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Technically Raylan had every professional right to be there. Walking into Audrey's in the middle of the afternoon on the hunt for Boyd. Petty bullshit crime in Harlan? He'd bet his badge Arlo was involved, and his old man usually was. Non petty bullshit crime, the good stuff, the smart stuff? Not too long ago that would have been Boyd Crowder's jurisdiction and proudly.
He was only being a thorough lawman making sure Boyd really was keeping his nose clean.
And yet, that didn't entirely explain the little thrill he got at Boyd's resigned little sigh as he sat beside him.
“Hello, Raylan.”
“Boyd,” Raylan greeted, hiding a smile at Boyd's complete lack of other acknowledgement. He drummed his fingers on the bar, nodding for one of whatever Boyd was drinking. “Been playing with any volatile substances lately?”
Boyd turned the glass around in his fingers, sighing into his bourbon. Raylan had no doubt he'd heard about the meth lab explosion out in the hollers. Harlan was a small county when it came to gossip, and Boyd had always been partial to the ones involving explosions.
“Only emulex at work,” Boyd replied in the same tired monotone he'd had since the shit with the Bennetts started up. “I believe I have already made my intentions very clear to you, Raylan.”
That was true. But this was also true: Boyd Crowder had been born with a silver tongue in his mouth, the vocabulary of a goddamn preacher, and enough charm to talk himself into and out of any situation his criminal heart desired. Raylan knew it was true, he'd been right by his side as kids and right on the other side of it as adults.
And yet, as one of the few people alive who could say they knew Boyd Crowder to his core, Raylan just didn't know. His little Boyd is lying his ass off meter seemed to be on the fritz.
Boyd could be genuinely sincere about this second second chance. Or he could be deluding himself that he meant it. Or he could be lying through his pearly white teeth.
“Goddamn it, Boyd, I never know what's real with you.”
Boyd sipped on his bourbon, his gaze fixed straight ahead. “Well, I feel for you, Raylan, I truly do. But it seems like it is more your problem than mine.”
Raylan set his hat on the bar top, breathing evenly through his nose. Jesus Christ, even after all this time. Sometimes he swore he didn't know if he wanted to punch him or kiss him. As a teenager he'd gone for both, now he just tossed back his bourbon. It was bad for the badge to start a bar fight, and even worse to start kissing a (maybe) reformed felon in a whore house.
“If you're bullshitting me, Boyd…”
Something like a smile played on Boyd's lips. “If you had reason to believe I was, Raylan, I'd be in handcuffs in Lexington, not a free man in Audrey's.”
Raylan heard himself chuckle. “I could put you in the cuffs if it would make you feel more comfortable.”
Boyd's hazel eyes flickered to him, darker in the light of the bar. “Regrettably, I'll have to take a raincheck, Raylan.”
That should have been the end of it, Raylan had confirmed Boyd wasn't to blame for the meth lab explosion (not that anyone really believed he had been, prior history notwithstanding). They'd bantered a bit, time to go about his business.
Except Raylan was still holding his bourbon and watching Boyd and goddamn it if he didn't feel an echo of being nineteen and sitting at a bar next to this man and-
“You going down today?”
Boyd tilted his head, regarding Raylan thoughtfully. “It's honest work, Raylan. Unless you'd rather I revive the family business?”
“No.” Raylan surprised himself a bit at the speed of his response. Especially when he prided himself on believing the contrary. Goddamn, Boyd. “Those mines still scare the shit out of me. You're a braver man than I am.”
Boyd raised his low-ball in toast, smile sardonic. “Perhaps just one with limited options.”
Now that Raylan knew was bullshit. “Limited options, my ass, Boyd. You're just punishing yourself for what your daddy did to your congregation.”
The smile melted right off Boyd's face. “Raylan.”
Boyd never needed a million words to convey that Raylan had bulldozed over the line into dangerous territory. The warning in his voice was more than enough.
Raylan let it go, for now, ordering another round in apology.
Almost comfortable silence drifted between them. Boyd returned inward to his thoughts, and Raylan returned to his childhood pastime of trying to figure Boyd Crowder the hell out.
He sipped on his Wild Turkey, unconsciously mirroring Boyd. The man had the brains to run Harlan, hell he probably could have put men on Mars by now. And yet he was drinking the day away looking more lost than Raylan had seen him since Myrtle Creek. Or at least since the night Arlo tried to sell Raylan out to Bo.
“Why the hell did you come to me that night?”
Boyd paused mid-sip but didn't insult either of their intelligences by asking which night Raylan referred to. He set his glass down and looked at Raylan, an echo of the vulnerability from that night in his face.
“Whatever I have done, I knew you would not turn me away.”
Goddamn it, Boyd, you weren't supposed to answer honestly.
Too much had gone between them for Raylan to reach forward and do any of the things the part of him that would always be nineteen years old and stuck in the dark with Boyd wanted him to do. Too much to do anything at all, if Raylan was smart.
But as Art (and Rachel and Tim, Winona, Aunt Helen, his Mama, even Boyd himself) would tell him, Raylan had never been smart about people he cared about. Or things he wanted. And it was complicated and messy as hell and he ought to run out of here like a mineshaft was collapsing, but Boyd had probably (recklessly, inadvisably) always been both to him.
Under the bar top, Raylan's knee pressed against Boyd's. A single touch, too damn warm by far.
3, 2, 1. Fire in the hole!
He pulled away, flashing a smile at Boyd's arched eyebrow and implicit what are you doing, Raylan?
“No, I won't,” Raylan admitted, tossing probably too many bills on the bar top. He stood, settling his hat back on his head. “Can't say it'll be easy, but you know where to find me, Boyd.” He nodded, winked at the surprise in Boyd's face. “Don't blow yourself up today, Boyd.”
The softness in Boyd's eyes brightened into a warmth long missing. “Raylan.”