026 》sweet troubled man are you giving or taking?

[thering]

characters: Malcolm, Neal, Negan, Raylan, Doc
location: 1306 Phillips Dr
date/time: day 26 morning
content: the reset Playstation button was pressed
warnings: tbd

After the strangeness of the past two nights they were likely fully expecting to awaken in the same strange, different, not-so-new anymore places they found themselves in in the past two days.

Instead everything seems to have reset, again. The three permanent residents and two guests are back in 1306, exactly where they had been two nights ago. Malcolm was in his own room, Neal was in Doc's and Negan in Raylan's master bedroom. The two displaced cowboys are downstairs sharing one too-small couch, a night of drinking culminating in fighting over couch space and who gets to be the bigger spoon.

The fire in the fireplace had gone out and their Winter 2020 Collection of bespoke lanterns have vanished, but nothing else seems to be awry.

Comments

[tinstar]

Raylan waved off the thanks, generally bad at taking them. "Just being decent human beings. Seems to be less and less of those in the world and places like here, we gotta stick together.. I buried five people a few days back.. I ain't lookin' to bury anymore."

As unapparent as it was, the funerals were still bothering Raylan and it'd been long enough now that new people were coming in on top of them. He didn't know how to take that either. Raylan emptied his cup and sighed. He felt like he could use a shot of moonshine already, though it was terrifyingly early. He would resist it, for now.

"I can guess a little as to what you must be thinkin' all this.. open door, hi how you doin' down home bullshit. People are suspicious of people who are too friendly. Too outside their boxes. But for what it's worth, I can promise that the only thing we got in our bathtubs is moonshine. No kidneys." Which was to say, they didn't want anything from Neal for being here. Nothing in exchange for their worries or efforts. It was all freely given.

[conning]

"Yeah, well. In the worlds I walk, decency has a price tag." It's said with amused irony, at least. "Of course the three of you come from the other side of the legal tracks. You're supposed to be the good guys."

[tinstar]

"Everythin's got a price tag, even for the good guys." Relationships that suffered, friends that were lost, the feeling of being responsible for the next bombed church or murdered family because they messed up somewhere. Missed something. The actual very real cost of running an agency.

"It's just that a base level of decency is normally afforded to everyone on our side unless they prove they don't deserve it. There's always a few. Ones that don't deserve to have their badge. Once that'll still put a price tag on doin' the right thing." But he was sure Neal didn't differentiate too much between those types of tainted and untainted badges. "But I'm sure you know as well as I do, it's all about leverage. Gettin' our guy in the end."

He looked over. "Feds you work with decent folks? You uh.. mentioned a Peter.. The other night." Ya know, the night he was drug in half dead from the snow.

[conning]

"Did I?" He's not surprised, though he does wonder what he said. He can't recall mentioning Peter at all. That's... uncomfortable. "Peter Burke, my supervisory agent." Neal smiles down at his coffee. "My partner. His team's the best there is."

As far as he's concerned, the Manhattan White Collar Unit could hang the stars.

[tinstar]

"When I brought you in from the.. snow." Yes, the snow. Not the gory vampire bite he was avoiding reliving because he didn't want to commit processing power to it right now. He'd rather focus on the way that Neal smiled into his cup.

"You been workin' with him for the whole.. what'd you say, year and a half?" It was a drawing prompt, opening the door a little wider to see how much of a free talker Neal was. Like any other law enforcement officer, he liked leaving room for people to pull their own length of rope.

[conning]

“Yeah. I’ve known him for longer, though.” Neal blinks, surprised as he does the math. “Eight years now, if you count when he was chasing me.”

Which Neal does, clearly. He’s known Peter Burke for almost as long as he’s been Neal Caffrey. Well, more than half that time at least. Long enough. “Diana Barrigan is his right hand. Terrifying. Could probably put us both through a plate glass window at the same time.”

He’s still smiling as he says it. “Peter has a reputation because he’s smart, solid, patient—Diana’s going to get one because she’s the kind of person who can’t help herself. Jones, Clinton Jones, he’s been with Peter longer. He’s hard to read sometimes. Very by the book. He’ll be the one they offer Peter’s job if Hughes ever retires and they make Peter ASAC.”

Neal stops, brows knitting. When did he start thinking about this? Office politics, succession, reputation. Legacy. He runs his thumb around the rim of his mug. “Anyone on our floor would take a bullet for Peter. He’s that kind of person.”

[tinstar]

That made Raylan laugh and if he'd bothered to have his hat on, he would have adjusted it to help hide the bit of laughter, features warmly curled in interest as he listened, eyes taking in Neal sidelong as he spoke.

Whatever else might be the case, Raylan could tell that Neal was telling the truth. More than that, it was an earnest telling, not draped up in the drama or the sheer stupid acting smart that he was dealing with on the day to day back home. A refreshing taste, Neal talked about his team the way that Malcolm talked about tbe NYPD.

"If the guy that caught you," he started, one lazy finger turning at out Neal, "Is also the one that tapped you in as a CI, that ain't nothin'. If you're that comfortable after a year and a half, shit, you're basically part of the team, right? 'On Our floor' suggests you see quite a lotta the inside of it. Not the kinda CI I'm used to, anyway, but to each office its own way of workin'." It wasn't a disparaging statement; people were unique and any team was a gear set. Not all gear sets looked alike.

[conning]

"I have a desk." He grins. "When I'm not working the field with them, I'm suffering inside over mortgage fraud cases and bad coffee. It's my job."

He shakes his head. "Which is a three-word sentence I never thought I would say."

[tinstar]

Raylan chuckled again. "Yeah. But workin' that long, considerin' your situation, you sound pretty settled in. Y'all goin' after someone specific or just.. perusing the white collar crime market?"

[conning]

"Whatever comes our way. We've done everything from catching bond forgery to helping stop a contract killer going after people who had parts of a collection of Imperial Jade statues. I would say 'never a dull moment,' but. Mortgage fraud. Also the surveillance van is boring."

Never forget the purgatory that is the surveillance van. "I do have to wonder what would change if the commutation still happens. Will they keep me on? What would my position even be?" He raises an eyebrow. "Do I get to keep my desk?"

Neal makes a tiny, amused noise. "Will I even want to stay? For a long time, years, I was in a new city every week." Softly he adds, "Always came back to New York, though."

Neal draws in a deep breath and sits up. "What about you? What's your team like?"

[tinstar]

"Mm," Raylan said, face curling with the sound. "I never found it that borin' but I'm used to sittin' in cars waitin' for stupid." And it very often paid off.

His smile curled a little more at the questions that Neal posed to the universe at large. Neal wanted to be there. To be part of the team. He could understand that and it was a good look on the recovering con.

"The one in Lexington? Eh well. The Chief Deputy, Art Mullen and I taught at Glynco together, so we already had a solid understandin' of each other. He's been around the block a few times, keeps us all straight an inline." Art had adopted him, after a fashion, serving as a guide post for what he oughta be as a man. As a Marshal, really.

"About on his way out since he's comin' on 65, but Rachel is gonna be the one to take over for him. Little black woman who suffers none of the bullshit the counties have to offer. Sad to say, parts of Kentucky aren't exactly in the.. 21st century. She's a better Marshal than all of us." He liked the way Rachel called him on his bullshit; she always did so in a way that was just as gentle as it was cutting, a unique line to walk.

"Then we got Tim Gutterson," Raylan continued with a gesture of his cup. "Former Army Ranger. Sniper. Driest, most smartassed sense of humor I've ever seen in my life," he said with curl of his smirk. "Think Doc, but with no softness to be seen."

[conning]

Neal could imagine them. The image fit, a no-nonsense kind of group to match the cowboy. "I don't think I would've minded. Having your team chasing me."

[tinstar]

Raylan's eyebrows lifted a little in consideration of that. "We'd'a had fun with ya. This team at least. Only been with 'em for.." He took a deep breath.

"Almost comin' two, two and half years now. The Miami team is a lot more boring. Which is where I'd still rather be, no matter how good the Kentucky team is. Sides, Art'll still call to bother me when I finally leave and I might be able to talk Tim into comin' down to Florida. The man needs to see a beach that isn't wartorn." Leave Raylan enough room, he'd give up why he had two teams in the first place.

[conning]

“I had wine delivered to a surveillance van once. I would’ve had fun with you too.”

Neal wouldn’t just leave Raylan the room. He tilted his head, clearly curious. “What keeps you in Kentucky?”

[tinstar]

Raylan snorted. "I can hear the jokes about a charcuterie board and country club now." Oh the friendly shit Neal would have gotten for his contrasting tastes alone.

His face curled at the question, largely amusement but in part to hide the way even being stuck there was a seed in his craw.

"Boyd Crowder." The name came with a little lift of his chin, halfmoon eyes sliding back over to look at Neal. "Known best for robbin' banks and blowin' shit up. He ran back into Harlan's hills and even the US Marshal's service can't find it's way around out there. Hard to do when most roads ain't on the map. Harder when the people livin' there won't talk to outsiders." The smile curled, eyebrows lifting in amusement. "I was called the Hillbilly Whisperer once." Clever.

"But once we get him good enough to put him away, I can leave again. Least til Arlo dies."

[conning]

"Country clubs have never really been my speed. Good for gossip, though. Picking marks." A pause. "Okay, maybe they are my speed. And I put together one hell of a charcuterie board."

He gets shit as it is being the white collar unit's resident peacock. In Lexington? Neal can't help grinning at the thought.

He notices the way Raylan's posture changes when he says Boyd Crowder's name. "It's personal, between the two of you."

He'll ask about who Arlo is in a minute.

[tinstar]

Raylan's eyebrows lifted at the denial, face breaking into a more earnest and easy wearing grin in return before he went back to his coffee cup, finally draining the last of what he'd been drinking. Shrugging a little, Raylan leaned forward to set his cup on the coffee table in front of them before sitting back, his furthest arm going safely onto the back of empty couch as he settled back in.

The question made him huff again, chin downtucking before lifting with a grin as he looked over sidelong. No point in hiding it. "We sorta grew up together. His daddy and mine ran most of the illegal avenues outta Harlan from drugs to women to cattle and cars. We ain't anywhere near brothers, if that's what you're thinkin' but.." His voice changed a little as he continued, a softer, more fondly reminiscent tone. "We dug coal together. Saved my life once, Boyd did. Shame that I'm gonna haveta renege on that note of debt."

One might think that a normal person would say that with some reservation, but Raylan had none. That's how it was gonna go, he was sure of it.

"But he made his choices. I made mine. Coulda just as easy gone his way, I suppose, had my Aunt Helen not helped me get out, to go to college. It's almost ironic that he's the reason I got drug back after so long."

[conning]

Grew up together. Damn. But history aside, it didn't seem like Raylan would hesitate to bring Boyd down when the time came. Neal didn't know if he would be able to do it, in Raylan's position.

Neal ducked his head, smiling a little. "Your Aunt Helen, my Aunt Ellen." There was a certain irony in the fact that Raylan's aunt pushed him one way and Ellen, accidentally, pushed Neal the other. The smile faded. "I never actually went to college. Thought about it a few times, but never went."

[tinstar]

Raylan was the only person that was going to be able to bring Boyd Crowder in. As hard as the staties might try, Boyd had a flair about him that only Raylan was really suited for coming after. Suited for meeting, toe to toe.

"Aunt Ellen," he echoed, childishly amused at the accidental rhythm of influences. He'd come back around to ask details about that in a minute, but the flow of conversation demanded some shelving. "Why not?" A beat passed. "Lack of money or lack of interest?"

[conning]

Neal had to consider the question. He'd never really thought about it. Yeah, after a while with how much he had to move to stay ahead of the law it wasn't an option, but before that....

Before, he'd planned on getting a degree in forensic psychology. Joining the police academy in St. Louis as soon as he was eligible at twenty-one. Working his way up. Protecting people. Neal snorts softly.

Turned out he didn't need a degree to understand the criminal mind.

"I had... a pretty clear idea of who I wanted to be, growing up." He shrugged one shoulder. "Then I grew up and found out I couldn't be that person. The plans I made up until then didn't apply."

He almost left it at that.

"You spend long enough believing in something, and it gets taken away? It's hard to figure out who you are without it. I drifted. I figured out a new me. And the new me didn't need college to get what he wanted."

[tinstar]

"Couldn't be?" Raylan echoed. There weren't a lot of things people like them couldn't be. Unless Neal had made a choice somewhere along the way; unless couldn't meant wouldn't. Raylan had made his own choice, a choice not to be the person that was being demanded of him, after all.

"Not everything needs collage. Some are better off without it.. What did you want to be? What did you wanna study?" Not who - that was a lie of an idea that shifted a little more every year, every decade. But what someone put their mind to was important, telling even. It still shaped them, no matter how far down the path one got.

[conning]

Neal shrugged again, making a softly amused noise. "Doesn't matter. I ended up teaching myself everything I could want to know."

He shot Raylan a sidelong smile. "Art, history, how to forge a two-hundred carat Burmese pigeon blood ruby. Practical things. What'd you study?"

[tinstar]

Ah. Must have stepped over a line he didn't know was there. Fair enough - the roots of a soul are buried in the starts, anyway. Raylan smiled slightly in return, eyebrows lifting faintly to sell the look.

"I've got a bachelors in Criminology and Law Enforcement. Only what I needed to get the job. 'Course, I never thought I'd be anythin' when I grew up. An astronaut when I was seven maybe, but.. I knew what was comin' to me. I gotta ask - how do you forge a two-hundred carat Burmese pigeon blood ruby to pass inspection?"

[conning]

"You need an oven that reaches two thousand degrees celsius, welding equipment, aluminum oxide and chromium oxide powders, and a big hammer. And the hope that no one has a microscope on hand to check the crystal growth lines."

He sat back against the couch, his little smile still there. "I prefer falsifying Degas or hotwiring high-security elevators, personally, but you sweat less when doing those things."

[tinstar]

Raylan couldn't help but laugh at how quickly that information was recalled. It meant Neal had done it several times and was, at least, passably good at it. More than passably, if what Raylan had heard of his record would tell.

"I don't mind sweatin' but only because I'm hard pressed to find somethin' uptop that makes you sweat as hard as coal mining does. No air circulation in the deep and all... How'd you learn how to do somethin' as complex as all that?"