Raylan didn't enjoy hitting these buttons. He didn't like coming at these things so directly, knowing how Roman squirmed under it and how deep that urge to push it all aside was for the younger man. But he also couldn't let the lesson of it all pass. He wasn't going to be talked down to, struck out at, and just take it. No one should.
"No, you're not. Neither am I. You know exactly what his flaws are. You know the harm it inflicts, on you, on other people around him. Roman, you're better than him. You're better than him because you know that good and lovin' fathers don't make their kids feel the way you feel. I get you don't wanna talk about. I get you don't wanna look at it. I know," he continues, voice a little softer and kinder the more he went on.
"But admittin' the way things are is a solid first step towards actually dealin' with how you feel about it. Don't ignore the reality of the flaws, Roman. That's all I'm sayin'."
Roman falls silent. He's actually listening to Raylan, evident in the way his slouched shoulders aren't purposefully haunching into each other, the way he brings both of his hands together so he can pick at his nails with a keyed-in focus instead of his usual zoning out.
Raylan's right. It's the same song and dance Roman's mind had gone through mere seconds ago, but Raylan keeps continuing to be right. The words even find some sort of weird recess inside of him, digging around and giving Roman a weird feeling he has yet to identify as hope. Just entertaining, however briefly, that someone actually cares about him in this capacity. Even if it's because of their job. That's the easiest way to frame it, not the content of Raylan's words himself. He can't examine those, not yet. He's quiet for a moment longer.
"You know that shit, way back when we were first paired, when I said you were going to be a terrible father and that you were a shitty husband?"
Roman's life had been an exercise in trying to avoid the lash of the whip, to get someone underneath him before they could get him down there and with all this context, Raylan was starting to piece together the raw emotion that underlaid the cracked foundation of the Roy Family. While Raylan's abuse had been a different kind of beast, he understood taking that path. It would be a lie to say he was totally off that path - he used the bad guys in his job to do that, in the most violent and sometimes fatal way.
It seems like they've passed the 'Let's argue and barb until someone bleeds out on the floor' stage and Raylan is grateful for it, watching Roman's shoulders and body language as much as that steady gaze. They could fight, sure, or they could just have a real, honest conversation that might help adjust the way Roman was thinking. Opportunities like this didn't come often and Raylan wasn't going to pass it up.
"I do." It wasn't totally unexpected. He's pretty sure that Roman figured out fairly quickly that getting into a verbal slap fight with him didn't get him very far. But he's sure Roman had a point to follow and didn't want to interrupt.
Roman's brows lift, furrow, and lift again as Raylan says those two simple words as an invitation to get going. There's a lot, this is a lot, not just for Roman but there's something there. A bond, maybe. Or whatever.
Roman stills his hands.
"I do think," he says casually, rolling his eyes as he does so. "That maybe, uh, I might have been a little...you know. Right? Yeah."
He cares about Raylan. Genuinely, and truly, he cares about this guy. It's sickening. He might throw up. He groans, and it's difficult to tell if it's for comedic effect or if he's actually going to hurl for a split second.
"Maybe it was sort of not...cool...and I was a little bit wrong."
It was Raylan's turn for his eyebrows to lift. Roman admitting he was wrong, in any way, in any facet, was ground breaking. He knew it wasn't easy. Slowly, a smile crawled across Raylan's face, soft and fond and crooked.
"I won't rub it in. It's okay to be wrong.. Every now and then."
He loves the little shit. The words bounce around behind Raylan's teeth and after half a heartbeat, he doesn't bother swallowing them down. Maybe showing Roman that men could say shit like this without blowing away in a queef.
"I know we're not brothers or anythin', you got plenty of those already, but I love you like one, Roman. And it's okay to be fucked up by your parents. We all are. We'll figure it out."
Roman's relief at Raylan's first words is palpable, shoulders slipping into a more relaxed position. He doesn't like being wrong, he doesn't admit he's wrong, but Raylan deserves that. Raylan deserves a lot of things. Nice ones, even.
And Hey. Raylan called him his brother, which is a lot more flattering than Roman had realized until this moment. Because they're similar, maybe. Just a little. And Raylan's right about family that fucks you up. That's something Roman can agree on, even if his dad is a very touchy subject.
He's not going to say it out loud, but he respects Raylan a lot. He got out. He figured it out. Raylan broke the cycle.
"Thank you," he mumbles, and, because he can't help himself, and he needs to break the silence:
Raylan wasn't here to kick Roman around, to get one over on him, to get the dirt or the high hand. Shit like this was the only way to prove it to Roman. To prove himself. Loving people wasn't something Raylan did a lot of, but proving that he did was always and had always been important.
He nods once, softly, at the thanks and huffs a smile at the statement.
"I think you're just jealous you can't pull it off as well," he teases as he shoves off the counter and turns to refill his cup, gesturing with it towards Roman in offering. "I think you'd look much better in a fedora or somethin'. Pinstripe suit? Or Sharkskin if you like that kinda look."
Surprise Roman, Raylan did actually know about suits, fabrics and cuts.
"Oh, totally, I've always wanted to look like an extra in a community theatre version of Guys and Dolls," Roman snaps back, but there's no venom in his voice. If the crinkles in his eyes are anything to go by, he's actually impressed.
"Look at you, Mr. Nascar. Knowing your shit. Next you're going to tell me you've been playing the stock market game this whole time."
This is good. This is easy. This is natural, between them, a nice ebb and flow, even with emotions involved. It's nice. It feels weird.
"Don't you look like that now?" He's teasing, he promises. Mainly because he'd never seen Guys and Dolls so he has no real context for the joke.
"Nah, I'm barely a step above shovin' my cash in a mattress and I'm far too cheap be to be havin' a portfolio. Not willin' to risk the money like that." He might be richer if he did but he also might lose it all. He knew what the stock market was like, he knows how it can go.
"You uh.. you got it all back? This.. memory. Weirdest shit to happen yet, by the way, standing around recallin' someone's personal business."
Raylan's got jokes now, and Roman can't even be insulted at the dig being hurled at him. Not when it's a good one. He nods approvingly, even says a strong, loud 'nice' to show his approval like he would with Kendall.
As for the memory, the frowns slightly, cants his head to the side with unnessecary dramatic flare, and hums.
"Yeah, I think so. Boar, floor, Tom Wambsgans on his knees like a little bitch, Gerri looking smoking hot....Yeah. You? Dad, kneecap, gun, that's all there?"
He snorts softly at the 'Nice' and shakes his head with a smile.
"Yeah. I think I'm all set. You doin' alright, pickin' up everyone else's bullshit? Because I'll be honest with you, it's throwin' me for a goddamned loop."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
"No, you're not. Neither am I. You know exactly what his flaws are. You know the harm it inflicts, on you, on other people around him. Roman, you're better than him. You're better than him because you know that good and lovin' fathers don't make their kids feel the way you feel. I get you don't wanna talk about. I get you don't wanna look at it. I know," he continues, voice a little softer and kinder the more he went on.
"But admittin' the way things are is a solid first step towards actually dealin' with how you feel about it. Don't ignore the reality of the flaws, Roman. That's all I'm sayin'."
no subject
Raylan's right. It's the same song and dance Roman's mind had gone through mere seconds ago, but Raylan keeps continuing to be right. The words even find some sort of weird recess inside of him, digging around and giving Roman a weird feeling he has yet to identify as hope. Just entertaining, however briefly, that someone actually cares about him in this capacity. Even if it's because of their job. That's the easiest way to frame it, not the content of Raylan's words himself. He can't examine those, not yet. He's quiet for a moment longer.
"You know that shit, way back when we were first paired, when I said you were going to be a terrible father and that you were a shitty husband?"
He doesn't look up from his nails.
no subject
It seems like they've passed the 'Let's argue and barb until someone bleeds out on the floor' stage and Raylan is grateful for it, watching Roman's shoulders and body language as much as that steady gaze. They could fight, sure, or they could just have a real, honest conversation that might help adjust the way Roman was thinking. Opportunities like this didn't come often and Raylan wasn't going to pass it up.
"I do." It wasn't totally unexpected. He's pretty sure that Roman figured out fairly quickly that getting into a verbal slap fight with him didn't get him very far. But he's sure Roman had a point to follow and didn't want to interrupt.
no subject
Roman stills his hands.
"I do think," he says casually, rolling his eyes as he does so. "That maybe, uh, I might have been a little...you know. Right? Yeah."
He cares about Raylan. Genuinely, and truly, he cares about this guy. It's sickening. He might throw up. He groans, and it's difficult to tell if it's for comedic effect or if he's actually going to hurl for a split second.
"Maybe it was sort of not...cool...and I was a little bit wrong."
no subject
"I won't rub it in. It's okay to be wrong.. Every now and then."
He loves the little shit. The words bounce around behind Raylan's teeth and after half a heartbeat, he doesn't bother swallowing them down. Maybe showing Roman that men could say shit like this without blowing away in a queef.
"I know we're not brothers or anythin', you got plenty of those already, but I love you like one, Roman. And it's okay to be fucked up by your parents. We all are. We'll figure it out."
no subject
And Hey. Raylan called him his brother, which is a lot more flattering than Roman had realized until this moment. Because they're similar, maybe. Just a little. And Raylan's right about family that fucks you up. That's something Roman can agree on, even if his dad is a very touchy subject.
He's not going to say it out loud, but he respects Raylan a lot. He got out. He figured it out. Raylan broke the cycle.
"Thank you," he mumbles, and, because he can't help himself, and he needs to break the silence:
"I'm right about the hat though."
no subject
He nods once, softly, at the thanks and huffs a smile at the statement.
"I think you're just jealous you can't pull it off as well," he teases as he shoves off the counter and turns to refill his cup, gesturing with it towards Roman in offering. "I think you'd look much better in a fedora or somethin'. Pinstripe suit? Or Sharkskin if you like that kinda look."
Surprise Roman, Raylan did actually know about suits, fabrics and cuts.
no subject
"Look at you, Mr. Nascar. Knowing your shit. Next you're going to tell me you've been playing the stock market game this whole time."
This is good. This is easy. This is natural, between them, a nice ebb and flow, even with emotions involved. It's nice. It feels weird.
Healthy, even.
no subject
"Nah, I'm barely a step above shovin' my cash in a mattress and I'm far too cheap be to be havin' a portfolio. Not willin' to risk the money like that." He might be richer if he did but he also might lose it all. He knew what the stock market was like, he knows how it can go.
"You uh.. you got it all back? This.. memory. Weirdest shit to happen yet, by the way, standing around recallin' someone's personal business."
no subject
As for the memory, the frowns slightly, cants his head to the side with unnessecary dramatic flare, and hums.
"Yeah, I think so. Boar, floor, Tom Wambsgans on his knees like a little bitch, Gerri looking smoking hot....Yeah. You? Dad, kneecap, gun, that's all there?"
no subject
"Yeah. I think I'm all set. You doin' alright, pickin' up everyone else's bullshit? Because I'll be honest with you, it's throwin' me for a goddamned loop."