YNLH: The Shoot Out for musashden
Recipient: musashden
Title: The Shoot-Out
Author:birchwriter
Characters: Raylan, Boyd, and the other series regulars as needed.
Pairings: Raylan/Boyd and Raylan/Boyd/Tim implied.
Rating: R
Word Count: 2326
Spoilers: Season 3 in general. Although story is AU. I changed canon to meet the needs of this story.
Warnings: Character Death
Disclaimer: Justified belongs to Elmore Leonard and Graham Yost; F/X; and many others. I am not included in the 'many others'. Not even remotely.
A/N: Betad by the artist formerly known on LJ on Chauncey10.
Summary: Raylan struggles with the aftermath of a shooting.
Raylan Givens settled into the soft leather of the sofa, shifting the weight of his backside to find a more comfortable position. He knew the seating arrangement wasn't the cause of his unease, but the physical activity distracted him from the reason for his visit. And from whom he had come to see. This was their second meeting in as many days; Raylan hadn't said a word in the first one.
Noticing the blue eyes observing him sharply, he stopped fidgeting and took the offered cup of coffee. He smiled at the other person, who sat opposite of him on a chair which was identically upholstered as the couch on which he sat. He actually smiled, although the smile never really reached his eyes. There was too much sadness lingering, leaving an almost black aura around him.
"How are you doing?"
He let out a humorless chortle and shook his head self-deprecatingly, he decided his silence wasn't getting him anywhere. "I came to see you. To talk. To talk about what happened. That in itself should tell you something."
"You make that sound like seeing me is a bad thing."
Raylan snorted derisively, but it only earned him a pointed look. He let out a sigh and settled back in the cushions of the couch. He glanced over to his Stetson, which hung on a brass coat hook near the only door to the room. He knew his response had been out of line, but he recognized the unspoken years of practice his companion displayed by the easy deflection of his statement.
After a long, lingering sip of the black coffee, he set the cup down then stared at a soothing impressionist painting near a case of books. He wondered briefly if were an original or a print. Raylan shook his head because he knew his actions were a poor delaying tactic, but it gave him time to collect his jumbled thoughts. With an obvious effort, he turned back around and offered a half-shrug in apology.
"Sorry. This isn't your fault. It's just … awkward, I guess. I never thought I'd have talk about this," he said quietly.
"But you came in on your own. I would say that's very promising."
"No offense, but you have no idea what the hell you are talking about," Raylan felt the anger rolling off of him. He knew he wasn't mad per se at the psychiatrist his boss had insisted he must see to clear him before he was able to return to work. Raylan felt a bit of anger again. “If only I could work, then I could forget.”
He thought he'd thought that last statement, but belated realized he'd spoken the words out loud when the therapist stopped him.
"Deputy Marshal Givens, your presence here is required. And you will not be cleared to return to work, until you successfully complete these mandatory sessions. Your boss is even breathing down my neck for you to come back to work. Now, why don't you tell me what you remember.”
Raylan nodded and unconsciously reached to his side for his gun. It wasn't there and that fact did not comfort him in any way. He took a deep breath and rested his hands on top of his thighs.
He collected his jumbled thoughts and said the first thing that popped into his mind: "The sudden sound of bullets. Blood. It was everywhere. The smell hung in the air. Metallic. Blood smells metallic. I even remember tasting it. Blood, everywhere," he rattled on and on, not making much sense. He paused and gave his head a small shake. "Sorry. I'm rambling."
The therapist smiled reassuringly. "You don't need to apologize. But talk to me, Deputy Marshal Givens and I want you to start at the beginning...”
Five days earlier:
The shadows in the room flickered with a yellow light as Raylan had rolled over in bed and come in close comfortable contact with his bed mate. Boyd Crowder's naked torso was invitingly warm as Raylan's hand skimmed over his lover's chest to reach for his cellphone that was ringing incessantly. Boyd moaned in his sleep and shifted closer to Raylan.
For a split second, Raylan thought about ignoring the call and burying himself inside Boyd's warmth, but his better sense won out when he considered the fact that it might be work calling.
He grabbed the phone and pressed it against his ear with a whispered, “Hello,” as he tried not to wake his lover. Raylan awoke instantly and completely when he heard the sound of his ex-wife screaming in his ear.
“Gary's dead...you got to help me Raylan. Blood everywhere. He's dead...Gary's dead...on the ground in front of our house. I can't....the baby...Raylan, help me.”
Boyd shifted awake and turned onto his side and watched Raylan's facial expressions as he listened to their conversation. He could clearly hear the woman's near hysterical screaming as if she were on the other side of the bed. He noticed the illuminated digital clock read 10:34 am.
“Winona, honey, who killed Gary?”
“Those mob bastards.”
“Winn Duffy?”
“And that son of a bitch Quarles. I saw them. Quarles sickening grin as he pulled the trigger on a gun he had up his sleeve...and Duffy, he just laughed.” Winona Hawkins declared loudly. Again, it sounded like the woman was in the same room as they were.
Boyd watched as Raylan took a deep breath. Boyd knew the marshal service had been looking into the dealings of the mob. And in particular of the dark dealings of Winn Duffy and Robert Quarles and any evidence of the Detroit mobster boss, Theo Tonin, hand in criminal activity in the Lexington area. Boyd also knew that Raylan’s ex-wife's husband had become increasingly wrapped up in the shrouded mist that helped hide the mob's illegitimate dealings with somewhat legal real estate transactions.
“What do you need me to do?”
“God damn it, Raylan, what do you think I need you to do? Call in the cavalry...kill those two bastards. They took my unborn baby's daddy from me. Kill them all.”
“Winona, you're not thinking clearly. Have you called the Lexington PD?”
“They're still here. They took Gary's body away....in a fucking...black...bag. Oh God, Raylan, what am I going to do?”
“I'll be there in a little while.”
Raylan hung up and looked at Boyd. “Looks like Duffy and Quarles killed Gary.”
“Yeah, I heard. What you gonna do?”
“I guess I'll go over there and help calm Winona down.” Raylan leaned over and planted a kiss against Boyd's forehead, squarely between the eyes. “This wasn't quite what I envisioned happening this morning.”
“And what did you envision?” Boyd asked flirtatiously, considering he was naked in his lover's bed.
Raylan pointed down at his own naked body and then pointed at Boyd's. “You. Me. Bed. All. Day.”
Boyd watched regretfully as Raylan went into the bathroom to shower, then dressed quickly. As Raylan was walking out the door, Boyd called, “Raylan, be careful.” And as the door shut behind him, Boyd whispered, “I love you”. He got up snuffed out the low burning candle that had been on the nightstand next to the bed and started to get dressed himself.
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The scene at the Hawkins house was everything Raylan expected it to be as he drove up in his black sedan. The police milled about the yard and one policeman attempted to contain the clearly pregnant Winona. There were paramedics packing up their gear and crime scene investigators photographing a large pool of blood on the sidewalk that was surrounded by yellow evidence markers.
As Raylan got out of his car, he didn't notice that Boyd Crowder had stealthfully parked around the corner from the house in his old pickup truck. Boyd had a clear view of the entire area.
Boyd, his face hidden by the truck's sun visor, watched as Winona broke free from the police and planted her body against his lover's. A bit a jealousy flared until he came to his senses and realized the woman had just lost her husband and needed support.
Boyd watched as Raylan's boss and co-worker got out of another government standard issue sedan and met with the Lexington Police Department tall detective. Tim Gutterson had been elevated to Chief Deputy at the sudden death of Art Mullins secondary to a stroke and Deputy Rachel Brooks looked stunning with a holstered gun at her side.
Boyd knew if he weren't gay, he would be attracted to the beautiful Ms. Brooks. He knew she was a lesbian but that didn't stop his almost lascivious thoughts. A threesome with Rachel might have been a reality, if she wasn't in a committed relationship with his own sister-in-law, Ava.
Now, Tim Gutterson was another matter entirely. Boyd, Raylan and Tim had on occasion, shared a bed. The three of them engaged in an infrequent menage a trois. Boyd loved Tim because of his humble, yet arrogant attitude, but he loved Raylan more and for different reasons. Tim accepted their limited relationship without quarrel, just took what the two lovers allowed.
He was absorbed in his reflections but soon became aware of a dark SUV driving slowly, circling the crime scene. It had circled the area three times since he'd parked and none of the accumulated police or medical personnel had noticed the large suspicious truck, but when he recognized the driver as Winn Duffy, he knew in that moment instinctively and without a doubt that Raylan was in imminent danger.
Boyd jumped out of the old red pickup and in his haste upon saving Raylan, he didn't notice that the police on the scene pulled their guns on him, thinking that he, Boyd, posed a threat to the relative peace of the scene.
As Boyd was told to “Halt!” all hell suddenly broke loose.
With guns blazing fire out of both front windows of the SUV, bullets hurled, ferociously through the air and immediately struck down police and paramedics. Tim and Rachel crouched down into firing mode and started firing at the truck. The policemen shifted their aim from Boyd to the speeding and hastily retreating truck.
Boyd continued running toward Raylan but when he felt a stray bullet graze against his shoulder, he ran faster. He locked eyes with his lover who held a bleeding Winona, who appeared to have been struck several times by the gun fire. He felt another hard pop against his back.
When Boyd reached Raylan, who was slowly lowering a now dead Winona to the ground, Boyd collapsed, gasping for his life's breath. Two bullets had entered his body, one in his shoulder and another to his back. His right lung had been penetrated by one of the bullets.
Raylan abruptly dropped Winona's body and ran to his lover, cradling him in his arms as tears flowed against gravity down his cheeks.
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“So, tell me Deputy Marshal Givens, how does it feel to get all this off of your chest?” Dr. Carol Chauncey asked after Raylan had recounted his tale.
“I'm still guilty...” he timidly answered.
“For what? You didn't do anything to cause or even exacerbate what happened,” she said sharply.
“He's still dead; and so is she and the baby. I didn't stop it,” he replied quietly.
“You couldn't have known what was going to happen. How can you blame yourself? The other marshals and the local police found and killed Duffy and Quarles after a long shoot out at the pain clinic, where they had holed up.”
“But I didn't kill Duffy or Quarles myself,” Raylan admitted.
“Is that why you're guilty? That you didn't kill your ex-wife and her family's murderers?”
“Yes, I wasn't there to kill them.”
“And why weren't you there? Because you were with your lover as he struggled for life. Where you needed to be. At. His. Side.” She emphasized the last words.
“I was with Boyd,” he said. Raylan's voice seemed to get stronger, the guilt seemed to evaporate before the woman's eyes. He didn't seem timid or broken anymore. Dr. Chauncey smiled. She knew the therapy had finally worked; and maybe his misplaced guilt would diminish over time with the help of the man he loved.
“And Boyd is recovering from his gunshot wounds at the hospital and if you don't get out of here soon, you'll miss visiting hours,” she smiled.
“You're right.”
Raylan stood and walked over to get his Stetson off the hook. Placing it carefully on his head, he turned on his therapists next words, “You're cleared to go back to work.”
Raylan smiled and left the office and was singing under his breath in happiness when he reached Boyd's hospital room.
Boyd looked happy to see him as he made his way across the room to sit on the edge of bed, careful not to jostle his injuries. Boyd had a collapsed lung from one bullet and his right arm was in a sling because of shoulder surgery to remove the other bullet that had struck him.
Boyd was due to be discharged home tomorrow, to their home. And Raylan couldn't have been happier.
“I glad you made it, here,” Boyd said as Raylan swept in to kiss him lightly on the cheek.
“Me too,” Raylan said as he moved his lips down to Boyd's and both quickly deepened the kiss.
Raylan moaned a quiet 'I love you' as Boyd curled himself against him.
“Hey, Raylan?” Boyd asked as he felt his lover drifting off to sleep.
“Yeah?”
“How about we go somewhere there is snow when I get out of here? We could keep each other warm.”
“Sounds good to me.”
-End-
Prompt(s): the prompts are highlighted in bold through-out the story. Snow, Candle, Chair, Cellphone, Singing.
Title: The Shoot-Out
Author:birchwriter
Characters: Raylan, Boyd, and the other series regulars as needed.
Pairings: Raylan/Boyd and Raylan/Boyd/Tim implied.
Rating: R
Word Count: 2326
Spoilers: Season 3 in general. Although story is AU. I changed canon to meet the needs of this story.
Warnings: Character Death
Disclaimer: Justified belongs to Elmore Leonard and Graham Yost; F/X; and many others. I am not included in the 'many others'. Not even remotely.
A/N: Betad by the artist formerly known on LJ on Chauncey10.
Summary: Raylan struggles with the aftermath of a shooting.
Raylan Givens settled into the soft leather of the sofa, shifting the weight of his backside to find a more comfortable position. He knew the seating arrangement wasn't the cause of his unease, but the physical activity distracted him from the reason for his visit. And from whom he had come to see. This was their second meeting in as many days; Raylan hadn't said a word in the first one.
Noticing the blue eyes observing him sharply, he stopped fidgeting and took the offered cup of coffee. He smiled at the other person, who sat opposite of him on a chair which was identically upholstered as the couch on which he sat. He actually smiled, although the smile never really reached his eyes. There was too much sadness lingering, leaving an almost black aura around him.
"How are you doing?"
He let out a humorless chortle and shook his head self-deprecatingly, he decided his silence wasn't getting him anywhere. "I came to see you. To talk. To talk about what happened. That in itself should tell you something."
"You make that sound like seeing me is a bad thing."
Raylan snorted derisively, but it only earned him a pointed look. He let out a sigh and settled back in the cushions of the couch. He glanced over to his Stetson, which hung on a brass coat hook near the only door to the room. He knew his response had been out of line, but he recognized the unspoken years of practice his companion displayed by the easy deflection of his statement.
After a long, lingering sip of the black coffee, he set the cup down then stared at a soothing impressionist painting near a case of books. He wondered briefly if were an original or a print. Raylan shook his head because he knew his actions were a poor delaying tactic, but it gave him time to collect his jumbled thoughts. With an obvious effort, he turned back around and offered a half-shrug in apology.
"Sorry. This isn't your fault. It's just … awkward, I guess. I never thought I'd have talk about this," he said quietly.
"But you came in on your own. I would say that's very promising."
"No offense, but you have no idea what the hell you are talking about," Raylan felt the anger rolling off of him. He knew he wasn't mad per se at the psychiatrist his boss had insisted he must see to clear him before he was able to return to work. Raylan felt a bit of anger again. “If only I could work, then I could forget.”
He thought he'd thought that last statement, but belated realized he'd spoken the words out loud when the therapist stopped him.
"Deputy Marshal Givens, your presence here is required. And you will not be cleared to return to work, until you successfully complete these mandatory sessions. Your boss is even breathing down my neck for you to come back to work. Now, why don't you tell me what you remember.”
Raylan nodded and unconsciously reached to his side for his gun. It wasn't there and that fact did not comfort him in any way. He took a deep breath and rested his hands on top of his thighs.
He collected his jumbled thoughts and said the first thing that popped into his mind: "The sudden sound of bullets. Blood. It was everywhere. The smell hung in the air. Metallic. Blood smells metallic. I even remember tasting it. Blood, everywhere," he rattled on and on, not making much sense. He paused and gave his head a small shake. "Sorry. I'm rambling."
The therapist smiled reassuringly. "You don't need to apologize. But talk to me, Deputy Marshal Givens and I want you to start at the beginning...”
Five days earlier:
The shadows in the room flickered with a yellow light as Raylan had rolled over in bed and come in close comfortable contact with his bed mate. Boyd Crowder's naked torso was invitingly warm as Raylan's hand skimmed over his lover's chest to reach for his cellphone that was ringing incessantly. Boyd moaned in his sleep and shifted closer to Raylan.
For a split second, Raylan thought about ignoring the call and burying himself inside Boyd's warmth, but his better sense won out when he considered the fact that it might be work calling.
He grabbed the phone and pressed it against his ear with a whispered, “Hello,” as he tried not to wake his lover. Raylan awoke instantly and completely when he heard the sound of his ex-wife screaming in his ear.
“Gary's dead...you got to help me Raylan. Blood everywhere. He's dead...Gary's dead...on the ground in front of our house. I can't....the baby...Raylan, help me.”
Boyd shifted awake and turned onto his side and watched Raylan's facial expressions as he listened to their conversation. He could clearly hear the woman's near hysterical screaming as if she were on the other side of the bed. He noticed the illuminated digital clock read 10:34 am.
“Winona, honey, who killed Gary?”
“Those mob bastards.”
“Winn Duffy?”
“And that son of a bitch Quarles. I saw them. Quarles sickening grin as he pulled the trigger on a gun he had up his sleeve...and Duffy, he just laughed.” Winona Hawkins declared loudly. Again, it sounded like the woman was in the same room as they were.
Boyd watched as Raylan took a deep breath. Boyd knew the marshal service had been looking into the dealings of the mob. And in particular of the dark dealings of Winn Duffy and Robert Quarles and any evidence of the Detroit mobster boss, Theo Tonin, hand in criminal activity in the Lexington area. Boyd also knew that Raylan’s ex-wife's husband had become increasingly wrapped up in the shrouded mist that helped hide the mob's illegitimate dealings with somewhat legal real estate transactions.
“What do you need me to do?”
“God damn it, Raylan, what do you think I need you to do? Call in the cavalry...kill those two bastards. They took my unborn baby's daddy from me. Kill them all.”
“Winona, you're not thinking clearly. Have you called the Lexington PD?”
“They're still here. They took Gary's body away....in a fucking...black...bag. Oh God, Raylan, what am I going to do?”
“I'll be there in a little while.”
Raylan hung up and looked at Boyd. “Looks like Duffy and Quarles killed Gary.”
“Yeah, I heard. What you gonna do?”
“I guess I'll go over there and help calm Winona down.” Raylan leaned over and planted a kiss against Boyd's forehead, squarely between the eyes. “This wasn't quite what I envisioned happening this morning.”
“And what did you envision?” Boyd asked flirtatiously, considering he was naked in his lover's bed.
Raylan pointed down at his own naked body and then pointed at Boyd's. “You. Me. Bed. All. Day.”
Boyd watched regretfully as Raylan went into the bathroom to shower, then dressed quickly. As Raylan was walking out the door, Boyd called, “Raylan, be careful.” And as the door shut behind him, Boyd whispered, “I love you”. He got up snuffed out the low burning candle that had been on the nightstand next to the bed and started to get dressed himself.
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The scene at the Hawkins house was everything Raylan expected it to be as he drove up in his black sedan. The police milled about the yard and one policeman attempted to contain the clearly pregnant Winona. There were paramedics packing up their gear and crime scene investigators photographing a large pool of blood on the sidewalk that was surrounded by yellow evidence markers.
As Raylan got out of his car, he didn't notice that Boyd Crowder had stealthfully parked around the corner from the house in his old pickup truck. Boyd had a clear view of the entire area.
Boyd, his face hidden by the truck's sun visor, watched as Winona broke free from the police and planted her body against his lover's. A bit a jealousy flared until he came to his senses and realized the woman had just lost her husband and needed support.
Boyd watched as Raylan's boss and co-worker got out of another government standard issue sedan and met with the Lexington Police Department tall detective. Tim Gutterson had been elevated to Chief Deputy at the sudden death of Art Mullins secondary to a stroke and Deputy Rachel Brooks looked stunning with a holstered gun at her side.
Boyd knew if he weren't gay, he would be attracted to the beautiful Ms. Brooks. He knew she was a lesbian but that didn't stop his almost lascivious thoughts. A threesome with Rachel might have been a reality, if she wasn't in a committed relationship with his own sister-in-law, Ava.
Now, Tim Gutterson was another matter entirely. Boyd, Raylan and Tim had on occasion, shared a bed. The three of them engaged in an infrequent menage a trois. Boyd loved Tim because of his humble, yet arrogant attitude, but he loved Raylan more and for different reasons. Tim accepted their limited relationship without quarrel, just took what the two lovers allowed.
He was absorbed in his reflections but soon became aware of a dark SUV driving slowly, circling the crime scene. It had circled the area three times since he'd parked and none of the accumulated police or medical personnel had noticed the large suspicious truck, but when he recognized the driver as Winn Duffy, he knew in that moment instinctively and without a doubt that Raylan was in imminent danger.
Boyd jumped out of the old red pickup and in his haste upon saving Raylan, he didn't notice that the police on the scene pulled their guns on him, thinking that he, Boyd, posed a threat to the relative peace of the scene.
As Boyd was told to “Halt!” all hell suddenly broke loose.
With guns blazing fire out of both front windows of the SUV, bullets hurled, ferociously through the air and immediately struck down police and paramedics. Tim and Rachel crouched down into firing mode and started firing at the truck. The policemen shifted their aim from Boyd to the speeding and hastily retreating truck.
Boyd continued running toward Raylan but when he felt a stray bullet graze against his shoulder, he ran faster. He locked eyes with his lover who held a bleeding Winona, who appeared to have been struck several times by the gun fire. He felt another hard pop against his back.
When Boyd reached Raylan, who was slowly lowering a now dead Winona to the ground, Boyd collapsed, gasping for his life's breath. Two bullets had entered his body, one in his shoulder and another to his back. His right lung had been penetrated by one of the bullets.
Raylan abruptly dropped Winona's body and ran to his lover, cradling him in his arms as tears flowed against gravity down his cheeks.
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“So, tell me Deputy Marshal Givens, how does it feel to get all this off of your chest?” Dr. Carol Chauncey asked after Raylan had recounted his tale.
“I'm still guilty...” he timidly answered.
“For what? You didn't do anything to cause or even exacerbate what happened,” she said sharply.
“He's still dead; and so is she and the baby. I didn't stop it,” he replied quietly.
“You couldn't have known what was going to happen. How can you blame yourself? The other marshals and the local police found and killed Duffy and Quarles after a long shoot out at the pain clinic, where they had holed up.”
“But I didn't kill Duffy or Quarles myself,” Raylan admitted.
“Is that why you're guilty? That you didn't kill your ex-wife and her family's murderers?”
“Yes, I wasn't there to kill them.”
“And why weren't you there? Because you were with your lover as he struggled for life. Where you needed to be. At. His. Side.” She emphasized the last words.
“I was with Boyd,” he said. Raylan's voice seemed to get stronger, the guilt seemed to evaporate before the woman's eyes. He didn't seem timid or broken anymore. Dr. Chauncey smiled. She knew the therapy had finally worked; and maybe his misplaced guilt would diminish over time with the help of the man he loved.
“And Boyd is recovering from his gunshot wounds at the hospital and if you don't get out of here soon, you'll miss visiting hours,” she smiled.
“You're right.”
Raylan stood and walked over to get his Stetson off the hook. Placing it carefully on his head, he turned on his therapists next words, “You're cleared to go back to work.”
Raylan smiled and left the office and was singing under his breath in happiness when he reached Boyd's hospital room.
Boyd looked happy to see him as he made his way across the room to sit on the edge of bed, careful not to jostle his injuries. Boyd had a collapsed lung from one bullet and his right arm was in a sling because of shoulder surgery to remove the other bullet that had struck him.
Boyd was due to be discharged home tomorrow, to their home. And Raylan couldn't have been happier.
“I glad you made it, here,” Boyd said as Raylan swept in to kiss him lightly on the cheek.
“Me too,” Raylan said as he moved his lips down to Boyd's and both quickly deepened the kiss.
Raylan moaned a quiet 'I love you' as Boyd curled himself against him.
“Hey, Raylan?” Boyd asked as he felt his lover drifting off to sleep.
“Yeah?”
“How about we go somewhere there is snow when I get out of here? We could keep each other warm.”
“Sounds good to me.”
-End-
Prompt(s): the prompts are highlighted in bold through-out the story. Snow, Candle, Chair, Cellphone, Singing.