The Road Home

[abrightboy]

Raylan's loose ends had been tied in Kentucky and Malcolm's were as tantalizingly close as they'd ever been. He and Raylan made the trip to New York with the intent of discovering the fate of the girl in the box, so they could head down to Miami without... baggage.

They would have to start with the revelation Jessica and Ainsley had made to Malcolm right before Raylan was shot, sending Malcolm back to Kentucky: that Eve had infiltrated the Whitly family to learn more about the Surgeon's victims.

Malcolm let them into the New York loft - a space he considered theirs now, more than his, since they decided they might weather the hurricane season there after moving to Miami - smiling as Sunshine tweeted greetings. Once the door was shut behind Raylan, he opened the door of her cage. Ainsley would have fed her diligently, but nobody would have let her out to fly. Sunshine took off across the loft and Malcolm grinned, watching her go.

He looked at Raylan. "We can still bring her with us when we leave, right?"

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[abrightboy]

Malcolm fishes his phone out of his pocket and dials, but it rings and rings and then goes to voicemail.

He looks at Raylan. “She’s not picking up.”

[tinstar]

"What do you wanna do," he asked with a glance over. He wasn't here to get in Malcolm's way, he was here to help. This was Malcolm's turf.

"We can drop back by her office?"

[abrightboy]

Malcolm was anxious. It made him fidgety. He fidgeted his phone from hand to hand, then nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s go see what she knows.”

He flexed his hand on his leg the whole ride, practically jumping out of the car before it came to a complete stop, pounding on the elevator call button in her lobby.

[tinstar]

That was the better choice, in Raylan's opinion. If someone was coming to tie up loose ends, Eve could be next, even if she didn't know anything.

Raylan hurriedly shut off the car and followed Malcolm inside, staring up at the Elevator floor indicator. Why did he have a feeling they were going to end up running up stairs?

"Remember to breathe," he reminded softly.

[abrightboy]

Remember to breathe. It was such a small thing. And it was everything. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment as he drew a deep breath, then released it, then opened his eyes to look up at the floor indicator. When the elevator door opened, he stepped in, waiting for Raylan to join him before pressing the door close and floor buttons repeatedly until the elevator got moving.

At Eve’s floor, he swept down the hall and past the receptionist to open her office door, but she wasn’t there. He turned and looked at the receptionist, who was looking at him with shock and annoyance.

“Where is she?”

“She left right after you did,” she answered testily.

[tinstar]

There were going to be aggressive cuddles and a bath for them in the future, after the day was done. The comfort he could offer was bare right now, only him standing stoically next to his fiancé through whatever came next.

"Where'd she go," Raylan asked the receptionist calmly, eyebrows lifting. "Martin Whitly just had an attempt on his life and I've got good reason to believe that she is being targeted. We need to know where she went."

One finger gestured out towards the planner on the Reception's desk, his tone gentle and plying, urging her to help them.

[abrightboy]

She looked at Raylan with trepidation. “It’s personal time,” she stammered. “She didn’t say where she was going.”

Malcolm, shifting his weight back and forth anxiously, leaned forward. “Did she say anything at all?”

She blinked at him. “She said she wouldn’t be back until Friday.”

Malcolm wrung his hands and looked at Raylan. “Is there any way he can put out a BOLO on her car?”

[tinstar]

Raylan was already on the phone by the time Malcolm finished his question, walking away with a few strides as he started setting up the Bolo Malcolm was just asking him for. Raylan nodded at the question and stepped back towards the secretary.

"What kinda car did she drive? Year, Make, model, color?" Any information that he got from her or Malcolm was relayed shortly before his phone was tucked away and he was gesturing at the receptionist again.

"I suggest you close up shop, forward her calls to her answering service, go home and lock your doors." He looked at Malcolm. "C'mon."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm followed without hesitation, jogging a little to keep up with the Marshal’s purposeful strides, fidgeting restlessly in the elevator.

“Are they going to call you if they find it?”

[tinstar]

"That's kinda how BOLO's work," he replied, impatiently, however stoic, watching the elevator number tick down.

"For now, I'm takin' you home." Secure entrances and exits. A goddamned drink while his mind wheels spun. "Someone's tyin' up loose ends."

[abrightboy]

Home?

“You don’t think we should be out… beating the streets?” Malcolm asked, though his tone suggested he had doubts as to how that would even work. Raylan knew him well enough to recognize he was spitballing in his helplessness. “Or. I don’t know. Heads?”

[tinstar]

"Beatin' the streets," Raylan echoed, looking over with a confused but slightly amused twitch of his features. "We aren't street cops and right now, we got no real information." He shifted a little, body turning towards Malcolm, the starts of, anywhere behind closed doors, an embrace.

"You need a break and quite frankly, I need to get you behind secure doors in case you're next." A beat passed. "You realize you could be the next target, right?"

And Raylan wasn't going to let that happen on his watch.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm frowned. “You think he already knows that Dr Whitly told us something?” he confirmed. “…But by that logic you’re a target, too.” And that did not sit well in his stomach; he brought Raylan into this. He was the only reason Raylan was within ten feet of it. His brow creased. “Maybe you shouldn’t have come,” he murmured, all the wind out of his sails.

It took a lot to make him want Raylan to be anywhere that wasn’t beside him. It took a lot to make him consider dropping a case he was obsessed with.

“Maybe we should have just gone to Miami.”

[tinstar]

"Your visits to Martin are documented; My bet is they assume he's already told you somethin', prior to our visit today," he laid out reasonably. "My bein' here has no real connection outside of today's visit. And even if that wasn't the case. I've still got an active list of people that wish me six feet under, Malcolm. Men badder and madder than what I've seen today."

He was always, technically, in danger. That was part of what Malcolm had signed up for.

Raylan took a deep breath as the door opened, drawing him away from whatever else he might have said.

"Let's go home. No world in which I wouldn't'a come. If we keep goin' is up to you, but that doesn't eliminate the danger you're already in." Malcolm should know Raylan well enough by now to know that he wasn't the type to fold up and leave a known threat hanging in the air if he could help it, but this was Malcolm's show and Raylan would let him direct it, protecting him from whatever might come.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm had assimilated the dangers of Raylan’s job and life: the things that made him who he was, all complex and messy but still kind. He hadn’t prepared to be the danger to Raylan. Still, maybe his cowboy had the right idea. Go home. Step back. Breathe. Think.

He nods and takes a deep breath, looking up at Raylan as the elevator stops.

“Right. Yeah. Perspective.”

[tinstar]

Raylan nodded and guided Malcolm back out into the car, eyes and head on a swivel and insistent of rushing Malcolm into his seat. Yes, the Marshal was on high alert and the same protective herding was used to guide Malcolm upstairs into his apartment. Throwing both locks and the chain, Raylan stalked his way into the kitchen where he took off his hat and dropped it on the counter with a deep breath.

"We'll give the Feebs a few hours to sort out who the unlucky bastard was who lost his eyes. I'mma call the office," he started, pulling out his phone to pace out into the middle of the apartment. "Have them run down anything they can find out about Nicolas Endicott. Inside fourteen hours, we'll have enough information for our next move."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm wrings his hands, shifting his weight back and forth before actually pacing, though never far from Raylan. He’s supposed to be doing… something. He’s supposed to be useful. Fourteen hours. An eternity when he’s walking the razor’s edge of his anxiety.

[tinstar]

Raylan reached out, roping Malcolm into his chest as he spoke the facts sternly into the phone. Yeah, apparently, Rachel would get back to him as soon as she knew anything. No, nothing had come of the BOLO yet. No, they hadn't gotten any calls from the NYPD or the FBI.

He thanked her and closed the phone, wrapping his free arm around Malcolm.

"Just breathe, Malcolm. That's all we gotta do right now, is breathe."

It was more than just him knowing how anxious and spun up Malcolm was; he could feel it. It was nearly palpable around them and as much as he knew his affection and reassurance really worked, he also knew that it wasn't near enough to quell the wave of anxiety that rocked his intended.

[abrightboy]

Breathe.

Malcolm’s arms slid around Raylan and he tipped his cheek against the Marshal’s shoulder, taking a deep, deliberate breath.

Breathe.

He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of Raylan’s skin and Raylan’s aftershave, tension easing fractionally out of his frame.

“They tried to murder my father,” he murmured. “What if they try again?”

[tinstar]

"Stone cold killer, your dad," Raylan muttered. "I think today proves he's gonna be harder to kill then all that. They know what he is which means they sent someone who they thought could get the job done. They either overestimated themselves or underestimated him but.. The more I learn.. If you hadn't called him in, would anyone have? Would anyone else have even known? Or had half an inkling?"

Raylan wasn't sure he would have.

"He'll be alert. Ready. High from the blood he got already. He'll be okay."

Was he really comforting that the Serial killer would be okay??

[abrightboy]

A little bit, but at the assurance, Malcolm sunk against him. Maybe it was all right to comfort the broken little boy inside his fiance that his father would be okay. Feelings were complicated.

“You don’t think they’ll go after my mother or my sister?” They hadn’t been involved; Malcolm hoped that made them uninteresting.

[tinstar]

Everything about this was complicated but Raylan knew that going in. He couldn't ever say how complicated it might elevate to and that didn't much matter either. He was here, he loved Malcolm and he wasn't leaving the man alone with this bullshit.

"I don't think so, but you might ask Gil to keep an extra car on 'em, just in case. I'm sure he's already heard by now."

[abrightboy]

Gil.

“…I’ll text him.”

He unwrapped from Raylan just enough to get his phone out of his pocket, leaning his shoulder into Raylan’s chest while he typed the message. A response came before he even managed to slide the phone back into his pocket. He looked up at Raylan with something like relief.

“He’s already done it.”

He tossed the phone onto the counter next to Raylan’s hat and then turned to melt against him again.

[tinstar]

One thumb kept it's brush against Malcolm's shoulder as Raylan peered down at Malcolm's screen. There was a silent approval for both Gil's quick answer and the answer itself as he wrapped himself more tightly around Malcolm. Would that he could fix it all with this alone.

"He's a good cop. And he cares about your mother a lot." The 'They'll be good together' was unspoken, Raylan knew how weird it was for Malcolm to think about sometimes. "Ainsley too. They'll be okay."

He couldn't promise, but he knew Gil would work just as hard as he and Malcolm did to ensure it.

"What do you wanna do? Take a shower? I can make you some tea?"

[abrightboy]

Malcolm nods against him, letting go, but not moving away. He shifts his weight back just enough to scrub both hands over his face.

“Tea. Let’s… start with tea. I just… it’s so much so suddenly.” He looks at Raylan. “What if she’s still alive?”