YNLH: if the world be worth thy winning 3/3 for ozmissage

[norgbelulah]

Recipient: ozmissage
Title: if the world be worth thy winning
Author: iniq
Characters Raylan Givens, Tim Gutterson, Art Mullen, Rachel Brooks
Pairings: Raylan Givens/Tim Gutterson
Rating: R
Word count: 26.436
Spoilers: general timeline, season finale of season 2
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: Justified belongs to Elmore Leonard and Graham Yost.
A/N: special superstrength beta thanks go to gwylliondream, who is an absolute rockstar; and to K, who is always awesome

Summary: Raylan may not always be there for Tim, but he's there when it counts. Post the third of three.



When they got off the train in Maysville, Rachel and Art were waiting for them. Art had two of his deputies with him and was delegating the tasks that were most urgent. Tim had shot someone, so he got whisked away by another deputy to hand in his weapon and give a statement. Rachel took Raylan to the side. A few wisps of hair had gotten free from her usually stringent hair style, indicating that the two teams had to use force to take down the organization.

"Everything alright?" Raylan asked her. She was glowing, so he didn't think anything bad had happened.

"We got them," Rachel replied with a smile. "We've taken them to the precinct here already. Everything's taken care of."

Raylan sighed. "Good." He had had enough action for that day. A team of forensic scientists was entering the train car behind them to start their investigation. Raylan watched Tim talk with Art while sitting on a waiting bench, getting his head wound checked out by a paramedic. They were out of earshot. Raylan got nervous just watching Tim's and Art's expressions.

"He alright?" Rachel asked Raylan, her head tilt indicating their partner.

Raylan just nodded. Tim looked embarrassed for a moment, scratching his ear when the paramedic talked to him. Raylan consciously turned away and faced Rachel to concentrate on her. "He's fine."

"He shot someone," Rachel said. "They told him not to."

Raylan thought about that for a moment. Maybe that was the reason Tim hadn't immediately drawn his weapon. It had to have been his first instinct. Usually, as soon as someone had a weapon out, Tim did, too. He had waited this time.

"I don't know," Raylan told her. He didn't want to talk to her about this. She sighed and nodded like that was all the information she had expected to get from him.

The paramedic left Tim and Art alone then, and after another few exchanges, Tim finally got up. Art put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. It seemed oddly paternal. Tim just shuffled his feet and said something else before finally turning towards them and coming closer.

"You need a hospital?" Raylan asked.

Tim shook his head. "I just need to get another weapon again. I'd just broken that one in, too," he complained and shouldered his way past them to get to the exit. It looked like he was done for the day.

"Do they need us for anything else?" Raylan asked as they followed Tim through the waiting hall of the station. A couple of people in Tim's path quickly made way, given the state of his gun, badge, and bloody shirt.

Rachel smiled at the strangers reassuringly and walked more quickly, catching up. "I've kept a squad car here. I'll take you guys home."

"Thank you," Tim said and turned around. "Home, bed. No office, no hospital, nothing."

Rachel rolled her eyes next to Raylan. He could see her grin from the corners of his eyes.

"He's annoyed because Conley hit him in the face," Raylan told her with a conspiratorial, but loud whisper that Tim could easily overhear.

"He's always been an asshole," Tim said and let Rachel pass him so she could guide them to her car.

"You knew him?" Rachel asked.

Raylan followed. He hadn't forgotten what Conley had said. He had no idea what to make of it, but he had already typed a note into his phone so he wouldn't forget the details.

"He was a Ranger. Went private contractor after his tour and was sent back to Afghanistan." Tim looked at them. "Looks like he got sacked there."

"Looks like," Raylan agreed.

Rachel just shook her head. "And he what, decided drug dealing was an acceptable alternative form of making money?"

Tim snorted. "Hell if I know. I remember him once offering me hindu kush in the Hindu Kush. Thought it was the funniest joke, too."

Raylan couldn't help but grin. "It is kind of good."

Rachel snorted and got out her keys. She pressed a button and the car's lights lit up when the doors unlocked. They walked over to the car, Raylan going for the back seat because of the unspoken agreement that if Tim didn't drive, he at least had to ride in the front.

Tim glared at Raylan. "He couldn't hack it in the real world. He's one of those guys who can't even think for themselves," he said as he opened the door.

"He didn't sound like he liked you," Raylan said, but thought about kicking himself when he said that. He didn't want to bring that up. He had promised Tim he would never have to talk about this time in the service - he had promised himself he wouldn't bring it up. He got into the car and closed the door behind him.

Tim just shrugged. "I didn't like him either," was all he said before he climbed into the passenger seat and cranked the seat all the way back, making Raylan scramble to avoid getting his legs squeezed.

"Bastard," Raylan mumbled and tried to get comfortable with his knees hitting the back of Tim's seat. Rachel took one look at the way Raylan was sitting and laughed at him.

"You safe back there?" she asked and started the car. She looked at Tim, then back at Raylan. "You know I'd let you sit up front, but with Tim here," she trailed off, grinning. "No chance."

"Snug and cozy," Raylan said and relaxed when Tim pulled the seat forward a couple of inches. "Thanks," he grumbled. He hated sitting in the backseat, but he guessed he'd hate it even more if Tim were to suddenly start retching because he got car sick in the back.

They had at least an hour drive back to Lexington, so Tim pulled his seat forward after a few miles, allowing Raylan to stretch out his legs.

"Rachel, can we hit a Drive Thru, please?" Raylan asked from the back seat. He wasn't really hungry yet, because they had eaten lunch, but he wanted fries and a Coke.

Rachel pulled over at a McDonald's and stopped at the menu. "Coke and fries," Tim said and looked at Raylan.

"Same for me," Raylan said.

Rachel nodded and ordered the same for herself, too. "I wonder if it's a Marshal thing," she mused while they waited for their orders. When they were handed to her, she passed them on. Tim took her order too and put it in the middle console.

"Maybe it's an after-take-down thing," Raylan mused.

"Adrenaline crash demanding fries?" Tim asked.

"Fries and caffeine," Raylan replied.

Rachel seemed to find them amusing and opened her mouth to say something, so Raylan shot her a curious look.

"Something's changed," Rachel noted and pointed between the two of them. "Between you two, I mean," she clarified. "I don't know what or why or when, but something is different."

"I've finally accepted that we won't get rid of him again anytime soon," Tim said and patted her knee. "But you're still my favorite," he told her with a conspiratorial smile.

Rachel tilted her head. "Actually, I'm not so sure about that."

Tim looked at Raylan, but didn't say anything. "We've known each other for exactly nine months longer, you do realize that, right?" Tim asked her. "I learned all my Marshal trade secrets from you. That's a bond not even a Miami hot shot can destroy."

Rachel wagged her finger at Tim. "I still remember that first time you screwed up."

That got Raylan curious. "Really?"

Tim shook his head. "No, please."

"It was a hostage situation," Rachel said, reminiscing. "We were surprised, and some thug pulled a gun on us. I thought, I'm working with a rookie, who knows what he's going to do, but he just smiled like the thug had given him a compliment or something. Cool as a fucking cucumber."

Tim munched on his fries, firmly ignoring Rachel. Raylan thought he remembered that look Rachel was describing from the last time they were in a sticky situation with guns pointed at them.

"He told us to surrender our weapons and Tim just looked him in the eye and said, 'Not gonna happen' like he was in charge instead of the guy with the gun."

"I was," Tim said. "He looked like he was going to shit his pants."

"Whereas Tim here," Rachel continued, ignoring Tim's comment, "Looked like he was invulnerable or something. I just slowly put my weapon down, but it was a staring match between those two. Anyway, the guy got even more angry and I told Tim to kindly put his fucking weapon down before he got us shot."

"She really cursed. You should've seen it," Tim agreed.

"I wish I had been there," Raylan admitted. It sounded fascinating.

"Tim finally broke the staring contest and started putting the weapon down, maybe because he remembered that that's what he was supposed to do in this kind of situation," Rachel said and looked at him. "Why did you decide to put your weapon down? I never dared to ask you that."

Tim toasted her with his Coke and took a long gulp. "He was an idiot. He was angry with me, so I could be sure that he'd at least shoot me first."

Rachel frowned. "That's the reason?"

Tim shrugged. "That and I was pretty sure he'd be a bad shot. He was shaking with rage. Might not hit me at all."

"I hope you're joking," Rachel said. She looked at Raylan and continued her story with a smile. "So, Tim put the weapon down on the ground, but as soon as that guy moved and shifted his weapon, Tim was on him and I don't know what parts of him he hit, but that guy went down like a sack of bricks." Rachel hesitated then and Raylan wondered if maybe the next part wasn't as funny.

"And then suddenly, Rachel started yelling 'Don't kill him!'," Tim said, mimicking her voice, and looked at her.

"You looked scary," Rachel said. "I didn't know him very well then, but he was behind that guy and kneeling on his back and had his head in his hands like he was going to snap his neck." She sobered at that and looked at Tim. "You're still like that sometimes."

Tim shrugged. "It was just reflexes. I had my hands on him and realized last moment that I was supposed to cuff him not snuff him."

Raylan wondered why that sounded like a mantra more than anything else. "Cuff him not snuff him?" he asked and put his hand on Tim's neck. He squeezed and stroked his thumb over the short hair there before he realized that they were in a car with Rachel and the implications of that gesture became clear to him. He let go then and laughed it off. "You're a funny man," he said and leaned back, putting some distance between them.

"I didn't tell Art," Rachel said. "I knew he'd be a good deputy," she said and looked at Tim. "You are," she said when Tim snorted and waved her praise off. "In the beginning, you were a bit of a hot head, always going in without backup, and always quick to lose your temper when we had to do things by the book, but now you're good."

"Awww," Raylan said and defused the situation when it became clear that Tim had no idea what to answer.

Rachel grinned. "And I think it's that I've known you since the beginning that you feel weird when I'm around," she concluded. "So, if Raylan's your favorite because you're both hot heads and you both lose your temper with procedure, and everything, I don't mind."

"Good to know," Tim said and upended his bag of fries in his mouth to get the last short ones. Then he crumbled the bag and tossed it over his shoulder at Raylan. "Told you she'd understand. And you worried."

"Ha, ha," Raylan commented and let the wadded-up bag fall to the floor.

They stayed quiet for a bit after that while Rachel took them down the interstate back to Lexington. After a while, Tim got comfortable in the passenger seat, only to be disturbed by Rachel poking him awake.

"I'd let you sleep, because you look like you need it, but," she stopped herself there because she didn't need to explain.

"No problem," Tim said and sat up straight. Then he turned the air conditioning a little colder.

"You alright, though?" Rachel asked, feeling bold after the story they had shared earlier.

Tim made a face. "It's just a little scratch, really," he said, downplaying her concern. "It just looks bad."

Raylan, who had actually seen it happen, wanted to disagree, but shut up. Rachel looked at him in the rearview mirror and turned her lips down. She didn't believe Tim either, but let it go. It seemed she had a talent at Tim-reading for beginners, a class Raylan still hadn't mastered. They spent the rest of the drive quietly, mostly because Tim made it clear that he didn't want to talk about what had happened.

When they arrived back in Lexington, Rachel took the exit to the inner city and at the first traffic lights that stopped them, turned around to look at Raylan.

"Do you want me to drop you off first?" she asked him. "I think you're closer to the office," she said to Tim.

Tim twisted in his seat and looked back at Raylan. "You want to make sure I don't have a concussion?" he asked casually, like he wasn't asking what he was asking.

"Sure," Raylan said. "Might as well ensure your continued welfare."

Tim hummed. Neither of them said anything else in front of Rachel, which made her look at them. Raylan shook his head at her. "He might fall into a coma."

Rachel didn't look like she believed him. "Maybe you should start looking into apartments," she said with a frown.

Raylan mirrored her expression, although he was quite sure he looked as surprised at her revelation as he felt. "What?"

"If you're trying to get a place on Tim's couch, maybe you should start looking at places that aren't located above a bar."

Tim grinned, catching on that she didn't actually know anything about their situation. "Yeah, Raylan. If you want a quiet place, why not look for one not above a bar?"

Raylan hit Tim's seat with his knee, relieved that Rachel had meant something completely different. "I love my apartment."

Tim looked at Rachel with a smug grin on his face. "He doesn't want to be alone tonight. It's been a stressful day."

Rachel navigated through the traffic and pulled up to the curb at Tim's apartment complex. "I'll see you guys tomorrow?"

Both men confirmed that. "Nine, unless Art wants to see us earlier than that," Raylan said.

Tim was rummaging around his jeans, most likely for his keys, and pulled out his badge.

"Well, shit," Raylan mumbled. His go bag was at the office, too. Their escape from the day's events hadn't calculated for their stuff still being at the office. "We might have to go see Art after all."

Rachel rolled the window on the passenger side down and leaned over. She made a face. "Really? You have your gun and your badge on you, but you couldn't be bothered to bring your keys?"

Tim raised his index finger. "You of little faith," he said and pulled a spare key from the inside pocket of his badge. It came out along with a twenty dollar bill. "I'm always prepared."

"See you tomorrow," Raylan told Rachel when she waved them off. He was glad they didn't need to go back to the office.

"Tomorrow," Rachel confirmed and leaned back.

"This explains so much," he told Tim when Rachel had pulled out into traffic again. "You seriously have a spare key in your badge, which has your name on it?" Raylan asked. The concept seemed preposterous in connection with Tim, who was usually so careful. "Your name, which everyone can get your address from?"

Tim looked at Raylan over his shoulder as he slowly walked up the stairs. "No one gets the drop on me," he promised Raylan. "But if it makes you feel better, I'll give you my spare key and let you hold onto it."

Raylan nodded, because that would make him feel better. He tapped the guard rail as they walked down the open lobby to Tim's apartment. There weren't any spots to hide a key well. "We'd be shit out of luck today, though, because my keys are in my bag at the office, too," he conceded.

Tim shrugged. "One last time then. We could give Rachel a spare. I think my apartment came with three." He unlocked the key with his spare and held it out to Raylan. "Don't read anything into it," he muttered, as if worried this was going to be something.

Raylan took the key with a grin. "So this doesn't mean I can come in unannounced now?"

Tim sighed. "Actually, it probably wouldn't bother me much," he said. "If I need alone time, I'll let you know."

Raylan snorted. When he looked at the way Tim was inspecting his collar and was obviously miffed at the blood stains, he suddenly felt worried. He hadn't felt that way on the train earlier, when Conley had slugged Tim with the butt of his gun. He felt that spike of anxiety now. What if Conley hadn't just hit Tim over the head? What if he had pulled the trigger quicker than either of them could react? With a few steps, he crowded into Tim's personal space and put a hand on his temple where it was covered by a bandage.

"Jesus," Tim mumbled, startled by the sudden contact. He hissed when Raylan touched the wound, but didn't put any distance between them.

"You're alright," Raylan said out loud for both of them.

"I am," Tim confirmed. He was blinking a lot, but otherwise seemed okay.

"I know you are. I know what happened. But," Raylan stopped himself there and sighed. "Why didn't you pull your weapon?"

"Compartment full of people," Tim reminded him and put a hand on top of Raylan's. "Some ice would feel good right now," he mumbled and made an aborted movement to lean in. Raylan didn't allow him to pull back, but reached for his arm instead to pull him in.

"You worry me," he said with a crooked grin.

"I worry a lot of people," Tim offered and jerked out of Raylan's grasp. He took a few steps towards the kitchen and that was enough to put some distance between them emotionally. When Tim arrived at the fridge to pull out some ice from the freezer, he was his closed-off self again. He poured a few ice cubes in a Ziploc bag and held it to his temple. "I'm going to watch some TV and then drink. If that's not your thing, you could go home?" His tone suggested that he needed space and Raylan wasn't welcome to his party.

Raylan frowned. He had missed something again. "You're being a bit of an asshole right now. How come?"

"I don't need you questioning my actions," Tim said with gritted teeth and sank into the couch in front of the TV. He didn't look at Raylan. Instead, he reached for the remote and leaned back, resting his head on the back of the couch. He looked at the ceiling. "If I'd been able to pull, I would've. And I don't need you to worry about me, too."

Raylan shook his head and took a few steps closer to the couch so he could look down at Tim's face. It seemed that no matter what he said, he said the wrong thing, or it wasn't getting across right. He tried again. "I'm worried because you got hit over the head with a gun. He could have shot you." His anger matched Tim's now.

"I could get killed any day, Raylan. Your concern is noted, but not needed. Or wanted," he added coldly.

Raylan threw his hands up. "Fine," he said and patted his pants pocket for the key Tim had given him. He left without saying anything and slammed the door behind him louder than necessary. Tim clearly didn't want him there right now. Down in the courtyard, an elderly woman looked up with a disapproving shake of her head when she heard the door slam. Raylan almost made a face at her, but opted for stalking through the lobby towards the staircase instead.

Down in the street, he realized he was stranded. Rachel had driven off, and he and Tim had taken their cars to the precinct in the morning individually, because they hadn't spent the night together. Although, Raylan mused, Tim had arrived at the office before him. Maybe he had gotten a ride. He often left his car at home and caught a ride with someone. Raylan checked out the parking lot at the side of the building as a last resort before he would flag down a cab and indeed, Tim's car was in the lot. After he had seen how Tim hid his spare apartment key, he tried the tank and got lucky. He found the key wedged in the small hollow next to the cap. The department's way of hiding the spare keys in the squad cars had been taken up by its members. Raylan himself was guilty of the same thing. He got in and pulled out of the parking space. The attendant waved him out.

Raylan took the car down to the office, pleased with the smooth way the SUV was running. He hadn't had reason to drive Tim's car before, but it was nice. There were sunglasses, tissues, coins, a shell casing, all randomly strewn into the middle console. Raylan tried not to look too closely or read anything into the chaos, but he did steal a piece of chewing gum. He popped it into his mouth and cursed at drivers, trying to make himself feel better over his anger at Tim.

He parked the car in the parking lot outside the building and walked in through the main entrance. He jogged up the stairs and found himself in the squad room again. Art was in his office, still wearing his US Marshals windbreaker, and the rest of the department was busy wrapping up the case. They had just arrived and were organizing the files and information they had. Everything was flowing into the conference room, where someone had set up whiteboards to coordinate the information they were getting. Art nodded at him in greeting and frowned, waving him inside.

"Art," Raylan grumbled and sat down in the chair across from his boss.

"Raylan, what are you doing here?"

"Tim's pissing me off," Raylan admitted. He didn't want it to sound like they were an old couple. As far as he knew, Art still didn't know that they were closer than just co-workers. On the other hand, Art always knew more than anyone told him. If he knew, however, he didn't say anything.

"Raylan," Art began and looked at him like he wanted to be exasperated and disappointed, but couldn't be because there was something Raylan wasn't getting and Art felt he couldn't fault him for it. Raylan always felt very stupid under that gaze.

"He's pissed because I was worried." Raylan threw his hands up. "He almost got shot. I know what he's capable of. It's not that I don't trust him. But-"

Art smiled indulgently while Raylan ranted. "Duly noted," he said when Raylan was done. "You know he knew Conley?"

Raylan nodded.

"They were in the same unit together before Tim got transferred," Art said and pulled out the file on Conley that was stuck under whatever he was working on. He offered the file to Raylan. "Their convoy got attacked one day. Nasty shit. Lost half their guys. Spent a night in a ditch and under heavy fire together."

Raylan didn't know what Art was getting at. The way it had sounded when Tim had talked about Conley earlier, they hadn't been friends. The way Tim had talked about him, it sounded more like they had barely tolerated each other. Apparently, his thoughts were an open book to Art, because Art sighed.

"Thing is, they knew each other well. Maybe not the best time to take Tim's word as is."

"Is there going to be an investigation?" Raylan asked. "Because you know what you said and what-"

"Trigger-happy cold-blooded cop killer?" Art asked, repeating what Tim had said earlier that day. That he used exactly the same wording made Raylan realize that someone at the court had to have used those very words to describe Tim the day before. Conley's words 'baby killer' came to Raylan's mind again and he pushed them down. Art shook his head. "No, I don't think there will be one." The way he said it made Raylan think that Art was going to take care of this any way he could to avoid Tim having to go to another hearing so soon after the last one.

"What happened after that? That night, with him and Conley, I mean."

Art shrugged. "It's a blank. Whatever Tim did that night got him noticed and transferred to a special task force. It's a sealed record after that right up until he got out." Art shrugged like he didn't know and had never asked. "That's the part that worries them. They know Tim was involved in some heavy stuff, but they can't access it. Trying to get him to talk about it was like forcing tears from a stone."

Raylan nodded. He had expected as much. That also explained why Tim had been so cold afterwards. "Can I do anything while I'm here?"

Art shook his head. "We'll take care of everything. I'm calling in Vasquez so he can sort the shooting out. Go home, Raylan. Better yet, go see Tim and pretend you don't care about him. It'll make him feel better."

"How'd you figure?" Raylan wanted to know. He believed Art had some special paternal insight into all of them.

"The whole time he was a soldier, he had no family to worry about him. The buddies who were there with him, were worried about their own lives. He's a sniper, so he probably had all their backs, not much of the other way round. I'm not sure he's realized yet why we might actually care if he dies or not."

"He's an asshole."

Art grinned. "I'm pretty sure he thinks the same way about you."

Raylan nodded, remembering that moment in the gym the day before. "He does. He's told me so."

"See? Now go see him, bring some food, apologize for caring, and… I don't know what it is you two do when you get home." Art shrugged. "Just get out of here before Vasquez comes up. He might have some questions for you."

"Right," Raylan said and got up. "Nine okay tomorrow?"

Art shooed him out of here. "Soon enough for me to see your mugs here."

Raylan grabbed his go bag and checked Tim's desk for anything he might be missing at home. Raylan didn't want to look through Tim's bag, but decided to anyway, because he couldn't find his keys or anything on the desk. He pulled open the zipper and found clothes and a Maxim magazine. The keys and the wallet were wedged between a pair of jeans and a windbreaker. He zipped the bag closed again and took both it and his own to the elevator.

He arrived downstairs before anyone could stop him and ask him questions. Vasquez thankfully was somewhere else in the building. He put the bags in the trunk of Tim's car, on top of the huge weapons lock box that was bolted to the floor of the car, and got in. He called ahead to the Mexican restaurant near Tim's place and told them to get two dinners ready, his and Tim's favorites. Then he stopped at the off-license, bought limes and a six pack of Corona, and drove to the restaurant. Tim had better appreciate the effort he was putting into their dinner. With the food and alcohol, he pulled into the parking lot of Tim's apartment complex, got waved in by the same inattentive attendant, and got ready for another round with his partner. Only this one would be shorter, because Raylan had time to come to terms with the fact that Tim was quite obviously an idiot and felt that he could deal with him now.

He wondered if maybe Tim's situation wasn't very much unlike his own. Boyd had been his friend, no doubt about that. They had always had their differences, but all in all, they had gone through some tough times together. Boyd had turned out to be on a very different side from his own, not unlike Conley. He had shot Boyd too, but he hadn't been able to kill him. He tried to see the situation from Tim's point of view now that he knew the backstory. Someone he had at one point trusted with his life had tried to kill him, so Tim had done the one thing he had been taught to do in such a situation. He shot to kill - to defend his partner and the lives of innocent passengers.

Raylan sometimes felt that with Tim there was very little middle ground. There was no hesitancy in the end. Raylan rubbed his eyes. He had known that already before today, but the way Tim had basically thrown him out of the apartment should have told Raylan that it was just one of those things that Tim did. He kept people at arm's length, just in case it didn't work out. He wondered if Tim had laid in the desert in Afghanistan sometimes, making up stories about his targets and knowing that he would kill them in a few hours, all the while wondering if he would ever be able to have a normal relationship after that.

Fuck it, Raylan thought decisively. Neither of them were normal and normal relationships were grossly overrated anyway. He took the stairs to Tim's apartment and walked through the lobby, packed like a mule with their two bags and the food and alcohol. He put the bags down and unlocked the apartment door. He was faced with a very startled Tim looking over the back of the couch he had quite obviously been sleeping on.

"Jesus," Tim muttered and ran a hand through his messy hair. "What's wrong with you?" he asked and put something heavy and metallic down on the coffee table. Raylan pushed the two bags into the apartment with his foot and pushed the door closed with his butt before setting the food and alcohol down on the table.

"Food," Raylan just said and went over to where Tim had laid down again. The ice in the Ziploc bag had melted and was now lying uselessly on the ground next to the couch. There was a heavy K-Bar knife lying on the coffee table next to a small orange plastic bottle. Raylan picked it up and identified its contents as pain medication.

"Good thing you didn't throw that," Raylan mused about the knife and bent down to inspect Tim more closely. "You don't look good," he said when he found Tim looking pale and pinched. His brows were knitted together like he was in pain and he looked cold. The blanket that usually hung over the back of the couch was half on his legs and half on the floor.

"I've got a headache," Tim mumbled and fiddled with the edge of the blanket.

"Feeling dizzy, nauseous? If you've got a concussion, I'm taking you to hospital."

"No. Just… It's fine, really." He nodded towards the small orange bottle, indicating that it was taking care of everything that had ever pained him.

"I brought you enchiladas with black beans and corn bread. And Corona and limes." Raylan didn't add any personal insults to that line, but got up instead and took the Ziploc bag to the kitchen, where he emptied its contents into the sink. He filled it again with ice cubes and dried the residual water off the plastic before taking it back to Tim.

Tim had sat up in the meantime and was watching him. "I'm sorry," Tim mumbled. "Thanks for the food."

Raylan waved him off and pressed the bag to Tim's temple, running his thumb over his cheekbone. Tim didn't flinch back, so Raylan kept his hand there for a moment.

"Took your car to the office and got our bags," he explained when he moved again to take their dinner out of the containers.

Tim looked at him blearily, holding the ice to his face.

Raylan tilted his head and moved his hands in a continuing gesture. "Which means I've got no car. You're stuck with me until tomorrow."

"You want to stay over?" Tim asked, like it came as a surprise. Given what he had said to Raylan earlier, it probably was.

"Yes, you dumbass." Raylan set everything out on the table and waved Tim over. "You just bring yourself," he said when Tim checked the table to see if they needed anything else.

"We're eating pretty unhealthily," Tim said when he sat down. He reached for the cornbread and pinched at it with one hand until a piece came off. He brought it to his mouth and chewed it slowly, watching Raylan's movements.

Raylan opened the Coronas with his pocket knife and cut up a lime to wedge the slices into the neck of the bottle. "True," he said and handed Tim a bottle. "We can start with the vegetables tomorrow," he offered and clinked his bottle against Tim's before taking a long drink.

They ate in relative quiet because neither wanted to talk about what had been said earlier, and the only other topic they could think of right then was what had gone down earlier that day - which led again to another unwanted conversation. Raylan saw the problem in their relationship. They didn't really have a lot in common. Raylan liked some sports which Tim didn't even know how to play. Tim liked animated movies, which Raylan found pretty damn ridiculous. They did have other things in common, though. Both of them liked running and anything that happened in a forest, including climbing and canoeing. Asking for Tim's weekend plans might make him seem odd, though, so he stayed quiet.

He realized then that Tim wasn't eating so much as picking around on his plate with his fork.

"Not hungry?" Raylan asked, observing that Tim's Corona was already gone.

"Guess not."

Raylan had learned the last time something had gone wrong that Tim didn't deal well with pain. "Want to hit the sack early? I can amuse myself," Raylan offered.

Tim looked up. "Might do that." That admission meant he was feeling low. He got up slowly like he was deciding what to do as he went. Raylan watched him disappear in the bedroom and waited a bit before he collected the leftovers. He put everything in the fridge and cleaned up after them. When the kitchen and living room were clean again - he was a guest here after all - he joined Tim in the bedroom. The blinds were pulled down, shutting out any light. He brushed his teeth with 'his' toothbrush and took his jeans and shirts off before crawling into bed behind Tim.

"That alright?" he mumbled and pressed a kiss to Tim's shoulder.

Tim hummed an affirmative, but didn't move. The ice bag had fallen off, or maybe Tim had taken it off after the usual couple of minutes it was supposed to stay on. Raylan felt he couldn't sleep yet, so he sat up and arranged the pillows so he could sit. He pulled Tim towards him and put the ice bag back in place. Tim was dozing already, so Raylan arranged the comforter on top of him and brushed his thumb over Tim's shoulder. Then he leaned back and sat in the dark, waiting for the shadows to get longer.

He hadn't imagined their drug bust would go like that. He had hoped for something more substantial - for an actual result. The day hadn't ended the way he had planned. Raylan always wanted to know what was going on - he wanted to be involved so he could change things if necessary. He didn't think of himself as controlling or obsessive, but he wanted things to go right. How could he know things were going right if he wasn't involved? It disturbed him not to know what had happened after they had left that train. He didn't know what the Marshals had found, or whom they had arrested. He didn't know who the people in Cincinnati were that were threatening to come down to Lexington. He felt himself tense and consciously relaxed, taking a deep breath. No matter what was happening right now, or what had happened, or what was going to happen once they knew more - he had learned something. He looked down at Tim.

He had never been in a relationship with another man. He wasn't even sure that what he had with Tim could be considered one. They had started this dance a couple of months ago, but so far all it had been were nights of fucking and little talking - except for the night before last and this one. But he knew that he wanted to give this a chance, and if it meant re-evaluating most of his habits and the way he thought about his lovers, then so be it. Tim was a difficult man, but then, Raylan guessed, so was he. He didn't think that any relationship could be harder than the one he had had with Winona.

He got up again when the ice cubes had melted about half an hour later and took the baggie to the kitchen before going into the living room. He switched on the TV and the DVD player and watched Monsters, Inc. mute and with closed captions. He got the appeal of it after a while and felt himself giggle when Boo did. Maybe Pixar was the right way to switch off after a difficult day after all.

Halfway through the movie, Tim padded out into the living room, eyes narrowed to avoid the light flashes coming from the TV, stared at Raylan for a moment before making his way back to bed with a shrug. Raylan snorted at the quiet exchange and switched off the DVD player and the TV.

"Go home, Raylan," Tim offered tiredly. "You really don't need to stay here."

Raylan didn't know what he could do to convince Tim that he wasn't staying out of some misplaced feeling of responsibility. He got back into bed after a few more minutes and curled up against Tim, feeling the heat from his bed partner soak into him. Finally, Raylan was tired enough to go to sleep.

* * *

The next morning, Art greeted them with a pinched look on his face. He eyed them both up and down before waving them into his office and closing the door behind him. He touched the side of his own head when he saw the bump on Tim's head. Raylan had replaced last night's bandage with a new one while Tim had been sitting at the bar in the kitchen, drinking his coffee.

"Raylan, you'll need to give a very good statement today," he warned Raylan when they had sat down in the chair across from his desk.

Raylan heard the worried tone in his voice. "What's wrong?"

Art shook his head. "Someone up there really doesn't like Tim here," he said. Tim didn't seem impressed. He hunched in his seat and just looked unhappy. If Raylan didn't know him better, he would have thought that Tim was nervous. He caught Tim's fingers before they could start scratching at the bandage. Art caught the gesture, but didn't comment.

"So you need to smile and nod and be good today, and tell everyone who asks you how Conley was threatening to shoot you," Art said, completely ignoring their new-found familiarity. "I don't care how slow you have to paint yourself - you didn't have time to pull and Tim saved your ass."

Raylan frowned. "But that's what actually happened."

Art smiled indulgently. "It would help if you could say that without the downturned face. You tell them what happened and that Conley gave Tim no choice but to shoot."

"What's Hailey saying?"

Art snorted. "Hailey's saying whatever gets his family out of his mess safe and sound. I hear he's going to tell the judge and everyone who's listening that he wasn't even on the train when everything went down."

Tim looked disappointed. "What's going to happen?"

"I don't know," Art replied honestly. "I swear, if I can avoid dragging you into this, I will. I'll do my best. But someone's got it in for us."

"Us?"

"Raylan, you're not exactly a poster boy for good behavior. Until now, it's been Tim's job to save your ass when it gets hairy. This time, you need to return the favor."

"Is Vasquez involved?" Raylan asked.

Art denied that. "No. He would've been easier to convince, but they passed him over. I called him last night to ask him if he could cover our asses, but there's nothing he can do. He's pissed, actually."

"No wonder," Raylan mumbled. "He probably wants to nail my ass himself."

"Is there anything I can do to make it look less… bad?" Tim asked.

Art shook his head. "They did a postmortem blood tox screen and proved that Conley was on drugs. It was a justified shooting and there won't be anyone who'll mourn his demise. So there's nothing personally against you. What they will note is that it's another shooting so shortly after the last and by the same shooter."

"They want me gone?" Tim asked, tense.

Art sighed, which meant that he had no answer to that question. "They've got nothing," he said firmly. "Both shootings were good, so you don't have to worry about anything. They might tell you to go see someone."

"I already do," Tim said. "I already have to see some stupid psychologist and talk about my fucking feelings." He looked at Art and leaned forward. "He asked me if I regretted my shootings last time. I don't know how to talk to that guy. He doesn't know what it's like. He asked me about-" he stopped himself and clenched his fists. "I'm doing my ten hours, but not more."

Raylan pulled on Tim's sleeve and pulled him back down into the seat. "Art's not exactly responsible for that."

"I'm not giving them shit. He's asking questions about Afghanistan. He asks about operations that he's not even supposed to know about, operations I wasn't even officially taking part in. I can't lie to him." He was upset and jumped up again. "I feel like throwing up every time I go there. I don't want to talk about those kills." He crossed his arms protectively in front of him and glared.

Raylan thought that Art looked understandably sad at that. He himself felt pretty much the same way. Tim had seen things that none of them had even the slightest inkling about and he was younger than all of them, even Rachel. Raylan shared a look with Art and then glanced away. They both seemed to agree that maybe Tim should talk about those things with someone.

"Tim," Art began and waited until Tim had calmed down. He waited to see if Tim would sit down again, but he didn't. He stayed standing and looking out into the squad room. "See that guy. Tell him you don't want to talk about it. He can't force you." The implied 'but' at the end of that sentence was enough to make Tim glare at Art.

"Give me something to do. Anything."

Art took that as the dismissal it was. He nodded. "Go talk to Rachel. She's got enough on her desk to give you something to do, too."

Tim bid them goodbye and Raylan twisted to watch as he stalked out onto the floor, sat down in Raylan's chair and shuffled closer to Rachel.

"He should talk to someone," Art said. "Do you talk about-"

Raylan shook his head so Art stopped his question.

"He's angry," Raylan said.

Art sighed. "Maybe he's right to be."

"Not sure there's a 'maybe' in there," Raylan said and got up. "I'll talk to him about it."

* * *

Raylan didn't see Tim for the rest of the day. He went out and drove up to Maysville to talk to his contact again and see if he could get some more information out of him with a little more incentive. If Raylan could show that he had some more information about the Cincinnati drug network, maybe his contact would suddenly remember a couple more facts.

His hopes were destroyed when he couldn't even find his contact. He tried all the man's usual haunts and worried that he should have dragged him into a police station last time they talked just to make sure the man was telling him everything he knew. He even checked the police precinct, but without results. He drove back frustrated and angry that he couldn't get any results at all.

He returned in the late afternoon, tired and uncomfortable from sitting in his car for so long. The last thing he wanted to do after that day was talk to Tim about feelings. He rubbed his neck as he walked up the stairs of the Marshals office and shouldered his way into the squad room. On his way to his chair, he pulled his hat off, ran his hand through his hair to straighten it out and put the hat on again.

Rachel was still at her desk and twisted her chair to face him. "You look like you didn't get what you wanted today," she commented his weary posture.

"Today's been a disaster," Raylan said and leaned forward to do a search on his contact. Maybe someone had seen him, maybe the BOLO he had entered into the system in Maysville had yielded a result in the meantime. While the computer started up, he jerked a thumb at Tim's work place and asked Rachel where he was.

"Tim went home an hour ago. He's had a headache all day." She pointed at her temple and the side of her head to illustrate why Tim was most likely in pain.

Raylan hummed. "I've been trying to talk to my contact today," he said because he thought she might have some input that might help. "Couldn't even find the little rat."

"You put out a BOLO?"

Raylan nodded. "He better pop back up. I've been thinking, and if he knows that much about the network in Cincinnati, he probably knows more about… the-" he stopped himself and leaned forward when his computer gave him a search result. "Shit," he mumbled then when he read what was on the screen.

Rachel walked her rolling chair over next to his and leaned in so she could see what Raylan was looking at.

"He looks dead," Rachel commented unhappily.

Raylan nodded and narrowed his eyes. "I'll ask them to check his DNA. I'm not going back up there again tomorrow. I hate that drive."

Rachel seemed to agree. "That probably means he knew more than he told you."

"I realize that," Raylan said and huffed. "I can't believe he got himself killed."

Rachel snorted at his incorrectness. "Don't say things like that. Makes us worry and Art send you to a sensitivity training course."

"That's it," Raylan decided. "I'm going home."

Rachel smiled. "I'll join you. I don't want to be the last to leave today."

"What're you still doing here, anyway?" Raylan wondered. Everyone else seemed to have already gone home.

"I was going through some of the results of the drug tests. They checked the Oxy from Ohio against Oxy from Florida and it's a bit… well, I'll tell you all tomorrow."

"Something wrong?"

"Dirty, is more the word I'd use," Rachel muttered. "Someone's being cheap and faking Oxy. That's why we've got two deaths already from that batch alone. It's laced with," she glanced at her file for the information, but Raylan held his hands up. It was too late for chemicals that no one could pronounce properly.

"You're right. That can wait until tomorrow."

"Had enough for today, huh?" Rachel asked and grabbed her purse. Raylan switched his computer off and followed her out. He overtook her and held the door open for her with a tip of his hat. "Still got it," he mumbled when she grinned at him.

"You've definitely got it," Rachel said and pressed the button for the elevator. "Just not sure you should be wasting it on me."

Raylan tilted his head at her. "Not a waste," he complimented her. They both knew he wasn't serious about it. In fact, their relationship was probably the better for it. He didn't seriously try to flirt with her, and she didn't admit that she found him charming.

"Do you want to get a drink?" Raylan asked her while they waited for the elevator to arrive on the ground floor. That wasn't how he had planned to end the night, but if they didn't take too long, he might actually stay awake long enough to get home in one piece.

Rachel shook her head. "Are you really up for it?" she asked him. "Because you look even more tired than I feel and all I want is my cat and the couch for an hour before going to bed."

Raylan sighed. "You're right. Maybe today's not a good day. We'll have to get together sometime, though."

"Great," Rachel said and agreed. "Maybe on the weekend. It's only two days away."

Raylan agreed and waited until she had passed him. She held the door to the parking lot open for him. They said their goodbyes and Raylan waited until she had pulled out before doing the same. He stopped at the gate and tried to figure out where he wanted to go. Rachel had had a good idea, a cat, a couch, and going to bed early, but Raylan really didn't want to do that alone tonight. He pulled into traffic and drove towards the familiar apartment complex. He got a night pass from the attendant and parked in one of the guest spaces. He grabbed his bag from the car and realized he would have to do the laundry one of these days or he wouldn't have any clothes left to wear to the office.

The key to Tim's apartment was on his key ring already, but he knocked anyway before he unlocked the door. The apartment was dark except for a sliver of light that was coming from the bathroom.

"Raylan?" Tim's voice asked from that direction.

"Can I come in?" Raylan asked and waited.

"Always," Tim offered and appeared in the doorway of the bedroom. He was already dressed for bed, in boxer shorts and his favorite, ratty, old T-shirt. "You alright?"

"Shit day," Raylan admitted. "My contact turned up dead. Looks like he knew more than he said, but got killed before he could tell me. And there was a traffic jam and the car was hot and I think the soles of my boots are starting to go."

Tim prowled towards him and Raylan felt Tim's strong hands clutch at his suit jacket before he was pressed against the door and taken in for a kiss that tasted of toothpaste.

"Hello," he said awkwardly when Tim broke for air.

"Hey," Tim replied and gave Raylan enough space to take his boots and hat off and lock the door. He walked ahead and Raylan followed as was expected from him, undressing on the way to the bedroom. Tim grabbed at him again in the bedroom and pushed him down on the bed. Raylan didn't say no to that. He lay in the dark, only his jeans, socks, and undershirt left. Tim took his gun from his belt and kneeling above him, took the magazine out and ratcheted the slide, ejecting the round in the chamber. It hit the bed and jumped off, disappearing somewhere under the bed. He put the gun down on the ground, precariously tilting his upper body until Raylan grabbed at his arm and pulled him back up.

"You're in a mood," he observed and lay still as Tim opened his belt and unbuttoned his jeans.

"Bad mood," Tim replied and started kissing Raylan's hip. They knew each other's bodies well, which helped bring Raylan's 'mood' up to speed. He helped when Tim pushed at his undershirt and arched his back so he could push it up and get at his stomach. Tim's hands played over his sides, before he tugged the jeans down far enough to give Raylan a blowjob.

"I'm not complaining," Raylan said and was rewarded with a nip to a sensitive spot at his crotch. "Maybe a little bit," he hissed when he felt pain. He struggled a little and pulled his undershirt off, wadding it up and putting it down next to him.

Tim was undeterred and sucked at his skin until Raylan gave up any thoughts, just content to let Tim work him. He felt Tim's hot, wet mouth on his cock and hummed happily. Tim's hands running up his body were a surprise move. He moaned appreciatively when Tim took him exactly the way he liked best. They might not have been in a real relationship for the past couple of months, but they had fucked often enough for each to know the other's kinks.

He grabbed Tim's hair and petted him encouragingly while Tim did his best to get Raylan off dirty and quick. Tim was playing unfair, because sooner than he had wanted, Raylan was at the edge and warned Tim that he was going to come. When Raylan tried to pinch Tim's ear to get him to slow down, Tim chuckled which translated to delicious vibrations around Raylan's dick. It only took a few more expert nips and licks before he came.

"Jesus fuck," Raylan mumbled incoherently when he was done. He opened his eyes again, realizing that he had closed them when his orgasm had hit and stared at Tim in the darkness. He could barely make Tim out, because the blinds didn't let much light inside. Tim spat come and saliva on Raylan's undershirt and grinned easily.

"Nice," Tim said and got up. He disappeared in the bathroom and brushed his teeth again before Raylan could even form a proper response to that.

"What was that?" Raylan asked and pulled his jeans and socks off, letting everything drop at the foot of the bed. "If it's anything I've done, tell me and I'll do it more often," he teased and laughed when Tim coughed toothpaste into the sink.

He went into the bathroom himself, shuffling past Tim and patting his ass in passing, and got into the shower in the dark. There was a small window just under the ceiling in the bathroom that offered enough light for him to shower in semi-darkness without needing the lights.

Tim held out a towel when Raylan was done and left when Raylan had taken it from him.

"Nothing," Tim belatedly answered and crawled into bed. He smoothed his T-shirt down and curled up on his side so the still-bandaged side of his head wasn't lying on the pillow. Sometimes, Raylan was disappointed that Tim slept with clothes on, but he figured it was an eccentricity he could live with. He had seen the scars that were marring Tim's skin when they'd had sex before, but Tim usually kept himself covered at all other times. Raylan figured he would have to work on that just the way he'd had to work on getting Tim used to having his scars touched. It had taken a few times before Tim stopped flinching whenever Raylan ran his fingers or lips over one of them. He assumed that Tim's previous lovers hadn't cared much for the marks. He pulled on a pair of boxers himself and followed Tim into bed.

"You want anything in return?" he asked, casting a hand up and down his own body like he was offering letters at Wheel of Fortune.

Tim snorted into his pillow. "Fuck me tomorrow morning and I won't complain. But not tonight."

"Headache still there?" Raylan asked and put a careful hand on Tim's head, stroking his hair just above his ear and below the bandage. He ran his fingers down Tim's temple and watched Tim's eyes close automatically. It made him look soft.

"Barely," Tim conceded, voice muffled by the pillow. It obviously wasn't that, then. He continued vaguely, "But I'm high on painkillers. There's no saying I can even get it up."

"We could try," Raylan offered. "I've got mad ninja skills," he said with a grin in his voice. He tried to keep the situation light, but understood where Tim was coming from. Painkillers were joy killers.

Tim declined the offer. "Sleep." He put his hand on top of Raylan's and squeezed it briefly before letting go and dropping it on the mattress between them. Their interlocked fingers let Raylan in on another secret scar he hadn't discovered yet, this time on Tim's hand, so he twisted their joined hands to investigate where it ran. Tim clearly wasn't up for any talks about it, though, because he started to twist his fingers out of Raylan's grasp to avoid any further contortions.

"Sleep well," Raylan wished him and let go. Tim hummed in return and yawned quietly into his pillow.

Raylan woke a few hours later when Tim kicked out at him under the sheets. Not knowing how bad the nightmare was, he turned onto his side and touched Tim's shoulder high up where his neck was. The simple, warning touch was enough to wake Tim up with a gasp. He came to consciousness breathing heavily and cursing under his breath. Raylan watched Tim lie there for a moment, close to hyperventilating while he tried to anchor himself back in reality. He waited for Tim to calm down because that had worked well last time. Then, suddenly, Tim jerked and shifted in order to get out of bed. Raylan mumbled a quiet 'no' and pulled Tim back against him. Tim had mentioned once that if he couldn't sleep - implying that those were the nights when the nightmares were especially bad - he sometimes went running in the middle of the night. Not wanting to let Tim go when Raylan was there to help him through a nightmare, Raylan prevented him from leaving. He put his hand on Tim's chest and felt his heartbeat. It was beating fast and frantic, in time with his quick breathing.

"Shhh," Raylan muttered and touched Tim, stroking his torso, trying to get him fully back to the present by reminding him where he was. When it was clear that Tim wasn't going to rip himself away from Raylan's grasp again, Raylan wrapped him in the blanket and comforter to protect him from whatever had upset his sleep. Tim slowly relaxed under his petting and curled into Raylan. He buried his face in Raylan's pillow and took a few shuddering breaths, forcing them to come out slower and keeping his air in his lungs longer. Raylan shifted to let Tim share his pillow.

"I need-" Tim mumbled and started to pull away again. Raylan felt Tim's insistent hand push against his ribs to get away.

"Let me," Raylan hushed him and moved them even closer together, aligning their bodies and wrapping one leg around Tim's, trapping his arms between their torsos.

"Fuck," Tim cursed and added a few other strong words, before he finally let go and relaxed into Raylan's touch. Tim's fists were clenched against Raylan's body and he could feel his partner tremble with the residue of his nightmare. Tim clearly didn't want to keep still right now.

"I've got you," Raylan promised, nudging Tim's stubbled cheek with his own face. He breathed in deeply, ran his nose up Tim's face until he could press a short kiss to his temple. Whatever was happening in Tim's dreams, at least Raylan could be there outside of them. Steadily ignoring that Tim was close to a breakdown, Raylan told Tim one bad joke after another, until one particularly pathetic joke finally forced an embarrassed laugh out of him. It took them yet another while after that for Tim to calm down enough again to even consider going to back to sleep.

When Tim finally managed to fall asleep again, Raylan stayed awake, forcing his breathing to slow down enough not to disturb his bed partner. He kept his hand on Tim's nape and brushed his thumb over the hot skin there. Tim was still pressed against him, relaxed and exhausted. He would have to talk to Tim about these night terrors eventually. Knowing them both, they would ignore this interruption in the morning, but it wouldn't do for this to fester any more than it already had. Tim never talked about what he dreamed about and pretended these nightmares didn't happen. Raylan knew they didn't happen often, but even so, Tim's way of dealing with them probably wasn't ideal.

Raylan lay awake, thinking of ways to broach that topic without betraying Tim's confidence. He couldn't find any that wouldn't make both of them uncomfortable. It was becoming clear very quickly that the court had been right in ordering Tim to talk to somebody who could help him, even if they were doing it out of the wrong reason. Tim wasn't unusually trigger-happy by any means, but maybe the judge had seen how tense Tim was when it came to talking about his time in the service. Raylan couldn't quite believe that no one had gotten Tim to talk before, but as closed off as the man was, and given how determined he seemed not to let himself go in front of anyone, maybe it was no surprise. He snorted when he remembered Rachel's words. She had told him that she worried and that maybe Raylan didn't worry enough. It looked like she knew what she was talking about. When Raylan finally believed he had found a way to make himself not sound like an asshole, he allowed himself to relax.

* * *

"Raylan, where are you?" Rachel asked when Raylan picked up the phone. He had an odd sense of déjà vu, because a couple of days before, he had taken her call and received the same angry question.

He assessed his situation. He was lying in bed, sweaty and cooling off from his and Tim's romp in the sheets that had ended only a few minutes earlier. His pulse rate was slowly going down to normal. His whole body felt like it was coming down from running a marathon. He hoped his breathing wasn't too noticeably heavy. Tim was still in the bathroom, although this morning the door was open and gave Raylan a vague view of him moving behind the milky glass door of the shower.

"I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be," he muttered then, satisfied.

Tim came out of the bathroom then, towel slung around his hips, hair still dripping. Raylan appreciated that he wasn't already putting on a T-shirt and enjoyed the view. Tim jerked his head at the cell phone with a frown in a quiet question about who was on the phone. Raylan just shrugged and disconnected the call. He had something better to do than defend himself to Rachel right now. Tim, duty-bound and conscious that they had to leave soon if they wanted to make it on time, was about to get dressed. He pulled a shirt from the closet and put it on the chair, clearly putting it aside just in case Raylan didn't have one with him. Raylan hummed until Tim turned around and made a face at him.

"What is it?"

Raylan shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. "Could go another round, that's all."

"Raylan, we need to get going," Tim argued. His eyes told Raylan that he would have wanted another go as well. Raylan would just need to be a little more convincing.

"I just talked to Art," Raylan lied and got up, moving over and running his hand over Tim's shoulders and down his arms. "He's giving us another hour." He kissed Tim's shoulder and breathed in the clean, soapy scent lingering there. Tim groaned and tilted his head to the other side, allowing Raylan to slide his lips up his neck. Raylan playfully traced his finger over the star-like scar on Tim's back, and pressed closer when Tim tried to arch away.

Maybe Raylan was a good liar, maybe Tim was just gullible or wanted to believe him, because he let himself be led over to the bed and sank to his knees when Raylan pulled him along on top of him. "Your turn," Raylan decided and grinned when Tim didn't need any more encouragement than that to start crawling up Raylan's body. Yes, this was exactly where he was supposed to be. Moreover, it was exactly where he wanted to be.

* * *

END

* * *

War, he sung, is toil and trouble;
Honour but an empty bubble.
Never ending, still beginning,
Fighting still, and still destroying,
If the world be worth thy winning,
Think, oh think, it worth enjoying.
- John Dryden (Alexander's Feast 1/97/102)

-END-

Prompt: "I'm always saving and you're always owing and I'm tired of asking to settle the debt." & a couple of other things that ozimissage finds hot, according to their Five Acts list.