abrightboy | The Lengths That I Would Go To

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The Lengths That I Would Go To

The killer was moving around the country. Malcolm Bright could see the pattern, but he wasn't working for the FBI these days and they weren't exactly taking his calls. Short sighted of them, but they did fire him on suspicion of being crazy. The NYPD's jurisdiction was New York. With the killer beyond its borders, they handed it upwards and left it at that.

Let it go, Bright, had been Gil's sage advice. You can't catch every killer in America single-handedly.

Challenge accepted, some part of him retorted, though he'd only nodded mutely and forced a smile. Gil knew he hadn't simply let it go, but he wasn't going to have him followed to stop him doing anything stupid, either. He didn't have the will or the resources to keep tabs on Malcolm Bright 24/7 and Malcolm Bright knew it.

His mother, on the other hand, had extensive resources, so he simply didn't tell her he was leaving town. He did arrange for Ainsley to feed his bird, so the truth would come out eventually, but he'd be several states away by then.

He rode the bus. There was something oddly comforting about the anonymity of being in a crowd of strangers who had no interest in him whatsoever. He stared out the window and watched the country go by. When he stepped off the Greyhound in Lexington, Kentucky, he walked to a nearby hotel and checked in, then headed straight to the US Marshals office. There was no point in trying to talk to the FBI. If he was going to stop a killer from killing again, he needed someone in law enforcement to listen to him. The pattern suggested the next murder would happen in one of the rural communities around Lexington and it would be precipitated by a young woman's disappearance. He needed law enforcement with local knowledge, specifically.

He wandered into the Marshals' offices in a tidy three piece suit, charcoal grey with a burgundy tie perfectly knotted at his collar. He got a few suspicious sidelong glances but nobody asked if they could help him. He cleared his throat.

"Um, hello? I'm wondering if there's anyone here I can talk to about murder." He held up his hands. "Stopping murder, specifically, not... like... smalltalk."

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Malcolm nodded. He took responsibility for being selfishly pleased enough that someone whose company he enjoyed would be at the event, that he hadn't considered how much that person wouldn't enjoy it.

And how it might possibly rub off on whether said person still enjoyed his company afterwards. He was suddenly very concerned about that.

"Every family dinner we've ever had, but with an extra cast of passive aggressive rich people was probably not the way to show you a good time in New York," he allowed with a tight smile. "We probably should have gone to Times Square or something."

"Or the best way for your mother and I to come to a basic level of understanding. The scotch makes up for it," he said, managing to find a grain of dry levity to it. "I can see Time Square in pictures, I'm not foolish enough to think that's all to New York. Plus, I got some walking in. A good time has been had," he assured with a faint lift of his eyebrows.

"And this is still something to see." Raylan looked up at the ceiling and around the room. "Almost kinda nice to be seeing it without chasing someone." Though not nice enough to justify him ever coming back to one of these kinds of events.

Malcolm tried not to let his relief at that be visible on his face, but he failed.

"What time are you leaving tomorrow?" he asked casually as they reached the table of auction items and he pretended to peruse it.

The break of relief was enough to pull half a smile from Raylan as he stopped next to Malcolm, staying close enough for their shoulders to brush with the shifting of weight.

"Not until 10am. Art doesn't want to get stuck in the morning rush on the way out."

Well, the last was true - Art did want to miss traffic and in his age, solidly enjoyed his mornings when he could, but Raylan had designs on that last hour.

"How early do you think we can get out of this?"

"I could manufacture a text from Gil," Malcolm told him, looking up at him with a hint of a smile. "Not too soon after getting back to the table... but not too long after that either."

And yes, he was already thinking about what they could do for breakfast.

"If making it halfway through the dessert course will count as us having attended, that's what I vote for," he replied into his glass. "Tipsy in public is not a look I'm going for."

Even if he could already feel the buzz of it behind the back of his eyes.

"Don't worry; I'll make sure you get home safely," Malcolm teased with a bit of a laugh. The idea of him protecting Raylan was funny to him somehow. Possibly he was also already buzzing a bit.

"At this rate, you'll have to." If nothing else, Raylan didn't have to worry about Boyd or Ava or some country bullshit stealing his night and the rare ability to drink rich booze without having to worry about if he was going to have to shoot someone was one he was going to take advantage of.

Arlo wouldn't have had it any other way.

"I'll follow your lead."

When they returned to the table, Malcolm took his seat again, draping his napkin back across his lap.

Ainsley raised an eyebrow at him cheekily.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing," she sing-songed, also cheekily.

He gave her a distinct 'shut it down' look, but she just took a sip of her wine.

The waiter arrived and set an elaborate cream filled pastry in front of each of them.

"So did you see anything you liked?" Ainsley asked Raylan.

Raylan tried to not look guilty as he sat back down, only half succeeding as he slid into his chair, somehow with a fresh scotch in his hand. He chose to ignore the exchange between siblings, reminding himself for the 15th time that night that they were colleagues.

Later, he would have to do some self examination, to see if he could see whatever it was that they saw to assume differently.

"They're offering what looks to be very nice things, but I'm afraid I don't have an adequate taste for it or the pockets deep enough. I'm satisfied enough with looking." Besides, he was already going home with who he wanted. "Are you here just to support your mother, or are you hoping to catch some juicy story here?"

"Oh, I imagine I got strong-armed into it the same way you did," she told him with an innocent expression.

"Please, dear, if I have to strong-arm you into doing some good works, then so be it," Jessica said airily.

Ainsley leaned forward conspiratorially. "But I am always looking for a juicy story," she said.

Malcolm took his phone from his pocket like he just felt it buzz.

"It's Gil," he said, getting up from his chair. He looked at Raylan. "Want to stay here and eat pastry or go solve a crime with us?" he asked with a bright smile.

"Like that's even a contest in your world," Ainsley pointed out.

"I know, right?" Malcolm shot back happily.

He knew he couldn't confirm so he let a merriment in his eyes do the talking as he took another healthy sip. He liked Ainsley; she was alright. Fun, even, despite her situation.

The mention of Gil had him glancing up at Malcolm like he was surprised and flashing a half grin as he stood up, pushing his chair in behind him.

"Ainsley, a pleasure to meet you," he said with a little incline of his head before hazel eyes turned to Jessica. "Thank you again for inviting me. Lovely time." She got the same kind of too polite nod before Raylan was ready to and readily followed Malcolm towards the door.

It didn't much matter to him if Jessica thought they were running away, now that they were headed that way.

Jessica was accustomed to Malcolm jumping when Gil said 'jump', no matter what they were in the middle of, so she waved them off in an almost weary acceptance and then waved the waiter over to refill her glass.

Once outside on the sidewalk, Malcolm looked over at Raylan.

"Okay, that part went pretty well."

As soon as they were outside, Raylan was taking a deep breath and looking a million times better for it.

"Thank you for gettin' me outta there," he said with an earnest look. "I have never sat in a pool of piranhas before now. I can strike it off my bucket list. I'm half surprised she didn't threaten to tie us to the chairs." He took another deep breath, raking a hand through his hair.

"I could walk a little. And drink a little more. Could you walk a little?" he asked with a finger towards his companion.

Malcolm nodded and chose a direction down the sidewalk, starting them that way.

"She wouldn't stop me from going to a crime. She knows there's no point."

He slid his hands into his pockets and looked over at Raylan. "I have more scotch at home."

"At least there's that escape route."

Raylan nodded. "We'll get there, I just.." He gestured uselessly. "Need a few minutes." To calm down. To let go of some extra energy, to get the seed of irritation out of his caw.

"What was going on with you and your sister?"

He didn't mind walking at all. It was how he passed nights he couldn't sleep.

At the question, he let his head fall back with a very long-suffering sigh.

"My mother clearly drew some conclusions from the scene she sashayed into this morning and told her them."

He fidgeted with the ring on his finger, letting the long strides carry his attention more than the question he was circling around.

"Your mother's got some fine ideas.." He wasn't sure this was one of them. "I'm sure they'd change that when they realize I'm a 41 year old divorcee." With a kid. Raylan couldn't bring himself to bring the baby into the picture, there was too much on his plate.

Edited 2020-04-19 01:48 (UTC)

"I'm not sure it would," Malcolm told him. "At this point, they'd probably be happy if I dated a man-alligator hybrid that crawled out of the sewer if I wasn't alone for five minutes. They seem to think I can't manage relationships."

Not that there was no reason for them to think that.

"I'm sure there was a time when my mother had high hopes that I'd find a society wife and have well-adjusted heirs to the family legacy that she could show off pictures of at the country club, but this is about as good as I get and hallucinations and incessant night terrors don't mix with society wives."

Raylan gave him a brief sympathetic pull of a smile. "Trust me, marriage isn't all it's cut out to be."

He let the silence settle between them before he spoke up again. "Winona and I used to fight all the time about what I had to do and how much the job took me away. The fact that I couldn't take a desk job, and the affair she had with her realtor because of me is the reason she divorced me after 6 years.. She married the realtor..

I don't think anyone is well adjusted, if I'm honest."

"'Because of you' is a bit harsh," said the king of blaming himself for things other people did. "She chose to sleep with the realtor because she couldn't deal with the marriage anymore. Did you get that job after you two got together?" Malcolm asked.

He shook his head. "I was a Mashal when I met her. She knew the job came with me. But I had promised to take the instructors job at Glynco. More than once. But something always came up.." His fingers rubbed together as they walked, obvious a little anxious in talking about it without a drink in his hand.

"It was a choice on my part. Things left undone that need doing. Just as much my fault as hers. She wanted me to chose her. I could have chosen her." But he hadn't.

"My point being that I'm.. married to my badge." And not gay. That was the underlying message and one that Raylan was struggling to keep squarely in his front vision. "And Kentucky until Boyd is dealt with and behind bars."

"Ah." That did put things in perspective. "Well. They do say it takes two to tango," he conceded. "I'm not the best person to talk to about long term relationships. I've never had one."

"How long has your longest short one been?"

He looked over. He was, honestly, a little embarrassed by it.

"Three and a half months."

With a woman, but they hadn't all been women.

"But everyone has a limit to how many times they can take being woken up by a screaming maniac, no matter what they say at the start."

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