Characters: Raylan, Boyd (Gen or Pre-Slash)
Summary: Boyd Crowder smiled like he knew a little too much.
Author's Notes: For writerverse, and the prompt of "Kiss With A Fist."
Boyd Crowder smiled like he knew a little too much, and the problem, Raylan thought, was that he probably did.
It was why Raylan hated coming home to Harlan.
He had chased criminals from one state to the next, but the challenge was minor compared to what Raylan was used to. Harlan bred its own kind of cunning, the casual wiles and misdirection of moonshine kingdoms and hillbilly racketeering. Boyd had learned its tainted craft at the cradle, though he'd tried once or twice to refuse it. Raylan had broken so far away from it all that he'd landed on the other side, and now he and Boyd were at odds more often than not. It was a battle the two of them might never finish.
Boyd turned up far too often during Raylan's local investigations, and might just as easily lie to him as find some reason to help. Half the time, Raylan wanted to punch that grin off Boyd's face, but then Boyd would say his name with that honey-butter ease that seemed to steal all sense from Raylan's head. The way Boyd said his name felt more like home than anything Raylan knew.
In those moments, Raylan thought Boyd really did know too much, or that at least he knew something Raylan hadn't yet found the words to explain.
All the vows he'd ever made about Harlan and Boyd Crowder never seemed to account for the fact that Raylan still hadn't found a way to leave.
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