He glances stair-ways and makes a note to ask about it, but only once he’s taken care of the most important things first.
Neal steps inside, wrapping one arm around Raylan’s waist in a hug and leaning up a little to give him a companionable kiss before he lets go. “I kind of forgot that was a thing. The access list. I need to… make one.”
What a strange thought.
He drifts toward the kitchen area, planning to set the bottles on the counter and quest for a corkscrew. “I brought two options, one of which is very bright and fruity with more sweetness to it and the other of which is a dry Rhône Valley red I thought might be more to your taste, but I was basing that on your go-to being whiskey more than anything.”
He still wasn't used to the idea of getting literal hugs and kisses from Neal, much less anyone, but he takes it well, one arm wrapping around Neal for a brief squeeze as he shuts the door. He follows behind, still smiling at the two bottles and the way Neal goes on about it. It was nice, to have someone in his space that was otherwise unencumbered with the emotional weight he was hauling around today.
"Left hand drawer on the far side of the stove there," he directs as he comes to pull a couple glasses out of the cabinet and lean on the kitchen island. He knew what Neal was looking for.
"So you're tellin' me that these aren't 16$ bottles from the local liquor store?
“They are definitively not.” He flashes Raylan a quick grin as he works the screw into the dry and pops the cork. “Best part of my cabin other than the veranda is the wine cabinet.”
He comes around the island with the open bottle, sliding an arm around Raylan’s waist as he pours them each a glass. “You and Malcolm had a fight?”
"I still wanna see it, so since you came over any way, that's what my raincheck is for." He meant it too. He wanted to see the way Neal lived. Raylan leans into the embrace, watching the wine pour and humming a note of acknowledgement as the smile slowly slips off his face.
"It wasn't pretty. I told him to kiss my ass and hung up on him after he said some shit. Then he showed up here a half hour later. I think we're pretty much okay, big picture an' all but-" He lets out a breath as he takes one of the glasses. "I got whiplash and a burnin' desire to trash an empty cabin..." But the airy faux levity, the casual 'clearly I don't care' tone wasn't the strongest to begin with and it fell away fairly quickly.
"I don't like fightin' with him. Which is strange because normally I'm fine with it, but." When Malcolm cuts, he cuts.
He's glad when Raylan leans in. It means Neal can hold him a little closer, a bit tighter, so the lines of their bodies blend a little. He picks up his own glass, turning his head to kiss Raylan's cheek. "As long as you don't hurt yourself doing it."
He's seen people have far worse coping mechanisms than smashing up something unoccupied.
When the facade drops entirely, Neal shifts so he's facing Raylan, still with a hand on the other man's back.
"I'm sorry," he says, quietly. That Raylan and Malcolm fought, yes, but for more than that. "I'm sorry I kept picking fights with you when I first got here, and for the way things started in the Lounge. I think you and Malcolm have something very unfortunate in common."
He leans against the counter, running his hand up and down the small of Raylan's back. "People take physical swings at him because because he's blunt and awkward and cavalier about his physical safety, and they assume it's more allowable than hitting someone else because he shrugs it off on the surface."
He takes a little sip of the red, making a softly pleased sound at the taste. Neal sets his glass back down and rests his other hand against Raylan's stomach, dropping his fingers to hook his thumb over the front of Raylan's jeans. It's oddly nonsexual as a gesture. "People take emotional swings at you and assume it's fine because you seem on the surface like you have a heart that doesn't bruise."
Neal leans in to kiss his cheek again. "Which is not a criticism of you."
It was nice, to be granted the freedom of his impulse without Neal waiting in the wings to chew him a new one for it. Of course, Neal had never done anything like that but the darkest corners of Raylan's mind waited for it. It might not be specifically the room, specifically the destruction, but it would have to do with anger. It always did.
Raylan lets the shift happen but keeps his eye on his glass until Neal says 'I'm sorry', eyes coming over to study his face as he speaks. He'll take the apologies but it was the soft, intimate touches that really calmed him and gave him a sense of grounding.
He hums a little at the kiss, lips pulling at the edges towards a smile.
"I can guess why that is. And it's unfortunate that that ain't gonna change. Folks that see that you bruise only strike harder, lookin' for blood or a reaction they can feed off of. I can't give that to them without becomin' a target." And he couldn't allow himself to become a target - that would end with someone dead and him demoted, and his wish for Willa's safety being lost.
"I will say that's the first time I've heard that opinion though." And he'd heard a LOT of opinions.
"There's a reason I've stopped myself from hittin' Malcolm the couple of times he's really been askin' for it. I think he functions the same way as everyone else, but when he gets a reaction, it's only proof that he's right that there's some.. nebulous larger 'wrong' to be fixed and addressed." Raylan couldn't have that either. As few questions generated as possible, and due to that, how Raylan behaves is constricted.
"So I can handle people pickin' fights. My heart might not bruise on the surface, but their faces do." It was how he survived.
Neal hums thoughtfully. "With Malcolm, I think it's also that he processes out loud a lot if not most of the time. People take his statements as judgements instead of his attempt to understand and relate. They think he's rude or arrogant or assumptive when he truly doesn't get the emotional part that well. He gathers data through call and response. He has to have logical frameworks before he can handle emotional ones. He wants to understand, he wants to relate, but his way of going about it is directly opposed to how most people are socialized to do the same thing."
He gives Raylan's jeans a gentle tug. "And as for you... I hope you have at least a few people you let tend to the bruises the others don't see."
Raylan wondered if Neal knew about Malcolm's wolfdom. He had to, surely. It all made sense, how Neal laid it out - Raylan read people differently, very in the moment and sharper on shadier shit. Shit he easily recognized. Malcolm's emotions were already showing how out of wack they were when he got worked up - how well was he going to be able to handle them going forwards?
His lips pull toward a smile at it all anyway.
"That's a good way of puttin' it. He's luck to have someone who understands his gears so well." He would always be a little jealous of people who found people like that, who found that kind of connection and understanding.
"A couple people see a couple bruises. Mags. You?" His smile spread a little more but it didn't really reach the rest of his face. He couldn't sit still enough to see what answer would settle in Neal's face.
"Come sit on the porch with me," he says, shifting to tug on Neal's waist a little before grabbing the bottles of wine in his fingers and ambling that way.
You, Raylan says, and then they're moving. Neal lets himself be led, snagging his glass as they move out of the kitchen. "It's true, I didn't get to see your whole place yet. The stairs are new."
"They are. Meant for keepin' Roman, while he's in his coma. Or any other trouble that might come up. Thought it might be nice for him to have a place to lay that isn't my bedroom or my living room."
Raylan leads them out onto a small wooden covered porch with its haint blue ceiling and few steps down to the white Caribbean sands that were steadily lapped against by the faux sea that stretched out in front of them. The seating was two chairs and a loveseat with a glass top, round coffee table. Raylan sets the wine down and sits on the left side of the love seat, arm settling over the back so he can drape it over Neal's shoulders when he sits.
"And this," he says, taking and letting a deep breath. "Which is really the prize of it all.."
Neal leans against Raylan, putting a hand on his leg. "Reminds me of Greece, a little bit. Certain places there. On Crete there's a beach with pink sand that goes on for miles."
He reaches his other hand over to pluck lightly at the front of Raylan's shirt. "Where are the bruises, angel? What was it that Malcolm said that made you hang up?"
"I bet that's stunnin'." He'd never been, but that wouldn't be a surprise. Not a lot of US Marshal Work happening in Crete these days. Or any day, really.
Neal plucks his shirt and asks that question and Raylan finds himself reluctant to say much. But he pushes through that feeling and tries anyway.
"He implied we weren't friends anymore. Or.. at least at the moment. Or that I wasn't treatin' him like one. Followed it in the same breath with reminding me that he's graduated an inmate and I haven't." He sucks his teeth a little, shaking his head. "I had.. hoped. Thought but was tryin' to not question him and I bein'.." He gestures a little. "Brotherly... He tells me its how siblin's fight sometimes. Apologized, we called it even, once he was at my door. Said he needed my help."
Raylan looks over. "How close are you two these days? What's he told you of his.. situation?"
Neal winces, putting an arm around Raylan’s shoulder and turning sideways so he can drape his knees lightly over the other man’s lap.
“That… is one of the things about Malcolm that scares me sometimes. He doesn’t lose his temper often, that I’ve seen. But when he wants to hurt you, if he’s close enough to know you, he knows exactly how.”
The question hurts, for reasons he can’t articulate. He might be good at learning other people, but he’s terrible at seeing certain parts of himself. “I don’t know. We’re close. But I don’t like Will. I don’t trust him. And Malcolm loves him. I have a harder time telling Malcolm anything knowing it could get to Will.”
And he’s still in love with Malcolm.
“When you say situation…” He tries to figure out how to say it without saying it, just in case. “What kind of situation do you mean?”
Raylan's hand slides down to settle on Neal's thigh after he's done shifting and takes a sip of his wine, humming a little at the taste on the back of his tongue. It's not bad. They'd get back to wine in a few minutes though.
"He knows where to cut." It was the surprise of Malcolm cutting him that what really hurt. The cuts themselves he could handle. Worse had been said about him. He already knew he could manage alone if he needed to. Hurt, he could handle. Some people couldn't.
His expression pinches as Neal talks, nodding a little in understanding. It was something to consider, but he generally likes Will. Hasn't seen anything that would suggest he shouldn't, but maybe Neal had seen something else.
But the question of clarification was an important one. Raylan studies Neal's face and internally wars over if he should say anything. But Malcolm had decided to be open about it, so it should be okay. Instead of saying it though, he lifts his hand and makes a claw as he says- "The-" Rawr. "Thing."
“He knows where to cut, and he does it instinctively. He doesn’t mean it, but that doesn’t make it hurt less.” He rests his head against Raylan’s shoulder, staring into space and remembering what Malcolm had said to him when they tangled after Neal snubbed Will at the gazebo. What he’d said in the counseling office after. He still feels those wounds whenever he sees Malcolm smile at Will, which doesn’t make it easier to take.
“He doesn’t get how deep it goes because he forgives so quickly himself.” A pause, and Neal closes his eyes for a moment. “Which I guess is a criticism.”
He opens his eyes in time to see Raylan’s wolf approximation and smiles, though much like Raylan’s expression earlier, it doesn’t make him look happy. “He came to talk to me the night after he did it. He’d asked me for advice before he made the decision. I was against it. But he chose them anyway, I guess. I did say at the time that I wasn’t going to be objective.”
"It's a decent defense. Especially against people who he knows aren't likely to punch him. A way to shift the ground of argument, put us back on our heels." It was easier to see now that he'd had some time to calm down and sorted. But Neal's details tell Raylan that he was one of the last people Malcolm told directly that he'd gone through with it or at the very least, not one of the first. It wasn't fair to Malcolm but that stung a little too.
"He came to me before it too, though I can't say how long before.. Asked me what I thought - I was against it too. Doesn't seem worth it. He told me it was for bond, for connection, for the sharper senses and strength.. That's what he wanted help with. I don't know that he's thought about the loss of humanity that's possible now, but he wants to feel safe. Wants to not be ostracized by his people for the choice. And I can't do that to him. He's made the choice so all we can do is support him if it bites him in the ass."
Neal doesn’t say anything right away, staring into space again. Not seeing anything in particular this time.
“He got irritated with the questions I posed, or the way I did so. I lost my temper and asked if he wanted my opinion or validation for a choice he already made. He didn’t tell me beforehand that he was going to do it. Will was there. So apparently that was an option. But he didn’t say anything until after.”
Neal closes his eyes. “You might be a better person than me. All I can think about is how I didn’t merit an FYI, and how much I want to hurt him back for that.”
A soft snort. “I guess that’s why only one of us started as an inmate.”
Raylan's thumb starts brushing back and forth on Neal's thigh as he listens. Fighting with Malcolm was never fun - it was gut wrenching and tittered on the edge of too many possibilities sometimes. It was also always emotionally charged, by way of Malcolm poking into those wounds for 'data', as Neal put it.
"I wish he had told me his decision before he made it but.. Not everythin' is my business. And I come from a place where there's no option but to live with folks I disagreed with-" On so so many things. "So you gotta love 'em despite the disagreement. Despite the hurt of it. I don't feel like he means to do it. To hurt us. And that's better than maliciously doing it.. There's a difference between forgivin' something and givin' that something a pass for the sake of keepin' someone.
But my line between inmate and warden is real thin, darlin'. When I was an inmate on the Clipper, it was hell. So I made sure it was hell for everyone. I made sure it was hell for Malcolm, specifically. Took him hostage and all. Every day is a new choice about which side I'm on. Most of the time, I choose correctly."
Neal winces when Raylan tells him what happened on the Clipper, glad that their Malcolm is different. Or at least seems to be. Both because he doesn’t know if he’d like the Malcolm of the Clipper and because it’s complicated enough for Raylan without them being the same person.
He sets his glass down on the coffee table so he can rub his face with one hand before dragging his fingers back through his hair. Then he smiles at Raylan, small and fleeting. “I’m supposed to be the one comforting you.”
It gave Raylan a sense of what Malcolm could be like when he was maliciously cutting. It was still data of it's own kind, still a view into Malcolm on the wrong side of things. They weren't specifically the same person, but it was the same potential. The same drive.
Raylan pulls a little smile in return as he leans in a fraction.
"Who says you aren't. It's nice to have someone I can trust enough to talk about the ins and outs of a complicated relationship, with full context and understandin'. I wish I could talk to Tim about this kinda stuff but. I don't know that that'll happen any time soon. And Maggie is fantastic, but I don't.. like lettin' her see some of this. She helps me shoulder some of the shit with James and she's got her own plates up in the air."
Neal lets his hand rest against Raylan’s cheek, running tracing his cheekbone with his thumb.
“I’m glad. You’re easy to talk to. You say what you mean, you’re straightforward, you’re honest. As honest as people will let you be safely.”
There’s a crimp of irony at the corner of his smile. “I don’t feel like we’re in competition when we’re discussing things like this. I’m not nervous about tripping an emotional mine and having you go off on me without a clear reason. I don’t have that with a lot of people.”
Raylan turns his head enough to kiss the inside of Neal's palm before putting his cheek back into the cup and studying Neal's eyes.
"I know where my lane is in all this; I love Malcolm like a brother but that doesn't really make me part of his inner circle. I feel like you're closer to him. In the day to day. I'm.. just here. Someone he sees sometimes. There's no toes to step on. No competition. We're both different things to him. And I'm glad of it. I don't wanna be in competition with you. I think if we were, we wouldn't be where we are.
I know you love him too, darlin'." It's said with a faint lift of his eyebrow. "You'll have to tell me how deep that goes but." He knew. He knew and he didn't hold it against Neal.
He pales a little when Raylan turns that honest, straightforward lens on to something that Neal himself had been doing everything in his power to avoid. The way the color drains out of him and his eyes go bright and fragile as blue crystal is dead giveaway of exactly how deep it goes.
“…I don’t know that I am. Closer than you. Maybe—probably—it’s my own fault, but. I haven’t…” His gaze drops from Raylan’s eyes to his lips, from his lips to his chest. “I don’t like seeing him with Will, and it feels like I never get to see him without any more.”
Raylan would be careful with that fragility, lest he give Neal reason to turn around and dig in, to break something in return.
"Can I ask you why you don't like it? Why you don't trust Will? Did he do somethin'? Say somethin'?" Was it the mental health issues? Raylan doubted that but he knew better than to assume and an argument could be made. Not a great one, perhaps, but an argument, nonetheless.
Neal presses his lips into a tight line for a moment, focus still fixed on Raylan’s chest. He’s not upset with the cowboy, at least.
“He…” Why. Why? Other than the fact that he’s jealous and doesn’t trust anyone easily? “We didn’t exactly get off on the best foot. And when Lestat hurt Malcolm and Will wanted to kill him, the things he said and the way he said them—”
He cuts himself off and the pinched expression returns for a moment. “He…”
He talked about Neal’s emotions in front of Malcolm, the same way Malcolm has done in front of others, but it wasn’t invited. Or maybe it just wasn’t expected.
None of it amounts to enough for his feelings to be as potent as they are.
Neal’s focus sinks a little lower still, so he doesn’t have to catch Raylan’s expression even out of the corner of his eyes. “Malcolm only ever tried to hurt me once. And it worked. And he did it for Will. He…”
Neal closes his eyes, resignation making his throat tight. “He picked Will. If I ever let Will into a position where we could… fight, or. Be upset with each other. He’ll pick Will. And I don’t think I can take him talking to me like that again. I can’t take knowing he’s willing to do that.”
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Neal steps inside, wrapping one arm around Raylan’s waist in a hug and leaning up a little to give him a companionable kiss before he lets go. “I kind of forgot that was a thing. The access list. I need to… make one.”
What a strange thought.
He drifts toward the kitchen area, planning to set the bottles on the counter and quest for a corkscrew. “I brought two options, one of which is very bright and fruity with more sweetness to it and the other of which is a dry Rhône Valley red I thought might be more to your taste, but I was basing that on your go-to being whiskey more than anything.”
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"Left hand drawer on the far side of the stove there," he directs as he comes to pull a couple glasses out of the cabinet and lean on the kitchen island. He knew what Neal was looking for.
"So you're tellin' me that these aren't 16$ bottles from the local liquor store?
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He comes around the island with the open bottle, sliding an arm around Raylan’s waist as he pours them each a glass. “You and Malcolm had a fight?”
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"It wasn't pretty. I told him to kiss my ass and hung up on him after he said some shit. Then he showed up here a half hour later. I think we're pretty much okay, big picture an' all but-" He lets out a breath as he takes one of the glasses. "I got whiplash and a burnin' desire to trash an empty cabin..." But the airy faux levity, the casual 'clearly I don't care' tone wasn't the strongest to begin with and it fell away fairly quickly.
"I don't like fightin' with him. Which is strange because normally I'm fine with it, but." When Malcolm cuts, he cuts.
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He's glad when Raylan leans in. It means Neal can hold him a little closer, a bit tighter, so the lines of their bodies blend a little. He picks up his own glass, turning his head to kiss Raylan's cheek. "As long as you don't hurt yourself doing it."
He's seen people have far worse coping mechanisms than smashing up something unoccupied.
When the facade drops entirely, Neal shifts so he's facing Raylan, still with a hand on the other man's back.
"I'm sorry," he says, quietly. That Raylan and Malcolm fought, yes, but for more than that. "I'm sorry I kept picking fights with you when I first got here, and for the way things started in the Lounge. I think you and Malcolm have something very unfortunate in common."
He leans against the counter, running his hand up and down the small of Raylan's back. "People take physical swings at him because because he's blunt and awkward and cavalier about his physical safety, and they assume it's more allowable than hitting someone else because he shrugs it off on the surface."
He takes a little sip of the red, making a softly pleased sound at the taste. Neal sets his glass back down and rests his other hand against Raylan's stomach, dropping his fingers to hook his thumb over the front of Raylan's jeans. It's oddly nonsexual as a gesture. "People take emotional swings at you and assume it's fine because you seem on the surface like you have a heart that doesn't bruise."
Neal leans in to kiss his cheek again. "Which is not a criticism of you."
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Raylan lets the shift happen but keeps his eye on his glass until Neal says 'I'm sorry', eyes coming over to study his face as he speaks. He'll take the apologies but it was the soft, intimate touches that really calmed him and gave him a sense of grounding.
He hums a little at the kiss, lips pulling at the edges towards a smile.
"I can guess why that is. And it's unfortunate that that ain't gonna change. Folks that see that you bruise only strike harder, lookin' for blood or a reaction they can feed off of. I can't give that to them without becomin' a target." And he couldn't allow himself to become a target - that would end with someone dead and him demoted, and his wish for Willa's safety being lost.
"I will say that's the first time I've heard that opinion though." And he'd heard a LOT of opinions.
"There's a reason I've stopped myself from hittin' Malcolm the couple of times he's really been askin' for it. I think he functions the same way as everyone else, but when he gets a reaction, it's only proof that he's right that there's some.. nebulous larger 'wrong' to be fixed and addressed." Raylan couldn't have that either. As few questions generated as possible, and due to that, how Raylan behaves is constricted.
"So I can handle people pickin' fights. My heart might not bruise on the surface, but their faces do." It was how he survived.
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He gives Raylan's jeans a gentle tug. "And as for you... I hope you have at least a few people you let tend to the bruises the others don't see."
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His lips pull toward a smile at it all anyway.
"That's a good way of puttin' it. He's luck to have someone who understands his gears so well." He would always be a little jealous of people who found people like that, who found that kind of connection and understanding.
"A couple people see a couple bruises. Mags. You?" His smile spread a little more but it didn't really reach the rest of his face. He couldn't sit still enough to see what answer would settle in Neal's face.
"Come sit on the porch with me," he says, shifting to tug on Neal's waist a little before grabbing the bottles of wine in his fingers and ambling that way.
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Raylan leads them out onto a small wooden covered porch with its haint blue ceiling and few steps down to the white Caribbean sands that were steadily lapped against by the faux sea that stretched out in front of them. The seating was two chairs and a loveseat with a glass top, round coffee table. Raylan sets the wine down and sits on the left side of the love seat, arm settling over the back so he can drape it over Neal's shoulders when he sits.
"And this," he says, taking and letting a deep breath. "Which is really the prize of it all.."
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He reaches his other hand over to pluck lightly at the front of Raylan's shirt. "Where are the bruises, angel? What was it that Malcolm said that made you hang up?"
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Neal plucks his shirt and asks that question and Raylan finds himself reluctant to say much. But he pushes through that feeling and tries anyway.
"He implied we weren't friends anymore. Or.. at least at the moment. Or that I wasn't treatin' him like one. Followed it in the same breath with reminding me that he's graduated an inmate and I haven't." He sucks his teeth a little, shaking his head. "I had.. hoped. Thought but was tryin' to not question him and I bein'.." He gestures a little. "Brotherly... He tells me its how siblin's fight sometimes. Apologized, we called it even, once he was at my door. Said he needed my help."
Raylan looks over. "How close are you two these days? What's he told you of his.. situation?"
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“That… is one of the things about Malcolm that scares me sometimes. He doesn’t lose his temper often, that I’ve seen. But when he wants to hurt you, if he’s close enough to know you, he knows exactly how.”
The question hurts, for reasons he can’t articulate. He might be good at learning other people, but he’s terrible at seeing certain parts of himself. “I don’t know. We’re close. But I don’t like Will. I don’t trust him. And Malcolm loves him. I have a harder time telling Malcolm anything knowing it could get to Will.”
And he’s still in love with Malcolm.
“When you say situation…” He tries to figure out how to say it without saying it, just in case. “What kind of situation do you mean?”
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"He knows where to cut." It was the surprise of Malcolm cutting him that what really hurt. The cuts themselves he could handle. Worse had been said about him. He already knew he could manage alone if he needed to. Hurt, he could handle. Some people couldn't.
His expression pinches as Neal talks, nodding a little in understanding. It was something to consider, but he generally likes Will. Hasn't seen anything that would suggest he shouldn't, but maybe Neal had seen something else.
But the question of clarification was an important one. Raylan studies Neal's face and internally wars over if he should say anything. But Malcolm had decided to be open about it, so it should be okay. Instead of saying it though, he lifts his hand and makes a claw as he says- "The-" Rawr. "Thing."
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“He doesn’t get how deep it goes because he forgives so quickly himself.” A pause, and Neal closes his eyes for a moment. “Which I guess is a criticism.”
He opens his eyes in time to see Raylan’s wolf approximation and smiles, though much like Raylan’s expression earlier, it doesn’t make him look happy. “He came to talk to me the night after he did it. He’d asked me for advice before he made the decision. I was against it. But he chose them anyway, I guess. I did say at the time that I wasn’t going to be objective.”
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"He came to me before it too, though I can't say how long before.. Asked me what I thought - I was against it too. Doesn't seem worth it. He told me it was for bond, for connection, for the sharper senses and strength.. That's what he wanted help with. I don't know that he's thought about the loss of humanity that's possible now, but he wants to feel safe. Wants to not be ostracized by his people for the choice. And I can't do that to him. He's made the choice so all we can do is support him if it bites him in the ass."
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“He got irritated with the questions I posed, or the way I did so. I lost my temper and asked if he wanted my opinion or validation for a choice he already made. He didn’t tell me beforehand that he was going to do it. Will was there. So apparently that was an option. But he didn’t say anything until after.”
Neal closes his eyes. “You might be a better person than me. All I can think about is how I didn’t merit an FYI, and how much I want to hurt him back for that.”
A soft snort. “I guess that’s why only one of us started as an inmate.”
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"I wish he had told me his decision before he made it but.. Not everythin' is my business. And I come from a place where there's no option but to live with folks I disagreed with-" On so so many things. "So you gotta love 'em despite the disagreement. Despite the hurt of it. I don't feel like he means to do it. To hurt us. And that's better than maliciously doing it.. There's a difference between forgivin' something and givin' that something a pass for the sake of keepin' someone.
But my line between inmate and warden is real thin, darlin'. When I was an inmate on the Clipper, it was hell. So I made sure it was hell for everyone. I made sure it was hell for Malcolm, specifically. Took him hostage and all. Every day is a new choice about which side I'm on. Most of the time, I choose correctly."
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He sets his glass down on the coffee table so he can rub his face with one hand before dragging his fingers back through his hair. Then he smiles at Raylan, small and fleeting. “I’m supposed to be the one comforting you.”
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Raylan pulls a little smile in return as he leans in a fraction.
"Who says you aren't. It's nice to have someone I can trust enough to talk about the ins and outs of a complicated relationship, with full context and understandin'. I wish I could talk to Tim about this kinda stuff but. I don't know that that'll happen any time soon. And Maggie is fantastic, but I don't.. like lettin' her see some of this. She helps me shoulder some of the shit with James and she's got her own plates up in the air."
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“I’m glad. You’re easy to talk to. You say what you mean, you’re straightforward, you’re honest. As honest as people will let you be safely.”
There’s a crimp of irony at the corner of his smile. “I don’t feel like we’re in competition when we’re discussing things like this. I’m not nervous about tripping an emotional mine and having you go off on me without a clear reason. I don’t have that with a lot of people.”
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"I know where my lane is in all this; I love Malcolm like a brother but that doesn't really make me part of his inner circle. I feel like you're closer to him. In the day to day. I'm.. just here. Someone he sees sometimes. There's no toes to step on. No competition. We're both different things to him. And I'm glad of it. I don't wanna be in competition with you. I think if we were, we wouldn't be where we are.
I know you love him too, darlin'." It's said with a faint lift of his eyebrow. "You'll have to tell me how deep that goes but." He knew. He knew and he didn't hold it against Neal.
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“…I don’t know that I am. Closer than you. Maybe—probably—it’s my own fault, but. I haven’t…” His gaze drops from Raylan’s eyes to his lips, from his lips to his chest. “I don’t like seeing him with Will, and it feels like I never get to see him without any more.”
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"Can I ask you why you don't like it? Why you don't trust Will? Did he do somethin'? Say somethin'?" Was it the mental health issues? Raylan doubted that but he knew better than to assume and an argument could be made. Not a great one, perhaps, but an argument, nonetheless.
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“He…” Why. Why? Other than the fact that he’s jealous and doesn’t trust anyone easily? “We didn’t exactly get off on the best foot. And when Lestat hurt Malcolm and Will wanted to kill him, the things he said and the way he said them—”
He cuts himself off and the pinched expression returns for a moment. “He…”
He talked about Neal’s emotions in front of Malcolm, the same way Malcolm has done in front of others, but it wasn’t invited. Or maybe it just wasn’t expected.
None of it amounts to enough for his feelings to be as potent as they are.
Neal’s focus sinks a little lower still, so he doesn’t have to catch Raylan’s expression even out of the corner of his eyes. “Malcolm only ever tried to hurt me once. And it worked. And he did it for Will. He…”
Neal closes his eyes, resignation making his throat tight. “He picked Will. If I ever let Will into a position where we could… fight, or. Be upset with each other. He’ll pick Will. And I don’t think I can take him talking to me like that again. I can’t take knowing he’s willing to do that.”
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