The Hillbilly Remix Challenge - Waving, not drowning by afiakate
Remixed Author: xbedhead
Remixed Story: I’m waking up (I feel it in my bones)
Title: Waving, not drowning
Author: afiakate
Characters: Raylan, Winona, Baby
Rating: PG
Word count: 695
Spoilers: Set after season 3, with one line of dialogue and allusion to last episode of season 3.
Warnings: References Raylan’s crummy childhood.
Disclaimer: Justified belongs to Elmore Leonard and Graham Yost.
Author’s note: xbedhead wrote a really fantastic piece about Raylan’s childhood and his relationship with Arlo. I wanted to remix that to give a glimpse of Raylan as a father and all the feelings involved. Many thanks to the mod for her hard work in running this exchange and to my awesome beta, thornfield_girl, for stepping up at the last minute.
Title is from the fantastic poet Stevie Smith.
Raylan’s words had hung between them then, an admission of shame, anger and remorse. “He just saw a man in a hat, pointing a gun at Boyd.”
Raylan made an unspoken decision then that This is How it Will Be: his child will never have to fight back. His child will never know the fear of its father. His child will never know how to read the signs, to spot the brewing fight, to taste the air for anger.
Winona had hesitated before pressing her hand over his on the curve of her belly. The unspoken message is there: we’re in this together.
Their child will be waving, not drowning.
Xxx
The baby smells sweet like milk and powder and her sparse hair wisps and curls, an image of his own when he was that age. Her eyes are gray and heavy-lidded, ready for a nap. She’s wearing a blue dress and some sort of tights - leggings? Raylan doesn’t really know what they’re called but the tights are tucked into the tiniest green shoes. He didn’t even know they made shoes that small. He’s absolutely sure she is perfect, while realizing that he is not exactly objective. Objectivity has been hard to come by these past three months, and he really just doesn’t give a damn. His daughter is perfect.
They’re tucked together into the corner of a swing on Gayle’s front porch. It’s dusk and the twilight is thick with the sound of cicadas and crickets. The sky overhead is a smear of gold and pink and bits of blue, valiantly clinging to the daylight. The baby is pressed to his chest, a small, warm blob, watching the world with him from Gayle’s front porch. He takes his hat off with his free hand, and suddenly a small fist is there, waving and grabbing for the rim. He holds the hat in front of her and watches her tiny fingers grip the brim and pull it towards her mouth. Slobbering gleefully she gnaws on the brim, a half growl-half gurgle coming from her lips.
Winona joins them then, fresh from the shower and wearing a pink dress that he knows so well. She looks skeptical, seeing him so calm while their baby gums the hat.
“You look nice.” He feels shy saying it, like he’s got no right to notice how she looks.
“Thanks. It feels great to not be covered in spit-up.” She leans against the porch railing and smiles at them, nods towards their baby girl.
He was slimed the minute he arrived and took the baby into his arms. Winona had laughed and gone to shower before they left for dinner. They are just going to a barbeque joint down the road, but the chicken and dumplings can’t be beat and the waitresses all coo over the baby. It’s their routine now. They’ve been trying to spend time together with the baby every week so she grows up seeing both her parents. It’s harder for Raylan than he’d like to admit. Not the child-rearing part of it. The nights he spends in Gayle’s spare bedroom, getting up to give her a bottle at some painful hour, are some of the most peaceful and content nights of his life. He loves this baby with everything he has to give. He would die for her. He would kill for her. Even though his own father flitted in and out of his life, Raylan feels confident he knows how to be a dad: he’ll just do the opposite of all his father did.
No, what’s hard is to be so close to Winona and not touch her. To watch her cradle their baby and have to resist the pounding urge to put his arms around both. Even now the smell of her wafts on the evening breeze. It would be so easy to stand up, with his child in his arms, and to cup her face with a hand and to kiss her. It would be so easy but for their past. The past is always there between them. But the future is there between them, too, a small beating heart, full of promise.
Prompt:
But there’s a glint in Arlo’s eye and he knows what’s coming, so he readies himself and does something he’s never done before, not since it was just him - fight back. His punches are thrown wildly and Arlo lands a few more good ones. He’s flat on his ass and Arlo’s towering above him, lip bloodied and an evil in his smile as he lets out a little chuckle.
“Finally grow a pair, did ya, boy?”
Remixed Story: I’m waking up (I feel it in my bones)
Title: Waving, not drowning
Author: afiakate
Characters: Raylan, Winona, Baby
Rating: PG
Word count: 695
Spoilers: Set after season 3, with one line of dialogue and allusion to last episode of season 3.
Warnings: References Raylan’s crummy childhood.
Disclaimer: Justified belongs to Elmore Leonard and Graham Yost.
Author’s note: xbedhead wrote a really fantastic piece about Raylan’s childhood and his relationship with Arlo. I wanted to remix that to give a glimpse of Raylan as a father and all the feelings involved. Many thanks to the mod for her hard work in running this exchange and to my awesome beta, thornfield_girl, for stepping up at the last minute.
Title is from the fantastic poet Stevie Smith.
Raylan’s words had hung between them then, an admission of shame, anger and remorse. “He just saw a man in a hat, pointing a gun at Boyd.”
Raylan made an unspoken decision then that This is How it Will Be: his child will never have to fight back. His child will never know the fear of its father. His child will never know how to read the signs, to spot the brewing fight, to taste the air for anger.
Winona had hesitated before pressing her hand over his on the curve of her belly. The unspoken message is there: we’re in this together.
Their child will be waving, not drowning.
Xxx
The baby smells sweet like milk and powder and her sparse hair wisps and curls, an image of his own when he was that age. Her eyes are gray and heavy-lidded, ready for a nap. She’s wearing a blue dress and some sort of tights - leggings? Raylan doesn’t really know what they’re called but the tights are tucked into the tiniest green shoes. He didn’t even know they made shoes that small. He’s absolutely sure she is perfect, while realizing that he is not exactly objective. Objectivity has been hard to come by these past three months, and he really just doesn’t give a damn. His daughter is perfect.
They’re tucked together into the corner of a swing on Gayle’s front porch. It’s dusk and the twilight is thick with the sound of cicadas and crickets. The sky overhead is a smear of gold and pink and bits of blue, valiantly clinging to the daylight. The baby is pressed to his chest, a small, warm blob, watching the world with him from Gayle’s front porch. He takes his hat off with his free hand, and suddenly a small fist is there, waving and grabbing for the rim. He holds the hat in front of her and watches her tiny fingers grip the brim and pull it towards her mouth. Slobbering gleefully she gnaws on the brim, a half growl-half gurgle coming from her lips.
Winona joins them then, fresh from the shower and wearing a pink dress that he knows so well. She looks skeptical, seeing him so calm while their baby gums the hat.
“You look nice.” He feels shy saying it, like he’s got no right to notice how she looks.
“Thanks. It feels great to not be covered in spit-up.” She leans against the porch railing and smiles at them, nods towards their baby girl.
He was slimed the minute he arrived and took the baby into his arms. Winona had laughed and gone to shower before they left for dinner. They are just going to a barbeque joint down the road, but the chicken and dumplings can’t be beat and the waitresses all coo over the baby. It’s their routine now. They’ve been trying to spend time together with the baby every week so she grows up seeing both her parents. It’s harder for Raylan than he’d like to admit. Not the child-rearing part of it. The nights he spends in Gayle’s spare bedroom, getting up to give her a bottle at some painful hour, are some of the most peaceful and content nights of his life. He loves this baby with everything he has to give. He would die for her. He would kill for her. Even though his own father flitted in and out of his life, Raylan feels confident he knows how to be a dad: he’ll just do the opposite of all his father did.
No, what’s hard is to be so close to Winona and not touch her. To watch her cradle their baby and have to resist the pounding urge to put his arms around both. Even now the smell of her wafts on the evening breeze. It would be so easy to stand up, with his child in his arms, and to cup her face with a hand and to kiss her. It would be so easy but for their past. The past is always there between them. But the future is there between them, too, a small beating heart, full of promise.
Prompt:
But there’s a glint in Arlo’s eye and he knows what’s coming, so he readies himself and does something he’s never done before, not since it was just him - fight back. His punches are thrown wildly and Arlo lands a few more good ones. He’s flat on his ass and Arlo’s towering above him, lip bloodied and an evil in his smile as he lets out a little chuckle.
“Finally grow a pair, did ya, boy?”