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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His footfalls would announce him up the stairs and he smiled at the cracked open door before pushing it open and walking in, shutting it behind him.

"Sorry that took so long," he said, pulling the new cowboy hat off his head and setting it on the counter, running a hand through his hair. "Decided I coudln't do without anymore." He glanced at the TV. "Anything exciting goin-.."

Yes, he can read. "Is that.." How many Ainsley Whitly's could there be in New York?

Malcolm turned to give him the scotch and noticed the hat, raising his hand to gesture towards it, but following Raylan's sight line to the TV, he got distracted.

"Oh. It's my sister, yeah."

He looked at the hat again.

"Where did you get it?" he asked.

"Cute kid." She looked young, far too young for Raylan's tastes by a mile, to say nothing of the familial bond he assumed she had with Malcolm. If he had to say anything, it was that Martin and Jessica had made some very attractive kids. Raylan could almost see bits of both parents in Malcolm's face already.

Taking the scotch, he lifted his eyebrows a little in pleased surprise and took a sip as Malcolm asked about the hat, smiling a little.

"A shop I came across walkin' around. Had to stretch my legs after finishing with the PD and frankly, I'm starting to feel a little naked without a decent brim." He slid it back on, fingers adjusting it as he brushed across the brim as he looked at Malcolm from under it, smile curling again as he took it off and set it on the counter.

"At least if anyone gives me shit for it, I can say I tried but that baseball cap stuff doesn't feel right."

Malcolm tried to suppress a smile and failed horribly.

"I knew it was more important than 'it happened to fit'," he pointed out. "At least when you get home, you'll have a backup," he said. He pointed to the bed. "Adolpho brought your tux over. It's in the garment bag over there."

"Eh, well," Raylan half conceded, grinning. "Saves me buying another when the first one inevitably gets shot."

Alright fine Malcolm - he liked the way he looked in it, and the way people responded to it in all their different ways. It was much a tool as his weapon.

"'Adolpho'?" he questioned with a lift of his eyebrows, eyeing the bag like it might have a bomb in it before he relented and walked over to stare at it more directly.

Southern Problem solving: Stare at it for a little bit and then decide.

"The only time I've ever worn a tux was my wedding." He wasn't sure how he felt about it.

"Adolpho is my mother's driver," he clarified. "You might enjoy the gala. Black tie galas are like going to a wedding where you don't know and don't have to meet the bride and groom." A beat and he tilted his head in concession. "You will have to sit at the half-empty table of the ostracized, though. People know we're that murderer's family."

It was a hellva name, even if Raylan was sure that it was common somewhere in the world. Raylan bobbed his head in time with his eyebrows - believing the description and scoffing a breath at the last.

They'd be sitting with a murderer. Technically speaking. "It'll be a relief to not be known for my own record, if I'm honest. They'll let me keep my gun, right?" The question came with a sidelong look towards Malcolm.

He laughed, but then paused. Raylan was joking right? ...Was he?

"...You want to bring a gun to dinner?" he clarified.

Raylan smirked at the drop of Malcolm's light levity. "I am a US Marshal. You know any cops that leave their guns at home when they're out? I've seen movies, there's always some dramatic break in or murder at fancy parties. It's not like I'm going to wear it on my hip... Just my back."

Malcolm considered that quite seriously.

"I don't actually know," he admitted, picking up his phone from the counter and pressing a button.

"Hi Gil! It's me." Pause. "No, nothing like that. I just have a question." Another pause. "No, nothing like that." Pause. "Oh. I'm just wondering, do you bring your gun to, like, weddings and things like that? Or dinner with friends or dates or anything, you know, decidedly not police-related." Pause. "No reason. It just came up." Pause. "Okay, thanks."

He hung up and looked at Raylan. "You might be right."

He was slowly gathering that Malcolm was definitely not one of the FBI agents who kept their firearm on them. The call to Gil only make his smirk break into a grin as his hands loosely found his hips and he forgot about the still hidden suit to ear hustle on Malcolm's side of the conversation.

"Yeah," he said with a chuckle. He'd only been doing this for 20 or so years but he didn't blame Malcolm for checking with his cops. "I'm sure my badge will suffice as my gun's invite to the party."

He sighed at the suit again before bending over and unzipping it to pull the tux out. "I hope this thing came with shoes."

Malcolm smiled. "I hope my mother guessed your size correctly," he said, walking over to grab a shoe box from the floor around the end of the bed and setting it on the bed. He opened the lid with a flourish to reveal very shiny black shoes. "If they're too big or too small, please don't read anything into it."

"I suppose I ought to try it on before the thing instead of finding out something's desperately wrong after gettin' out of a shower." He glanced at Malcolm. "No laughin' if it's too short," he warned with a cautionary finger before pulling the suit free from the garment bag and headed towards the bathroom.

"If it's too short, check to see if you put on mine," Malcolm joked, going back to a stool in the kitchen to turn his attention back to Ainsley's report while Raylan changed. And only partly to distract himself from the fact that Raylan was in the other room changing.

It only took about ten minutes, two to undress and another six to put on the suit, afraid he'd damage it or something by putting it on too swiftly. The last two minutes were spent tucking and buttoning and shifting as he tested out the movement and range of the suit, and it was only when he caught himself in the mirror that he paused.

He felt.. strange in these clothes that felt too high quality for someone like him to be standing in. More than a several seconds were lost to imagining what tonight was going to entail before he undressed again, after a second thought as to if the man outside would want to see it..

But Raylan thought the full impact would be better accepted and pushed the rest of his foolish thoughts out of his head as he started the process all over again.

Malcolm texted Ainsley when her report was over, assuring her that he was, in fact, attending the gala.

She asked him about 'that man mom mentioned'.

He texted back 'don't'.

He got mostly done before he realised that he hadn't brought in his sleep pants, despite the earlier hour and resigned himself to slipping back into his jeans and carefully putting the suit back onto its hanger. With his shirt unbuttoned and his boots in hand, Raylan came back out, bouncing his eyebrows slightly in confirmation to the expectant gaze he expected to get.

"Your mother has a frighteningly good eye," he conceded as he stepped out to drop his boots and drape the garment bag over the back of Malcolm's couch. "It fit like a glove."

"If you think that's frightening, you should see her drink," Malcolm said glibly. "She's apparently mentioned you to my sister, by the way."

With his hands free, he could return to leaning on the counter, collecting his scotch glass for a sip.

"I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. Was it just to let her know that there would be a new face at your table tonight? Speakin' of, are you sure all this is okay?"

After all, he was just some guy that Malcolm worked with a couple of times. It felt like.. He wasn't sure, but it felt like something.

"If you mean whether it's okay with me? It definitely is. I mean, I'm surprised you agreed but it'll be nice to have someone to talk to about... anything not fake," Malcolm confessed.

Raylan shrugged. "I can spare one night for New York before I go back. Might be the only time I get to see the inside of one of these parties and we're not collectively due to leave til tomorrow. It's go with you or stay here and drink all of your scotch and that would be terribly rude of me."

That wasn't the only reason, but it was the easiest to admit, even to himself.

"And I hate pointless small talk."

"I know; that's one of the things I like about you."

It just kind of burbled out. Was that okay to say?

He gestured to the TV. "Anyway, Ainsley's report is done if you want to watch anything. Adolpho is picking us up at seven."

Raylan couldn't help the stupid, adolescent grin that brought before he glanced at the TV and shrugged with a bobble of his head as he took up the remote and his glass to amble over towards the couch.

"Sure, why not. It'll only take me 30 minutes to get ready, which gives us what, an hour maybe?"

They'd make it. And it was definitely okay to say.

Edited 2020-04-16 01:40 (UTC)

"Yeah, about that. Do you want anything to eat? I've got..." He paused, considered that. "Licorice. And leftover soup. ...And possibly one or two meal replacement shakes, but that's a bit heavy before a gala dinner."

"No, I'm fine, but thank you. I got lunch while I was out too. Figured it wouldn't do either of us good if I came back hungry and irritated." Raylan shifted on the couch to look over at Malcolm. "Is TV what you do in your spare time or do you just watch your sister report on the going on's of the world?"

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