Approaching a pissed off, disassociating Army Ranger could be considered an unwise life choice. It was a good thing that Raylan had those long legs and long arms, allowing him to close the distance and get himself wrapped around Tim before the smaller man could react.
He should have been able to react faster than Raylan moved. The cowboy should have been thrown across the ground, possibly towards the cliff's edge. At the very least Tim should have tried to throw a punch, but by the time his brain suggested any of these alternatives, Raylan had him wrapped up.
There was shocked stillness at first, Tim's sense screaming at him that this was Raylan. All the way down to that particular odor that came after too long in a stakeout car. But his jangled instincts briefly overrode his senses and he began to struggle. Raylan had him in a skillful hold but that didn't keep Tim from trying to execute an ankle sweep, a headbutt and grabbing at lanky arms. In Tim's mind he was executing flawless hand to hand combat techniques, but in truth his fingers were scrambling with awkward desperation and he was twisting and squirming, rather than leg sweeping.
There was still the risk of a headbutt; sorry Raylan.
Then Raylan was speaking, that voice that washed over raw nerves and made Tim want to believe what he was hearing. Cold logic insisted that the Shadow Man could know all these things. Miami, Tim Givens. Could be using these bits of softness to dig the barbs in deeper.
The Shadow Man doesn't speak. He just watches.
Raylan drew back then and Tim's eyes flicked up to meet the hazel ones just above him. His pupils were wide, as if he were drugged or otherwise altered and he practically vibrated with suspicion while he searched Raylan's features.
no subject
He should have been able to react faster than Raylan moved. The cowboy should have been thrown across the ground, possibly towards the cliff's edge. At the very least Tim should have tried to throw a punch, but by the time his brain suggested any of these alternatives, Raylan had him wrapped up.
There was shocked stillness at first, Tim's sense screaming at him that this was Raylan. All the way down to that particular odor that came after too long in a stakeout car. But his jangled instincts briefly overrode his senses and he began to struggle. Raylan had him in a skillful hold but that didn't keep Tim from trying to execute an ankle sweep, a headbutt and grabbing at lanky arms. In Tim's mind he was executing flawless hand to hand combat techniques, but in truth his fingers were scrambling with awkward desperation and he was twisting and squirming, rather than leg sweeping.
There was still the risk of a headbutt; sorry Raylan.
Then Raylan was speaking, that voice that washed over raw nerves and made Tim want to believe what he was hearing. Cold logic insisted that the Shadow Man could know all these things. Miami, Tim Givens. Could be using these bits of softness to dig the barbs in deeper.
The Shadow Man doesn't speak. He just watches.
Raylan drew back then and Tim's eyes flicked up to meet the hazel ones just above him. His pupils were wide, as if he were drugged or otherwise altered and he practically vibrated with suspicion while he searched Raylan's features.
"Are we both dead?"