[ Roman doesn't. It feels nice to go limp, even as he's simultaneously clawing at Raylan's shirt like his life depends on it. It feels weird to just start crying, but he does. A high, keening wail and he's just sort of melting into Raylan's arms. He's never felt more like a scared child in his life. ]
[If there was one thing Raylan was good at, it was being the post that people could lean themselves against for a minute, and he didn't care about his shirt or the tears or the snot that would follow it. He didn't say it was okay, he didn't offer any soft whispered platitudes like 'it's alright'. It wasn't alright. Logan was gone, for better or worse. The cornerstone of everything Roman had built himself off of, built himself to try to impress and be loved by, was in a box, in the ground.
No way to sugarcoat that.
So he says nothing and holds Roman the way Logan should have held him, thumb brushing back and forth in Roman's hair a little. He could hold the younger man's weight as much as needed.
[ He thinks maybe he mumbles an 'I'm sorry' into Raylan's shoulder, still clinging on for life--he's tired, he's not tired, he's fine, he's not, there's a sort of manic rapidity to what he's feeling--but Raylan's insistence helps him enough that after a few minutes he does calm down. Not entirely--his head hurts and his heart is still beating rapidly--but enough that when he pulls back he's hastily wiping his eyes with the heels of his hand. ]
My shirt'll be fine and if not, I got fifty others in there that look just like it.
[Raylan shifts enough to reach and rubs a big hand in circles over Roman's back shoulder.]
C'mon, come lean on my island, let me get you a drink of somethin' that'll help dull the edge for a minute, huh? [Which, if Roman starts heading that way, he'll start doing just as soon as he's in reach of the goods.]
[ he's not. But it's temporarily out of his system, even if he feels like little kid right now. Raylan's being fucking awesome and not commenting on his sobbing, ugly hiccups and everything. ]
M'okay. [ He says it a second time and it feels a bit more solid. He inhales, following Raylan half-blindly. ]
Can I have two glasses worth? [ He feels like he needs it. He also feels like he doesn't want to touch anything. It's a weird swirl of emotions that leads him oddly numb. ]
Sure, but only one at a time. [A few ice cubes, a few fingers and the glass was pressed into Roman's hands. Raylan was worried, both by what Kendall told him had followed Roman's learning this back in the full timeline and by how deep the news had cut Rome. He knew it was going to be heavy, but he didn't know it would be that heartbreaking.
Softly:]
Do you wanna talk about it or do you wanna just drink?
[ Roman doesn't answer. Not right away, the cool glass already sweating from the ice placed in his hands. He's staring at it because he's not entirely sure he can form words right away. ]
I should be mad at Kendall, but I'm not.
[ His voice is hoarse. He remedies it by taking a sip. ]
[There was no rush and some comfort to be found in the stillness of the cabin around them. Raylan didn't push, wasn't going to push - everything was given it's due space.]
The last thing he wants to do is hurt you. No good way to give news like that. No good way to take it either.
[Toothless or not, Raylan knew that grief did a lotta weird things, made people say and feel a lot of weird things, and he wasn't going to question or correct or try to defend Kendall.
But he hadn't expected Roman's question of him in return for some reason, and he takes and lets a deep breath, emptying his glass down his gullet and pouring them each another couple of fingers. He needed whiskey for this talk and when he starts, he sounds like he's reading off a paper he's memorized.]
Arlo died on a prison gurney after gettin' stabbed in the chest by the former Harlan County Sheriff, a fellow inmate. I wasn't there for it myself, though I did get to talk to him once before he died. Old, angry bastard hung in there for a few days. The prison called my boss, let him know and Art let me know. Because I had to go confirm it really was him and that he really was dead...
[But all that would have been freely given before, if anyone had asked, but that's not really what Roman had asked. Roman had ask how he handled it. Raylan's jaw works a little, chewing on his proverbial liver as he tried to figure out the most succinct way to put the pain of knowing that Arlo being dead meant that he would never get that closure. Never get understanding on his side or Arlo's. Stupid bastard wouldn't even help Raylan before he died, wouldn't help set right something that Arlo had set in the works by virtue of his petty, small townie criminal acts that had ran the county for decades before.
When he continues, it's a bit more relaxed of a tone, one that wavers with the raw emotion that he was sure was shameful to still have in his chest at the age he was at.]
I went back to work. Art made me take some time, I haggled him down to a day and the rest of the afternoon. Then I started makin' plans. Couldn't bury him next to Frances on the property, not if I was gonna sell it, and- [He huffs a breath.]
I was relieved, betrayed, angry at him for everythin' all over again. I was pissed off. How dare he outlive Aunt Helen? I'd say some shit about a good man, but Arlo wouldn't know good if it bit him on the ass.. Anyway. I spent a night getting drunk and gettin' into his boot locker he kept from Vietnam. Got his dogtags out and burned the rest. Love letters, pictures an' all.
[ Roman knows Raylan enough to be acutely aware of that little part of him he slips on like he wears the hat: still himself, but just a tetch to the left. Half armor, half a Face: Raylan handles things by taking it all in stride, of course he's going to react with something semi-rehearsed. Still him, just a little off the mark so it's still him without hitting what's real and raw.
It's nice, Roman realizes, to analyze things that aren't pressing. Raylan's mental state is something he cares about, the question is something he's genuinely asked for, and it's not about what's going on in his own head at the moment. It's Raylan. He takes a sip, watching the other, and sure enough he's right: Raylan continues. ]
Would you do it differently if you had the chance? Do you regret anything?
[ A simple question as Roman ruminates, the mental image of Raylan clutching old, battered ID tags crystal clear and floating around his brain. ]
[he knew Roman saw, but that was okay. He could let him see. Continue to show him it was okay to be complex, to be vulnerable and honest as best as they were able to, flaws and all.]
No. But I would say that what Arlo put me through over his life ain't my sin to regret. The rest of us did the best we could around him... An now I'm the last one who really knows. Who knew. Now it's really all set in stone..
[he sips at his whiskey.]
I started hallucinatin' him afterwards. [To start to dive into Weird, Dramatic Shit that a brain does with grief.]
[ Maybe fathers never leave their sons. Maybe Logan will always be in the corner of his mind, even after all of the hard work, calling him a moron, dangling titles and responsibilities and love like it's a transaction.
Maybe Raylan's dad wasn't that far off of that, either. Shriveled. Ugly.
Important. ]
If I do, I can just....Y'know. Tell you? Talk about it, right?
[Raylan's eyes come back up from their wander to Roman's face at the question, soft and serious.]
Course you can. Whenever you need. This shit is.. wild and wildly painful to walk around with things you can't change, words you aren't ever gonna get or get to say..
[He nods a little, a reassurance of his answer before letting his eyes drift back down a little, mostly to help Roman from feeling maybe too seen.]
Helps to have someone who knows a little somethin' about what its like. [He would continue to prove that he was here for Roman, whenever the younger man needed him. Roman graduating didn't change a thing between them, except that Raylan isn't tracking him around the ship now.]
I don't talk about it. To anyone. Didn't talk about a lot of things, before here. Couldn't stand the idea of people pityin' me and all the 'my condolences' and the worst of 'em all - 'he's in a better place'. [One hand gestures out with the words, swaying back and forth, to and fro with the recited lip service. It was insulting with all the shit Arlo had done. Not with as much as Raylan wishes he could have put the mean old bastard in the ground. Raylan scoffs softly and shakes his head.]
Arlo doesn't deserve to be remembered. He's done enough damage in the world. And I know it's an easy out for me too- [He glances up with the importance of the acknowledgement. Malcolm would be so proud.] It lets me not think about him or look at it at all.
You aren't gonna get that luxury and I don't want you comin' back here. [He softens his voice a little, eyebrows lifting in his earnest question.] You understand?
[ This seems like... not a warning. Not even concern, although there's some of that, but there's a soft finality that weighs down Raylan's words more than a raised voice could ever convey. It's not the first time that Roman's sure Raylan's going to be a great dad, but it definitely reminds him.
Earnestness deserves earnestness in turn, and Roman nods softly, a hand moving up to his ear, middle finger grazing against his earlobe. ]
I'm not going to. You couldn't pay me to deal with all of this bullshit a second time. I'm scared straight, honest.
You know you can, like.. Talk about it and stuff if you want to. And even if you don't want to, you still can.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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No way to sugarcoat that.
So he says nothing and holds Roman the way Logan should have held him, thumb brushing back and forth in Roman's hair a little. He could hold the younger man's weight as much as needed.
He does say one thing.]
Just breathe, Rome, remember to breathe.
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I didn't--I fucked up your shirt, man.
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[Raylan shifts enough to reach and rubs a big hand in circles over Roman's back shoulder.]
C'mon, come lean on my island, let me get you a drink of somethin' that'll help dull the edge for a minute, huh? [Which, if Roman starts heading that way, he'll start doing just as soon as he's in reach of the goods.]
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[ he's not. But it's temporarily out of his system, even if he feels like little kid right now. Raylan's being fucking awesome and not commenting on his sobbing, ugly hiccups and everything. ]
M'okay. [ He says it a second time and it feels a bit more solid. He inhales, following Raylan half-blindly. ]
Can I have two glasses worth? [ He feels like he needs it. He also feels like he doesn't want to touch anything. It's a weird swirl of emotions that leads him oddly numb. ]
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Softly:]
Do you wanna talk about it or do you wanna just drink?
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I should be mad at Kendall, but I'm not.
[ His voice is hoarse. He remedies it by taking a sip. ]
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The last thing he wants to do is hurt you. No good way to give news like that. No good way to take it either.
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[ It's all toothless. Roman clears his throat. ]
What did you do when your dad--you know?
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But he hadn't expected Roman's question of him in return for some reason, and he takes and lets a deep breath, emptying his glass down his gullet and pouring them each another couple of fingers. He needed whiskey for this talk and when he starts, he sounds like he's reading off a paper he's memorized.]
Arlo died on a prison gurney after gettin' stabbed in the chest by the former Harlan County Sheriff, a fellow inmate. I wasn't there for it myself, though I did get to talk to him once before he died. Old, angry bastard hung in there for a few days. The prison called my boss, let him know and Art let me know. Because I had to go confirm it really was him and that he really was dead...
[But all that would have been freely given before, if anyone had asked, but that's not really what Roman had asked. Roman had ask how he handled it. Raylan's jaw works a little, chewing on his proverbial liver as he tried to figure out the most succinct way to put the pain of knowing that Arlo being dead meant that he would never get that closure. Never get understanding on his side or Arlo's. Stupid bastard wouldn't even help Raylan before he died, wouldn't help set right something that Arlo had set in the works by virtue of his petty, small townie criminal acts that had ran the county for decades before.
When he continues, it's a bit more relaxed of a tone, one that wavers with the raw emotion that he was sure was shameful to still have in his chest at the age he was at.]
I went back to work. Art made me take some time, I haggled him down to a day and the rest of the afternoon. Then I started makin' plans. Couldn't bury him next to Frances on the property, not if I was gonna sell it, and- [He huffs a breath.]
I was relieved, betrayed, angry at him for everythin' all over again. I was pissed off. How dare he outlive Aunt Helen? I'd say some shit about a good man, but Arlo wouldn't know good if it bit him on the ass.. Anyway. I spent a night getting drunk and gettin' into his boot locker he kept from Vietnam. Got his dogtags out and burned the rest. Love letters, pictures an' all.
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It's nice, Roman realizes, to analyze things that aren't pressing. Raylan's mental state is something he cares about, the question is something he's genuinely asked for, and it's not about what's going on in his own head at the moment. It's Raylan. He takes a sip, watching the other, and sure enough he's right: Raylan continues. ]
Would you do it differently if you had the chance? Do you regret anything?
[ A simple question as Roman ruminates, the mental image of Raylan clutching old, battered ID tags crystal clear and floating around his brain. ]
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No. But I would say that what Arlo put me through over his life ain't my sin to regret. The rest of us did the best we could around him... An now I'm the last one who really knows. Who knew. Now it's really all set in stone..
[he sips at his whiskey.]
I started hallucinatin' him afterwards. [To start to dive into Weird, Dramatic Shit that a brain does with grief.]
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At least this time he has someone to talk to. Someone he can trust. And in turn, Raylan's trusting him. ]
Like, he haunted you?
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[He takes and lets a deep breath.]
But I say that to say.. Don't be hard on yourself if you feel some.. Odd shit, okay?
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[ Maybe fathers never leave their sons. Maybe Logan will always be in the corner of his mind, even after all of the hard work, calling him a moron, dangling titles and responsibilities and love like it's a transaction.
Maybe Raylan's dad wasn't that far off of that, either. Shriveled. Ugly.
Important. ]
If I do, I can just....Y'know. Tell you? Talk about it, right?
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Course you can. Whenever you need. This shit is.. wild and wildly painful to walk around with things you can't change, words you aren't ever gonna get or get to say..
[He nods a little, a reassurance of his answer before letting his eyes drift back down a little, mostly to help Roman from feeling maybe too seen.]
Helps to have someone who knows a little somethin' about what its like. [He would continue to prove that he was here for Roman, whenever the younger man needed him. Roman graduating didn't change a thing between them, except that Raylan isn't tracking him around the ship now.]
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[ Roman's voice is surprisingly soft. ]
Did you have anyone?
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I don't talk about it. To anyone. Didn't talk about a lot of things, before here. Couldn't stand the idea of people pityin' me and all the 'my condolences' and the worst of 'em all - 'he's in a better place'. [One hand gestures out with the words, swaying back and forth, to and fro with the recited lip service. It was insulting with all the shit Arlo had done. Not with as much as Raylan wishes he could have put the mean old bastard in the ground. Raylan scoffs softly and shakes his head.]
Arlo doesn't deserve to be remembered. He's done enough damage in the world. And I know it's an easy out for me too- [He glances up with the importance of the acknowledgement. Malcolm would be so proud.] It lets me not think about him or look at it at all.
You aren't gonna get that luxury and I don't want you comin' back here. [He softens his voice a little, eyebrows lifting in his earnest question.] You understand?
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Earnestness deserves earnestness in turn, and Roman nods softly, a hand moving up to his ear, middle finger grazing against his earlobe. ]
I'm not going to. You couldn't pay me to deal with all of this bullshit a second time. I'm scared straight, honest.
You know you can, like.. Talk about it and stuff if you want to. And even if you don't want to, you still can.