Incident!verse: March 2016, Kentucky. [Fic]
There had been an altercation between two weed farmers to mitigate, a delivery driver to sweettalk, and the usual odds and ends of running a bar. When he got out of his car at Ava’s house, he smiled,seeing the light still on in her window. In the gloom of the night, the damp cold smothering any hint of the coming spring, the old house seemed to glow with warmth and welcome.
So Boyd never noticed the dark shadow of a town car, partly shielded from his eye by Ava’s pickup. His attention was with the light of the upstairs window, the muted sound of the TV. It was only once he set foot on the porch that Raylan’s voice caught him in his tracks.
It was disquieting to say the least to find law enforcement sitting on your porch this late in the evening. Raylan sounded like he always did, wry and devil-may-care, but the hunch to his shoulders and the way he was leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, were telling a different story.
He’d come to Boyd like this in the dead of the night after the mine blew, to tell him he was leaving Harlan and not coming back.
“Well, it’s mighty surprising seeing you here, Raylan Givens. And how may I be of service to the US Marshals Service at this late hour?”
“Ain’t no Marshal business, not today anyway.” Raylan sounded like he had been drinking. More than drunk, actually. Stand-him-up-and-he’ll-fall-over drunk. He let out a breath that could have been anything – a sigh, a chuckle, or a sob; maybe just a breath. “I’m lost, Boyd. Don’t know why I came here.”
Boyd moved closer and leaned back against the railing. His hand touched a small piece of metal embedded in the wood. He wondered if this was where Bo Crowder had shot Cousin Johnny, or if it had been Ava defending herself. Maybe it was older still. “I am sorry to hear that, Raylan,” he said, cautiously. “And I don’t mean to be inhospitable, seeing as we go a long, really long way back, but I fail to see how I can be of any assistance.”
“You can’t,” said Raylan. He was going to catch his death, with just his fancy suit jacket in this weather. “That’s kinda the trouble here, Boyd.” He grinned like a rotting corpse. “Course, you could gimme a ride back to Lexington, I ain’t exactly fit to drive.”
“You got here safe and sound.”
Raylan gestured with a half-empty bottle of Jack. “Wasn’t fit to drive to begin with, an’ that’s before I started on this bad boy here.”
“How long have you been here, Raylan?”
“Mostly. Didn’t... didn’t wanna bother Ava. She’da sent me away anyway. Not you though.”
“You sound awful sure of yourself.”
Raylan laughed this time, and it was no good sound, dead and rattling. As Boyd’s eyes were growing used to the darkness, he saw how drawn Raylan’s face was, like he hasn’t slept in days. He hardly moved, saying nothing, just looking at Boyd like he might hold the answer to the question that had caused him to sit in the cold in front of Boyd and Ava’s house.
They hadn’t spoken in months. Raylan had looked merely troubled last time, but that was nothing unusual with him. That man had always things going on in his life, and the same could be said of Boyd as well, if you were inclined to fairness. Except the time before that, and quite a few more, Raylan had been without that haunted edge at the corner of his eye, and his laugh had lacked a bitter bite. He had been happy, Boyd realized with a start. He had never seen Raylan happy before, and it took seeing Raylan drunk off his feet, come knocking on his door in the middle of the night, to provide enough contrast for him to realize that.
He considered asking what happened. Raylan might tell him. Then kill him for knowing.
Boyd sighed. “You’re lucky I never ceased being a Christian at heart. Let’s get you out the cold, shall we?”
“Jesus Christ, Raylan, there’s only one person I intend to carry over the threshold to this here house and that ain’t you. So help me God, you’re coming in or I’m throwing you through the window.”
This time, Raylan took his offered arm, staggering to his feet with the grace of a drunk day-old colt. Boyd let him lean on him with a long-suffering sigh.
“So you were gonna throw me through the window, into your house?”
“Way you’re usually throwing me around, I thought you might be able to relate to this urge.”
“Def’nitly.” Raylan slurred, all but hanging off him as Boyd tried to get his keys without letting him go. He was spared the effort when Ava opened the door, bathrobe hastily belted over her good silk nightgown, shotgun under her arm. She stared, surprised.
“Hello, my love,” said Boyd. “I’m afraid I found us a guest for tonight.”
“Ava! You look...so beautiful.” Raylan smiled brilliantly, and yet, when Boyd glanced at him, there it was still, that look in his too-wide eyes. That look that said I hurt and I cannot find peace.
“Now Boyd,” said Ava, eyebrows raised. “We’ve had this conversation ‘bout bringin’ stray dogs into my house?”
“It’s a diff’rent conversation...” Raylan chimed in, and chuckled like it was the funniest thing he’s ever heard at a funeral.
Boyd dragged him past Ava, through the corridor and into the living room at the back of the house. Raylan pointed when they passed the doorway to the dining room. “Shot you there, remember? Sorry bout that. You kinda had it comin’. You were such an asshole.”
“I sure was,” Boyd said, indulgently.
Ava left the shotgun by the door and followed them with her arms folded. She didn’t protest, though she would in a moment. Boyd caught her eye and felt something thaw within him, the world shifting under his feet as if he was at least as drunk as Raylan for a moment – just because Ava trusted him. She was going to ask if he had a reason to deposit drunk Marshals on her couch, but she was going to let him, for now. He dumped Raylan there, none too gently, and went over to talk to her.
Ava looked less than happy, her expression barely mellowing when Boyd stepped close to her and gently cupped her elbow. Her hand rested on his waist, and she didn’t step away. He wondered if he would ever stop counting all those little signs of trust, love and forgiveness, and answered himself, as always – never. “Ava, my love,” he said, softly. “You can see the state of him. Be wrong to leave a stranger out there, much less an old friend.”
“What’s he doing here, Boyd?”
“I don’t know, darlin’. I swear to you, I have no idea. He was just sitting there when I came. Did you see him arrive?”
Ava shook her head. “No. I was upstairs, watching TV. What’s wrong with him?”
“Hell if I know, but he looks like shit, if you don’t mind me saying that.”
“Heeeey, Ava....” Raylan peered over the back of the couch, grinning that ghost of a smile. “You’re lovely. Lovely as anythin’.”
Ava sighed, laying a hand on Boyd’s chest. “He really a mess, huh.”
“As you see.” Boyd was almost surprised at his own lack of jealousy. Perhaps it would have been less easy if Raylan had been sober.
“You gonna try and kiss me again, Raylan?” Ava asked, adding softly: “ Way back, baby, we hardly been together, it’s alright.”
“Come over here an’ I might just,” Raylan drawled, in a pretty close approximation of his usual drawl that used to sweep quite a few girls off their feet. He ruined the effect by losing his grip on the back of the couch and sliding down with a muffled groan.
Boyd was hardly going to feel threatened by that.
“I oughta get a sharpie and draw him a mustache,” Ava mused, and traced one on Boyd’s face. “One going all down his neck, like them old Deadwood cowboys used to have.”
“Now that’d hardly be proper way to be treatin’ our guest, Ava,” Boyd chided gently, although he liked the idea. He might just step away for long enough for Ava to yield to this temptation. “I say he can’t do no harm down here.”
Ava nodded permission, after a beat, and kissed him on the lips before withdrawing and fetching an empty bucket from under the kitchen sink. She shook Raylan’s shoulder, frowning as she felt him shiver.
“You puke on my floor, you better use this or I’ll have you scrubbing away, hung over or not.”
“Yes, Ava,” mumbled Raylan, unusually meekly. “Thanks, Ava.”
Ava raised a finger to her lips, shushing Boyd with a glance, then placed her hand back on Raylan’s shoulder, staying out of his sight. She fumbled with her bathrobe, trying to ward off a chill and any unwelcome looks. “You wanna tell me why you come here? If anybody’s comin’ after you, this being my house, I gotta know.”
“I wish, Ava.” A desolate whisper. “...ain’t coming back.”
Raylan coughed, winced. “You’d laugh.”
“You ain’t made me laugh in a long time, Raylan Givens, I ain’t starting now.” Ava pursed her lips, disapprovingly. “Boyd, honey, get his boots off my couch, would you be so kind? He’d break his neck like as not even doing that sober, and me, I don’t wanna get his hopes up.”
Boyd nodded, and sat on the edge of the couch, shaking his head a little. “Well, I’m close to being a married man, so don’t get your hopes up with me neither, Raylan,” he said. Raylan shifted when Boyd’s hand wrapped around his ankle, turning his face into the pillow. “Here’s fingers crossed you washed your socks sometime this week.”
“Don’t think so,” Raylan mumbled as Boyd’s clever hands divested him of his boot easily.
“Here, how’d you do that?” Ava widened her eyes, curiously. “I’d pull and pull on this for ages...” She broke off, smiled a little nervously, embarrassed.
“It can take a while with him if you ain’t doing it right...” Boyd said, with a straight face, making Ava roll her eyes. Raylan weakly tried to kick him.
Boyd grinned. “Forgive me, darlin’. Easy enough, you gotta put some pressure here, get it off the heel, like this...” Raylan’s left boot slid off without any apparent resistance as well.
“Not like I’m planning to be taking off cowboy boots any time soon,” Ava assured him, still a little flushed.
“I know,” Boyd said, gently, reaching for her hand. Ava smiled, brushing her fingertips over Boyd’s knuckles as she passed by him.
“You wash your hands and come join me, alright?”, she said.
Boyd nodded, holding her eyes for a moment gratefully. “Baby?” he called, just when she reached the foot of the stairs. “You do look beautiful tonight.”
Ava turned, smiled. “Only tonight?”
“You know the answer to that.”
“I believe I do,” she said, and lingered for a second longer before turning to leave.
“She really is somethin’,” Raylan mumbled. Boyd noticed his hand was still on Raylan’s ankle; the smell could have been worse, he mused as he let go.
“She is,” he agreed. “Why did you come here, Raylan?”
“Someone trying to kill you?”
“You still thick as thieves with Duffy an’ such?”
Boyd patted his calf amicably. “Now, Raylan, I see no good reason at all to answer that.”
Raylan snorted disdainfully, burrowing deeper into the couch. It was barely long enough for him: his feet would hang off the edge if he stretched out. Boyd knelt beside the couch, pulling open the compartment beneath. He sneaked a glance up. Raylan’s eyes were closed, he wouldn’t see the ammo and AKs stored there. And if he did, well, he clearly wasn’t on duty. And arresting Boyd on unregistered firearm possession would be just not sporting, in Raylan’s book. He pulled an old blanket out from underneath a rifle, then eased the compartment close, making sure it didn’t rattle too much, and spread the blanket over Raylan.
Boyd stood over him for minutes, arms folded, not sure what he was waiting for, even after he was sure Raylan had fallen asleep. Just watched him, the frown that refused to leave his face, and wondered whether what put it there was the same thing that had driven Raylan Givens all the way out to Harlan County.
