Rilla (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rillalicious) wrote2011-04-11 04:21 pm
rillalicious) wrote2011-04-11 04:21 pm
Entry tags:
Fic! Justified
Fandom: Justified
Title: Convergence
Characters: Winona Hawkins
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~500
Spoilers: Through 2.7, Save My Love
Summary: She never set out to be that woman, the one that she's become.
A/N: My first Justified fic, though I foresee many more in the future. Thanks![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ellensmithee for the beta.
She never set out to be that woman, the one that she's become. Not in Raylan's story anyway. She thought she'd freed herself of Raylan's story all together, years ago.
She's starting to realize--alongside half the folks of Harlan, and the Lexington U.S. Marshals office, it would appear--that there really is no escaping Raylan Givens.
Gary was security. He was stability and long conversations that went on uninterrupted by awkward silences during which they didn't talk about how he could die every time he walked out the door. He was the man who came to their bed alone every night, without the ghosts of his job hovering over him, without the possibility of a two a.m. phone call to pull him away. Gary was safety.
Was. Past tense. Somehow that loving, stable husband managed to even the playing field. She has to hand it to Gary; that was a monumental feat. The ground had to make a hell of a shift to land Gary on equal footing with Raylan. And now, here they are, and all the best parts of her can't even begin to imagine how Gary can expect to measure up. She knows him, though, and she knows he'll try.
She thinks about Raylan lying in the alley behind that bar, a study of his own flaws written across his face in bruises and blood, back when she could feel righteous and blameless and justified. She's not that Winona anymore, and he's not that Raylan. Or maybe he is, and his character defects have finally been eclipsed by her own. Is that what makes her want him so much more?
Maybe not. Maybe that shallowly buried desire was always there, just waiting to be unearthed.
Because goddamn, but Raylan can light her up like the Fourth of July between the sheets. Gary, bless his heart, loves her dearly, but he's no Raylan in bed. It's not a fair comparison, and she managed to go years without making it. But here it is, laid out flat in front of her, and as much as she wants to believe she's not that superficial, she's been waking up in Raylan's bed far too often lately.
Then again, didn't she lose every last pretense of righteousness when she walked out of the evidence locker with the money?
The scent of him clings to her skin however hard she tries to scrub him off. It makes her feel gritty and weak and desirable and wild all at once. It reminds her that she's never going to tie him down, no matter how addicted he is to the sound of her breath on his ear, to the feel of her naked body pressed up against his under the inconsistent heat of that cheap shower head in his room.
Winona slides out of bed and reaches for Raylan's shirt, wondering when she'll make peace with this strange convergence of who she is and what she's done.
[END]
Title: Convergence
Characters: Winona Hawkins
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~500
Spoilers: Through 2.7, Save My Love
Summary: She never set out to be that woman, the one that she's become.
A/N: My first Justified fic, though I foresee many more in the future. Thanks
ellensmithee for the beta. She never set out to be that woman, the one that she's become. Not in Raylan's story anyway. She thought she'd freed herself of Raylan's story all together, years ago.
She's starting to realize--alongside half the folks of Harlan, and the Lexington U.S. Marshals office, it would appear--that there really is no escaping Raylan Givens.
Gary was security. He was stability and long conversations that went on uninterrupted by awkward silences during which they didn't talk about how he could die every time he walked out the door. He was the man who came to their bed alone every night, without the ghosts of his job hovering over him, without the possibility of a two a.m. phone call to pull him away. Gary was safety.
Was. Past tense. Somehow that loving, stable husband managed to even the playing field. She has to hand it to Gary; that was a monumental feat. The ground had to make a hell of a shift to land Gary on equal footing with Raylan. And now, here they are, and all the best parts of her can't even begin to imagine how Gary can expect to measure up. She knows him, though, and she knows he'll try.
She thinks about Raylan lying in the alley behind that bar, a study of his own flaws written across his face in bruises and blood, back when she could feel righteous and blameless and justified. She's not that Winona anymore, and he's not that Raylan. Or maybe he is, and his character defects have finally been eclipsed by her own. Is that what makes her want him so much more?
Maybe not. Maybe that shallowly buried desire was always there, just waiting to be unearthed.
Because goddamn, but Raylan can light her up like the Fourth of July between the sheets. Gary, bless his heart, loves her dearly, but he's no Raylan in bed. It's not a fair comparison, and she managed to go years without making it. But here it is, laid out flat in front of her, and as much as she wants to believe she's not that superficial, she's been waking up in Raylan's bed far too often lately.
Then again, didn't she lose every last pretense of righteousness when she walked out of the evidence locker with the money?
The scent of him clings to her skin however hard she tries to scrub him off. It makes her feel gritty and weak and desirable and wild all at once. It reminds her that she's never going to tie him down, no matter how addicted he is to the sound of her breath on his ear, to the feel of her naked body pressed up against his under the inconsistent heat of that cheap shower head in his room.
Winona slides out of bed and reaches for Raylan's shirt, wondering when she'll make peace with this strange convergence of who she is and what she's done.
[END]