"Kiryu's Izzy's warden." He starts, unsure if Raylan knew that considering his suggestion. "I'm not exactly keen on how he's fucking handled him so far or the fact that little fuck is still armed after what he did to Roman, let alone how he drew on you."
But then there was that elephant hanging in the room, he almost says something, but part of him wants to hear Raylan admit it.
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Raylan leaned against the counter, eyes lifting to study James's face.
"You're pissed that you earned a few extra shadows. That you were dealt with differently. I get that. But Kiryu didn't know, because I didn't tell him. Because this was somethin' I expected to deal with without drawin' attention to. In ways he might understand. But I knew it would blow up and I tempered myself. Sure, Izzy drew on me. And I had my gun. I wasn't attacked."
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"You could've got yourself killed, Raylan, and no one would've fucking known but me. The fuck were you thinking?" He pauses.
"You didn't even tell me what you were going to do to be sure nothing happened. You couldn't trust me with that?" He frowns.
"Because maybe, if you'd have clued me in at all, this could've gone differently."
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"He wasn't gonna kill me. And if he was, he woulda gone down with me." These were risks that Raylan was very much used to taking.
"Baby, look - I'm sorry that my temper and I aren't great about plannin' things out enough to even have room to warn you. It ain't about trusting you. I trust you. But I'm capable of handlin' the what ifs and maybes. And I don't know how my tellin' you would have changed the way things have gone. You jumped ahead of talkin' to me first - I'm fine. He's fine, Roman will be fine. Everyone's fine™. And how I handle Roman bein' stabbed is on me and me alone. It ain't on Kiryu if I didn't tell him." It's his fault, and he can shoulder that better than he maybe should.
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"And if he'd killed you, I'd have killed him a second time for good measure." He murmurs, but when Raylan says 'baby, look' he does flick his gaze up again.
"It sure as fuck is on Kiryu, it's his goddamned job. He doesn't get a pass on fucking up his responsibilities." He shakes his head and steps away.
"See, this is the fucking problem. All of this bullshit trying to keep your inmates from killing each other, it shouldn't have to be all on you to clean up the mess." But he's tired and frustrated and he doesn't have a punching bag in their cabin. He's half tempted to go next door and flip his fucking desk for good measure.
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"It's not all on me to clean up - I shoulda told him and gone to him before doin' anything else." There's not a lotta good light for Raylan to stand in here, but he wasn't going to let Kiryu get kicked around for things he couldn't help, or for things that Raylan failed to do.
"I wish you woulda talked to me first, darlin'." He wasn't admonishing or yelling or pissed in anyway - his tone stayed low and quiet, private for no reason other than the What Ifs and the whole 'it could have all been avoided if Raylan had X, Y or Z'. "I never intended this to get outta my pocket."
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"Even if he couldn't have prevented Roman from getting a knife thrown at him, he should've known it happened before you ever got your bat and went after him. He should've been keeping a watchful eye on him and knowing what he was up to at all times. He has his file, he can intuit plenty about his character to know he's not to be trusted. He's a fucking pirate, you people seem to at least understand we're fucking slippery, dangerous criminals, and pulling us out of our element and into this place is gonna set lots of men from my time into a very volatile state regardless." He frowns.
"But either way, it was still Kiryu's responsibility. If one of my men went out and murdered another man from another crew, that would be on me as his Captain. I'd get all kinds of hell for it even if in the end it would fall to us and the other crew to decide what the fuck is reasonable to do with my man. It's still my fault if it happened because I didn't keep him in line. Do you understand? Surely there's some kind of hierarchy in your Marshal service." How often did Art get his ass chewed out for shit Raylan did?
"It's not just about what happened to you two, there was a whole lot of other things, constructive things I had to say and suggest. It feels like every time I pick up this stupid fucking device someone was killed." He waves his device and chucks it on the counter.
"But apparently I'm a damned fool for bothering to attempt change, or look for something better for everyone on this godforsaken boat." He sighs, dragging his hand across his brow.
"And frankly, I don't know if I can handle hearing it from you too. So forgive me for getting any kind of notion that I could maybe light a fire under others for positive change." He's not mad at Raylan, he doesn't even blame Raylan for any of it, even if he probably should. He's just frustrated and tired and maybe he didn't punch out enough of that energy at the Gym after all. He feels like he's been kicked all over by every single person on the Barge and he just wants to slink away to lick his wounds. So he'll try to step away to go to the bedroom.
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"I wasn't sayin' that you were a fool," he replies, voice a little louder to reach James's ears.
"I'm gonna go get a drink," he continues as he grabs his hat and slides it up onto his head. He didn't have another fight in him today. Not this kind of fight. Maybe James would be calmer when he got back. "I'll be back in a bit."
As he heads for the door, he can't help the rolling rising fear that when he does come back, James and all of his things will be gone. It'd match the tone of the day, anyway. He'd only be gone about an hour, long enough to go upstairs and sit broodily over some whiskey, chewing over all the different conversations that he'd had today and what they meant going forwards.
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He sits on the edge of the bed, hands running through his mussed hair. Then he gets up and paces, into the bathroom, glaring at himself in the mirror, back out again. Pacing restlessly till he sits on the edge of the bed again, leg bouncing, fingers fiddling with the necklace and rubbing his thumb over the smooth shape.
He'll get up and leave the apartment to go next door. He's not sure what he's meant to accomplish just that something pulled him there. He stands, eyes moving around the room and it's familiar angles and smell of the sea and wet wood. He moves around his room to the desk, leaning on it briefly until something in him just boils up and cracks like thunder and without realizing it he has overturned his desk. He crashes around a bit more, till his room looks like a hurricane tore through it, but the small shelf of books is unharmed. He breathes, ragged, great huffs until he calms down some.
There, on the floor in the wreckage of his overturned desk is Thomas' book, Marcus Aurelius' Meditations. He stoops to pick it up gingerly and smoothes a hand back over his head to fix his hair in place. He runs his fingers over the pressed-in design on its cover or thumbs through the pages. Drifting, thinking of his failures, how he's changed, everything deafening between his ears. He'll head home then with the book.
Raylan was gone long enough to have never known he even left their apartment. By the time he comes back, Flint is sitting on the couch, book open, Pumpkin on his lap and gently stroking her back as she dozes. Looking for all that nothing has happened.
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He couldn't stand here forever though. He takes a deep breath and opens the door with a step in. And stops.
James was still here. How he looked came second to him being there at all. He was here, looking for all the world like everything was okay or something. Breathe, he remined himself, closing the door and taking off his hat to hang it. His full holster was pulled off his hip and sat on the thin credenza that decorated underneath the hat rack.
"You feel better after your shower?" James's hair was still wet, but he looked and felt calmer. Less like he was going to angrily vibrate out of his skin - the question was more an opportunity to see How James was. How the rest of this conversation might be headed, for better or worse.
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The loaded question of if he was feeling better wasn't one he felt he could answer so he avoids it instead.
"How much have you had to drink?" Curious, but almost a little judging, like a housewife questioning her drunk husband who's just wandered in too late while she sat up waiting for him.
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"A few. Enough." Enough to numb some of the shit stirring around his chest. Enough to make his accent a little heavier and thicker around the edges.
Raylan comes around and sits next to him on the couch, leaving enough room where they didn't touch but not far away at all. He didn't want distance to be the reason that they got off on the wrong foot.
"Your turn."
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"Enough for what, exactly?" Oh no. Not his turn.
"Do you think I'm angry with you?" Other than giving a damn about his partner's well-being, he's wondering if Raylan wants to know if he 'feels better' because of worrying about how much of those uncomfortable feelings were angled at him.
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"No, I don't. But I do think you're angry and in some spots, rightly so. You've got some valid points. My disagreein' with one isn't me disagreein' with the whole lot or callin' you a fool. I went and had enough to drink that I don't feel like shit for tryin' to have reasonable conversations today."
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"Why did you feel you needed to leave?" All of these questions are spoken calmly and not from a judging or accusing place. It's not meant to be a fight, he's genuinely asking to try and figure out what is going through Raylan's head about all of this.
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"I never said you thought those things, I just wasn't in a place where I could handle it if you did. And my frustration and anger was never angled at you but I was being open and honest with you about what I was thinking and feeling in the moment." And he couldn't seem to handle it and he needed to walk away and it hurt.
"You asked me if I feel better? I don't have an answer for you because it's much deeper and more complicated than that. I'm fine, I'm... numb. I'm done wasting my time on anyone else but us. Fuck'em. I just don't have it in me anymore to fight. I'm not that man anymore." He doesn't really know who he is yet, he hasn't fully reinvented himself. He was hoping to find inspiration in Meditations but just ended up...numb.
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He wasn't going to point out what he could have. The sneer, the insinuation that Raylan didn't understand the hierarchy of discipline, the implication that he was somehow pissing on James's community building desires. It wouldn't do anything but prompt more argument.
"You're right about the amount of people that die here. There's a conversation to be had in that. And we should be tryin' to make this place better. You don't gotta be Flint to do that."
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There's a soft slow inhale and a breath, seeing the hurt, hearing the way that Raylan shrunk and recoiled or seemed... afraid? Cautious? He wasn't sure. Like an abused puppy, trying to be small and not get hit. He didn't like that he was doing this to Raylan, making him react that way when they were just trying to talk.
"A lot of my bite came from all the responses I had about the same topics, it put me on a knee-jerk defensive. I... I wasn't trying to take it out on you, I'm sorry." He wants to touch him, but he's afraid he'll pull away if he tries.
"All I got from any of my discussions was how wrong I was, how I didn't know anything or my own faults being lashed back in my face. I realized I've wasted my breath."
"I just, I'm tired, Raylan." He pauses, "Miranda once said to me, the first time I met her, she said, truly great men are made great because of their relentless pursuit of a better world, they never give up because they don't know how."
He casts his eyes down to his hands, "If there's a thing I've realized is I am just simply not a great man, or even really a good one. Perhaps I was never meant to be. It's not for me, every time I've tried it's broken me. I can't do it anymore. I'm tired of wasting what precious little I have left on trying to improve things for everyone else. Especially for people that don't care enough to help themselves."
This time he can't help himself, he reaches for Raylan's hand, "I have all I need here, right here." He squeezes his hand for emphasis. "I just want to focus on this, on us."
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He didn't. He felt like James wasn't done and didn't want to get in the way of the flow.
But his eyes studied James's face while it was turned towards him, his profile when it wasn't. He wanted to interrupt, to protest James's self view but that having air was important too. There was no hesitation in the way Raylan's hand gripped James in return, tight and desperate to hold onto that plainly stated dedication.
"There's a reason I don't ever talk to the press," he says after a few long moments, eyes still on the side of James's face, before he drops his eyes to their hands as his thumb brushed back and forth.
"Lotta people hear what they want, focus on that with some hellish blinders. Miranda's view of it all is all well and good but.. Left of incorrect, in my opinion. Because you are a good man. You wouldn't give a shit in the first place if you weren't. There's nothin' wrong with stepping back until you feel.. better equipped to handle those kinda arguments. There's an innate bias against Inmates makin' those kinds of speeches in the first place which- That really ain't about you or what you've done, but an issue with the whole place. Fuck 'em if they can't see the rest of the conversation but.. I got no doubts you'll do this again. There's a reason you're drawn to it, baby. A good reason."
Raylan looks back over at him again. "I'll focus on whatever you want us to focus on, either way. You're not in this alone."
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"I don't think these things, the ideas can come from me. I don't have enough sway or respect for anyone to hear me. I've done nothing to earn it." Except for the few that respected him for what he did on the Galley but even then...
"I know I'm not the only one who has tried or the only one who thinks what I have said but when it came down to it... all I heard are the echoing voices of opposition and accusation." He lifts Raylan's hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles.
"I just want peace in the end. I want to feel less useless to protect what I care about." He flicks his eye up to Raylan.
"And perhaps both of us should do better with communicating with one another."
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"Maybe not right now. But we got nothin' but time, and all situations change. You'll find a more successful way to make the argument. Find folks willin' to join you on that side of it. Willing to have the debate in good faith. I'm just afraid it's gonna take another Barge wide attack of some kind. We've had a few good ones. A 'healthy' one, I suppose we could call those weird ass wounds. Kinda worried we're due another ugly one just to even it all out..
He looks over then.
"I've been.. trying to shield you from my bullshit. Better to see if I can get away with it without you findin' out and losin' your mind in rage or worry. There's-" He takes a deep breath, searching his lovers face. "There's gonna be times and places for us to protect each other, but me goin' out with my temper under me isn't somethin' that.. that needs protectin' from. I haven't lost my temper like that more than a few times here. It's not pretty.. And its the only time a little bit of who and what I really am gets to take a breath.. I'm a Marshal for a reason.. My file's as big as it is for a reason. The system protects me in the long run and if I die again, it's gonna be because I've gotten slow, possessed, or out-thought. I'm not scared of it, dyin'. And I think you are."
It was understandable, but James wanted raw honesty and Raylan trusted him enough to try it out. Communication, right?
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