abrightboy | No One's Born Broken

While Raylan took care of the pleasantries, Malcolm shucked his waistcoat and tie and toed off his shoes, but - as requested - stayed where he was. The hotel employee had set the food and the bottle of Jim Beam on the table, but Malcolm snagged Raylan by a belt loop as he returned and tugged him back into his arms for one more kiss (right where he was).

"Gallant and hot in my defense," he concluded with a broad smile.

He was easily snagged, smile broad as he was tugged in and he wrapped around Malcolm with another throaty hum of approval at the warmth of the kiss.

"This is not the way to get me to let go of you long enough to eat but you did do as you were told, for once," he teased. "I'll be hot and gallant as often as the situation demands it from me, anytime darlin'," he promised before stealing another kiss - he couldn't get enough of them, like he was stocking up for their next break apart.

"C'mon," he said with a gentle pat on Malcolm's hip to break away to the table, one hand catching Malcolm's to just as gently drag him along. "Come eat with me."

"The rewards system makes me want to do the things you ask," he teased as he followed him - gladly - to the table, squeezing his hand before letting go to sit down and pry the lid off his container of soup. He gave it a little stir with the spoon, and then took his experimental first bite, then put his spoon down to see how that sat. It came with a roll and a little container of butter. He pushed them towards Raylan and gestured to the bourbon. "Do you care to do the honours?"

"Didn't know we had one of those," he replied, utterly unbothered and completely charmed by the idea. Raylan had fallen right into rewarding him, but he knew that wasn't ever going to change. Sitting down, Raylan popped his own lid off to inspect the food with a little nod.

He glanced at the roll being pushed towards him and the bourbon and nodded again, cracking the bottle open and pouring two fingers worth in each glass. "We've earned these," he commented as he spun the cap back on and set the bottle to the side in favor of picking up a fry and popping it into his mouth.

"And to think I was gonna go home to a bar and eat god knows. Probably more peanuts. I'm gonna have to watch my salt intake til I get outta there."

Malcolm smiled broadly.

"Are you going to stave off heart disease just to spend more time with me?" he noted. He picked up his glass. "In that case..." He held it up to propose a toast. "To the day when we can start harassing each other about what we eat every day," he said cheekily.

"I might." Strange the things that happened when you really had someone to live for. "You and Willa." He lifted his glass, clinking it against Malcolm's gently and watching him steady over the edge as he took a sip.

"Hear, hear," he sounded as he set his glass back down, picking up half of his neatly cut burger to take a big bite. Raylan was hungry and the burger and fries did not last long. It was the quickest he'd eaten in front of Malcolm but he'd also never been this hungry in front of him before.

When he'd finished, he snapped up his drink and leaned back with a heavy, satisfied sigh. "Oh my god that was good," he breathed.

Malcolm finished maybe a third of his soup in that time, but gamely took another bite.

"I'd love to enjoy eating something," he said, setting his spoon down to take a sip of bourbon. "To really enjoy it, instead of it being... I don't know. A biological obligation that my body mostly rejects."

"What.. what stops you? Why is your mind so against food? What happens up there?" He wanted to know, honestly - there was no correction here, Malcolm was doing what he could and Raylan could only strive to understand the reasons.

Malcolm thought about how to explain it.

"You know when you're really nervous about something? Like... public speaking or... I don't know. A review? And your stomach knots up and you feel sick? I feel like that all the time, thanks to severe anxiety and also the medication for anxiety." He shrugged. "I don't really even remember what it feels like to not be at least vaguely nauseated."

Raylan hummed and frowed softly, nodding in understanding. His Opinions about Malcolm's Medications would be kept to himself - what did he know, but it only reinforced his theory.

"I wish you could. And you've.. never been off your meds since the doctors put you on them? How.. how do they know they're working?"

"I haven't been on the same medications all this time. It's a constantly evolving thing. The body gets used to one, it loses its effectiveness, they trade it out for another. They change combinations and dosages. But...I've occasionally been off of them. I miss a dose now and then when I get caught up in something... it's not good. I hope you never see me... fully unbalanced."

Raylan could only shake his head a little, face pinched in consternation.

"Alright." He drained his drink and poured another and tried to change the subject.

"So, you talked about Tim but how did Rachel take you showin' up?"

Malcolm watched Raylan's face. He could see he wasn't happy with Malcolm's answer. He pressed his lips together, turning his glass around on the table, but answered the question asked.

"Suspiciously. She didn't seem quite convinced that anyone would ever visit Kentucky to visit Kentucky."

He paused and looked from his glass to Raylan. "Do you remember the hallucination I had at my mother's house?"

He huffed a breath. "She's right. There's not much here."

Raylan looked over. "Yes. And if you're saying that that's what happens all the time, I believe you. I'm not a doctor. But seems to me that your brain has never had a break to even defend itself as..I don't know.. less broken than everyone thinks you are. Everything's been buried under meds so long, your brain screams at you in the night." He shook his head.

"I don't wanna talk about this. Not my place."

"I'll find out when you're working and I go take in the sights."

He planned on spending a lot of time in Lexington, if he could manage it.

He picked up his glass and took a sip, then looked at Raylan.

"You wanted to understand it when you asked the question." He leaned forward, a splayed hand on his chest. "I'm not offended. I don't... it doesn't feel right when you say my business isn't your business. What you're saying... I get where it's coming from. Most people with... difficult anxiety don't start as early as I did. But I suffer from intractable symptoms of PTSD and if they weren't mitigated I could't function, much less work. Psychotherapy hasn't been able to resolve my trauma."

"Go see UK's campus. It's where I went to college. Not a bad spread."

Raylan's eyes found some spot on the carpet to focus on for a long minute. "I said it wasn't my place, not that it wasn't my business. I am not certified in psychology or any of the medicinal needs it might demand."

He wasn't going to speak on anything else.

Malcolm nodded.

"That's fair," he conceded. "But... for the record... if you ever want to ask me anything...... I want you to feel like you can ask."

Raylan nodded. "I do. I have. I am," he said, gesturing with each statement. He shifted in his seat a little as he continued. "You've spent your whole life listening to what other people think is best for you. I do not aim to be counted in their ranks. I'm not here to tell you how to live or deal with whats in your head." He was here to help.

And that's all he wanted to do. Not impose some false idea of reality on will alone. That would only be more damaging.

Malcolm looked utterly charmed for a moment, blinked and looked like he was going to say something, then didn't, then looked at Raylan.

"You noticed that, huh?" he said with a huff of a laugh, fingers fidgeting with his glass.

"Kinda hard not to, after being around a few times. I don't hear much choice in your stories. You got one choice and you made it, and it was the right one. And then.. all that was.. taken over and it doesn't.." Raylan looked over with a heavy breath. It didn't seem like Malcolm had been given much choice back.

"Like I said before. You're strong as hell to have accomplished what you have over everything else." Raylan chased the words and the still twisted feeling in his chest back down with a wash of bourbon.

Malcolm wasn't accustomed to being described as 'strong'. It was implied by Gil sometimes. With most people, the gist was 'clever but mentally frail'.

He watched Raylan's face for a moment, then got up, abandoning about a finger of bourbon and half a bowl of soup to walk around the table and straddle Raylan's lap, sliding his arms around the Marshal's neck and pressing a lingering kiss to his mouth before burying his face in the crook of his neck.

"Here's another choice of mine," he murmured into Raylan's skin.

Raylan watched Malcolm and his face as he processed that and set his glass off to the side on the table as Malcolm slid over him, freeing his hands to wrap them around Malcolm's back and kiss him back with a soft inhale of breath.

When Malcolm tucked his head into Raylan's neck, he rested his head's weight on him gently as he sighed again as he absorbed the comforting weight and warmth.

"I can get behind this one too," he murmured back. "I just wanna see you happy. Whatever that looks like."

"Everybody tells me that. When they want me to do something I don't want to do," like go on vacation, like eat more food, like not working so much, "when they're breaking up with me...." He lifted his head and looked Raylan in the eye. "You actually make me happy."

He nodded with a slight movement as Malcolm talked. He knew. It was part of the reason he wanted to prove Malcolm wrong in it. Just in a singular human instance. Even if it was just him holding to a more true sentiment of the statement.

The confirmation that he made Malcolm happy made Raylan smile crookedly, stupidly, and reach out to pull Malcolm back into a kiss. They were circling around It again, even if Malcolm didn't realize and Raylan knew it was going to be hard to keep that promise of cementing how he felt in an inarguable way pressed down and hidden.

"Good. Just keep me up on how I'm doin'. Don't let me start slippin'."

Malcolm smiled broadly at that.

"I don't know; you seem like an Ever Vigilant kind of guy, but I'll hold you to the high standard you've set," he teased, running his fingers down along Raylan's neck to fidget at the strap of his undershirt.

His eyes lingered there a moment, then he raised them back to Raylan's face. "It's late. Take me to bed."

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