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Justified - Darkness
Title: Darkness
Fandom: Justified
author: jebbypal
rating: everyone
summary: Boyd blames the entire conversation on the darkness
disclaimer: Characters/show are not mine. Written for fun, not profit.
word count: 1440
author note: Written in response to the prompt "of darkness I became" from the Summer In Harlan Challenge. All mistakes are mine as it is un-betaed.
warning/spoilers: Slight spoilers for a characters health during end of season 2.
It was the dark and the silence. That had to be the only explanation there was for it. Well, and the uncertainty.
Uncertainty of what, Boyd couldn’t say for sure. He was certain that Raylan would find them. Just as he was certain that Raylan would blame him for the entire situation. The only question that remained was if Raylan would find them in time.
“Boyd, talk to me,” Winona asks. They don’t know each other well, though they might be the two people who know Raylan the best. But he knows her well enough to hear the plea in the pitch of her voice. It’s the darkness. He’s seen it undo a lot of men. Hell, it undid Raylan – the proverbial straw on the camel’s back that drove him as far away from Harlan as he could get, and changed him into a man that was as different from Arlo as day was to night.
“What would you like to talk about?”
She shifts again, trying to find a comfortable position. It’s hard enough for him after, he checks his cell phone, seven hours inside the vault. He can only imagine how much harder it is for Winona, being pregnant enough that he imagines just about everything is uncomfortable. It had only taken an hour or so before he had to design a make-shift latrine. Fortunately, there was no concern for modesty since the vault was pitch black.
The length of her pause should have been a warning. Perhaps if they’d been longer acquainted he would have known to put qualifiers on his invitation. Or been less surprised by her interest in the topic. “Tell me how you turned out so different from Raylan.”
“You presume that I’ve pondered the topic enough to draw a conclusion.”
He feels her shrug a shoulder next to him. “It seems like something you might have figured out. From what he’s said, it doesn’t sound like you two grew up much different. I mean-“
“You mean that both of our fathers were employed in less than seemly enterprises; even ran in the same criminal underworld to an extent.”
“Well, yes.”
“Maybe it is as simple as he had an Aunt Helen and I didn’t.”
“Or that he suffered under Arlo and you didn’t.”
Boyd frowns at the darkness. “It would be interesting to see which way the scales tilted if we compared the suffering inflicted on us by our families.” Gently, he signals his need to move. The air is thicker and hot when he stood, but the room just as black. Right now all he can see is the clearing where his father had delivered his retribution.
Winona gasps, and Boyd quickly returns to her side. When he holds her hand again, she grips it tight and whimpers. “It’s going to be alright,” he repeats again. He’s lost count of how many times he’s said that.
“Hurts,” she spits out through clenched teeth. When the worst of the contraction passes, he rearranges her again so that she leans against his chest. Although the heat has driven them to remove as many clothes as modesty allows and should encourage them to keep their distance, he is still a softer support than the wall.
When her body relaxes after the contraction stops, Boyd resumes. “When I ponder it, I reckon our different trajectories have more to do with constitutional differences than anything. After all, we both were set on getting out of our father’s control when we joined the mine.”
“Different constitutions? You both seem to prefer shooting first, asking questions later.”
Her observation triggers a dry laugh. “I will refrain from being offended given that your knowledge of me is mostly third-hand and derived from the marshals.”
“It’s derived mostly from my husband.”
“Who I would aver is not the greatest judge of character.”
“I don’t know about that. He shot you, didn’t he?”
“My point exactly.”
“Okay, so how do you see your constitutions as differing?”
“Your assessment that Raylan shoots first is correct. Even back then, he always saw life as black and white, right or wrong, act or run.”
“And you see shades of grey?”
Boyd shrugs. “I would say more live and let live. Given the business that my daddy was involved in, there wasn’t really another way to be.”
“So you don’t do what you do because you enjoy breaking the law.” From her tone, he can tell that she doesn’t believe a word of it.
“Now then, not that I’m admitting anything, but in my experience, people that break the law do so for several reasons. Some like the adrenaline rush. I can’t say that I dislike it, but if that was all I wanted, I could have stayed in the army. Others do it because they like to feel like they are getting away with something, that they are smarter than the cops.” He winces when she grips his leg. He can feel and hear her breathing through it, but her grip is steady enough to indicate it’s not as bad as some that she’s been having for the past hour so he continues to talk.
“Now, that type is dangerous, because they are generally convinced in their intellectual superiority and unwilling to listen to the advice of their betters. Anyone in this game will tell you to avoid that type as there will always be someone faster, better, smarter, or just damn plain luckier than you.” Winona shifts and curls forward, as the contraction continues to pulse through her. Boyd eases forward to support her weight as best he can. “Similar to that group are the ones that do it for power. They like the control and like to make people dance to their tune.” When he thinks about it, he suspects that Bo was the power hungry type. Arlo was more the rush, and fast money type. But Bo liked being on top of the organization. Half of Bo’s rage had been at Boyd’s audacity to reject and condemn Bo’s way of life.
“So which one are you?” Winona asks, voice weary as she relaxes back against him. He shifts them slightly to ease the numbness setting in on his right side.
“Pardon my language, ma’am, but life is too damn short. That is the group I fall into.”
Her hair tickles his face as she shakes her head. “I don’t understand.”
He drops his head against the wall of safe deposit boxes. He’d give his right arm and a good amount of ill-gotten gains for a breeze right now. Or any air that didn’t smell and taste like it had been pre-used about five different times. “No matter where I’ve gone, Winona, or what I’ve done, I’ve always come to the same conclusion. Life is capricious. Everything you have and everything that you are can be taken away in the blink of an eye, and there is rarely anything you can do to affect the outcome. People are who they are, and want what they want. When these realities are combined, the only conclusion that I come to is that I might as well do whatever I want to do, within reason mind you – there are some lines that even I see as distasteful to cross, in order to make a life for myself and those I care about.”
The first time he’d had those thoughts was during the mine cave-in. Then Raylan left without even a how-you-do. The army only reinforced the idea – there was no rhyme to an uneventful patrol one day, and then the next the same route resulted in sniper fire or an IED. Everything he’s experienced since then has only reinforced the idea until the truth of it is stamped in the very marrow of his being.
“So none of it matters?” Winona asks.
The uncertainty of it all, the preciousness of what rests in his arms, prompts him to hug her. “No, darling, that’s not what I said at all. Anything I care about, and the things they care about, it all matters. It just means that there’s nothing I won’t do to protect and nurture it.”
Her grip tightens, but any sound she makes is covered by the explosion at the front of the vault. Behind the heat and the blowing dirt, fresh air washes over them at the same time as the noise from the rest of the world welcomes them back. He’s unsurprised that Raylan is the first person to reach them.
Boyd smiles. He should have known. He did know. There was no way that Raylan wouldn’t come for them.
Fandom: Justified
author: jebbypal
rating: everyone
summary: Boyd blames the entire conversation on the darkness
disclaimer: Characters/show are not mine. Written for fun, not profit.
word count: 1440
author note: Written in response to the prompt "of darkness I became" from the Summer In Harlan Challenge. All mistakes are mine as it is un-betaed.
warning/spoilers: Slight spoilers for a characters health during end of season 2.
It was the dark and the silence. That had to be the only explanation there was for it. Well, and the uncertainty.
Uncertainty of what, Boyd couldn’t say for sure. He was certain that Raylan would find them. Just as he was certain that Raylan would blame him for the entire situation. The only question that remained was if Raylan would find them in time.
“Boyd, talk to me,” Winona asks. They don’t know each other well, though they might be the two people who know Raylan the best. But he knows her well enough to hear the plea in the pitch of her voice. It’s the darkness. He’s seen it undo a lot of men. Hell, it undid Raylan – the proverbial straw on the camel’s back that drove him as far away from Harlan as he could get, and changed him into a man that was as different from Arlo as day was to night.
“What would you like to talk about?”
She shifts again, trying to find a comfortable position. It’s hard enough for him after, he checks his cell phone, seven hours inside the vault. He can only imagine how much harder it is for Winona, being pregnant enough that he imagines just about everything is uncomfortable. It had only taken an hour or so before he had to design a make-shift latrine. Fortunately, there was no concern for modesty since the vault was pitch black.
The length of her pause should have been a warning. Perhaps if they’d been longer acquainted he would have known to put qualifiers on his invitation. Or been less surprised by her interest in the topic. “Tell me how you turned out so different from Raylan.”
“You presume that I’ve pondered the topic enough to draw a conclusion.”
He feels her shrug a shoulder next to him. “It seems like something you might have figured out. From what he’s said, it doesn’t sound like you two grew up much different. I mean-“
“You mean that both of our fathers were employed in less than seemly enterprises; even ran in the same criminal underworld to an extent.”
“Well, yes.”
“Maybe it is as simple as he had an Aunt Helen and I didn’t.”
“Or that he suffered under Arlo and you didn’t.”
Boyd frowns at the darkness. “It would be interesting to see which way the scales tilted if we compared the suffering inflicted on us by our families.” Gently, he signals his need to move. The air is thicker and hot when he stood, but the room just as black. Right now all he can see is the clearing where his father had delivered his retribution.
Winona gasps, and Boyd quickly returns to her side. When he holds her hand again, she grips it tight and whimpers. “It’s going to be alright,” he repeats again. He’s lost count of how many times he’s said that.
“Hurts,” she spits out through clenched teeth. When the worst of the contraction passes, he rearranges her again so that she leans against his chest. Although the heat has driven them to remove as many clothes as modesty allows and should encourage them to keep their distance, he is still a softer support than the wall.
When her body relaxes after the contraction stops, Boyd resumes. “When I ponder it, I reckon our different trajectories have more to do with constitutional differences than anything. After all, we both were set on getting out of our father’s control when we joined the mine.”
“Different constitutions? You both seem to prefer shooting first, asking questions later.”
Her observation triggers a dry laugh. “I will refrain from being offended given that your knowledge of me is mostly third-hand and derived from the marshals.”
“It’s derived mostly from my husband.”
“Who I would aver is not the greatest judge of character.”
“I don’t know about that. He shot you, didn’t he?”
“My point exactly.”
“Okay, so how do you see your constitutions as differing?”
“Your assessment that Raylan shoots first is correct. Even back then, he always saw life as black and white, right or wrong, act or run.”
“And you see shades of grey?”
Boyd shrugs. “I would say more live and let live. Given the business that my daddy was involved in, there wasn’t really another way to be.”
“So you don’t do what you do because you enjoy breaking the law.” From her tone, he can tell that she doesn’t believe a word of it.
“Now then, not that I’m admitting anything, but in my experience, people that break the law do so for several reasons. Some like the adrenaline rush. I can’t say that I dislike it, but if that was all I wanted, I could have stayed in the army. Others do it because they like to feel like they are getting away with something, that they are smarter than the cops.” He winces when she grips his leg. He can feel and hear her breathing through it, but her grip is steady enough to indicate it’s not as bad as some that she’s been having for the past hour so he continues to talk.
“Now, that type is dangerous, because they are generally convinced in their intellectual superiority and unwilling to listen to the advice of their betters. Anyone in this game will tell you to avoid that type as there will always be someone faster, better, smarter, or just damn plain luckier than you.” Winona shifts and curls forward, as the contraction continues to pulse through her. Boyd eases forward to support her weight as best he can. “Similar to that group are the ones that do it for power. They like the control and like to make people dance to their tune.” When he thinks about it, he suspects that Bo was the power hungry type. Arlo was more the rush, and fast money type. But Bo liked being on top of the organization. Half of Bo’s rage had been at Boyd’s audacity to reject and condemn Bo’s way of life.
“So which one are you?” Winona asks, voice weary as she relaxes back against him. He shifts them slightly to ease the numbness setting in on his right side.
“Pardon my language, ma’am, but life is too damn short. That is the group I fall into.”
Her hair tickles his face as she shakes her head. “I don’t understand.”
He drops his head against the wall of safe deposit boxes. He’d give his right arm and a good amount of ill-gotten gains for a breeze right now. Or any air that didn’t smell and taste like it had been pre-used about five different times. “No matter where I’ve gone, Winona, or what I’ve done, I’ve always come to the same conclusion. Life is capricious. Everything you have and everything that you are can be taken away in the blink of an eye, and there is rarely anything you can do to affect the outcome. People are who they are, and want what they want. When these realities are combined, the only conclusion that I come to is that I might as well do whatever I want to do, within reason mind you – there are some lines that even I see as distasteful to cross, in order to make a life for myself and those I care about.”
The first time he’d had those thoughts was during the mine cave-in. Then Raylan left without even a how-you-do. The army only reinforced the idea – there was no rhyme to an uneventful patrol one day, and then the next the same route resulted in sniper fire or an IED. Everything he’s experienced since then has only reinforced the idea until the truth of it is stamped in the very marrow of his being.
“So none of it matters?” Winona asks.
The uncertainty of it all, the preciousness of what rests in his arms, prompts him to hug her. “No, darling, that’s not what I said at all. Anything I care about, and the things they care about, it all matters. It just means that there’s nothing I won’t do to protect and nurture it.”
Her grip tightens, but any sound she makes is covered by the explosion at the front of the vault. Behind the heat and the blowing dirt, fresh air washes over them at the same time as the noise from the rest of the world welcomes them back. He’s unsurprised that Raylan is the first person to reach them.
Boyd smiles. He should have known. He did know. There was no way that Raylan wouldn’t come for them.
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