The Lengths That I Would Go To

[abrightboy]

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."

Comments

[tinstar]

It had been a chance, reaching out at all. Raylan hadn't expected Malcolm to keep his number, to say the least. But he was glad he had.

Nodding, Raylan slid off the stool and finished his coffee. "Yeah. But I figure if I leave at 9:15, I can get to their hotel by ten." He fiddled with his cup, lingering a little before he decided to deal with his socks and boots. "Gives me enough time to let breakfast settle."

And gave him enough time to say goodbye even if it felt like they were trying to stall that clock.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm watched him move from the stool, watching the play of muscle under his undershirt, watching his face, watching his fingers fidget the coffee cup.

He gestured to the french press.

"Do you want me to make some more coffee?" he offered, pushing his yogurt away.

[tinstar]

Raylan gave him a passing smile of graciousness that played on his lips as he continued. "I'm good, but thanks. If I ever have a permanent place to stay again, I might have to get one." Standing, Raylan pulled out an over shirt and slung it on before buttoning it most of the way up and tucking it in before he was looking over at Malcolm again with the last adjustments.  

"Might have to talk you into delivering your favorite kind." His smile threatened to broaden a little as he came to collect his holstered gun off the counter-top. "What do you do here alone, when you're not working?"

He wasn't leaving immediately, and he still had to collect the tux that they'd stripped off last night, and decide if he was taking it with him or not.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm pushed his own french press across the counter. "Why don't you take this one," he said. "I can literally pick up another one this afternoon. It'll give me something to do. Mostly I try to distract myself when I'm here alone. Listen to music. Yoga. Read. Walk around the neighbourhood."

Look at the phone. Hope Gil calls with a case. Go to the station and beg Gil for a case. But he didn't want to look too hopeless.

"Sometimes I stop by to see my therapist."

He gestured to the french press. "Let me get you the coffee grounds that go with it," he said, getting up to go to one of the cupboards.

[tinstar]

At the push, Raylan was already shaking his head but he let Malcolm finish as he slipped his hat on and ambled over to Malcolm's side of the island. When Malcolm went to get up, Raylan put a hand on his shoulder to stop him with a fond curl of his smile.

"This all implies I have anything more than a bathroom sink." He was basically living out a gym bag. "It's getting better use here, trust me," he continued with a pat on Malcolm's shoulder as he eyed his tux jacket from last night and went to fetch it. "I think I ought to leave the tux here. The garment bag doesn't fit in mine and Tim will have a hayday with it."

Raylan ambled back towards Malcolm's side. "If the tailor won't take it back, maybe you can mail it to me?"

[abrightboy]

Malcolm glanced over. The hand on his shoulder did ground him and dial back the manic that was just bubbling up. He followed Raylan with his gaze to the tux jacket and tie draped over his stairs as the other man picked them up.

He was unexpectedly a little sad that Raylan wasn't going to take anything with him, but he did seem like the sort of man to travel light.

"It's custom," he said. No returns. "I'll mail it."

[tinstar]

He nodded, draping it over the counter. There was a little of his own disappointment, but it might have been for the better. Sentimentality got Raylan into trouble. Just ask Gary, the realtor that Winona left Raylan for. Raylan was hard to get rid of completely.

There was a tension left in him as he looked over Malcolm's face as he wrestled with himself internally and he nodded again, stepping over to collect his duster jacket and slip it on, taking a few extra seconds to turn his collar down. He wanted to say thank you, he wanted to kiss Malcolm goodbye, he didn't want to leave at all, but they both had things to do. Lives to live.

With resolution, Raylan walked over and picked up his bag, putting on as warm a smile as he can as he straightens and makes his way back over to Malcolm.

"You were right, earlier, about last night. It was great." His eyes said everything else that he couldn't.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm stepped over to meet him as he approached and held his gaze for a moment. Then he reached a hand up to cup his jaw and gave him a tender, lingering kiss before wrapping his arms tightly around him.

"Be safe," he murmured into his collar.

Like he was one to talk. Only one of them had a knife at his throat the previous afternoon and was left with a little red line of a souvenir.

[tinstar]

The relief at the reach of Malcolm's hand was visible, Raylan's face relaxing some of the seriousness that had set in it, as he leaned down to kiss him back, free arm sliding around Malcolm's waist. The tight hug was returned with a deep breath from Raylan.

"Thank you," he whispered, and it had nothing to do with Malcolm's safe travel wishes, though he appreciated those too. Raylan pulled back enough to pull Malcolm's face back into view and, forever a little dramatic, kissed him again.

When it broke, Raylan gave him a pull of a smile. "I'll see you later."

It wasn't going to be later but it was a good lie to leave on. A hopeful one. With more than a little reluctance in the smile, Raylan pulled away and headed for and out the door.

Once outside and in the car, Raylan had to take a minute to just breathe and process the heavy stone in his gut. Everything felt different. As the night replayed over in his mind, from the hanging out trying to watch TV, to Malcolm's ordering perfectly for him, his mother, his sister, that fuckin' party, Raylan pulled out into traffic and started driving.

Twenty minutes later, he'd finally made a decision and turned around. Twenty minutes after that, US Marshal Givens was back at Claremont Psychiatric hospital, this time, with his hat.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm walked over to the big semicircle window by his bed once Raylan was out the door, his hands in his pockets, and he looked down at the street. He watched until Raylan's car drove away down the street, then wandered around the apartment, picking up pieces of tuxes, putting his own away and carefully reassembling Raylan's and putting it in its garment bag.

Martin Whitly, on the other hand, was not expecting any visitors and, when told one was on his way in, he looked pleased as they shackled him.

"Is it my son?" he asked expectantly.

Mr David didn't answer, heading back out the door to meet the visitor and escort him in.

When the door opened to allow the visitor entry, Martin's look of pleased anticipation gave way to slight confusion as the door closed behind Raylan and Raylan alone.

"Deputy... Givens, wasn't it? This is... unexpected. Did my son send you?"

[tinstar]

The brim of the hat greeted Martin before Raylan did, though he did so with the same, careful mask of a smile that he had before.

"Only insofar as introducing us," he replied. "I came to tell you what happened to your fan club pen pal. Thought you might be interested." That casual always extended index finger of Raylan's came out to gesture at him.

"Unless I'm sorely mistaken." The Not-Ask was stated with a faint lift of his expressive eyebrows.

[abrightboy]

Martin smiled at him. It was a predatory sort of a smile, as affable as it was.

"I take it you were able to capture him with the information I helpfully provided," he said pleasantly.

[tinstar]

"You could use that term," Raylan said, eyes squinting slightly with the words, head shifting only slightly in turn. "Capture him right into a body bag, in the end. I know you and he both like knife work but guns really are better for swift action."

There was almost a dig in there, at Martin's choice of murder M.O.

[abrightboy]

Martin's smile was a little more devious this time.

"I can't disagree with you on that, but I never did like the 'action' to be too 'swift'," he admitted. He gestured to the folding chair in the corner. "Have a seat, if you like," he offered, taking a seat in his own desk chair. "How did my dear boy take that ending?" he asked curiously. "Malcolm tends to prefer bringing them in alive."

[tinstar]

"Clearly." Raylan's smile and eyes were tighter with that remark, his smile fractionally cooler. The fact that he remained standing would answer Martin's invitation, though he did amble a few steps that way so as to keep Martin in a respectable distance.

"Fairly well, considering that Quarles was starting to slit his throat. High praise, killing your favorite psychos only son." The coolness had spread, leaving Raylan with a serious expression, one that could clearly go either way - hard or equally affable, depending on Martin's answer. He didn't much care for losing teammates.

[abrightboy]

Martin's eyebrows lifted just a tiny bit.

"And I take it you're the one that shot him," he surmised. "I suppose I owe you a debt for protecting my son. Don't know what I'd do without the little guy. Is that why you're here?"

[tinstar]

'The little guy' got under Raylan's skin and his jaw flexed, eyes hardening with the rising of his temper.

"That's all?" he asked, eyebrows lifting in return. "Quarles tried to kill Malcolm to finish what you started, so let's not talk debts because there's a goddamn line." Raylan just happened to be in that queue now.

[abrightboy]

Martin stood up.

"To finish what I started? I'd never hurt Malcolm, whatever he may have told you," he said firmly. "He's my son."

[tinstar]

"Whatever Malcolm might have told me or the big fuckin' kid killer that cut him," Raylan snapped back, not giving Martin time enough to answer before he and his finger that kept gesturing his point without his hand moving from the casual crook it'd taken at the start of all this.

But he knew his own temper and almost visibly pulled it back in, taking on a near patient tone as he continued, despite the fact that his eyes were a little wider and fully pissed off.

"Quarles took that initiative all on his own. Which means I don't know what you've been telling other people, but if you don't want your son dead, you might want to swing the other way with that one, go back to your 'Dad of the Year' bullshit and keep your bad fucking decisions to yourself."

[abrightboy]

Martin stepped forward, darkness in his eyes no longer hidden. The tether to the wall pulled taut as he reached the red line.

"So you're his advocate now?" Martin said with a hint of a sneer. "But you're upset on his behalf. What does that make you? His best friend? His bosom companion?" He looked Raylan over. "His boyfriend? Good luck sliding that past his mother; she wants grandchildren to get her family out from under my legacy," he said with a forced levity over the scorn.

[tinstar]

If he'd been looking to see or strike some uncertainty or fear in Raylan, he'd sized up the wrong cowboy.

Martin didn't get the last word in before Raylan punched him solidly with a right hook, left coming in to fist in that perfect fucking sweater to keep Martin from getting away so that he could pop him two more times with unbridled fury and shove him to the ground. No doubt there'd be some imprint from the horseshoe ring afterwards.

"Now its about you."

Mr David, ever watchful, had readied himself as Martin stepped forward, familiar with the look in the Doctor's eye but even that readiness wasn't quick enough to in the room and around Raylan before his hands were free. Mr David did, however, take Raylan up by his shirt and start pushing him out of the room.

That, Raylan let happen with a dangerous look as he turned himself and strode out.

[abrightboy]

Martin pressed his fingers to his nose to find blood there and looked daggers at the Marshal's back, shaking off the guard that came to check his condition.

He'd file that in the back of his head and wait for an opportunity to turn the dagger himself.

[tinstar]

Raylan's anger didn't ebb with the punches or the space that grew between him and the Whitly family, and his stride didn't ease beyond stopping to pick his weapon back up and him sliding in the car. Breathing deeply, Raylan examined his fist, swore at himself for losing his temper again, and threw the car into reverse.

He and his team had a twelve hour drive ahead of them, and an irritated Raylan to boot.

"All this driving shit to save money," he cussed to himself as he headed towards the hotel.