YNLH: John Wayne's Just an Actor, But He's the Only Name You Know for colorwriter
Recipient: colorwriter
Title: John Wayne's Just an Actor, But He's the Only Name You Know
Author: teh_bug
CharactersDavid Vasquez, Raylan Givens
Pairings: gen
Rating: G
Word count: 1,314
Spoilers: Vague spoilers through the end of season 3
Warnings: N/A
Disclaimer: Justified belongs to Elmore Leonard and Graham Yost.
A/N: Many thanks to norgbelulah for her patience and for running this fic exchange and to abracax for the speedy, last minute beta and for fighting through the email kerfluffles with me.
Summary: David Vasquez grew up on Westerns and heroes in tall hats and this isn’t a Hollywood set, but someone forgot to tell the cowboy that…
“Raylan, I’m not the enemy,” says AUSA David Vasquez with a quirk of his lips. “We’re on the same side here.”
Givens frowns and grumbles something with a petulant kick to the floor and Vasquez is reminded of his little nephew Davis, pouting and wanting to stay up just a little bit later, mama, please?
And then Raylan meets David’s gaze with a sharp nod and the image of a plump five year old disappears in eyes as dark and cold as the gun in his holster.
Oh, thinks David more consideringly and dispassionately than regretful, this is how it’s going to be, is it?
In hindsight, he supposes he's known this for a while, but David grew up on Westerns and heroes in tall hats and always wanted to grow up to be a cowboy someday (“You want to be a vaquero?” his sister teased, but she didn't understand. He didn't want to be a vaquero who ran with the cattle and slept in the grass, he wanted to be a cowboy who shot bad guys and saved damesels.)
David gets Givens’s file slapped across his desk on a Monday morning, right after he gets back with his second cup of coffee.
“What's this?” he asks, glancing at the file over his coffee mug.
“Did'ya hear about the guy who shot Tommy Bucks down in Miami?” asks Randall Carter.
“This him?” asks David in response. At Randall's nod, he flips over another page in the file. “Looks like a damn cowboy.”
Randall snorts through his nose, “Acts like one too. Talks about it like it was a shootout. Says Bucks drew first. Says it was justified.”
“Well, if he's the cowboy he thinks he is, maybe it was,” shrugs David and takes another sip of coffee. “Why's this on my desk, anyways? I thought Miami took care of this a couple of months ago.”
“Shot another guy,” says Randall, with a twisted smirk, “Guess he found himself in another shootout.”
“Well, how about that,” says David noncommittally. He mutters to himself, “Says here, he saved a damsel in distress.”
He finds out later, that while definitely a damsel, Ava Crowder isn't technically the one in the midst of all the distress.
Which is a shame, he thinks, watching Raylan smooth talk Wallace down out of a hostage situation with nothing but spicy chicken and a bottle of bourbon. It's always a shame when a man's baser instincts get in the way of his heroics.
You didn't really think cowboys existed, did you? David chides himself. Living legends, really? He manages to compose himself and be both thoroughly unimpressed and professional when the inevitable talk comes and Raylan throws his hissyfit.
“How was your cowboy?” Randall asks the day after.
“Defensive, opinionated and convinced it's not his fault his dick ended up in the star witness,” says David and gulps down a mouthful of coffee.
“Aren't they all?” says Randall with an annoyed understanding. “Convinced they deserve this one break after all the good they've done for the world. Convinced the rules don't apply to them.”
“More like convinced the ends justify the means,” David says distracted, rummaging through his bag for the Rutger’s case file.
“It was justified,” says Randall with the same twisted smirk that he always has.
David snorts, “Something like that.”
There's a part of David that wants to dismiss the whole Ava Crowder thing as a rookie mistake, a one off mistake that'll never happen again, because Givens's learned his lesson. Never sleep with a witness, no matter how pretty. The laws are there for a reason; don’t buck the system.
But David's seen Givens’s file and he's seen the man in action. Seen how Givens holds himself when he thinks no one's looking. With a dash too much pride and a streak of stubbornness and an unfailing faith in the right way and true justice, even when the law doesn't agree.
He's seen too many Westerns to not know what happens when the law and the lawman collide.
In hindsight, David is utterly unsurprised to see that negotiations between Raylan and Arlo Givens come to a shrieking halt.
“He's like a child,” groans David to Randall later, in between bouts of what becomes known in the office as the Great Givens Escapades. “Wants criminals to account for their crimes except for when the criminal's him and the loophole's the other guy’s. Wants to be able to dance in the rain and not get wet.”
“Thought you said he was a cowboy,” says Randall with a grin that's not nearly as subtle as he thinks it is.
“He is a cowboy,” grumbles back David irritably. He was running late this morning and forgot to get his coffee on the way to work; the lack of caffeine in his system makes him antsy. “That's what cowboys do. Administer justice out in the Old West where the law doesn't quite reach. My God, man, haven't you ever seen a Western?”
Randall spreads his hands affably. “I'm just goin' with what you tell me. You're the one that's been watching too many John Wayne movies.”
David shakes his head and totters towards the company coffeepot. “The problem here is that we're not in the Old West anymore...”
“Why can't you just...keep Dickie in jail for jaywalking or something?” asks Givens, cornering David in the courthouse for the third time in as many days.
David checks his watch. He has a meeting with a witness for the Rutger’s case in 10 minutes. “Did you see him jaywalking?”
“Well, yeah, of course, I did, right before I...” Raylan trails off at the look on David's face. “It's Dickie Bennett. You honestly think he waits around for crosswalks?”
David sighs, “Pretending for a moment that I believed any of what you just said, a judge wouldn't. You're grasping at straws here, Raylan.”
“I'm trying to keep a murderer off the streets,” says Raylan through tight teeth and clenched fists. The sun is setting and the orange light coming from the windows behind Givens sharpen his cheekbones and hides his eyes in shadow like a movie star on a poster. “You'd think the US Attorney's office would be more interested in helping me keep him there.”
If this were the Old West, David thinks to himself, you'd have shot him down months ago.
“Give me something to work with here,” says David as he's been saying for the past 3 days. “Find me evidence of an actual crime that we can tie him to and I'll tie the knot myself.”
Raylan sighs through his nose and meets David's eyes in a curt sharp nod. He turns away without saying anything and with square stiff shoulders.
Bang, bang, thinks David.
“He wants to be a cowboy,” says his sister Judith with a fond roll of her eyes, when David shows up on her doorstep about a week later to eat up some vacation time in between the inevitable Escapades. “Says he wants to ride horses and shoot bad guys. Remind you of anyone you know?”
David grins despite himself and leans down to give his nephew Reuben a hug. “Hey there, buddy. How's it going?”
“I'm gonna be a cowboy,” says Reuben stepping back out of the hug. He points his toy pistol at David. “Pow!” he says and the force of the imagined recoil topples his oversized hat off.
David chuckles and places the hat back on Reuben's head. “I know a guy with a hat just like yours.”
“Is he a cowboy?” asks Reuben.
“He thinks he is,” says David.
“Does he always get the bad guy like in the movies?” asks Reuben with wide eyes that miss the sarcasm entirely.
David licks his lips, smiles closed mouthed and gives Reuben a pat on the back. “Let's go see what your mom's making for dinner.”
Title: John Wayne's Just an Actor, But He's the Only Name You Know
Author: teh_bug
CharactersDavid Vasquez, Raylan Givens
Pairings: gen
Rating: G
Word count: 1,314
Spoilers: Vague spoilers through the end of season 3
Warnings: N/A
Disclaimer: Justified belongs to Elmore Leonard and Graham Yost.
A/N: Many thanks to norgbelulah for her patience and for running this fic exchange and to abracax for the speedy, last minute beta and for fighting through the email kerfluffles with me.
Summary: David Vasquez grew up on Westerns and heroes in tall hats and this isn’t a Hollywood set, but someone forgot to tell the cowboy that…
“Raylan, I’m not the enemy,” says AUSA David Vasquez with a quirk of his lips. “We’re on the same side here.”
Givens frowns and grumbles something with a petulant kick to the floor and Vasquez is reminded of his little nephew Davis, pouting and wanting to stay up just a little bit later, mama, please?
And then Raylan meets David’s gaze with a sharp nod and the image of a plump five year old disappears in eyes as dark and cold as the gun in his holster.
Oh, thinks David more consideringly and dispassionately than regretful, this is how it’s going to be, is it?
In hindsight, he supposes he's known this for a while, but David grew up on Westerns and heroes in tall hats and always wanted to grow up to be a cowboy someday (“You want to be a vaquero?” his sister teased, but she didn't understand. He didn't want to be a vaquero who ran with the cattle and slept in the grass, he wanted to be a cowboy who shot bad guys and saved damesels.)
David gets Givens’s file slapped across his desk on a Monday morning, right after he gets back with his second cup of coffee.
“What's this?” he asks, glancing at the file over his coffee mug.
“Did'ya hear about the guy who shot Tommy Bucks down in Miami?” asks Randall Carter.
“This him?” asks David in response. At Randall's nod, he flips over another page in the file. “Looks like a damn cowboy.”
Randall snorts through his nose, “Acts like one too. Talks about it like it was a shootout. Says Bucks drew first. Says it was justified.”
“Well, if he's the cowboy he thinks he is, maybe it was,” shrugs David and takes another sip of coffee. “Why's this on my desk, anyways? I thought Miami took care of this a couple of months ago.”
“Shot another guy,” says Randall, with a twisted smirk, “Guess he found himself in another shootout.”
“Well, how about that,” says David noncommittally. He mutters to himself, “Says here, he saved a damsel in distress.”
He finds out later, that while definitely a damsel, Ava Crowder isn't technically the one in the midst of all the distress.
Which is a shame, he thinks, watching Raylan smooth talk Wallace down out of a hostage situation with nothing but spicy chicken and a bottle of bourbon. It's always a shame when a man's baser instincts get in the way of his heroics.
You didn't really think cowboys existed, did you? David chides himself. Living legends, really? He manages to compose himself and be both thoroughly unimpressed and professional when the inevitable talk comes and Raylan throws his hissyfit.
“How was your cowboy?” Randall asks the day after.
“Defensive, opinionated and convinced it's not his fault his dick ended up in the star witness,” says David and gulps down a mouthful of coffee.
“Aren't they all?” says Randall with an annoyed understanding. “Convinced they deserve this one break after all the good they've done for the world. Convinced the rules don't apply to them.”
“More like convinced the ends justify the means,” David says distracted, rummaging through his bag for the Rutger’s case file.
“It was justified,” says Randall with the same twisted smirk that he always has.
David snorts, “Something like that.”
There's a part of David that wants to dismiss the whole Ava Crowder thing as a rookie mistake, a one off mistake that'll never happen again, because Givens's learned his lesson. Never sleep with a witness, no matter how pretty. The laws are there for a reason; don’t buck the system.
But David's seen Givens’s file and he's seen the man in action. Seen how Givens holds himself when he thinks no one's looking. With a dash too much pride and a streak of stubbornness and an unfailing faith in the right way and true justice, even when the law doesn't agree.
He's seen too many Westerns to not know what happens when the law and the lawman collide.
In hindsight, David is utterly unsurprised to see that negotiations between Raylan and Arlo Givens come to a shrieking halt.
“He's like a child,” groans David to Randall later, in between bouts of what becomes known in the office as the Great Givens Escapades. “Wants criminals to account for their crimes except for when the criminal's him and the loophole's the other guy’s. Wants to be able to dance in the rain and not get wet.”
“Thought you said he was a cowboy,” says Randall with a grin that's not nearly as subtle as he thinks it is.
“He is a cowboy,” grumbles back David irritably. He was running late this morning and forgot to get his coffee on the way to work; the lack of caffeine in his system makes him antsy. “That's what cowboys do. Administer justice out in the Old West where the law doesn't quite reach. My God, man, haven't you ever seen a Western?”
Randall spreads his hands affably. “I'm just goin' with what you tell me. You're the one that's been watching too many John Wayne movies.”
David shakes his head and totters towards the company coffeepot. “The problem here is that we're not in the Old West anymore...”
“Why can't you just...keep Dickie in jail for jaywalking or something?” asks Givens, cornering David in the courthouse for the third time in as many days.
David checks his watch. He has a meeting with a witness for the Rutger’s case in 10 minutes. “Did you see him jaywalking?”
“Well, yeah, of course, I did, right before I...” Raylan trails off at the look on David's face. “It's Dickie Bennett. You honestly think he waits around for crosswalks?”
David sighs, “Pretending for a moment that I believed any of what you just said, a judge wouldn't. You're grasping at straws here, Raylan.”
“I'm trying to keep a murderer off the streets,” says Raylan through tight teeth and clenched fists. The sun is setting and the orange light coming from the windows behind Givens sharpen his cheekbones and hides his eyes in shadow like a movie star on a poster. “You'd think the US Attorney's office would be more interested in helping me keep him there.”
If this were the Old West, David thinks to himself, you'd have shot him down months ago.
“Give me something to work with here,” says David as he's been saying for the past 3 days. “Find me evidence of an actual crime that we can tie him to and I'll tie the knot myself.”
Raylan sighs through his nose and meets David's eyes in a curt sharp nod. He turns away without saying anything and with square stiff shoulders.
Bang, bang, thinks David.
“He wants to be a cowboy,” says his sister Judith with a fond roll of her eyes, when David shows up on her doorstep about a week later to eat up some vacation time in between the inevitable Escapades. “Says he wants to ride horses and shoot bad guys. Remind you of anyone you know?”
David grins despite himself and leans down to give his nephew Reuben a hug. “Hey there, buddy. How's it going?”
“I'm gonna be a cowboy,” says Reuben stepping back out of the hug. He points his toy pistol at David. “Pow!” he says and the force of the imagined recoil topples his oversized hat off.
David chuckles and places the hat back on Reuben's head. “I know a guy with a hat just like yours.”
“Is he a cowboy?” asks Reuben.
“He thinks he is,” says David.
“Does he always get the bad guy like in the movies?” asks Reuben with wide eyes that miss the sarcasm entirely.
David licks his lips, smiles closed mouthed and gives Reuben a pat on the back. “Let's go see what your mom's making for dinner.”