Title: The Swear Jar 24/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.

In route to Dr. Fried's office

The following day

In the car, Raylan and Winona discussed her being present for the day's session. Raylan made a passionate argument that, because she was pregnant, he did not want her there in real time, hearing what

'God only knew.'

"I'm only tryin' to protect you, Caitlyn, and our unborn baby from a lot of upset that may be unnecessary," he tried to explain.

"You do realize that the 'not knowing' what is going on is stressful for me, too," she countered.

"I understand." Tight lipped, he nodded. "Look, I promise to include you in future sessions, and I won't shut you out," he said. "And I'll keep you apprised of everything that's goin' on. But to be honest with you? I wouldn't feel as free to talk about things, if you're in the room."

She flashed him a look of disbelief at what she was hearing. "Alright," she gave in, trying to sound convincing, even when she was not.

Winona did not like what she was hearing from him. She didn't understand where Raylan was coming from and suspected he didn't, either. But she also knew she had to accept what he was saying and be supportive. She agreed to drop him off at the court house and wait for him back at their house. Before he left the car, he reached over and cupped her hand around his face.

"I love you," he said, gazing deep into her eyes, "and I don't know what I'd do without you."

Then, he held her tightly around the back of her waist.

"I love you, too," she caught his gaze, "so much. You're not going to have to find out what it's like to be without me and your kids," she said, and she leaned in and kissed him.

They sat there in the front seat, clinging to one another, in the midst of a deep soulful kiss. They both wished they could stay there, like that, forever.

When their lips finally parted, Winona swallowed hard and said, "If you're not too tired when you come home, I'd like to help you forget about everything … except the now."

Raylan smiled a wistful smile. "I'd like that."

Then, he changed the subject. "Aren't you meetin' with Faylene again?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "This afternoon."

"Good," he said. "Go plan us a pretty weddin'. I'll be home as soon as I can."

Giving her one last peck and a squeeze of the hand, Raylan finally stepped out of the car. He then opened the door to the backseat, leaned in and gave his baby girl kiss on the top of her head and a lingering pet on the side of her cherub face.

"You be a good for Momma," he said. "I love you."

After stepping back out of the car, he closed the door and waved goodbye from the curb. After Winona had driven off out of view, he began the long walk to Dr. Fried's office. Arriving a few minutes early, he took a seat in the waiting area. He was aware that he was a little down, a little flat this afternoon, probably the effects of the pill he took the night before. He had to admit they did the trick. It was the best night of sleep he'd had in … a very long time.

Finally, a young woman emerged from the doctor's office, followed shortly thereafter by the good doctor.

"Come on in," she said.

Raylan couldn't help but notice how her tone had changed with him, from one of professional coolness to one of compassion. He took a seat, the same one he always took. It was fast becoming 'his' seat.

"How did the medication work for you?" she asked.

"Like a charm," he said.

"Any weird side effects?" she continued with her due diligence.

He crossed his legs and then his arms, "No," I feel fine." He downplayed the minor after effects he was feeling … nothing compared to the crushing exhaustion he had experienced, only the day before.

Dr. Fried took a seat.

"Then, why are you closing yourself off?" she asked.

Raylan screwed up his face. "Pardon me?" he asked in a defensive tone.

"Look at you," she pointed to him. "Your body language is all closed off. You weren't this way when you came here last night. That is not a criticism, Raylan. It is an observation." After a beat, she asked, "It is still okay to call you Raylan, isn't it?"

"Yeah," he said, self-consciously uncrossing his legs and his arms. "And what do I call you?"

"What do you want to call me?" she asked. "What makes you the most comfortable in being able to feel trusting and approachable with me?"

"A couple of shots of bourbon," Raylan laughed in an attempt to break the tension, "but I guess that's not in the 'Shrink's Rule Book.'" He laughed at his own joke and finally said, "I'd like to call you Carolyn."

"Carolyn it is," she replied, sitting very relaxed her chair … with no file, no notes … no pen, as promised.

"Are you ready to talk about Boyd Crowder, and the way he intrudes into your dreams?" she asked, hitting the nail on the head.

"Intrudes," he nodded with his jaw set firm. "That's exactly what he does. In the dreams, it's always like he likes me a whole lot better than I like him."

"And does that also hold true in real life?" she asked.

He thought for a moment. "Yeah, that's always been true."

"I recall from listening to you yesterday, that in your dreams, you two are very smart, very capable … evenly matched, so to speak," she continued.

Raylan thought for a moment. "He has different skill sets than I do. So, I guess in some ways … we are evenly matched. He can be quite intelligent, quite brave, and he's physically nimble."

"As are you?" she tilted her head.

"Yeah, pretty much," he said, "although what's most disturbing to me is how the whole stealin' money to make even more money, in an illegal fashion, was my idea in the dream."

"And that would make you no better than Boyd?" she asked, raising her eyebrows with her question.

"Exactly," he said.

"Which we know not to be true," she continued, she finished his sentence for him.

"Carolyn," Raylan took in a deep breath, "something came to me this mornin'. When that cave in happened, in the dream, I had a cut across the top of my hand and one on my temple. Just like the ones I have here … and here." And he proceeded to show her his scars.

Without a change of expression, Dr. Fried took in a deep breath. They were getting close to something deep … she could feel it.

"Do you think it's possible that cave in really did happen?" she asked.

Raylan shook his head, "I dunno. I have no memory of it, but in the dream, it seemed so real."

"Just for arguments sake, to have a good debate, let's assume the dreams are real," she began. "Would you like to know what I see?"

"Yes, please," he pleaded, his eyes suddenly widened. He was tired of playing these psycho games.

She began. "In your dreams, you are the master mind, a kid trying to claim his place in Harlan. You also want to remove any dominance that Arlo has over you. And yes, you and Boyd have very similar backgrounds. You each have dominant, overbearing, abusive fathers. You both grew up very confused and very angry about that."

Raylan looked down. "Maybe," he said.

"At that time when the dreams could have happened, what was going on in your life?" she asked.

"It was about the time my Aunt Helen gave me a big wad of cash on the condition I leave Harlan and never come back," he remembered, as if it was yesterday. "She told me to go out into the world and make somethin' of myself and to be a better man than Arlo."

Dr. Friend nodded with a little smile on her face. "I would say you did exactly as your aunt told you to do … much to your credit."

"So, I'm told," Raylan nodded.

"Where did Helen get the money to give to you?" she asked, abruptly steering the subject.

"From Arlo," he quickly answered, "no doubt."

"Did Arlo give her the money to give to you?" she continued digging a little deeper.

"Oh, hell no," Raylan scoffed. "She must have stolen it from him."

"You never thought to ask her from where the money came?" Dr. Fried continued.

Thinking for a minute, he finally said, "I guess I always knew she stole it. That's how things were done in Arlo's house … and in Harlan."

Dr. Fried shifted her weight in her chair. "I have another question for you," she shifted directions. "Why was your aunt so anxious for you to leave at that particular time?"

"She wanted me to get outta Harlan before I got in trouble or even killed," he answered the obvious.

"Right," she continued, "but why then? Why not before or after? Why did she want you to leave … on that very day?"

Raylan closed his eyes and brought himself back to that sunny morning in his aunt's kitchen. He remembered the smell of the biscuits she made especially for him and the cold fried chicken, carefully placed with napkins in a paper bag next to a navy blue duffle bag full of his clothes and other belongings. And inside the duffle bag, there was a big envelope full of money … cash … and there was a lot of it.

"What happened on that day?" Dr. Friend gently prodded.

Raylan's face suddenly became very stoic, and his eyes became very large. "She got the money the same place I did," he paused. "She stole it from Arlo," he blurted out. "Only she didn't know I did it, too."

He let out a measured sigh of disappointment … in himself … in his Aunt Helen.

"She told me that some big money had been stolen from Arlo, and she was afraid he would blame me and kill me if I was around … and he was drinkin'," he remembered as clear as a bell, "which was a safe bet because Arlo would blame me for everything while I lived in my father's house, and he was always drinkin'."

The doctor said nothing and listened. She noted that Raylan referred to his family home as his father's house, giving her even more insight of his relationship with his father.

"She admitted what she did and told me not to worry and said it was to remain our secret. And then, I asked … what about her? And she told me she wasn't worried about herself because she was gonna blame it on the Bennetts. Arlo had enough hatred for them he would probably blame them before she did. And in fact, he did find the money missin' and blamed it on the Bennetts."

Again, the doctor noted Raylan's used of the word 'told' when speaking about his aunt, denoting a respect for the woman, because Raylan did not strike her as the kind of person who was 'told' anything.

"Are you okay with that?" the doctor asked. "That the Bennetts were blamed for what you did?"

"For what Aunt Helen did?" Raylan thought for less than a moment. "I'll sleep just fine with that part of it."

Then, he proceeded to tell Dr. Fried the story about the Bennett clan and their one hundred year feud with the Givens clan … and how the only one left of the Bennett clan, beyond Doyle's wife and kids who had since moved far, far away … was Dickie Bennett. He explained that Dickie would remain in prison for a long, long time.

Dr. Fried might have thought Raylan's colorful tale was a bit on the 'tall' side, had she not remembered following a two-part expose written in the newspaper about the Bennett clan and their 100 year feud, at the time Dickie Bennett's last conviction. She distinctly remembered learning about the existence of this modern day, 'Hatfields and the McCoys' type feud to be fascinating. And sitting here before her was one of the actual members of the Givens clan.

Refocussing her efforts, she astutely asked him, "And with what part of it will you not sleep just fine?"

Raylan was taken aback by the directness of her question. It was a direct hit.

"I can't believe," he leaned forward on his elbows, "I can't believe … that the only thing that kept me from leadin' a life of crime was a loss of memory caused by an injury that was of my own makin'."

He turned his head and looked up at her. "I really mean that," he went on. "I can't believe it."

Dr. Fried finally offered, "You need evidence … proof."

The marshal slowly sat up to an upright position in his chair. The good doctor was right. The season law enforcement officer he was, he absolutely required proof.

(To be continued …)