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

[abrightboy]

Malcolm flinched a little at the sound of the shot, much louder in the confines of the basement. He felt Quarles' body peel away from him as it fell and turned around to look at it. He didn't notice the spatter on his temple and forehead or the small cut on his neck where Quarles had only just started to move the blade. He looked at the body for a moment, then turned when Raylan asked if he was okay. He nodded, running his hands down the front of his suit.

"Yeah," he said, straightening his tie. "Yeah, I'm fine." He looked over at the other hostage and went to untie him. "You're safe now," he told the boy firmly. "You're safe."

[tinstar]

Raylan's expression seemed to question that, but getting the kid ungagged and untied was the priority. The kid was more than happy to be let go, quietly sobbing with a panic that finally got to have a release as Raylan got to the last leg anchor.

"DOWN HERE," he yelled up at his team, bringing the three of them down, all with their guns drawn. "It's okay," Raylan echoed Malcolm to the kid. "We're the good guys. We're gonna get you taken care of." As soon as Rachel was on the landing, Raylan was lifting his chin expectantly as she stepped over Quarles's body with a questioing look.

"Just couldn't wait, could you," she said, giving him a look before giving a sympathetic smile towards the boy. "Hey honey," she said, squatting down. "My name is US Marshal Rachel Brooks but you can call me Rachel.."

With the kid taken care of, Raylan stepped around them and over to Malcolm, tilting his head a little to see the cut before nodding and putting his hand on Malcolm's shoulder. "C'mon. Let's get upstairs and call Gil."

"Goddamnit Raylan," Art protested. "You weren't supposed to kill him." Raylan shrugged a little. "Whoops."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm was still a little distracted and a little energized by all the goings on. He glanced at the body over his shoulder even as he let Raylan steer him towards and up the stairs.

"Were you aiming for his eye? That's a really small target."

[tinstar]

"I've shot smaller from further away," he answered as he followed Malcolm up the stairs. "Could have been an instructor at Glenco, where I trained. Hell they'd still probably be over the moon to have me workin' there."

Once they were back upstairs, Raylan took stock of him again. "We'll have the EMT's look at that cut, but he didn't get you too badly. Nothin' a little antiseptic won't take care of. Do you want me to call Gil or will he take the news better from you? Art yellin' at me is bad enough."

[abrightboy]

"...Cut?" Malcolm felt along his neck until he felt it, a sting at the contact, wet blood on his fingers. He looked his hand up and looked at it. "Oh."

Still slightly distracted by that when Raylan asked about Gil, it took him a second to look at Raylan. "Gil? Oh. I can call him." He patted his pockets with his free hand until he came up with a handkerchief and wiped the blood off his fingers before stuffing it back in his pocket. "But then I want to hear more about the shooting. Did you do special training for that?" he asked, taking his phone out of his pocket. "Or were you just naturally really good?" He dialed Gil's number, getting through before Raylan could answer.

"Uh hi. The Marshals closed their case just now." A beat. "No. No, that' won't be necessary. Deputy Givens was forced to shoot the suspect." Another pause. "A hostage was in danger. Yeah. He'd taken a kid." Another pause. "Yeah. I will. Okay. See you later." He hung up and slid the phone back into his pocket. "See? It's fine."

[tinstar]

His eyebrows lifted with surprise, noting how thin the details were and how short the questions were. Wow, more trust there than he thought. Sure as hell more trust than in his office.

"If you say so," he said, taking Malcolm's word for it with only a passing thought as to what might come from Gil finding out. At worst, refusing to loan Malcolm out again if they needed him. Raylan wasn't lookin' to burn any bridges - wouldn't Art be proud.

"And no special training - I've been shootin' since I was twelve. Used to practice on bottles set up on the back fence. Glenco gave me a lot of structure. Pretty sure gunning is part of the land that comes with my name... You sure you're okay?" He knew how close the situation downstairs was to Malcolm's trauma and frankly, with what he knew of the man, he wasn't wholly trusting of 'I'm fine.'

[abrightboy]

Malcolm looked at him and fully looked like he was going to go with some denial of feeling in any way poorly, but something flickered across his face and he relented.

"'I'll finish what he...'? How many serial killers has my father told that he should have killed me? Or are they assuming at this point?" he asked, throwing his arms up. Then he held up a hand. "For the record, I don't expect you to know the answer to that."

[tinstar]

He thought so.

"Good, because I can't, but what I can say is that Quarles wasn't stupid. Crazy, yes - Stupid, no." Raylan took a step forward, serious eyes on Malcolm, searching for the confirmation he was worried was coming. "You said your father chloroformed you."

And he confirmed the relationship by making Malcolm's admission for him. "I shouldn'ta said anything about you being his son. We gave that one to him. No reason to go thinking that they assume anything or that he's said anything."

But Raylan wasn't going to let Malcolm get his throat slit, either way. "There was only one way that was gonna end."

[abrightboy]

"My father did chloroform me. I was hoping Quarles' curiosity and hero-worship would get the better of him. But your strategy was sound. Except he seemed to think my father wanted me dead and he's not the first person that's told me that." He gingerly touched the cut again. "Thank you," he added soberly.

[tinstar]

There was another subtle flex of his jaw. As if Martin wasn't already low enough in his opinion, that put him lower. Raylan couldn't say anything to what Malcolm had experienced, even just in adulthood, so he didn't.

"Couldn't return you to Gil with more than a minor scratch. At least the same condition you were loaned to me in." It was as close to a 'You're welcome' as Raylan could get, and he gave it with a crooked pull of his lips. "I think I hear the EMT's. Let's go meet 'em, get you checked out and a band-aid on that thing and get you back home to clean up. Last thing either of us needs is her seeing you with brain matter on ya."

[abrightboy]

He smiled at the notion of 'returning' him to Gil and looked over almost sharply at the mention of the EMTs.

His brow creased as Raylan finished. "Brain matter?" he asked with some confusion. "Oh, is it on me?" He started checking his suit.

[tinstar]

"Just a little blowback in your hair. Might be eye, if that makes you feel better," he offered with an uplifting crinkle of his face.

As they stepped outside, the EMT's showed up, along with a few uniforms responding to Tim's call and Raylan lifted his badge before gesturing them in. Once he was sure that one of the EMT's was going to tend Malcolm, he nodded at him again.

"There's a bit of.. front end paperwork to do when you shoot a guy dead. I can meet you back at your place if you don't want to wait."

[abrightboy]

The EMT was trying to dab at the wound on Malcolm's neck when Raylan spoke and distracted Malcolm.

"Oh. Right. Of course there is. I mean, I know that. I used to... be a federal agent."

He hadn't shot anyone. But he knew of the paperwork. In theory.

He waved it off awkwardly. "Yeah. You can just. Meet me later. That's fine." A beat. "Apparently I have to wash brains out of my hair anyway."

[tinstar]

"Like I said, might be eye." The tone offered was suggestional and light, the same carefreely confident Raylan but after stepping back and turning around, his face reset back into a hard angry steel. None of this had gone the way he wanted it to and now he had another mark on his record to explain and get held against him.

It was three and a half hours later before Raylan was let go again to his own devices, irritated and put off by the song and dance of bureaucracy, and the ideas of memories of what Malcolm had to go through. Martin's cheery face would look better the way it is underneath, bloody and ugly. Raylan knew he couldn't go back to Malcolm's wired up so he took the chance to just.. walk around a few blocks of the city.

An hour after that, Raylan finally circled back to Malcolm's apartment and.. realized he had no way in. IF he couldn't find a call button, he'd knock and worst come to worst, he could just call.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm was on the couch in sweatpants and a t-shirt, his hair still a little damp from its scrubbing, watching Ainsley on the news when the buzzer went. He answered it distractedly, but when he heard Raylan's voice, he smiled broadly and buzzed the door downstairs open before throwing open the locks on his own door and leaving it slightly ajar for when Raylan got upstairs.

He went to the kitchen to pour a glass of scotch for the Marshal, one eye still on the TV where Ainsley Whitly was reporting about alleged inmate abuse from in front of one of the smaller jails in the city.

[tinstar]

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?

[abrightboy]

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.

[tinstar]

"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."

[abrightboy]

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."

[tinstar]

"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.

[abrightboy]

"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."

[tinstar]

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.

[abrightboy]

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

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

[tinstar]

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."

[abrightboy]

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."