[[ lexington, kentucky ]]

[itwasjustified]

[ "you brought me breakfast." ]

After a morning spent wandering the International Museum of the Horse, Raylan has soaked in more than he ever forgot about the history and role of the horse in modern civilization.

He can also rattle off the last dozen Derby winners in chronological and alphabetical orders now -- something he cheerfully subjects Reese to during the drive to Keeneland.

It's all gently rolling meadows, green grass, and picturesque white fences as they near the track; once Raylan pulls into the entrance and joins the long line of vehicles inching toward the designated parking lots, he fights the urge to (mis)use his badge to cut to the front.

Patience wins out, and fifteen minutes later, they're strolling through the main gate. The paddock is a smorgasbord of old money, new money, and laughing college students. Amid the riot of summery dresses, skinny jeans, seersucker, three-piece suits, and every fashion statement in between, Raylan directs Dani's attention to a pocket of grooms, owners, trainers and jockeys. A moment later, a bay trots out on a lead, sporting a cardinal-red blanket emblazoned with the number 11 in white stitching.

"Think that one looks like a champion?"

Comments

[notenlightened]

"Maybe it's best we never know the answer to that."

Her gaze drifts towards him, then back out the window.

Reese smiles.

[itwasjustified]

He turns his attention back to traffic, and makes an easy left onto Versailles Road.

"You heard anybody pronounce this yet?"

He inclines his head toward the six lanes in front of them.

"It's Verr-say-uhls, here."

[notenlightened]

"You really are a country boy," she murmurs, slowly shaking her head.

Still, it's not a criticism.

[itwasjustified]

"True as that is, that ain't me -- that's the way of it," he says with a soft chuff. "I can say Versailles just fine, but, hell, I do that, and nobody around here knows what I'm sayin'."

A beat.

"You know, I've even read about the treaty. And it's a place in France."

Then, smug, "I hear there's a palace, too."

[notenlightened]

"And I thought you only had your looks to fall back on, marshal," she counters, drumming fingertips on the windowsill.

"Yet you continue to surprise."

[itwasjustified]

Lips quirking, he changes lanes to pass a slow-moving diesel truck.

"Can I be real predictable for a minute and ask if you're feelin' anything in particular for dinner?"

[notenlightened]

A few more seconds of drumming, and she replies:

"How do you feel about wings?"

[itwasjustified]

"I know just the place."

[notenlightened]

"'Course you do."

[itwasjustified]

"Sit tight, detective. I'm not drivin' us to KFC."

[notenlightened]

"No, because you want waffles for breakfast," she mumbles.

[itwasjustified]

"I do."

A beat and a grin.

"But I wouldn't take anybody to KFC of my own volition in the first place."

[notenlightened]

"Something tells me it's an insult to the real thing."

Her eyes find his in the rearview.

[itwasjustified]

"Oh, it's more than that. It's an aberration."

[notenlightened]

"Big words. You must feel pretty strongly," she chuckles.

[itwasjustified]

Eyes on hers in the reflection of the rearview mirror, he waggles his brows.

"That's what people identify this state with. Everywhere."

His eyes flick back to the road.

"That'd be all right if it wasn't godawful."

[notenlightened]

"If it helps at all - "

Even behind the shades, it's easy to tell what her eyes are doing.

" - I don't."

[itwasjustified]

"Thank you," he says, as bemused as he is sincere.

[notenlightened]

"So there's one more."

She shrugs one shoulder.

[itwasjustified]

"And what might that be?"

[notenlightened]

"One more in your favor."

[itwasjustified]

A beat.

"It's the hat, isn't it?"

[notenlightened]

"Just keep telling yourself that last part."

[itwasjustified]

He laughs, then -- low, but no less full for its volume.

"C'mon, detective. What's your association?"

[notenlightened]

She drags her teeth over her lower lip.

"Should I consider this an interrogation?"