"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.”
It was a big question and not one a lot of people tended to ask others or themselves. But the 'why' was just as important as the kneejerk reaction and the gut clench, even if the why was 'I don't know'.
Raylan was still and silent as Neal worked out how to say it, giving him the room to navigate as he watches the way it all moves over Neal's face. He could tell this ran deep, this reason, deep into the unknown as Neal stumbles and stutters. His hand stays draped on Neal's thigh, heavy and steady.
There wasn't much to do about the way that Neal was feeling. Watching someone else get picked over you when you had already been so important stung. Raylan sets his glass down and shifts to take Neal under his arm, encouraging those knees and legs over as much as needed.
"That's a hard one, darlin'. Just because he made that choice in that situation doesn't mean that he'll make the same one in others, but. I understand why that isn't an easy option or the first one you consider. I think Malcolm is tastin' happiness and as wonderful and amazin' as bein' in love is, people do some weird and abnormal things sometimes to defend it. It's not an excuse. That doesn't mean I can't see the magic in it blindin' him a little."
Neal settles against Raylan, enjoying the oddity of being held by someone who's taller than he is, if not broader. He gets the appeal.
It doesn't mean he'll make the same choice, Raylan says, and Neal barely reacts to that. The corners of his lips twitch briefly downward unhappily, his eyes still on Raylan's chest and the way it moves as he breathes.
"He already did, Raylan. Will was the one who got to be there when he went through with the change. He didn't even tell either of us."
"I suppose that's true. But we're still circlin' around one choice not bein' all of 'em. The question is how many choices like that do you bear? As long as he's in love? As long as it isn't life or death? ... What happens if he dies? Does he come back with this power or not?"
Something to think on, that last one.
"I wanna give him time to prove if this was a bad choice or not. Either it'll bite him or it'll bite us but my neckhairs are upright about it." Something was going to happen. Sooner or later. "He told me he wanted to see what it was like being somethin' other than broken. I disagree, I don't think it's gonna fix anything, but I can understand that want. To be somethin' other than just what you are when you hate what that is... Normally, people just get a haircut and wear somethin' weird.."
“I told him I would probably do it if I was the one it had been offered to. The fact that we’re here, that the Admiral could fix it, that I’d never have the chance back home. I’d be too curious to say no. But I also told him it worries me and makes me jealous and I don’t trust Lark.”
And doesn’t know yet that he’s gone.
He smiles a little at Raylan’s mention of alternatives to lycanthropy. “Malcolm isn’t exactly prone to doing the low key version of anything. But you’re right. Adding something new to your life just to try and fix what’s broken—it never works out well.“
"Well, not trustin' Lark isn't really an issue right now. And it makes me feel Other with him in a way I don't like but.." He shakes his head a little.
"Nothin' we can do about that except make our own choices in response. And if Lark comes back, I'm beatin' the livin' shit outta him." Might shoot him once for good measure too, even if he knew nothing would stick.
"Exactly what it sounds like, love. He turned Malcolm and then left. Left, got taken away, it doesn't much matter. He turned Malcolm and now isn't here to help him understand what the hell is happening. But apparently 'they' took him hunting and he caught a moose so I should be reassured."
"Good." And unlike his other 'good's, this one was heavy and cold. Full of darker intent.
But he takes and lets a deep breath, thumb stroking on Neal's leg again.
"But now neither of us are alone in shoulderin' some of this feelin'. Only thing we can do is wait and see. As well as distract ourselves with wine and good company."
Of course, there was still more digs that Raylan hadn't mentioned but he couldn't handle talking about marriage right now. Not if he could avoid it. It would only lead to questions about his choices and he couldn't handle that either.
"Why don't you tell me about what the other bottle you brought while I finally get around to payin' attention to the first?"
There's that at least. The not being alone. It's better than the alternative. Neal has realized and internalized that much over the past however many years--with others and hurting is better than alone and safe. Mostly. As long as you leave yourself a way out. As long as you don't go in so deep that there's no easy escape.
Neal makes an obliging noise, in the middle of taking a drink from his own glass. He clears his throat, his whole mood brightening at the question. "It's an Italian dessert wine, a 2008 Valentino Butussi Picolit. The picolit is the grape varietal, dried to concentrate the sugars of the fruit prior to fermentation."
He sits up a little more, warming to the topic as he speaks. "It's the hotter-climate equivalent of ice wines, where they let the fruit freeze on the vine so the sugars get separated from the water. Both techniques leave you with a much smaller pressing of very intensely sweet juice, and the picolit grape in particular is a sweet fruit that tends to have a low crop yield to begin with."
He holds up the glass in his hand. "Technically this would do better paired with a meal, something heavy on fats and strong flavor, like duck or beef, but a dessert wine is meant to be just that, something you can have on its own or with a mild dessert, so the focus is on the wine itself."
As soon as Neal lights up, Raylan is glad he asked. The stuff with Malcolm was heavy and called for drinking something harder than Neal's wine, and he wanted their kept company to be something more than them drinking their feelings and being frustrated and sad. Raylan pays astute attention, aside from grabbing his glass from the table so he could take a sip, free hand coming back to settle on Neal's legs.
"I should cook for you sometime. I can do beef. We'd have to get some and I'm sure it wouldn't be nearly as fancy as what you're probably used to, but.. I'd like it all the same. Havin' a dinner with you. How'd you come to knowin' so much about wine?"
Or, honestly, about any of the crafty con things that Neal knew, but it was always better to take things one question at a time and Raylan wanted to learn more about Neal's passions, what got him into art and safecracking.
“I’m used to a lot of things, trust me.” He smiles down at his glass. “I’d like that, though. Having dinner.”
As for the wine— “At first necessity, then fascination. When I started working a richer circuit, I needed to at least be able to pretend I knew what I was talking about when they busted out their prestige bottles and preened over things in their collections. I brushed up on the basics, learned how to bluff my way through those kinds of conversations, but the more I bluffed the more I actually learned, and the more I learned the more interesting it was.”
Raylan nods. "Dinner it is." It would be something more elevated than fried chicken. He wasn't sure what yet, but he'd figure it out.
"Fake it until you make it but you fell in love." It was cute really. "I'm afraid my only real engagement with it is white women book clubs that I wasn't allowed to be at. Wasn't quite at box wine level, but they hit it hard. Nothin' like passion." Passion looked good on Neal. Made his eyes shine with a brightness that felt like it would light up the whole room.
"So is that the same for everythin' you were forgin'? Just seein' if you could achieve the same result?" Had Neal ever made wine?
Neal tilts his head back and forth in a 'yes and no' gesture. "I started..."
He looks down at his lap with a small smile, then away. "I started by forging city bus passes when I was seven. I wanted to get to school on time and I'd tried just about everything else."
He settles against Raylan a little more comfortably and rests his head on Raylan's shoulder with a sigh. "Then I found out people would pay for the passes, since they were good and public transportation could add up, so I sold some. Had a couple of people con the seven-year-old out of his hard-earned ill-gotten gains, and started learning how to do that, primarily so it wouldn't happen to me again. I was sharking at a pool hall before I hit puberty, placing bets with the money I got from bus passes and then driver's licenses and other fake IDs. Learned pool, started taking strangers for all they were worth. And as a result of that I got really good at running away."
This was comfortable. Nice. Casual. Like snuggling in for the evening in front of the tv but instead it was the sea and wine.
"Mm, started early, huh?" There was no rebuke in his tone. "So what you're tellin' me is that when I finally get you over a pool table, you're gonna wipe the floor with me? I do love a challenge."
No, Neal would win, flat out.
"Or foot races, apparently. But you don't run in these suits anymore, do you?"
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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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Raylan was still and silent as Neal worked out how to say it, giving him the room to navigate as he watches the way it all moves over Neal's face. He could tell this ran deep, this reason, deep into the unknown as Neal stumbles and stutters. His hand stays draped on Neal's thigh, heavy and steady.
There wasn't much to do about the way that Neal was feeling. Watching someone else get picked over you when you had already been so important stung. Raylan sets his glass down and shifts to take Neal under his arm, encouraging those knees and legs over as much as needed.
"That's a hard one, darlin'. Just because he made that choice in that situation doesn't mean that he'll make the same one in others, but. I understand why that isn't an easy option or the first one you consider. I think Malcolm is tastin' happiness and as wonderful and amazin' as bein' in love is, people do some weird and abnormal things sometimes to defend it. It's not an excuse. That doesn't mean I can't see the magic in it blindin' him a little."
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It doesn't mean he'll make the same choice, Raylan says, and Neal barely reacts to that. The corners of his lips twitch briefly downward unhappily, his eyes still on Raylan's chest and the way it moves as he breathes.
"He already did, Raylan. Will was the one who got to be there when he went through with the change. He didn't even tell either of us."
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"I suppose that's true. But we're still circlin' around one choice not bein' all of 'em. The question is how many choices like that do you bear? As long as he's in love? As long as it isn't life or death? ... What happens if he dies? Does he come back with this power or not?"
Something to think on, that last one.
"I wanna give him time to prove if this was a bad choice or not. Either it'll bite him or it'll bite us but my neckhairs are upright about it." Something was going to happen. Sooner or later. "He told me he wanted to see what it was like being somethin' other than broken. I disagree, I don't think it's gonna fix anything, but I can understand that want. To be somethin' other than just what you are when you hate what that is... Normally, people just get a haircut and wear somethin' weird.."
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And doesn’t know yet that he’s gone.
He smiles a little at Raylan’s mention of alternatives to lycanthropy. “Malcolm isn’t exactly prone to doing the low key version of anything. But you’re right. Adding something new to your life just to try and fix what’s broken—it never works out well.“
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"Nothin' we can do about that except make our own choices in response. And if Lark comes back, I'm beatin' the livin' shit outta him." Might shoot him once for good measure too, even if he knew nothing would stick.
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"Exactly what it sounds like, love. He turned Malcolm and then left. Left, got taken away, it doesn't much matter. He turned Malcolm and now isn't here to help him understand what the hell is happening. But apparently 'they' took him hunting and he caught a moose so I should be reassured."
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“If he ever comes back, I’m going to make his every waking moment a misery.” The calm, level way he says it does not imply he’s joking.
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But he takes and lets a deep breath, thumb stroking on Neal's leg again.
"But now neither of us are alone in shoulderin' some of this feelin'. Only thing we can do is wait and see. As well as distract ourselves with wine and good company."
Of course, there was still more digs that Raylan hadn't mentioned but he couldn't handle talking about marriage right now. Not if he could avoid it. It would only lead to questions about his choices and he couldn't handle that either.
"Why don't you tell me about what the other bottle you brought while I finally get around to payin' attention to the first?"
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Neal makes an obliging noise, in the middle of taking a drink from his own glass. He clears his throat, his whole mood brightening at the question. "It's an Italian dessert wine, a 2008 Valentino Butussi Picolit. The picolit is the grape varietal, dried to concentrate the sugars of the fruit prior to fermentation."
He sits up a little more, warming to the topic as he speaks. "It's the hotter-climate equivalent of ice wines, where they let the fruit freeze on the vine so the sugars get separated from the water. Both techniques leave you with a much smaller pressing of very intensely sweet juice, and the picolit grape in particular is a sweet fruit that tends to have a low crop yield to begin with."
He holds up the glass in his hand. "Technically this would do better paired with a meal, something heavy on fats and strong flavor, like duck or beef, but a dessert wine is meant to be just that, something you can have on its own or with a mild dessert, so the focus is on the wine itself."
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"I should cook for you sometime. I can do beef. We'd have to get some and I'm sure it wouldn't be nearly as fancy as what you're probably used to, but.. I'd like it all the same. Havin' a dinner with you. How'd you come to knowin' so much about wine?"
Or, honestly, about any of the crafty con things that Neal knew, but it was always better to take things one question at a time and Raylan wanted to learn more about Neal's passions, what got him into art and safecracking.
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As for the wine— “At first necessity, then fascination. When I started working a richer circuit, I needed to at least be able to pretend I knew what I was talking about when they busted out their prestige bottles and preened over things in their collections. I brushed up on the basics, learned how to bluff my way through those kinds of conversations, but the more I bluffed the more I actually learned, and the more I learned the more interesting it was.”
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"Fake it until you make it but you fell in love." It was cute really. "I'm afraid my only real engagement with it is white women book clubs that I wasn't allowed to be at. Wasn't quite at box wine level, but they hit it hard. Nothin' like passion." Passion looked good on Neal. Made his eyes shine with a brightness that felt like it would light up the whole room.
"So is that the same for everythin' you were forgin'? Just seein' if you could achieve the same result?" Had Neal ever made wine?
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He looks down at his lap with a small smile, then away. "I started by forging city bus passes when I was seven. I wanted to get to school on time and I'd tried just about everything else."
He settles against Raylan a little more comfortably and rests his head on Raylan's shoulder with a sigh. "Then I found out people would pay for the passes, since they were good and public transportation could add up, so I sold some. Had a couple of people con the seven-year-old out of his hard-earned ill-gotten gains, and started learning how to do that, primarily so it wouldn't happen to me again. I was sharking at a pool hall before I hit puberty, placing bets with the money I got from bus passes and then driver's licenses and other fake IDs. Learned pool, started taking strangers for all they were worth. And as a result of that I got really good at running away."
He grins at Raylan sidelong when he says that.
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"Mm, started early, huh?" There was no rebuke in his tone. "So what you're tellin' me is that when I finally get you over a pool table, you're gonna wipe the floor with me? I do love a challenge."
No, Neal would win, flat out.
"Or foot races, apparently. But you don't run in these suits anymore, do you?"
(no subject)