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Boyd and Raylan lounged in a foxhole within the latest so-called "safe zone," a stark contrast to the baked earth stretching out in every direction - an unbroken expanse of nothingness that felt as oppressive as the situation they found themselves in, so different than the greens of Kentucky.
The cookie dough camouflage of their battle dress uniforms did little to conceal the sweat stains forming under their arms and along their backs, giving the impression they had been marinating in the heat for days, though it had only been hours. Across from them, Colt Rhodes perched lazily on the edge of the foxhole lines with sandbags, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he squinted out into the harsh brightness of the open desert. He seemed oblivious to the heat or perhaps had just stopped caring been there longer than Boyd and Raylan, his nonchalance an irritation to Boyd.
“What brings you boys to the military police?” Colt asked.
“We dug coal together when we were 19,” Boyd said as if that answered everything.
“Would’ve figured a crazy shit like you would be full-time with explosives, since you like to blow shit up.” Colt considered them both. “Wouldn’t have pinned you for an MP. Givens, yes, but not you.”
“He wanted to be an MP,”
Boyd answered with a shrug. “So we’re MPs. Where he goes, I go. It’s interesting enough work.”
Colt gave Boyd a lazy grin. “If you weren’t an MP, I’d likely be arresting you. Slick bastard.”
“Likely,” Boyd agreed with a snort. “But my partner-in-crime here keeps me in line.”
“While we’re off rotation, some of the boys are going off base tomorrow,” Colt said casually, blowing a long plume of smoke into the stifling air. “You two want to come?”
Boyd didn’t bother looking up. His hand rested lightly on his knee, eyes locked on the horizon, as if the endless stretch of desert might somehow yield something interesting.
“Thank you for the invitation,” Boyd drawled, his voice slow and deliberate, “but we will decline. Raylan and I are just fine with our own company.”
“Just because we’re MPs doesn’t mean we can’t have some fun.” Colt snorted, his lip curling into a half-smirk that reeked of bravado.
He gave Raylan an appreciate and subtle once over. “You like fun, Givens?”
“Son, he is unimaginatively pedestrian in nature where you are concerned,” Boyd said pointedly. “I’m the only company he keeps in that matter.”
“Is that how is?” Colt smirked knowingly. “Best learn to rein that in some, Crowder, or people’ll think you’re a fag.”
The insult hung in the air for a beat too long, its impact palpable. Raylan’s reaction was immediate. He sat up straighter, tension radiating from his frame as he fixed his gaze on Colt, his voice a low growl laden with unspoken threats. “Best keep such accusations to yourself or you won’t be able to talk soon.”
Colt didn’t back down - if anything, the challenge seemed to amuse him. “There it is,” he chuckled, his tone cocky, cigarette dancing between his fingers. “Hey, princess, don’t be catty. People always talk.”
“Shut up, Rhodes,” Raylan shot back, fingers flexing as if itching for the reassuring weight of his sidearm. The implication of their connection—what they shared in the shadows—was something both men kept close, their closeness a secret tucked away in the recesses of the camp in stolen moments where no prying eyes.
Boyd finally stirred, a lazy grin pulling at the corners of his mouth as he turned his head to glance at Raylan.
“Raylan Givens,” he drawled, “no need to be defending my honour. I think Rhodes has an understanding now.”
His voice remained slow and measured, as if the heat had melted away any urgency from the conversation. His eyes remained on the horizon, scanning with the practiced ease. Rhodes leaned back, his demeanor still cocky and relaxed, clearly unfazed by the palpable tension in the air.
“No harm. Gets lonely out here without a girl of my own,” he remarked, his tone light and casual, as if they were discussing the weather rather than the stakes at hand. “Crowder, you seem quite taken with yours.”
“She’s an asshole,” Boyd replied, a flicker of pride surfacing in his voice, his chest puffing slightly as he spoke. Raylan kicked him in the shins.
Raylan lounged beside him, silent for now, but his sharp eyes remained alert, studying the exchange carefully.
Colt cast a sideways glance at Raylan, squinting against the relentless sun. His look was assessing, even appreciative, as if he were sizing up a worthy opponent. “I can respect that.”
Before Raylan could respond, Boyd interjected with a laugh, clapping Raylan on the back with a heavy, familiar hand. The gesture lingered, striking a balance between comfort and possessiveness.
“Real serious,” Boyd declared, locking eyes with Colt in a meaningful glare that made him chuckle. “Same with Raylan here, seeing as he got himself a Crowder.”
Colt took another deep pull from his cigarette. “That so?”
“All but married,” Boyd explained. “One doesn’t stray from a Crowder.”
Colt raised an eyebrow, skepticism flickering across his face. He raised his palms in mock surrender. “Shame that. I was just bringing friendly.”
“Too friendly,” Boyd warned, the playful menace in his voice a clear signal. “He only has one friend and that’s me.”
“Can’t he talk for himself?” Colt shot back, undeterred.
“When he finds someone worthy to talk to,” Boyd replied dryly, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Or someone I want him talking to, right now, he don’t seem too keen on your company.”
Colt shrugged, unfazed. “Suppose that’s why you two are so fuckin’ close then. People’ve been talking, but I’ll tell them to lay off since you’re… family and all.”
Boyd’s smile was lazy, an expression that was both inviting and edged with danger. He squeezed Raylan’s shoulder one last time before letting go.
“Your… girl,” Colt continued, now directing his attention back to Boyd, “What’s she like since she seems to have stored your balls in her purse?”
Boyd’s gaze flicked to Raylan, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he thought of him.
“She’s real pretty,” Boyd said, his voice softening, revealing a deeper affection. “Tall… legs for miles. Most intense brown eyes that’ll pin you to the wall if you ain’t careful.”
“Sounds almost like Givens,” Colt quipped, laughter bubbling up as he leaned back, clearly enjoying himself. “You related to his girlfriend, Givens?”
“You know how it is with us hillbillies—all related,” Boyd said, staring intently at Colt. “Sometimes that inbreeding has good side effects. Bottleneck theory, y’know.”
Colt blinked, clearly confused by Boyd’s quick shift into something scientific. “Bottleneck what now?”
“Nothin’,” Boyd dismissed with a wave of his hand. “Just a moonshine reference. Anyway, my girl’s got a mean right hook, too. Damn near knocked me out more than once.”
Raylan snorted quietly at that, kicking Boyd’s leg lightly in agreement. Boyd didn’t react beyond a flicker of amusement in his eyes, the subtle exchange not lost on Colt.
“I had it coming,” Boyd added, returning the playful kick.
“Where’d you meet her?” Colt pressed, curiosity evident.
“At our mamas’ knees. Known her forever,” Boyd replied with a sigh, leaning back against the gritty wall of the foxhole, his eyes distant as he spoke. “Since we were tads. Always had a temper, fights like hellfire itself.”
Colt squinted at Boyd, a hint of admiration creeping into his expression. “You gonna marry her?”
Raylan’s fingers drifted almost absently to the horseshoe ring he wore—a token from Boyd, a promise exchanged in secret long before they’d ended up here, baking in the desert sun rather than rotting in the coal mines.
“She’s wearing my ring,” Boyd said, his voice low but firm. “I’d put down any man who’d try to take her - not that she’d have any part of that.”
Colt looked incredulous but shared a silent nod of understanding. “No poaching or sharing.”
“Good we understand each other,” Boyd chuckled, shaking his head. “She’s still wild, though. Ain’t nothin’ tame about her, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
“She ain’t particular about being talked about,” Raylan muttered.
The sun continued to beat down on them, the desert stretching out in every direction like an endless, oppressive force.
“Together a long time,” Colt commented, still prying, but his tone now tinged with admiration. “Not my style.”
Boyd let out a low, dry laugh. “She is my great comfort.”
Colt laughed, the sound echoing slightly in the vast silence. “She sounds real sweet.”
“I thought so,” Boyd said, his grin widening as he thought of Raylan, who was anything but sweet most days. “I know how to handle her.”
“She one of those biters?” Colt asked, his voice dropping into something more crude.
Boyd barked a laugh, snapping his teeth playfully. “Nah, I’m more of a biter,” he replied with a wicked grin. “Real cannibal.”
Colt shook his head in disbelief, his gaze slipping to Raylan. “A biter, huh? Damn, Crowder, you don’t make things easy on yourself, do you?”
Boyd shrugged, leaning back against the gritty sandbags. “Never have. Never will. Wish I could say it’s been a pleasure, Rhodes.”
“I’ll watch your backs, for what it’s worth… our kind, fellow MPs and all, gotta do that out here.” Colt gave them a knowing look, motioning a certain direction. “No one around over there, just so ya know. You take care of your girl, Crowder.”
A heavy silence settled between them, the desert swallowing the noise of the world. Boyd glanced at Raylan, catching his eye for a brief moment—a shared understanding that passed between them like a secret. It was a world where their connection could not be openly acknowledged but could thrive in whispered moments and stolen touches.
“Take a walk?” Boyd suggested quietly, his voice low enough that only Raylan could hear.
Raylan nodded once, pushing himself up from the dusty ground. They walked away from the foxhole, finding a secluded spot among the tents where they could steal a moment of privacy.
“What’s this about me being handled?” Raylan demanded, his voice a low whisper as he shoved Boyd lightly against the side of a tent, the fabric rustling against their bodies.
Boyd grinned, unbothered by the shove. His hand settled on Raylan’s hip, fingers sliding just under the waistband of his fatigues, pulling him closer. “Now, Raylan Givens,” he said softly, “don’t start somethin’ you can’t finish, baby.”
Raylan hissed at the nickname, frustration and desire flickering in his eyes. “You don’t handle me.”
“I surely do not,” Boyd agreed with a grin, though the mischief in his eyes suggested otherwise.
Raylan scowled but didn’t push away this time. Instead, he leaned in, his lips brushing against Boyd’s ear as he whispered, “We’d better be more careful, Boyd. We don’t need a stray bullet or dishonourable discharge.”
“We got an ally in Rhodes. He thinks you’re pretty was sniffing around.” Boyd’s hand tightened on Raylan’s hip, pulling him closer until their bodies were pressed together. “I know it’s hard being here. I can’t help it. You’re right here, and I want you so damn bad.”
Raylan hid his face in the crook of Boyd’s neck, his breath hot against Boyd’s skin. Boyd’s hand slid to the back of Raylan’s neck, squeezing gently in a gesture that was both possessive and tender.
“I hate it here,” Boyd whispered darkly, his voice a low rumble against Raylan’s ear. “Too hot. Too flat. I miss the hills ‘n’ hollers. But I have you, baby. I’d do anything for you. You know that, right?”
Raylan didn’t answer, but his arms tightened around Boyd, his face still buried in the safety of Boyd’s neck. Boyd kissed the top of Raylan’s head softly.
“Gimme a proper kiss,” Boyd whispered. “C’mon, darlin’. Real quick.”
Raylan scowled, but leaned in to risk a quick kiss.
Boyd decided to take the risk to settle Raylan. He whispered to him dark and possessive while he squeezed the back of his neck. Always whispers here. “I hate it in the desert. It’s too hot. Too flat. I miss the hills ‘n’ hollers, but I have you, baby. I would do anything for you. God, I love you. Know that, darlin’. I’ve gone down a mine, joined the fuckin’ army, and left my beloved Harlan for you. You’re mine.”
The dark words settled over Raylan, grounding him in the chaos, having a strangely calming effect. Boyd had always had that ability, to make Raylan feel like he was standing on solid ground, even when everything around them was shifting and unstable. Raylan let out a slow breath, his tension ebbing away as Boyd’s grip tightened ever so slightly, fingers tracing slow circles on the back of his neck.
"Yeah," Raylan muttered against Boyd’s shoulder, his voice muffled but steady. "I know."
The desert seemed far away now, the relentless heat and the harsh sun nothing but a backdrop to the quiet, intimate space they carved out between themselves. In this stolen moment, it was just the two of them, cocooned in their shared understanding.
“Hate you with a buzz cut,” Boyd murmured. “You’ll have to grown it out longer when we’re done with all this.”
Boyd shifted slightly, his hand sliding from Raylan’s hip to rest over his heart, feeling the steady beat beneath his palm underneath the sun warmed uniform. He smiled softly, the mischief and teasing replaced by something deeper, more serious. Boyd’s thumb brushed gently across Raylan’s cheekbone, a fleeting touch that conveyed more than any words could. It was a promise, one they’d made to each other a hundred times before and would continue to make, no matter where they found themselves.
Raylan leaned into the touch, allowing himself this moment of quiet connection. Out here, in the middle of a warzone, even with the desert stretching endlessly around them. Boyd was the one constant, the anchor that kept Raylan from drifting too far-whether in darkness of a mine or in the desert.
The tension that had been building between them all day, ever since Colt had opened his mouth, seemed to dissolve in that moment. Raylan exhaled softly, the last of his frustration and anxiety melting away in the warmth of Boyd’s embrace. It was a rare thing, these moments of peace, but they’d learned to grab hold of them when they could.
"Remember," Boyd whispered as he pulled away, his voice carrying a weight of certainty. “We dug coal together.”