Title: The Swear Jar 12/X
Author: Romantique
Email: dolph1n
Classification: Raylan/Winona Family/General
Rating: T for language (but no worse than the show)
Summary: Raylan is a new dad. This one is a stand-alone, not a sequel to 'A Change of Scenery.'
Disclaimer: It's 'Justified' hiatus time, and I'm bored. This fic is based on nothing but my imagination and takes place sometime after the end of Season 3.
Legal: These characters do not belong to me. I'm just a fan and have not made a dime. Please email me to obtain permission to post.
A/N: So sorry to be so long in between chapters. It continues to happen ... real life getting in the way. Hoping you all can hang in there with me ... I will finish this one when it's time.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
It was Wednesday morning when the realtor called to notify Raylan the alarm system company had been changed over. He later stopped by her office to pick up the new key fobs and temporary alarm codes and instructions. Later, that very evening after work, he and Winona began moving their belongings into their new house, before Gayle returned Thursday night with the family. They began by moving Winona's clothes and some of Caitlyn's things out of Gail's house. Then, with the baby in tow, they made a run to Wal-Mart to pick up some food and things for the bathrooms and kitchen they would need. And beer.
Raylan took that Thursday and Friday off from work to move some of the bigger items. Winona had a bed, night stands, a sofa, lamps, dining room table, and some chairs in storage. Raylan took care of moving those items into their new house in a rented U-Haul truck. There was also a dresser and a china cabinet in the storage unit, but Raylan decided that the larger, heavier items could wait until the weekend when he would bribe Tim with some beer and pizza to come over and help him. Raylan had helped Tim move into a house from an apartment, a little more than a year ago. He figured Tim owed him one.
Raylan was very happy their new house came with a refrigerator and washer/dryer. Winona also had these items in storage. She could decide later which ones she wanted in the house and which she could either sell or give to her sister in appreciation for her hospitality.
That same Thursday, Raylan also made time to run over to his place and quickly packed up some of his clothes and personal things. He had made the decision to keep the room for those times when he was working a tough case and wanted to keep his work away from his girls. He and Winona discussed this at length, and she also agreed to stay with her sister whenever he had to go out of town or work on a dangerous case. Protecting Caitlyn suddenly put their intentions and motivations into a common, razor sharp focus, making things so much clearer. Protecting Cait was bigger than the both of them, something upon which they would both always agree.
After a solid 36-hours of moving, it was still early evening. Raylan and Winona finished an impromptu meal from Subway for dinner. Afterwards, Raylan went to the refrigerator, cracked open a beer, and joined Winona on the sofa in their beautiful, new family room. She was singing to their baby who was just about asleep.
"We need a baby monitor in this house. One of those video monitors," Raylan suggested after taking a pull on the beer bottle, interrupting her lullaby. "This place is too big to see what's goin' on with Cait at all times."
Then, changing the subject, he asked, "Are things okay with your sister with you movin' out?"
Winona smiled and looked down at her sleeping baby. Mission accomplished.
"I think that's a good idea about the monitor," she said softly. "And I already told you. Gayle's all for us being our own little family."
Then, without missing a beat, she looked over at him and added, "You are going to take a shower before going to bed, aren't you?"
Her question had the tone of a strong suggestion.
"I guess I do smell pretty bad," he said, looking over at her. "I worked hard today."
"I know you did," she said. "And normally, I kinda like you're sweaty smell," she smiled suggestively at him. "It's just that I put brand new sheets on our bed."
"You got it," he said, quickly standing up. "I'm off to christen our new shower. Care to join me?"
He looked over at his daughter who was fast asleep.
"Would you take a rain check?" she answered with a question. "But I'll meet you in the bedroom?"
"Alright," he said, peeling off his t-shirt, as he headed for their bedroom.
About 20 minutes later, a freshly-showered Raylan emerged from their master bathroom and into their dimly lit bedroom, where steam wafted into the room, smelling of sandalwood soap. He climbed into the bed beside Winona, who was propped up on pillows against the headboard, reading.
"Better?" he asked, referring to his smell.
"Much," she said.
As he stretched out on his back, he let out a long, low groan.
"Tired?" she asked. "I know I am. It's been a long day."
"Exhausted is more like it. And sore," he added with his eyes closed. "That hot shower felt good. We've got good water pressure."
"You did all of the heavy lifting. If I wasn't so tired, I'd offer to give you a massage," she sweetly said. "I promise you a rain check on that one, too ... soon."
"Sounds good," he mumbled, "because right now, I'm too tired to turn over, even for a massage."
She reached over and placed her hand over his.
"Have I thanked you for all this? For moving us into this wonderful house," she asked, closing her book. "It feels so good for our little family to be 'home.'"
"You're welcome," he mumbled with a little smile. "It does feel good."
He turned his hand over, taking hers in his, and he gave hers a loving squeeze.
With her other hand, Winona placed her book on the nightstand. Before she could turn off her reading light, soft snoring was coming from Raylan's direction.
"Raylan? Honey?" she asked, trying to wake him.
There was no response, other than continued soft lumbering. Finally, she sat straight up in bed and braced her arms and her hands on his shoulder.
"On your side, Cowboy," she said, as she pulled him up, towards her.
She had learned from many years of experience in sleeping with this man that, whenever he was too tired or had too much to drink, Raylan Givens could saw logs like a lumber jack ... and the longer it went on, the louder it became. She knew to nip this in the bud before he woke the baby.
"Huh?" he muttered, already disoriented.
"Roll over on your side. Babe ... you're snoring," she continued to help him roll over. "That's it," she said with encouragement.
After he was repositioned on his side, she covered him with the new linens and leaned over and kissed him on the side of his forehead. Lying on their sides, face to face, it wasn't long until Winona joined him and Cait in slumber.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Very early the next morning, Raylan's cell phone alarm went off at 4 a.m. He grabbed the phone from the nightstand and quickly turned it off. He quietly stepped out of bed and grabbed a few things, leaving the bedroom so as not to wake his girls. Hurriedly, he dressed in the guest bath, off of the living room and took off to start his day, well before the sun was up. But before leaving, he left a rapidly scribbled note on the counter for Winona.
Today was the day he decided to take her suggestion and go and talk to Boyd ... as a private citizen.
He stopped at a nearby 24-hour convenience store, in his new neighborhood, for an extra-large cup of black coffee and a cheese Danish before getting on the Expressway and headed towards Elizabethtown. Then, he would continue on to Bowling Green and then, straight down south to Nashville.
Like threading a needle, he made it through Bowling Green well before the morning rush hour. Glancing at his watch, he knew he wouldn't do as well in making it to Nashville. After allowing himself only one stop for some more coffee and a pee break, he drove on into Tennessee and stopped at a coffee shop just north of Goodlettsville. He'd have an hour until 9 a.m., so he sat himself down for a leisurely breakfast of steak and eggs and some more coffee.
Leaving the coffee shop at 9, he missed most of the downtown traffic and made it to the Federal Prison Bureau at about 9:20 a.m. Visiting hours were from 10 a.m. to 3 p.m. He went to the Prison Clerk and filled out the necessary paperwork to visit Boyd. At 10:30 a.m., Raylan was directed to a room that had a large glass partition and a table and chair set up, where visitors could talk to the prisoners on a monitored telephone.
Raylan took a seat, was directed to remove his hat, and he waited until a very unkempt Boyd dressed in light grey prison garb was eventually brought in and directed to take the seat in front of him. As Boyd lowered himself into the seat, Boyd grabbed the phone receiver on his side of the glass.
"As I live and breathe," Boyd began, "I never thought I'd see you here."
"Hello, Boyd," Raylan gave a tight-lipped grin.
"What the hell are you doin' here, Raylan," Boyd tried again.
"I would have been here sooner, but it took me a little while to find you," Raylan answered. "It's not like Ava was any help."
This time, it was Boyd's mouth that tightened. "How's she doin'?"
"I dunno," Raylan answered. "You know how she is. Kinda hard to tell."
Boyd was well aware of Raylan's familiarity with Ava.
"I hear they got you up on Federal drug charges," Raylan cut to the chase. "Mandatory sentencing."
"Twenty-five year minimum, no chance for parole or early release," Boyd recanted.
Then, Boyd rocked forward on his elbows, closer to the glass.
"Rodney Dunham framed me," Boyd said in a low voice, "to cut me completely out."
Raylan didn't respond and looked disinterested.
Then, Boyd continued. "The Crowders are not very well-liked in the state of Tennessee. My daddy screwed over a lot of people, and I'm payin' for it on the inside."
"What are you tryin' to say?" Raylan raised his eyebrows.
Boyd let out a sigh. "I want to be transferred back to Kentucky."
Raylan shook his head. "Kentucky doesn't give a damn about weed charges. You know that."
"I know," Boyd nodded. "So I was thinkin' ... maybe I need to come clean and confess to a crime."
Raylan's posture stiffened, as he tightened his grip around the receiver.
"I'm listenin'," he said.
"Well, murder trumps weed, right?" Boyd asked.
This time, it was Raylan who let out a pent up sigh.
"What are you sayin' here?" he asked, in no mood to be playing games.
"You and I both know that Arlo didn't kill, Devil," Boyd began.
Raylan kept his mouth shut. He wanted Boyd to be the one to say it.
After a long beat of silence, Boyd finally added, "Arlo didn't kill Devil. I did."
"Can you prove it?" Raylan asked.
"I can produce the gun," Boyd said with confidence. "I'd rather serve time on a murder rap in Kentucky than stay here."
"There wouldn't be anything else you'd like to 'unburden' yourself from, would there, Boyd?" Raylan asked.
"If you're talkin' about your State Trooper friend," Boyd continued, "I told you. I was out cold. I didn't do it, and I didn't see who did."
"What about Arlo escapin' from prison?" Raylan finally asked. Not as shocking as what Boyd wanted to talk about, but it was the reason why he drove all this way.
"What?" Boyd asked. "Now, I need to ask you, what are you talkin' about?"
Raylan shifted his long, lanky frame in the chair.
"Arlo walked out of prison. Ended up over at Ava's lookin' for Helen," Raylan went on. "But the question is ... how did he get from point A to point B?"
"Well, what did Arlo say?" Boyd asked.
"He said he doesn't remember," Raylan recanted.
"I can assure you that I had nothin' to do with it," Boyd said, staring intently at Raylan. "You know he's been off his meds in prison, right? He's gotten a lot worse."
"Yeah, I saw that," Raylan nodded, "when we brought him back into custody."
"Now, back to what I confessed to earlier," Boyd redirected their conversation, "I'm beggin' you to get me out of here. I'll serve my time closer to home, with my own people."
"Sorry, Boyd," Raylan answered. "I'm here as an old family friend, as a private citizen. I can't get involved in your shit. Other than to tell you that, if you did confess to a murder, can you prove it? Because if you can, you need to tell your Public Defender and let him or her go through all the proper channels."
Then, Raylan continued. "And by the way? If you have any thoughts of gettin' out of jail sooner if you go back to Kentucky? You won't. You're a three felony strike loser, Boyd. The Blue Grass State will throw away the key on you, too."
"I know," Boyd nodded, keeping his cool, "but I'd still rather take my chances closer to home."
"Is it really that bad here?" Raylan's eyes narrowed their focus.
He looked Boyd up and down. Boyd didn't look any worse for the wear ... except for his being atypically unkempt.
Boyd leaned in and spoke in a very low voice.
"I haven't slept a wink since they brought me here. I've had to be ... constantly on guard," he explained. "I ain't gonna be some Bubba's bitch. Do you hear me?"
Raylan was very quiet. Not wanting to see anyone in Boyd's position, all he could say was, "Yeah."
And then after a beat, Raylan added, "You really do need to talk to your lawyer. Your confession, our conversation, is bein' taped."
Yet another beat passed before Raylan said, "You also gotta tell your lawyer where to find the murder weapon. It's your only chance because you are correct. Murder does trump weed. But I cannot be involved any further. Understand?"
"I understand," Boyd shook his head.
Boyd Crowder had met Chief Deputy Marshal Art Mullen on more than one occasion. He could only assume that his being arrested in Tennessee on drug charges was an answer to that man's prayers.
"But Raylan," Boyd stared intently into the eyes of his friend, "if we're bein' recorded ... then, I hate to be the one to point this out to you, but you are involved."
Raylan's stare could have bored a hole, right back into Boyd's eyes.
"Shit!" The word escaped Raylan's lips.
And then, Raylan thought to himself ... so much for coming there as a 'private citizen.'
(To be continued ...)