Raylan's gaze followed Tim's and the sight of the arm and the tattoo made him lose a shade of color, eyes snapping back to meet the dark fury pointed at him. Dead, Angry Tim defending Raylan's face when Raylan was the one who hadn't had the stones to come look for Tim last night.
You don't deserve them. Henry was right.
There were quite a few different choices, weeded methodically down in a fraction of a second. The instinct to respond to aggression with his own was off the table until his life was in danger; the instinct to go over, to check, to pull him out of the rubble and verify was rejected on the basis that it gave a distrusting Tim his back and might suggest that Raylan himself wasn't real. That left one option, with a sidecar of choice.
Raylan knew what it was to die horribly. Suicide wasn't the worst way to go. Seemed sort of peaceful, the self inflicted. Violent deaths were worse. Seeing your own body wasn't something that Raylan was going to put Tim through so he stepped into the storm and wrapped his arms around the smaller man, one over his arm, one under and spoke into his ear. The older Marshal expected a fight at the beginning, but hoped it would soften.
"If I were him, there'd be no Miami. No Tim Givens. I'm not him." If he felt it was safe enough, he'd pull back enough to see Tim's face, dark tired eyes searching his blues. "I'm not him."
no subject
You don't deserve them. Henry was right.
There were quite a few different choices, weeded methodically down in a fraction of a second. The instinct to respond to aggression with his own was off the table until his life was in danger; the instinct to go over, to check, to pull him out of the rubble and verify was rejected on the basis that it gave a distrusting Tim his back and might suggest that Raylan himself wasn't real. That left one option, with a sidecar of choice.
Raylan knew what it was to die horribly. Suicide wasn't the worst way to go. Seemed sort of peaceful, the self inflicted. Violent deaths were worse. Seeing your own body wasn't something that Raylan was going to put Tim through so he stepped into the storm and wrapped his arms around the smaller man, one over his arm, one under and spoke into his ear. The older Marshal expected a fight at the beginning, but hoped it would soften.
"If I were him, there'd be no Miami. No Tim Givens. I'm not him." If he felt it was safe enough, he'd pull back enough to see Tim's face, dark tired eyes searching his blues. "I'm not him."