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lim-boe · 6 months ago

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A Marshal's Talents Part 2

Pairing: Tim Gutterson x Reader

Warnings:

mentions of guns, shooting, and other typical canon violence

Chapter Text

Media: Justified

Word Count: 1294

Part 1

Part 2

That night you got a call from your Aunt Helen in the middle of the night. It was something about Arlo not taking his meds that night and he was yelling at Francis outside. You got up and called one of your old friends for a ride. You had left your car in Virginia and didn't want to rent a car since you didn’t know how long you would be here. Your friend, Maggie had gotten off her closing shift at 1 am and picked you up around 1:30. It was a 2 hour drive and you insisted on paying her for the gas since it was so far and so late. She took the money but waved you off saying her house is an hour away so it wasn't a big deal. As soon as you pulled into the drive of your childhood home you could hear Arlo screaming from the porch.

Maggie stopped you before you exited the car, “ Do you want me to wait?”

“No, I'll probably be needed for a few hours.” you gave her a soft smile.

Maggie’s face was colored with concern, “ Alright then, just text me if you need a ride back.”

“ It’s really alright Maggie,” you continued, “ Thanks a bunch, I really appreciate it.”

And with that you got out of the car and walked towards the porch. You stopped half way and turned to wave to maggie as she backed out. You breathed a sigh, “ Alright Arlo..”

…

Raylan had gone down to see Boyd. There was construction on his way there so that added an extra hour to his drive. He heard Boyd had been at his cousin’s bar more recently and ended up at Johnny's bar. As he walked up to the door he encountered patrons leaving in a slight panic. Raylan bypassed them to see an altercation between Johnny and another man. Johnny had a sawed off shotgun in hand as he sat in his wheelchair. Raylan saw the man pull first. Raylan pulled faster than both of them and shot the man. At the angle Raylan was at he hit him in the arm and within moments the man was out the door. Raylan chased after him, but the man hopped in a van. Raylan knew he would not be able to keep up and it was dark so he missed the plate. He called Art, knowing the man would still be in the office. It was around 9 when he called. The local police showed up in a few minutes, but it took the Marshall’s over 3 hours to arrive at the scene. The Marshals stayed to question the witnesses.

“So Raylan,” Brooks said as they leaned against his town car, “ I didn’t know you had a sister?”

Before Raylan could speak Tim walked from around the trunk “, I didn't know you had a hot sister.”

Raylan looked at Tim from under the brim of his hat, “ Tim, shut up.”

Rachel huffed a laugh and shook her head as Tim backed off, hands raised, with a smirk on his lips.

It was so late when everything was wrapped up that they decided to get rooms at the closest motel. It was a shithole. Raylan and Tim took one room while Art and Rachel took the other.

Raylan’s phone rang at 3:49. He groggily picked up, forgetting to check the caller ID.

“ Hello?,” he mumbled. On the other bed, Tim sat up looking at Raylan. He had been a light sleeper ever since his service.

“Raylan, I need you to get over here right now.” You whispered into the phone, someone was yelling in the background.

Raylan sat bolt upright, “ Y/n?, Where are you? What’s wrong?,” he spat out. Tim’s eyebrows furrowed at the mention of your name.

“I’m at Arlo’s,” you breathed, “ He’s off his meds and waving a gun around, I have Aunt Helen hiding in your old room and I’m in the kitchen.”

“ I’ll be there in a couple of minutes. Stay away from him.” Raylan hung up and started putting in his shoes and coat.

“ Where we going?” Tim asked, following in Raylan’s lead putting on his gear and grabbing his gun.

Raylan grabbed his keys, “ Arlo’s. My sister is there trying to get him to take his meds and he has a gun.”

They left the room and practically ran to the car. Raylan must have broken 12 laws careening down Harlan’s road to get to the house. They pulled into the drive. Jumping out of the car they could hear the yelling from inside the house. As they ran up the porch a gunshot rang out.

…

You were trying to talk Arlo down. He had worked himself into a rage, talking about how Francis had run away to noble's holler again. You were trying to get him back to reality when you heard a car pull up. You turned back to Arlo hoping to distract him from Raylan when he came into the house, but when you looked up you say your daddy pointing his gun at you and yelling at you like you were Francis.

“ No Daddy! I’m not Franci-” You tried to say until you heard a loud !POP! And felt a burning pain in your right arm.

The next thing you knew you were knelt down on the ground with a pretty blond man next to you. You blinked hard and your head started reeling from the pain and noises surrounding you. Tim recognized your quickened breathing and wide unfocused eyes as a panic attack. After taking a quick look at your arm he saw it was only a shallow graze and focused back on you. He said your name and rubbed the sides of your shoulders as he looked at your eyes and tried to get your attention. It took a second, but you finally made eye contact.

“ Okay good. Now I'm going to need you to breathe,” you heard yelling to your left and glanced in that direction, but Tim spoke your name again. “ Y/N. Not over there. Here. girl, breathe.” He grabbed your left hand and put it on his chest. “ Breathe with me, okay? In… out… good. In and out.” He continued this rhythm until you looked a little more relaxed and your breath started to even out.

Tim knew that Raylan and Arlo were still at a standstill but their voices were getting louder. He didn’t want you to start panicking again so he decided the best plan was to get you out of the situation. He looked you in the eyes and said, “ Okay, we are going to walk outside to the car, is that okay?”.

He waited until you nodded then he grabbed your left hand and put his other hand on your waist, careful of your right arm. You were still facing each other and once you both stood up he pulled you to him so you could not see your dad or brother. He then walked you to the door while leaning his head towards your ear. “It’s okay, we are just going to walk to the car. Don’t mind them.”

As you reached the porch you tried to turn your head to see what was happening. Tim moved you to his side as he continued to hold your waist as he pressed you against his left side. He guided you down the drive and to the backseat of the car. He opened the door and had you scoot inside to the middle seat while he dropped into the seat you left empty and closed the door. He texted Art after pulling out his phone. From your new vantage point you could see the house, but not the people inside.

Shit.

The people inside.

“My Aunt Helen,” you gasped and turned to Tim.

“She’ll be alright,” he whispered. He was looking you over when your breath started to become uneven. At that Tim pulled your face towards his chest as he pulled you into a hug, still wary of your arm.

“ Shhhh,” he cooed, “ You put her in a room upstairs right? Raylan won’t let your father out of his sight and he definitely won’t let him hurt her.” Tim continued to hug you and run his hand over your hair and back. He didn't want you to overthink yourself into another attack and you seemed to gravitate toward physical touch. As he soothed you he could hear you begin to take more substantial breaths. After about 10 minutes while he cuddled Raylan’s sister he saw Raylan exit the house with his Aunt and a few more guns than he entered with. He looked like he was on the phone as well. Tim decided that it would probably ease your anxiety to see them, but when he looked down to tell and realized you were asleep. He decided to let you be while Raylan and Helen walked to the car. Raylan opened the backseat door and peered in with a worried expression.

“ She alright?”, Raylan asked, noticing your position on Tim and his face morphed into a scowl.

“ She will be,” Tim hummed, “ but I think she is in shock and she will probably need stitches. Arlo?”

“ I called the local police to grab him, he is currently handcuffed to the stair rail. I didn’t want him in the car with either of them,” Raylan said while looking between his sleeping sister and Aunt who wore an indignant expression on her face.

“ You can leave me here Raylan,” she huffed, “ it’s my job to take care of him.”

Ralan sighed and pinched his brow, “ Just get in the damn car.”

#tim gutterson x reader #tim gutterson #raylan givens

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usmsgutterson · 3 months ago

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writing givenson angst because I need to cry and couldn't stop myself. I don't really post my givenson fics to tumblr but I'm also bored and feedback is always welcome so uh,, here's the beginning until I finish, edit, and post the rest of it:

When Tim hears the words: "I never woulda pegged you for a smoker. When'd you start?" it's 7:30 am on a morning in early October. Kentucky is falling into autumn while simultaneously riding out the last coattails of summer, and he's sitting in a coffeeshop parking lot with fifteen minutes to go until Rachel wants him in the office.

He recognizes the voice instantaneously without meaning to, but--how could he ever forget that voice, really?

"When the fuck did you get into Lexington?" he asks a Raylan that is a decade older than he was when he left. His hair is a lot lighter than the medium-dark brown Tim remembers, and the beard he's sporting is a shade of grey that looks like it could be white, but he looks good. Too fucking good for a guy of 55.

That makes Raylan laugh. "Last night," he says. "Rachel wanted me in nice and early. I never do the early shift, but--"

"She's Rachel," Tim nods. He's worked with her since he was transferred out of the office in Newnan and into the Lexington office in his second year with the marshals. They've been working together for eleven years now, and Tim loves her more everyday. She's an inherently good Marshal but is so good at being the chief that he doesn't doubt she'll stave off retiring til she absolutely can't anymore, she loves her job that much. "I get it. Only person in the entirety of law enforcement I'd go to work this early for."

#mikey talks #justified #raylan givens #tim gutterson #raylan givens x tim gutterson #givenson

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bullet-prooflove · 22 days ago

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Justified Masterlist

Raylan Givens Masterlist

Tim Gutterson Masterlist

#raylan givens #raylan givens x reader #justified #timothy olyphant #tim gutterson #tim gutterson x reader

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emma-m-black · 2 months ago

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The Daughter - Chapter Nine

Tim Gutterson x OC (FanFiction) - MATURE 18+

This chapter contains an explicit sex scene(s)

Tim Gutterson comes to the unconventional aid of one Elenora Crowder, ward of Art Mullen and daughter of Raylan Givens.

This will be a multi chapter story and will get spicy as it goes. This is a rough draft and only slightly edited for grammar and spelling. Just needed to finally get it out because Tim Gutterson is one of my favorite characters, and there is not nearly enough fanfic for him.

Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven, Chapter Eight,

CHAPTER: Nine

“Okay, show me how you were taught to hold.” Tim directed her to hold the pistol that was sat on the ledge. Picking it up Elenora felt out the weight of it. It was a Glock just like Tim’s issued pistol. He figured it was best for her to be used to the weight and feel in case she ever needed to use his service weapon for their own defence. It was also reliable and should easily fit in a handbag or on her person. Or at least, that is what Tim had told her. He seemed to have gone into what she could only describe as his ranger voice. He either took what he was saying seriously or he did not even realize what he was doing. Elenora held the gun with her trigger finger against the slide, and then wrapped her other hand around the grip.

Elenora held the gun out in front of her at eye level towards the target in front of her, with her arms extended.

“Good, but legs a little farther apart.” Tim spoke as he pushed at her right foot with his own. “Put your thumb here.” Tim moved her thumb to rest along the frame of the pistol, pointing in the same direction as her barrel. “When you're ready, try to hit the center of the target.” Tim pushed her ear protection into place and stepped back.

Taking a few breaths, Elenora exhaled at the same time she pulled the trigger. It hit a few inches off of center and lowered the gun slightly.

“Again.”

Elenora relaxed her grip just slightly and breathed out again as she pulled the trigger. This time, the edge of her bullet hole touched the bullseye.

“The rest of the clip.”

Complying, Elenora stared down the barrel and fired her remaining rounds. Each shot at center or just off from center. When the magazine was empty, she released the magazine and set both the empty clip and pistol to the ledge. Then she removed her ear protection and turned to look back at Tim.

“Your daddy taught you well. Can you draw?” Tim asked as he held out another magazine to Elenora.

Nodding, Elenora put her ear protection back on and took the magazine from Tim. He then grabbed a simple black waist holster from the wall. Taking her hips in his hands, he moved her, so that they stood hip to hip. He pulled up her shirt to expose the skin at her waist, then he pulled at the waistband of her jeans and slid the soft leather of the strap holster between her skin and denim. Once it was set, he stepped away and allowed Elenora to do the rest.

She went through three more clips before Tim let her stop. “My arms are tired.” Elenora spoke as she allowed Tim to remove the holster from her. His hands brushing across her stomach with a smile as he did.

“We will submit all the paperwork tomorrow, but we will get you a gun and everything tonight. Just keep one of my cards on you in case you have any issues.”

“Okay.” Elenora responded with a smile.

“So are your arms too tired to fire a rifle?” Asked Tim with a sly smile.

Elenora felt her eyes grow wide. “You know I’m suddenly feeling much better.” She stuck her arms out and wiggled them around in the air for emphasis.

It only took Tim a few minutes to set up a rifle and put out targets. He pulled up two stools to sit on. “Do I get to see the master at work?”

Tim gave a nod and sat down. Ear protection on, he got himself into position and Elenora lenses against the wall of the stall they were in. She noticed one thing immediately: Tim leaning down, looking through the sight of the rifle, seemed so natural. It looked like the rifle was an extension of him.

She kept quiet as he focused on the targets ahead and, with little effort, he tapped the trigger and the rifle fired. A small hole forming right on center of the target. Then he fired again, and again. Each bullet hitting with deadly accuracy. Then he pulled back and looked at Elenora.

“Is this what it’s like for you? Because I’ve never been more turned on.” Elenora said before putting the tip of her index finger in her mouth and bitting down.

Tim let out a laugh and hopped himself to the other stool before patting the seat on the stool he had just been on. Sitting herself down, Elenora positioned herself in what she thought was the same way as Tim. She heard the scrape of the stool behind her and felt Tim bring his chest flush with her back. Hands slid down her arms and repositioned her grip slightly before he backed off slightly. “Don’t put your eye on the sight. It will kick back more than you think, and then you are gonna have to explain to your daddy how you got that black eye.”

“Got it.” Elenora said she slid back slightly on her stool.

“Close your left and get yourself in position so that you can be comfortable, see out the scope, and move the butt...” Tim began as moved her shoulder over slightly, and repositioned the butt of the gun. After he released the gun, he let his hand travel back up her arm, and Elenora wondered if it was so he would not startle her. “When you are ready, pull the trigger on the pause before breathing back in. Nice and slow, and follow through with the trigger after the fire. When you feel it, stop release it back at the same speed.”

“Okay.” Elenora looked through the scope and shifted slightly to position the rifle at the target. She kept her head back. “Is this far enough?” Elenora asked as she held her position and she felt Tim move around her.

“Move your head back just a little more.”

Complying, Elenora pulled back slightly and then tried to steady her breathing as she looked down the sight.

“Whenever you’re ready.” Said Tim.

Elenora inhaled, exhaled and then inhaled again. As she let out the breath, she focused down the sight and when she felt the breath leave her lungs, she pulled at the trigger with her finger. When it fired, everything in her pushed back and a small ‘yip’ left her in surprised, and Elenora could hear Tim let out a laugh behind her.

Tim’s fingers brushed against the loose hair at the back of Elenora’s head, moving it from her neck. “Not bad for your first time.” Elenora looked towards the target and saw a hold only an inch off from where Tim’s three hole punch sat. “Now that you know what it feels like, would you like to try again?”

“Yes!” Elenora said happily.

An hour later and with a very sore shoulder, Elenora stood in the sales section of the gun range. Tim was talking to a man behind the counter and was setting everything up for what she was going to require. “Nell.” Tim called out and Elenora, who had currently been looking at a tactile vest, made her way towards the counter.

When she approached, Elenora noticed that there were several holsters laid out, as well as what appeared to be some handbags. “So this is her, huh?” Said the man as he looked Elenora over with a smile. He was an older gentleman.

“Yeah, this is her.” Said Tim, as he dropped his head with a smirk. Elenora could see the blush starting to hit Tim’s cheeks and realized that he was truly embarrassed by what was happening. Probably a thing he was not used to experiencing.

“This guy came in here last week.” The man said with a large smile. “He’s all smiles, can’t stop talking about this amazing woman he’s met. We ask him if he’s sure the woman was actually real, or just a figment of his imagination...”

“Thanks, Reggie.” Tim spoke with a laugh as he looked up at the man. “Reggie Peterson meet Elenora Givens. Now, can we get back to the task at hand?”

“I don’t know.” Elenora began as she leaned against the counter. “I wanna hear more about how amazing I am?”

Tim brought a hand to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Well, now I’m just feeling ganged up on.” When he brought his hand back down, he grabbed one of the holsters on the counter. A small, nylon, clipped holster to fit at the outside of her hip, much like what he was issued. He pulled at the wasted band of her jeans and slid it into place, the insert surprisingly soft against her skin. “How’s that feel?”

“Alright.” Elenora said with a shrug of her shoulders. Tim then placed an empty Glock inside and took a step back.

“Give it a few draws.”

Backing away from the counter, Elenora took a few tries at unclipping it before drawing and when she turned to look at Tim, she saw him smiling. She figured she must have done alright then.

“I want you to get a bag, too.” Said Tim as he motioned to the leather handbags on the counter.

“There is a concealed pocket on the outside.” Reggie began as he unzipped an ‘L,’ shaped zipper at the side. “Easy access and carry. No one’s the wiser, till you’ve pulled on them and put them down.”

Elenora examined the bags and Tim picked one up and put it on her shoulder. “Try it out. If it’s not comfortable or natural to you, we will figure out something else.” Nodding in acknowledgment, Elenora pulled the Glock from her holster and slid it into the bag’s compartment. She walked around the sales room while Tim leaned against the counter, watching her.

“You seem to be arming up this new lady friend of your pretty good?”

“Yeah, well, her Daddy’s a Marshal, and so far he ain’t making too many friends since coming to town.” Said Tim in response.

“How’s he feel about the two of you shaken up then?” Reggie asked as he leaned against the counter on his elbows.

Tim did not answer and instead just pointed his chin at the ground and eyed Reggie from under his brow.

“Ah, daddy don’t know.”

Stopping herself, Elenora swung her bag pulled on the zipper and pulled the unloaded Glock from its hiding place and pointed it towards the wall. “Don’t forget the rest of my family. Drug dealers, racists and downright the most unsightly characters.” Said Elenora with a laugh.

“Well, in that case, I’ll throw in a secondary clip for you.”

“Thanks Reggie. So how’s the bag?”

“It’s okay. I think I’d rather just use my own if that’s okay?”

Pushing off from the counter, Tim took the bag back from Elenora as she approached the counter. “If that will be more comfortable for you, then okay? But you promise me, that thing makes it into your purse.” Tim nodded his head towards the Glock that was gripped in Elenora’s hand.

“I promise, won’t leave home without it.”

When everything was bought and paid for, Elenora left the range with a shiny new Glock, hip holster, cleaning tools, magazines and two boxes of ammo. Now they were sitting in the vehicle outside a community center. Elenora watched as a multitude of different people moved in and out of the doors.

“The meeting is an hour.”

“Okay.” Said Elenora as Tim got out, and she slid across the console to sit in the driver’s seat. “After wanna grab some dinner?”

“I like that plan.” Tim said with a nod before he placed his hands on the inside of the door and door frame and lifted slightly to kiss her. After he shut the door for her and Elenora watched as he shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and headed towards the entrance. As he went, a man approached him and slapped him on the shoulder in greeting and Elenora just had the feeling like everything was going to be alright. She watched as Tim disappeared into the building and then drove off to grab a coffee and read her book till she needed to pick him back up.

They had a simple dinner, stopping at a diner for a quick meal before heading to Elenora’s for her to pack an overnight bag. Tim thought it was best that she sleep at his tonight, just in case Boyd’s men tried anything.

At his apartment, they fell into a silent routine of getting ready for bed. Elenora placed her firearm in the nightstand on her side of the bed and the magazine loaded under the mattress below her pillow. Tim then handed her his without a word and she tucked it under the mattress as well, but within reaching distance of herself should something happen. Just like she had done the previous. Then they crawled into bed, with Elenora curled up against Tim, then both fell into a peaceful sleep.

The next morning, Elenora and Tim found themselves at the Marshal’s office attempting to finish some paperwork before Raylan got in, but they were not so lucky.

“What’s Nora doing here?” Raylan asked as he looked into the conference room where his daughter was sitting. A stack of papers in front of her and Tim was leaning over her, pointing at places where she then followed up signing with a pen.

“She’s getting her CCDW. Tim told me this morning he saw her name come through his permit requests, so he is fast tracking it.”

“Hey Art? There isn’t something I should know about those two, is there?” Asked Raylan as he watched on as Elenora laughed at something Tim must have said.

Art let out a huff. “Tim and Nora. No, I don’t think so. Any time she was here, they barley talked. Besides, I don’t think either of them are that stupid. No, this guy she is with is probably someone she met at school, is too afraid to introduce you to on account of you threaten to shoot him.”

“I followed him.”

Art dragged his eyes from Elenora and Tim to look at Raylan. “Tim?”

“Yeah. Lost him in a parking lot, pretty sure he knew I was following him.”

“Raylan! One, what are you even thinking tailing one of your fellow Marshals cause you think he’s sleeping with your daughter and two, Tim would have spotted you a mile away, so it wouldn’t work, anyway. He’s good at his job, that one. You know, maybe if you give her a little space and privacy, she might open up about what’s going on.”

“Said he was a Ranger?”

“Sniper, and a hell of a good one at that.”

“Here comes your daddy,” Tim whispered to Elenora and a second later, she heard the door open to the room.

Turning her head, Elenora watched as her father and Art entered the room. “Hey daddy. Guess what I’m getting.”

“I heard.” Raylan stated as he came to a standstill across from Elenora and Tim. “Are you going to want me to come with you and help pick something out?”

“Actually, Deputy Gutterson already helped with that part. After what I did yesterday, and how upset you got, I asked him to help me get something, and then he told me he could get me set up right away with my concealed.”

“Well, isn’t that might nice of Deputy Gutterson?” Said Raylan simply.

Tim stood up fully and looked at Raylan. “We were hoping to get the paperwork done before you came in. She seemed pretty keen on surprising you.”

“Wonder what she will surprise me with next.”

Chapter Ten

#tim gutterson #tim gutterson fanfic #tim gutterson x oc #raylan givens #justifed #Jacob Pitts #Tim Gutterson/OC

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redpool · 2 years ago

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I wish there was more fanfiction for Justified.

#justified #justified fx #justified x reader #raylan givens #raylan givens x reader #tim gutterson #tim gutterson x reader #rachel brooks #rachel brooks x reader #boyd crowder #boyd crowder x reader

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awaterfalls · 6 months ago

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Tim Gutterson

"Miami to The Holler"

Summary: Lia Martines transferred shortly after Raylan Givens from Miami to the Lexington U.S. Marshall courthouse only to be met with disdain from Tim Gutterson. After an undercover stakeout to catch a drug transport went south, feelings come to a head.

A/N: OC Intro: Lia Martines, Tim GuttersonX!FemaleUSMarshall, She/Her Pronouns, Angst, Enemies to Lovers.

• Hey guys! This is my first time ever posting something I write here. I hope you guys like it!! I want to thank my amazing, incredible, espetacular friend, Nat @she-wolf09231982.. thank you for helping me with these! ❤️

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

How can I begin to explain the situation I find myself in? Well, I'll from the beginning. Before becoming a U.S. Marshall, I always thought it would be easy. Just like in the movies. You shoot people and make arrests. But it's totally different. I was a U.S. Marshall for the Miami department when I met Raylan Givens. He already had a reputation, but even a bigger one after he had his showdown with the big drug king, Tommy Bucks, shooting him down for not leaving the city like he had asked him.

Our superiors arranged for Raylan to be transferred away from high profile Miami to Eastern Lexington, Kentucky. I soon followed in his footsteps looking for a quieter life in the country. I transferred to Harlan, Kentucky and it was terrifying. Being a newbie in a place you know is bad enough, imagine being in a place you don't know... It was a nightmare. It was bad in some parts, in fact, but one person made the environment worse. Tim Gutterson is my partner at work. Basically, we're assigned to do everything together. All the missions... everything. In addition to Tim, I also have Rachel and Raylan, but Tim was the most annoying.

Since I arrived here, he has always picked flights with me and done everything to show that he didn't like me. And because of this, every time we had a mission together, Art would lecture us saying he would destroy us if we messed up and how much it would ruin our careers. I never thought this day would come, but it did. Art had gone over the details of our next undercover stakeout.

" Martines and Gutterson, you are going to stay at the hotel where the supposed drug dealers are lying in wait. Lucky for you, they're not very smart and probably don't know that we're after them. But it's still important that you be cautious and avoid any kind of confusion, ok? You guys know how important this is to us, so don't screw it up."

That's what Art told us before we were sent to this hotel. Basically, Tim and I were to pretend to be a couple and staying at the hotel where the suspected drug dealers were, so that we can collect as much evidence as possible and arrest them. It's something quite easy. After all, it's just a few days away from Harlan, watching two people. Easy... That's what I thought.

Tim and I arrived at the hotel on a Monday and settled in as best we could. We arrived the day of the mission, so we had to be quick.

"Are you ready? We don't all day." Tim said looking at me irritated while letting out a bored sigh.

" Are you that excited to be my husband?" I said smiling and he rolled his eyes.

"The day I get excited about doing anything with you, you can be sure that I was abducted... I'll wait for you in the car." He said, leaving without giving me the chance to respond.

He's an idiot. I wonder what I did to make him hate me so much. I met him in the car and we were soon on our way to where we believed a drug deal was going down. The journey was long and tedious. He didn't say anything and neither did I... It was irritating me.

"So what were you doing before all this?" I asked breaking the silence.

I've always been curious about him. I always asked about the lives of everyone around me. And I've also always been an open book to everyone. When I met Tim that all changed. Because of our relationship we never spoke, but something about him always intrigued me. People talked about him and what he did before, but I wanted to hear it from him. He looked at me sideways but didn't respond. It seems like he was thinking about whether or not to respond. His face had an expression of doubt mixed with anger. I don't know how to explain what I felt when I saw him like that.

" What does this have to do with what we're doing now?" He snapped before continuing. " Why are you so interested in knowing? All this time you've been here, the only thing you've done is insult me and now you're interested in my past? And let's be honest, right? As if you didn't know, I'm sure Rachel or Raylan told you about me. Please, let's stop pretending we care about each other. I want to do the work and go home, be at peace and not hear your annoying voice." Ok, that one hurt.

It was always like this with him. Every time I tried to talk to him or try to clear the air, he always verbally attacked me. He didn't give me a chance to get close to him.

"Why did I always react like this, Tim?" You thought to yourself before spoke up. " Every time I try to get closer to you, you always push me away. There's always something bad to say. I never did anything to make you treat me this way. I don't know anything about your life. I have nothing against you. But for some reason you seem to hate me. I don't understand. Why do you treat me like this? What did I do wrong? People around us speak very highly of you, they say you're a great guy. But you prove me wrong every day. The question I asked wasn't intended to provoke you, but you're right, I did already know what you did or what you were before here, but I wanted to hear from you. Because I like you. I know that despite everything, you are a good man. But I'm tired of proving myself every day to someone who doesn't care about me. I'm sorry for bothering you so much and I promise I will never talk to you about non-work topics again." You finalized. It really was very tiring. I always tried really hard to get closer to him, but he never let me. It's tiring to fight over something you don't know for what or why.

We continued the journey in silence. Everyone in their own thoughts. At least the landscape was beautiful. This is a beautiful place, the nature around everything leaves me at peace. I was taken out of my thoughts by an abrupt bang. A car just hit us from behind, causing us to be projected forward sharply. We didn't have time to think, as the passengers in the other car started shooting at us. Tim and I did what we could to defend ourselves taking ducking inside our vehicle. There were so many of them firing that I didn't even know where they were coming from anymore. As we returned the fire, we managed to hit one of them, because we had heard a scream as their car came to a screeching halt. As we cautiously approached their car, they opened fire again. Tim pulled me back behind our car to take cover. The fire fight didn't last very long, as they left when they saw that we were outnumbered. We definitely got one of them right.

Tim looked at me with concern.

"Are you okay? Your forehead is bleeding." I hadn't noticed. The adrenaline was so much that I went blind. It was probably when we were thrown sharply at the time of the crash. I remember hitting my head somewhere, but I couldn't quite see where.

"Oh, I'm fine." You said touching your forehead where it hurt. " It's no big deal. We need to let Art know they found us. We can leave it like this. " I said taking my cell phone when Tim snatched it out of my hand.

" Are you crazy? You're hurt and the only thing you care about is this shitty mission? We're going to the hospital. The work can wait and I'm sure Art can too." He said pulling me into the car.

The ride to the hospital was quiet. Tim didn't say a word to me, but I could tell he was worried. Obviously, it wasn't about me, it was about the mission and probably what Art was going to tell us. I was too, because ruining everything wasn't in the plans, but life isn't always the way we want it to be. We arrived at the hospital and while I was waiting to be seen, Tim went to call the office and explain what happened. The nurse called me and immediately started cleaning my wound. I had forgotten how much it hurt. It wasn't anything serious, but I had to get two stitches on my forehead. Another scar for the collection. Yay!

When we left the hospital, Tim informed me that Art was already aware of what had happened and that he was going to send us back up the next morning and that we were to stay at the hotel and wait for them. We got back to the room and I went straight to take a shower. Tim seemed weird, more than usual. It was as if he was bothered by something beyond himself. I don't know how to explain. But I won't dare to ask, the last time I asked him something, I almost got shot. I got out of the shower and left the bathroom, Tim wasn't in the room. I could've waited for him or even called, but I couldn't stay awake for long so I went straight to bed. I needed to lie down and rest. My head was hurting so much and these thoughts never left me alone. What do you need to do to have a little peace? To die? Perhaps yes. But it wasn't my time yet. I fell asleep like a rock.

Around down, I woke up scared. I had a nightmare.

"Damn it! I hate these kinds of dreams. I don't have any peace even when I sleep. " I thought to myself. I turned to the side and found Tim sleeping.

"Okay... He's sleeping with me... In the same bed as me... Wtf? It's the end of the world." I thought. I couldn't help but notice how serene he was. His mouth forming a pout, it looked like a baby. The messy hair... He's beautiful. Asleep and awake. "Stop staring at me and go back to sleep." Tim mumbled at me. It scared the shit out of me. How does he know I was looking at him if he had his eyes closed?

" How do you know I'm staring at you?" he smiled. A beautiful smile, I must say. " I know everything you do, Lia. " It was the first time he called me by my name. And it sounded so beautiful in his voice.

" Okay... You're weird! And I wasn't looking at you, I was just checking to see if you were breathing, that's all. " I said, trying not to seem so obvious, even though I had the impression that he already realized how stupid I was looking at him. And once again he smiled. What possessed him to keep smiling like that?

"Lia, you don't fool me. I know everything you do. I know what you like and don't like. I know how much you love chewing gum because it helps you stay calm throughout the day. I know you like to tease Raylan that the coffee he buys is horrible, even though it's from the same place that Rachel and I buy it. I know you twitch your lip when something bothers you. I know you wear the same leather boots to work because they bring you luck. I know the place you love most in the world is your home and yes, that's cliché. " He paused to take a breath before continuing. "But that's okay, I'm not judging. I know you. I've noticed you since the day you set foot in that office. It felt like an angel entering hell. I couldn't take my eyes off you, but I had to contain myself because I didn't want you to notice. Damn Lia, I always paid attention to you. The moment I understood that I like you, that I was in love with you, I panicked. What would a woman like you want with a guy like me? I thought you weren't a woman for me, because I always thought you deserved better than this... But today... Lia, today I almost had a heart attack. I thought I was going to lose you... I couldn't bear the thought of losing you. This makes me see how much time I wasted leaving you out of my life. Lia, I want to apologize for treating you so badly all this time. I was in a state of denial and the only way I found to keep you away from me was to treat you the way I did. I thought you would realize how stupid I am and leave me alone, but you always came back and I somehow, always came back to you. My thoughts most of the time, are you. Damn, I really hope you can forgive me. I really do." He explained.

Okay... He threw all this at me and I don't know what to say. I'm confused. This entire time I thought he hated me... But he actually likes me? My gosh! This is a lot for me.

"Tim, I don't know what to say... I'm confused. I mean, you like me? I really don't know what to say. And of course I forgive you. And I care about you too. I like you. I'm just puzzled because I always thought you hated me. Never in my life would I think of you telling me those things." I said as he looked at me relieved.

We stared at each other for a few seconds until he pulled me towards him and hugged me. It was a sincere and totally affectionate hug. It felt like home. I felt comfortable in his touch. He smells so good... Like heaven. A smell I could easily get used to. We held each other all night and I never felt so good. Tim wouldn't let me go, not even to go to the bathroom. He said he didn't want to waste any time with me ever again. And to be honest, neither do I. I can't wait to tell Rachel this.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Guys!!!! It's a very long one shot... I really hope you guys like it! Also, English is not my first language so please be nice, ok? Thank you!! ❤️

#tim gutterson x reader #tim gutterson #justified #jacob pitts #raylan givens

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im-not-thinking-confetti-cannons · 1 year ago

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Day 3: Overstimulation

Warnings: none

Rating: E

Pairing: Raylan/Tim

Raylan brings it up in the afterglow one day, after the third or fourth time he’s fallen into bed with Tim. They’re curled up together, Tim’s head on Raylan’s chest, and it’s the exact sort of thing Raylan didn’t expect going into things the first time but doesn’t think he could live without, now. Tim cuddles, happily, and it settles that little part of Raylan’s brain that’s always telling him he’s asking for too much.

Tim doesn’t call it cuddling, though. He calls it give me a goddamn minute to catch my breath, cowboy, and Raylan dutifully doesn’t say a word about the way Tim’s fingers slot into the spaces between Raylan’s ribs, like he’s testing out how well they really fit together.

Usually, Raylan would leave him be, let him catch his breath and maybe drift off to sleep (it’s only happened once, but Raylan still hasn’t shaken the feeling of it, the same one he gets when a cat chooses to curl up in his lap, only bigger and deeper and a little more life-changing). It’s a harmless question – or he thinks so, at least. No one’s bitten his head off before for asking it, anyway.

Tim doesn’t bite his head off. But when Raylan asks, “What do you like?” Tim goes still, and Raylan can feel the way every muscle in his body goes tight and taut. When he speaks, though, his voice contradicts the sharp, stiff angles of his frame – it’s all sex-rough and slurred around the edges, like he’s really a stone’s throw away from sleep.

“The day I give in to you fishing for compliments, you know I’ve been replaced with a pod-person.”

“Duly noted,” Raylan says, because for once he actually understands the reference. Then: “Wasn’t fishing, though. Just curious.”

Just curious, Tim mocks under his breath. Louder, he says, “You know what they say about curiosity.”

“I’ve always been told I’m more bull-headed than catlike,” Raylan replies, grinning when Tim hides his face in Raylan’s chest and laughs. He smooths his hand up and down Tim’s back, enjoying the feeling of bare skin under his palm. “You embarrassed?”

“Never really saw the point,” Tim says, and Raylan believes him. Embarrassed isn’t the right word. Raylan’s not sure what is, but he knows the feeling, the way it turns his stomach and claws at the inside of his throat.

He’s going to drop it, give it time, but then Tim rolls away with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling with that haze in his eyes that means he’s not really looking at anything at all. “I’m not embarrassed,” he reiterates. “Just – no one’s asked before.”

He says it in the same tone he tells Raylan to fuck off when he means it, a little testy, a little defensive. “Oh,” Raylan says eloquently, and Tim turns his head to level him with an unimpressed look.

“DADT made it a hell of a loaded question,” he says. Then he softens, almost imperceptibly, the corner of his mouth turning up in a crooked grin. “Besides, my type’s never really been ‘chatty.’”

“Pleased to be the exception,” Raylan says, and Tim huffs another breath of laughter. Raylan takes a chance and reaches over, gently brushing Tim’s hair away from his forehead, combing his fingers through it when all Tim does is sigh, soft and pleased. “If it helps, I only want to know so I can give it to you. In case you haven’t noticed, I kind of like showing you a good time.”

“Kind of like you showing me one,” Tim says, and Raylan pretends not to notice the color that bleeds down Tim’s neck, his chest, or the way Tim closes his eyes. Embarrassment still isn’t the right word, but it might be closer, now. “Look, it’s… you know how, when you’ve just come, how sensitive you are? How you can touch yourself again, but it’s so good it almost hurts?”

Raylan tries not to think about how Tim’s voice sounds saying touch yourself, and nods. “Sure,” he says, scratching his nails lightly over Tim’s scalp, earning himself another crooked little smile and Tim pressing up into his hand. “Almost too much, but not quite.”

“Yeah,” Tim says, almost dreamily. “That.” And then, a moment later, he adds, “And I like it when you fuck me bare,” and Raylan chokes on an inhale.

~~~~~

Next time, Raylan fucks him bare.

Tim grins at him like he expected it, laughs breathlessly in Raylan’s ear when Raylan makes him come so hard it splatters on his own chest, groans low and sweet when Raylan finishes inside him, his fingernails digging red crescents into Raylan’s shoulders. “That was fucking something,” he pants into the crook of Raylan’s neck.

“Who said we were done?”

Raylan slips out, maybe a little too soon for both their comforts, but Tim’s grimace turns into an open-mouthed gasp when Raylan presses three fingers inside, fucking his own come back into him. Tim shudders, a gorgeous, full-body thing, and his jaw works a few times before anything coherent manages to come out.

“Fuck, Raylan.”

Raylan’s never heard Tim’s voice get like that before, all ragged and fucked-out and needy. It’s instantly gratifying, instantly addicting, has Raylan curling his fingers just to get Tim to say something else. This time, though, Tim whines, high in the back of his throat, and oh.

“Baby,” Raylan murmurs, because Tim didn’t say he liked pet names but he didn’t have to. Raylan knows that one, and knows it well. “Listen to you. Didn’t know you could sound this pretty.”

Tim makes a noise that almost sounds like Raylan’s name – might have been, if Raylan didn’t start moving his fingers, slow and deep and purposeful. Tim shivers again as his cock begins to harden against his thigh, and this time he tips his head back against the pillows, baring his neck in one fluid arch. He looks… well, pretty doesn’t begin to cover it. Not by a long shot.

Raylan shifts forward, leaning down to nip at Tim’s neck, and he feels the way Tim tightens, the way his back arches almost reflexively. He hides his smile there, right against Tim’s pulse. “This what you wanted?” he asks, and Tim whines again, his hands coming up to tangle in Raylan’s hair. He grinds his hips down, chasing Raylan’s fingers, and Raylan twists them just right and that’s it.

Tim comes dry, just like that, clenching around Raylan’s fingers and whimpering. Raylan lifts his head to watch him, works him through it until Tim sucks in a breath and bats weakly at the back of Raylan’s neck. “Enough,” he says, and if his voice was ragged before it’s wrecked now, broken and sated in the best of ways. “Christ, that was…”

“Perfect?”

“Sure,” Tim says. Raylan can hear the smile in his voice. “I’ll allow the fishing this once. That was fucking perfect, Raylan.”

Find this fic on AO3 here:

#justified #kinktober 2023 #raylan givens #tim gutterson #raylan x tim #givenson #how many times can I compare Tim to a cat in one fill

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beebobeebo · 2 months ago

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Title: Gondor Calls for Aid

Fandom: Justified

Pairing: Raylan x Tim (Givenson)

Characters: Raylan Givens & Tim Gutterson

Summary: Seriously, the sword thing is becoming a problem.

"I am not wearing the helmet."

"But-"

"The sword can stay."

"Oh compromise, the heart of every great relationship," Tim says with a snort. "Now pull my hair and ask me about Gondor's reserves."

Raylan yanks Tim's head back. "'I, Aragorn son of Arathorn, called Elessar, the Elfstone, Dúnadan, the heir of Isildur Elendil's son of Gondor would know the state of my kingdom."

Tim groans loud enough to block out Raylan's quiet "Jesus Christ" as his eyes roll

"You actually read the goddamn book?"

"There are three fucking books, but yes," Raylan tilts the kneeling man's head. "I read the damn books for you."

"Fuck the sword. I think that's the hottest goddamn thing I've ever heard." Tim grabs Raylan by his hips so that he can drag his tongue over the jut of bone that begs to be tasted, bitten. Raylan pulls the willing mouth away from his skin with no small amount of reluctance.

"All I had to do was read for that reaction?" Raylan quirks an eyebrow and traces Tim's jawline with the fingers of his free hand. "You gonna come apart if I tell you I flicked through the appendix?"

Tim's eyes roll up to meet his. "You let me at you, you'll start tryin' to pronounce things correctly."

"Appendix E?" Raylan is unfortunately so smug at calling this play that he misses the way Tim's lips part slightly. He does catch how that too-pink tongue pulls in that soft bottom lip. "You know this is the nerdiest goddamn shit ever?"

Tim nods.

"And you're gonna thank me appropriately for all that time spent rememberin' which elf did what?" Raylan tilts his head in that way that highlights every bit of his damnedable bone structure.

Tim smiles moonily. "Enough that you'll be happy you read all those words with dots over the letters."

Raylan tilts Tim's chin up gently. "Enough that I'll know why, in this little game, Faramir is so loyal to Aragorn?"

"Enough that you'll know why Tim is so loyal to Raylan," he whispers before adding, "asshole." He grabs Raylan's hip, his thumb stroking that beloved angle of bone. His free hand, almost passive-aggressively, because is he only human, hovers near Raylan's firming cock. "Do you want me to prove my loyalty? Or do you want to hear about how being a steward works?"

Raylan shivers. The tension of proximity setting his nerves on edge. "Jesus Christ, Tim, you can tell me about castles later. I promise." Tim smiles, because the bastard actually means it. He slowly, carefully swipes his tongue along the underside of the coloring head. When Raylan groans and grips his hair just this side of painful, his lips tug up into a smug grin. It's not a game, but he's winning. Between the reading and the way a tremor runs through Raylan's thigh, he would do anything for the man, and yet he's the one winning. He closes his hand and slowly rolls his fingers up and over the head of Raylan's cock teasing out that bit of taste and that soft sound that always catches in the other man's throat.

"Fuck," Raylan says through clenched teeth. "You down there playin'?"

Tim laughs and nuzzles the base of the length straining toward him as his fingers apply pressure in a chaotic pattern that makes sense only to him and the dick at his disposal. "Checkin' the state of your kingdom. I'd make a joke about the White Tower of—"

"Minas Tirith," Raylan says through gritted teeth. He tilts his head so that one eye is focused so hard on Tim he might shatter like Narsil.

Tim leans back and opens his mouth to speak, but finds it quickly occupied with a more pleasant task. He presses forward out of both affection and spite until he can feel that sickeningly pleasant strain that dares to make him light-headed if enjoyed too long. For his own sake, he pulls back, his lips wrapping around the tip, tongue flicking over the slit to taste. Raylan's other hand lowering to cup the base of his skull causes him to look up quickly enough to appreciate one of the few times the other man's face isn't rough with tension, fury, or thought. He can't help but push forward falling into that steady rhythm that never fails to make Raylan let loose a rumble from deep in his chest. The slightest scrape of bottom teeth jerking him back to alertness in time to make sure Tim knows who is holding whom by the hair.

Fuck, he's gorgeous like this.

Tim lets his mind wander filling in the details as his tongue feels the details. Raylan with shoulder-length hair swept back at the temples would be his undoing. Pushing the doors open at Helm's Deep? That's filed away for nights when Raylan is causing trouble elsewhere.

They've both lost the plot at this point. Raylan is doing his level best to stay standing while at the mercy of someone who has tucked away the information of how to undo him next to another fact about goddamn wizards. Tim, for his part, can only think of how much he wants Raylan to sack his mouth like fucking Osgiliath. Tim digs his fingers into Raylan's ass and the man obliges his unspoken request. He groans around Raylan who is muttering Tim's name like he's cursing his dick for not coming that very, goddamn second.

"Fuck!"

When Raylan does break loose, he buries himself within Tim's mouth with the recklessness he approaches everything else. Fortunately for Tim, he is aware of this foible and gladly takes what is given before dropping to rest on his heels with a choked laugh. "Need…throat,asshole."

Raylan is down beside him in a moment suddenly the sweet Raylan that comes with post-nut clarity about his own existence. He pulls Tim into a kiss. "The best part of those damn books was thinking about you reading them." His hand is quick to the point leaving Tim loosing a gasp as the hand finds his cock.

"Fuck, sweetheart." Tim wraps his arms around Raylan's neck as the man pulls groans and curses from him with little more than a firm hand and benevolence. Raylan is all kisses and soft touches. He knows the effect that will have on Tim following even the lightest of roughness. A manipulation born of affection is still a manipulation, but he won't deny it for a moment. He's a desperate whining mess spilling himself to please Raylan as much as his own want. He tucks his face into the crook of Raylan's neck. "You did somethin' for me."

"I'd do a lot for you. Can read a damn book."

"Someone told me it's three fuckin' books," Tim whispers against Raylan's skin. When his chin is tilted and guided into a kiss he takes it willingly. "Clean up and watch the movies?"

"I could have watched the goddamn movies."

#fan fic #raylan givens #tim gutterson #givenson #raylan x tim #tim x raylan #bad lotr references

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harlan4ever · 1 year ago

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So JustTEAfied tea is the best tea on the planet.

Up first, my dear, dear curly-haired boys: Jimmy and Tim.

Jimmy tastes like Christmas. Christmas in Vermont. Christmas morning when you wake up and there’s fresh, undisturbed snow on the ground and sleigh bells inexplicably ringing in the distance. The orange zest pulls heavy along with the spice, and it is glorious.

Tim tastes like the warm air from your car heater when you have the window rolled down on a cold, rainy day. The currant carries a subtle fruity flavor that leans tart, and the gunpowder gives it a bold flavor that makes it a great morning tea.

Next up, the ‘they dug coal together’ husbands, Raylan and Boyd.

Raylan tastes like sitting against a Kentucky hill with your best boy, soaking in the sun and trading barbs, and then someone hands you some bourbon with a touch of sweetness. The Assam adds that sun-kissed earth taste, and the honey bush hazelnut keeps it from getting too bitter.

Boyd tastes like drinking afternoon tea and eating tiny vanilla-iced cookies in some posh bistro in the springtime. The bergamot flavor is balanced out beautifully by the subtly sweet vanilla. And that hint of lemon? A gorgeous aftertaste that lingers.

Last but not least, the place where all the magic happens and the beautiful woman who turns the heads of many Harlan folks, Harlan County and Ava.

Harlan tastes like southern hospitality delivered at a summertime picnic, everyone trying to hand you a slice of the pie they made. The maple creme and the butterscotch are light, sweet flavors that share the stage easily with each other. It is- truly- the perfect tea. Tea lovers and tea haters alike would adore it.

Ava tastes like that first strawberry you eat off your breakfast waffles, dipped in crème and perfectly ripe. The lemon is slightly sweet rather than tart, making this the most perfect summertime iced tea.

I tip my Stetson to you, @im-not-thinking-confetti-cannons.

#justified #tim gutterson #givenson #raylan givens #jimmy tolan #boyd crowder #tea #iced tea #hot tea #ava crowder #jimmy x tim #boyd x raylan #raylan x tim #boyd/jimmy #you can put the teas in a ‘ship #literally the site says ‘Tim and Jimmy are in a relationship’ and you can be like ‘hell yeah they are’

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gracedbybattle · 6 months ago

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Just working on some of my wips tonight, here are some snippets:

never gonna hold the name (of another guy) [justified; tim/raylan]

The music is so loud he barley hears Winona say like a confession, “You know I really liked you then.”

“What?” Raylan hollers back at her, feigning like he didn’t catch her words. He’s half drunk and wonders if she is too, confessing old wants and desires like it means something right now.

Winona rolls his eyes. She’s close enough that she knows he heard her. “I said, that I really liked you back then,” she repeats with exaggerated patience. Then for further clarification, “Sophomore year.”

“Really,” Raylan intones back, not that interested in reliving this part of his past. They had had a thing then, a thing that he’d thought they’d left behind. He likes Winona, always has, her pretty smile and blonde hair and big blue eyes, sharp mind and body. But there’s a small problem. He likes Winona. But he’s been in love with Tim for quite sometime. And now, it might finally be in his grasp.

heaven knows [star wars; codywan]

The silence is deafening. For a hysterical second, he wishes for a cigarette even though he’s never smoked a day in his life. It’s what people do, in times like these he thinks. At least to have something to do with their hands and so they don’t have to say anything at all. Plausible deniability.

“I didn’t know Fives’ name,” he blurts out. “His given name,” he corrects when he sees Cody’s baffled look. He wasn’t even aware that it was something he was hung up on, until he said it out loud. Strange to not know a student’s full name. It has just said Fives Fett on everything.

Understanding and maybe even a bit of pity dawns over Cody’s face and Obi-Wan immediately hates it. The pity. He always has.

birds of a feather (flock together) [top gun; icemav]

He hits the answer button with shaking fingers, trying like hell to not drop it. It takes a second or two to raise it to his ear, and it's like white noise in his head.

"Mitchell," he says automatically, trying to push the shakiness from his voice. Act natural, Ice says in his head, just be cool.

"Hello?" a unfamiliar voice says back. A female voice. Ice water rushes in the side of his stomach, a rock of disappointment hitting the pit.

#fic updates #my fics #star wars #au #codywan #dadmav #gracedbybattle #heaven knows #icemav #top gun #top gun fics #justified #givenson #Tim x raylan #never gonna hold the hand of another guy #birds of a feather flock together

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lim-boe · 6 months ago

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Shelby's Part 2

Part 1, Part 2

(not my gif^)

Tim Gutterson x afab reader

Justified

Warnings: cursing, references to vomit, drinking

Ch: 2

You and Tim had an eventful conversation about your differing career paths.

“ So is puke the only thing kids do?” Tim said before taking a sip of his fourth beer.

You shrugged, “ It feels that way sometimes. Do you only point guns at people or is there more to being a Deputy Marshal?” You smirked, already knowing it wasn’t from your brother's short phone calls, but you didn’t like to talk about family.

You noticed as the night went on Tim seemed to loosen up.

He chuckled and turned his body towards you, feet on your chair’s footrest, elbow on the counter, and a beer in hand, “ I wish, that's the part I’m best at, but there is a surprising amount of paperwork involved in chasing fugitives.”

You mirrored his body language but crossed your legs instead of the half manspread he was doing across from you, “ Yeah I guess that’s where I lucked out,” you chuckled, “ being an art teacher for kids involves almost no paperwork,” you hummed, “although,” and leaned towards him a bit, “ I might trade you for the parent teacher conferences.”

You were obviously more than a little tipsy because as you were sitting back up you muttered “,but if the dads looked like you I might not mind so much.”

When your brain caught up with your mouth you felt your cheeks heat and you sincerely hoped he did not hear that.

You avoided his eyes by looking at the couple across the bar, but before you knew it Tim was leaning towards you and putting his foot next to yours on your stool. His voice was low when he spoke. “ I wouldn't mind a little one on one with you either.”

…

You ended up staying out much later than intended, talking or rather, flirting, with Tim. You couldn’t tell whether it was going to go anywhere, but looking at the time and your alcohol consumption and realized you would probably need to call a friend to take you home. You texted your friend and luckily enough Ava was a few minutes away. You thanked Tim for his company and you were off. Or at least you tried to be off. As soon as you stood up your head spun a bit and you felt a firm hand on your arm, “ Woah, be careful now. How’s about I walk you outside and we wait for your ride.”

You thought you had less to drink than Tim, so either he had a higher tolerance, or your muddled brain didn’t keep proper count.

Giggling on your way out of the bar. Tim seemed to find your incoherent babbling and endless giggles quite amusing as he sat you down on a bench outside the establishment.

“ Maybe I shoulda grabbed you some water on our way out to sober you up a bit.”

At that you pouted, “ I am sober.”

As Tim gave you a slight disapproving glare you burst into a fit of laughter again.

A few minutes later a car pulls up in front of the two of you. Tim was smirking at you as you folded over giggling at something he said when Ava rolled down her window.

“ Alright yall, you coming or what?”

Tim looks up at her then back at you to confirm that thia was infact your ride.

“Oh hi, Ava!” you yell a little too loudly for this late at night.

She rolls her eyes while Tim smiles and helps you to your feet and around to the passengers side.

“Am I giving you a ride too?” Ava asks as he helps you buckle your seatbelt while you ogle at him standing over you.

“ No Ma’am, just her,” he says standing back up, “ I can’t leave my car here. Thank you though, and drive safe.”

Tim then directs his attention to you, “ Sleep Well Darling, I had a good time tonight.”

You smile up at him, “ Me too, bye Tim.”

You wave as Ava pulls out of the lot and towards your apartment.

#tim gutterson #tim gutterson x reader #raylan givens #tim gutterson x afab reader #reader

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usmsgutterson · 3 months ago

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Achilles Heel - Givenson

okay!! I posted an excerpt from this initially more than a week ago now and it's just evolved ever since. I was gunning for angst and landed somewhere in hurt/comfortville instead but I'm happy with that so I'm posting this!

Fic type - the tone of this one is kind of hard to explain--it's like if angst and comfort had a child of neutrality

Warnings - there's a couple things--alcoholism and it's adverse affects are discussed a bit (for context, heart attacks, seizing and liver failure are mentioned, with heart attacks being a focal point in every single chapter of this fic and also just generally) and Tims time in the military is discussed at least a little. There's one offhanded mention of a psychotic break, and cigarettes and smoking are also semi-present in this chapter and will make a few minor reappearances throughout the fic in it's entire. This bad boy is also really long (with a word count of a bit more than 5k for this chapter and a minimum of such in the other chapters as well.

When Tim hears the words: "I never woulda pegged you for a smoker. When'd you start?" it's 7:30 am on a morning in early October. Kentucky is falling into autumn while simultaneously riding out the last coattails of summer, and he's sitting in a coffee shop parking lot with fifteen minutes to go until Rachel wants him in the office on a new case.

He recognizes the voice instantaneously without meaning to, but—how could he ever forget that voice, really? Even a little more than a decade gone by, that voice is one of the most distinctive voices Tim has ever heard.

"When the fuck did you get into Lexington?" he asks a Raylan that is eleven years older than he was when he left. His hair is a lot lighter than the medium-dark brown Tim remembers, and the beard he's sporting is a shade of grey that looks almost white, but he looks good. Too fucking good for a guy of 56. He asks the question while he taps out the last of his cigarette, takes the last drag of it before flicking it off into the nearest empty parking spot with a nature so careless it almost seems natural instead of practised.

The remark makes Raylan laugh. "Last night," he says. "Rachel wanted me in nice and early. I’ve never much made a habit of waking up before even the sun, but—”

"She's Rachel," Tim nods. He's worked with her since he started with the Marshals. They've been working together for a whopping sixteen years now, and Tim loves her more with every day that passes. She’s like a sister to him at this point, which does come with working with someone for more than two thousand days, but she knows him as well as Art does and she's always just been innately good at her job and easy to work with. Letting her in was easy and he's not lived to regret it yet, doubts that he ever will. “I get it.”

He remembers, and does not miss, the early mornings that came with being the office newbie, but he’s been a chronic morning person since he first got out of ranger school. The only beef he has with early mornings in correlation to his work is that he doesn’t really have time to go for a run, unless he plans on skipping breakfast or waking up earlier.

He’s up for six thirty, has been every single day since ranger school, no matter how much or how little sleep he’d gotten the night before, and he usually just goes for his runs in what he sleeps in—a pair of sweatpants and a shirt that’s not usually more than a size or two too big. He runs for five or so miles in the usual half an hour-ish it takes and then runs back from whence he came, showers, gets dressed, has coffee and a decent breakfast in him by the time he’s leaving the house at 8:30 so he can start for close to nine.

He’s been up since 4:30 on the dot today, though, and the coffee is such a necessity that it hurts somewhere deep in his chest, although coffee has tended to bring out chest pain lately anyway.

“You doin’ all right?” Raylan asks. “You’re lookin’ a bit faint there. Late night?”

A smirk crosses Tims face in the last half a second before memories of one of the only gay bars in the area and a guy that looked like Raylan but was so painfully mediocre flash across his minds eye.

“Somethin’ t’ that effect, sure,” Tim shrugs. It hadn’t been a late night, per se.

He’d gone to the bar after getting off work at nine even though he’s spent the last six weeks sober as a nun. He had a few cokes and a club soda and eventually softened up enough to let a Raylan lookalike by the name of Mitchell flirt his way into getting Tim to agree to going back to his place. A tad more of the flirting and some off-kilter sex that just left Tim wanting later, it was 4:30 and Tim was waking up after having slept only three hours because he can’t--won’t--let himself let anyone else in, and especially not someone who could, rather convincingly, play Raylan in the lifetime movie about his existence.

He slipped out of Mitchells apartment without leaving his number, or his real name—he'd told Mitchell his name was Justin, for anonymities sake, if his stone cold sober memory serves him right—or much of an otherwise trace behind. He went home, changed out of the jeans and t-shirt he’d worn to Mitchells place and into a pair of loose fitting gray sweats and a black long sleeved shirt before making himself his first coffee of the day and going for his run.

The run that usually lasted an hour both ways ended up lasting him an hour and a half—he loved to run to clear his head and he ran an extra mile and a half before turning around and running the same distance back home. He made it home for six thirty, took his time with his shower and decided to treat himself to his second coffee from the coffee spot he liked that was close to the office both because he needed more caffeine and because their bagels were cheap but still delicious.

“Never thought you the type,” Raylan says. “I mean—”

“it’s been over a decade,” Tim nods. “You probably don’t know me as well as you used to anymore.”

The only person who he will ever let know him as deeply as he can be known is dead. He died when Colton Rhodes pulled the trigger, and the one person who got as close as Mark did was never meant to have gotten that close to begin with.

Tims words seem to touch a nerve, almost, but Tim decides to be nonchalant. He takes a sip of his coffee and looks at the parking lot through the front of his car.

“I hate it, but you’re right,” Raylan laughs. “Sorry I didn’t keep in touch.”

Tim looks at Raylan—really looks at him, studies him like he used to study his targets whenever he had an assignment, and sees what appears to be anguish masked poorly by indifference, covered up with a laugh so false that it almost feels like a bullet to the gut.

“So am I,” Tim says. “How’ve you been? Hows Miami?”

“Its Miami,” Raylan shrugs.

“You and Winona work out?” It’s more of a sore spot than Tim would care to admit on an ordinary day, but Raylan Givens is in Lexington. This day is not ordinary.

Raylan laughs nervously. “You were a sniper in the rangers,” he says. “Tact should be a talent of yours.”

“It is,” Tim shrugs easily, grins just a tad. “Just not with you.”

“Well to answer your question, no,” Raylan says it like it doesn’t hurt him to admit, but Tim knows that it bruises his ego just enough to make him close to humble. “What about you? Any prospects?”

“Never,” Tim says. “I’m not really one for relationships. They never work out.”

“They do on occasion,” Raylan rebuts.

“Did becoming a father make you inherently more optimistic or just inherently more stupid?” Tim asks, the sarcasm dripping in his tone in such a way that allows the question to seem like sarcasm was the whole intent of the question, rather than for it to be an insult, which Tim knows it is somewhere deep.

“Ah,” Raylan sighs easily, smirking that smirk that Tim will never cease to find incredibly difficult to even so much as mildly disdain, let alone hate. “You’re still an asshole? Oh, some things just never change much, do they?”

Tim flexes his hands to stop himself from reaching for his pack of Marlboros and his lighter.

He checks his watch, takes another sip of his coffee. “See you at the office, dipshit,” he says. He hears Raylans laugh as he pulls out of his spot and drives away, needing to breathe the air he’s had more than a decade to get used to—air absent of Raylans presence.

He gets to the office a whopping total of two minutes earlier than necessary, heads straight for Rachels office.

“Let me guess,” he says. “Boyd Crowder has escaped the lovely Harlan County Penitentiary and we’re charged with finding him?”

“Precisely,” Rachel says, heaving in a sigh. “Only if he comes down this way, though, which he might if he thinks Ava is still here.”

“Why the fuck would he ever--” Tim starts, pausing to think and just long enough to enter her office fully, shut the door and sit down on the couch across from her desk “It’s Boyd. Even if he’s smarter than to think she’d ever come back ‘round these parts as a goddamned fugitive, he’s at least considered the possibility.”

Rachel smiles, tight lipped, professional but just a touch sarcastic, like always. “I like it when you use that brain of yours to actually think,” she says. “You’re on the lead, Raylans takin’ second.”

Tim can’t help his facial expression—he and Rachel have worked together for a decade and a half now, with Tim having joined the service when he was almost thirty and her having been in the service for fourteen years by the time he was joining. He doesn’t try to hide the mild discomfort he feels at the thought of taking lead or working with Raylan again and she, in turn, has the decency not to stifle her sarcastic chuckle or soften the hardened glare that she sports in his direction for the following fifteen seconds.

“I know you don’t wanna do this,” she says. “I dunno which part you hate more—takin' lead on this case or workin’ with Raylan again, but c’est la vie, Tim.”

Tim shrugs, defensive air coming to him before he can stop it. “I don’t hate takin’ lead on a case,” he says. “Actually--I love it. If you want to put me on lead for the next several task forces we have to pull out of our asses, be my motherfuckin’ guest, I just don’t understand why you’d make me lead and Raylan second when Raylan is the one who knows Boyd the best out of just about anyone in Kentucky.”

He and Boyd have had a limited number of interactions, all things considered—the time where Boyd used Tim and Rachel to save his own ass and then shot a gun while his hands were cuffed behind his back, as well as the time Tim played Scrabble against him and was about five minutes out from losing when Raylan walked back in are the first of their interactions to come to mind—and it makes very little sense to have him on lead when Raylan and his “we dug coal together” shtick know Boyd better than Tim ever wants to.

“I was given a very strong suggestion not to make Raylan lead,” Rachel shrugs. “Manpower in Miami is stretched so thin that losing Raylan to this taskforce is the Miami equivalent of losing 1/3rd of their damn population, apparently. Dan was hesitant to send him down here and doesn’t want him gone longer than a month or two.”

Tim shrugs. “Boyd is a hell of a lot smarter than to risk his own skin comin’ down here, even if he thinks Ava’s somehow holed up here without gettin’ caught,” he says. “Ava is smarter than to come down here, too. She wouldn’t risk it, I don’t think. Too afraid Boyd’d come lookin’ to bother.”

“You might actually be right on that front,” she says. “I hope you are. You remember how much of a damn fuss those two kicked up back in the day?”

It’s not often that Tim reminisces—he hates thinking about the past that is riddled so much with Raylan and Mark that it can induce a hangover unlike anything he’s ever experienced, even absent of booze—but he lets himself reminisce a little bit. The Boyd Crowder case had been a long time coming by the time they finally put Boyd away and Raylan didn’t have a means of screwing it up.

He and Rachel have been getting along like a house on fire since they started working together, back when Art would pair the two of them up before Raylan had even come around, but their bond had strengthened throughout the six years that Raylan and his reign of terror masqueraded about Kentucky. It’s easy to let her see bits and pieces of who he is because she is the closest thing that Tim has to family worth their salt.

“I do,” he says. “Damn it—the Crowders and associates and the fuckin’ Bennett clan. Part of me yearns for those days on occasion.”

Rachels lips upturn in a reminiscent smile. “What, you miss when they were shootin’ people left’n right? I don’t.”

“I miss being busy all the damn time,” he confesses. “Our criminals nowadays ain’t like they were back with the turn of the 2010s.”

“You’re sayin’ you want a Boyd Crowder wannabe runnin’ around Harlan like he owns it?”

Tim shrugs. “This Boyd Crowder wannabe had better be more efficient at blowin’ shit up than Boyd was,” he says. “Or at least do it more often. I miss bein’ so busy it was hard to sleep at night, mostly, but bickering with Boyd was entertaining on the rare chance he wasn’t directing all of his verboseness at Raylan.”

Rachel laughs, dry and easy. “You’re so lucky I love you enough not to transfer you down to Arlington,” she says. “I don’t blame you for it—we had very different versions of Boyd Crowders heyday, but I miss it on occasion too. Mostly late at night, after a few too many.”

Tim knows the six years they had with Raylan were vastly different—Tim was drinking his liver into a premature death every night, going to see Dave Alvin with dates or guys from his military days who’d turned into such, then later fucking around with Mark and Raylan and knowing full well his heart would probably not make it through the ordeal.

Rachel was repeatedly hurt—first her ex brother in law turned into a fugitive and had to be arrested while in a pizza joint, then her marriage fell apart and she had to keep it together without losing her entire goddamned mind just so that Art wouldn’t walk back his decision with regards to having her be the chief once he retired, and in between that whole mess, Boyd Crowder and those he kept in his employ or worked with shot at her repeatedly. Even if they missed, being shot at still fuckin’ sucks.

“Yeah?” Tim laughs. “I thought since you became the chief, you’d be like all chiefs before. Take up a taste for Pappy Van Winkle.”

“I’ll take my fridge cold Modelo over Pappy, thank you,” she says. “Time check?”

Tim glances up at the clock, high up on the wall behind Rachel. “Time check says quarter to eight,” he says. “You see Raylan?”

“Late, as usual,” she laughs. “Missed him, but I didn’t miss that. Assuming we’ve got at least two more minutes til he graces us with his presence, if you don’t tell me you’ve been to the VFW this week, I will use my gun and shoot you my-fuckin'-self, right here in this office.”

Tim hasn’t been in a few weeks if not a full month, but Rachel, decidedly, does not need to know that. He nods.

“I’ve gone twice a week since the incident,” he says. “Meet with a therapist every Wednesday and Friday.”

“Good,” she nods. Tim fights a sigh of relief when he finds she believes him, that she doesn’t see through the lie that several of his buddies from his ranger days would see right through in maybe half a second. “You scared the shit out me, you know that? I don’t want that happening again.”

Tims lips form a line before he can stop himself. “I’ll do my best.”

“Have you been drinking?”

“Not a lick,” Tim says. That, at least, is the truth. “Not since the incident. Too scared to drink after that.”

“Is the booze still in your fridge?”

“Yeah,” he doesn’t see the point in dumping it—one day, be it in that week or that month or in the next few months, he won’t be so scared to touch the booze and even if it means going all in right out the gate, it’s an odd little creature comfort that he’s not ready to let go of yet.

“Tim,” Rachel says, tone authoritative and well meaning. She’s weirdly good at it—finding the balance been friend and boss. Tim finds it admirable. “You gotta do somethin’ with it before it expires—don't you dare drink, though.”

“I’ll dump it one of these days,” he says. “Just--not yet.”

“I know you well enough to know you’re not lyin’ to me,” she says. “The minute you start, though? And the minute I sniff it out? You’re going on a leave of absence and you ain’t comin’ back til you’re stone cold sober. I liked you as you were back when Boyd was in the shit with the heroin and the Dixie mafia, but I like you not drunk off your ass or hungover a hell of a lot more than I liked the version of you that drank every fuckin’ night. Don’t make me dislike you, Timothy.”

Tim smiles, gentle and easy and a little more sarcastic than he really means to be. “Yes Ma’am,” he says. “I promise not to do anythin’ out of line that would affect my ability to work. You have my word on that.”

“You’re lucky I know your word means somethin’,” she says. “You scared the shit out of me six weeks ago, and while I’ve tried to forget about it, it ain’t happened yet. I don’t let myself do it often—you're a big boy and if you can’t take care’a yourself at forty-five with a decade of military experience under your belt? There is not an ounce of hope left for you—but I’m lettin’ myself do it now because I can afford that. You scared me half to death, Tim, and if I ever find you like that again I’m gonna hold you liable for my psychotic break.”

“I know,” he says. “Stop worrying. I’m okay now, and I’m going to stay that way.”

“You’d fuckin’ better, Tim. I don’t take too kindly to being scared like that.”

Like a curse brought down onto Kentucky, Raylan takes that moment to open Rachels office door.

“Sorry I’m late,” he greets. “Tell me what’s what.”

Eleven hours later, it’s seven o’clock on the dot and Rachel, Raylan, and Tim still feel like they’ve gotten nowhere. Apart from the assembly of the task force—which includes the likes of Rachel, Raylan, Tim, Dunlop, and a few newbies that joined the Marshals after a good and long half-decade or so in the Marines—and coordinating a press release that Tim will have to talk in during the following day informing locals about Boyds current escapee status, they have nothing.

No leads as to his whereabouts, no confirmed information from the CI that used to work closely with a few of Boyds buddies, nothing. They’re at a dead end and Rachel tells them to go home, to come back in no later than half past eight, and Tim is grateful for it as he leaves, his thoughts blurrying somewhere between the ride in the elevator and the short walk between the bottom floor of the courthouse and his truck.

He sits in his truck for a long couple of minutes, drums his fingers against the steering wheel because he doesn’t want to go home but otherwise doesn’t know what to do with himself.

He could grab dinner, but grabbing dinner completely alone still feels more pathetic than not. He could go home even though he doesn’t want to and make it worth it by stopping at a grocery store on the way and picking up a pint of Ben and Jerrys, and then eating it in one sitting whilst some western he’s seen a thousand times before plays monotonously in the background.

He could go to a bar, just like he did the night before. He could order a coke or a water and then let someone flirt their way into seducing him, just like he did the night before, but he’d really rather not.

He realizes, as his eyes move to his hands and he finds his fingers still drumming against the steering wheel, that he effectively has nothing.

So he drives for a bit, takes a left turn and then goes straight only to take right and somehow, he finds himself at home anyway.

He checks the landline that he’s had for fifteen years and will probably never give up, is unsurprised to find a message from the counselor he used to see at the VFW twice a week.

“Hi, Tim, this Alexander calling again, just to check in,” the voicemail starts. “I just—your number is still listed and you haven’t come around in a month. I’ve been wondering about you, is all. The VFW will always have your back, as will the people in it. I’m not saying you have to come back, per se—you're a lawman, I can’t force you to do shit—but I’m saying that we’ll be here for you, if you let us or want us to be. Call me back whenever you feel like it, okay? If you ever feel like it at all. If you don’t, that’s just fine, too.”

He doesn’t call back even though some part of him kind of wants to. Instead, he goes to the bathroom, pulls his jeans off of his body and lets the Henley he wears follow suit. He tosses them into the dirty laundry basket that’s been building for a week and bends to get to the dryer so he can pull out a pair of joggers and a Carhartt sweatshirt that’s as old as his time in the Marshals service.

He grabs a towel and a fresh pair of boxers before finally taking his boxers off and tossing them into the dirty laundry basket just as he'd done with the rest of his day clothes.

He showers, keeps the water so cold that it almost turns the tips of his fingers purple and lingers in the shower a little longer than what’s necessary. He stays under the water until he gets sick of it and only afterwards does he step out, reaching for the towel he’d grabbed and using it to towel dry his hair before he wraps it around his waist.

He gets dressed faster than he means to, slipping his boxers and sweatpants on at the same time and not even bothering to grab a shirt to wear under his sweatshirt, just slipping it on over his torso and rolling the sleeves up to the elbows.

He heads back to his living room, checks his voicemail again.

“Hey, Tim—it's Raylan. Are you okay? Rachel seemed on edge with you today, and she told me about an incident,” Raylans voice comes through the speaker and Tim almost hates him for it. “Refused, vehemently, to give me specifics though. I hate it when she does that, but—anyway. Are you doin’ all right? I think we’re due in to catch up about now, how’s dinner sound?”

There’s silence for a beat, one breath in and another out before Raylan sighs. “Look--I know you’re not answering this landline is probably because you’re busy but if you aint, meet me at Magdelenes for eight on the dot.”

For a few seconds, he considers it. He even goes so far as to check his watch, sees that it’s barely half past seven.

He flops onto the couch that is so old now he’s surprised the legs haven’t sccumb yet to dry rot, stares at his ceiling as he considers.

The way he sees it, he has two options. He can go and suffer through a dinner with Raylan for an hour, pointedly avoid the questions about the incident and narrowly beat around the bush by giving Raylan enough non answers that he takes it back to Rachel.

The other option is that he makes the ten minute drive down to the VFW, which is always open til midnight on Fridays. He can see if Alexander has a slot at the time or wait it out until he has one, go to one of the AA meetings across the road in the meantime and then after he’s done at the VFW, he can treat himself to a greasy pizza from Antonios and eat it while he watches a western before he goes to bed a little earlier than normal.

He gets up into a proper sitting position, sighs and puts his head in his hands. “Damn you, Alexander,” he says.

He gets up, shuffles his way into his running shoes and grabs his car and apartment keys.

Between the company of Raylan Givens and a trip to the VFW, for the first time in his life, Tim has chosen the motherfucking VFW. If Art could’ve seen it coming, Tim is sure he’d’ve died on the spot.

“You still drinkin’?” Alexander Moreno is a guy that’s fifty-three, tops. He’s starting to go grey on the sides of his head and his skin is very clearly weathered by the sun, but he’s only therapist that Tims gotten through the VFW that has actually understood him. “I mean—you look sober, and you’re actin’ it, but—answer the question for politeness sakes.”

“Negative,” Tim says. “I haven’t touched booze in six weeks, one day and about fourteen or so hours, even though I do think my math might be a little off.”

Alexander laughs. “Why the fuck’re you countin’ for?” he asks. “Sobriety is usually a choice, but for you, doesn’t seem like it is--no sober person would keep a count that specific. Days, months, weeks, yeah. Hours? never, unless they're at the very beginning. Is it a choice?”

“No,” Tim confesses. “It’s not. I had—well—my boss and I are calling it The Incident.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, you know, normal shit,” Tim shrugs, defaulting back to sarcasm. “Up until six weeks ago, I was bein’ real reckless. I didn’t care about my liver, my kidneys, my heart—none of it, and so I was doin’ as I’ve always done.”

“Drinking your vital organs into the earliest grave you can manage,” Alexander nods. “You’n the booze, Timothy. You have the worlds most devastatingly one-sided love affair. What did all this drinkin’ lead to?”

“Rachel and I were going to do a stakeout the next day, and she’d agreed to come’n grab me from my apartment because my truck was in the shop for the week,” he says. “She found me on the tail end of a bender so bad I’d had a heart attack, seized and gone very briefly into acute liver dysfunction. She found me layin’ in the bathtub with vomit all over my mouth mid seizure. Made me promise to stay away from the booze and to go to the VFW for therapy and meetings.”

“How long had you been drinking when you passed out?”

“I got off of work late—eleven, if I’m remembering right. I thought I could have a few’n then go to bed, but I had to eat and didn't feel like cooking so I had to stop for half an hour to grab food from the pizza place that just opened up. I’d been drinking at midnight and she’d said she come get me for 6:30. I was still drinking at five that morning because I couldn’t fall asleep.”

“What do you think triggered the bender?”

“The--the anniversary of my first kill in the rangers is next week,” he laughs tiredly. “Six weeks ago it was the anniversary of when I first took the ASVAB. Any of those dates trip me right the fuck up, make my PTSD do something awful.”

“Have you been on leave ever since?”

“No,” Tim laughs. “Took a few days’n I was back in the office, but it was really difficult to convince Rachel to let me. I don’t do well with time off and I never have, and recovering from the closest to death I think I’ve ever gotten outside of an active zone of combat is apparently no goddamned exception.”

“Figures,” Alexander says. “Are you okay, since?”

“My liver is workin’ normally again even though drinkin’ coffee makes my chest hurt now,” Tim sighs. “Can’t drink the booze in my fridge but every time I think about it I think about just chugging all of it and then leaving the rest to nature because dumping it feels like a waste of money, and I just—shit, Alexander. Where have I been going wrong?”

“Before I speak my mind, do you want me to sugar coat this or be blunt?”

“Blunt,” Tim says. “Hate it when people sugarcoat shit.”

“Okay,” Alexander nods. “You’re screwed by nature a little, I think—your father died when you were what, eighteen? Because he got so drunk that he’d gone through every single half full bottle of booze in his collection, and then he went and did a goddamn wheely into a ditch. Your mother is currently in a nursing home dealing with dementia and she left the house to you because your brother is just as bad as your father was, and your sister is a criminal defense attorney livin’n working in Miami who hasn’t seen or talked to you or your mother in well over a decade. Alcoholism runs in your family by nature, and yeah, you had a heart attack, sure, but at least dyin’ of a heart attack is less embarrassing than doin’ wheelies on a busy street’n getting your car into the bottom of a ditch, Tim.”

He makes an annoyingly fair point and Tim hates it.

“There are worse ways to die,” Tim says.

“And better ways, too,” Alexander nods. “Yeah. The good thing is that just like death, there are better ways to live than using alcohol as a crutch and I’m thinkin’ it’s time you realized that.”

Tim glares at him, though the gesture is so half hearted it’s obviously so, and it makes Alexander laugh a little.

“Glare at me all you wish,” he says. “You know that I’m right about this. You know you need to keep comin’ to these sessions because you ain’t been in the military for seventeen fuckin’ years now but you walk around with all that trauma fresh as a daisy in your head.”

“It ain’t trauma, Alexander.”

“Fuck me if it ain’t trauma,” Alexander laughs dryly, sarcasm dripping from his tone. “You worked infantry from the age of 18 to 21, correct? Then you were a ranger til ya hit 26, then you went through the sniper school and were a sniper til you left at 28. That there is a decade of seein’ combat. You don’t do what we did and come out untraumatized, Tim. That ain’t how it works. You kill as many people as you did, no fuckin’ way to leave without at least a little bit of scarring.”

Tim heaves in a sigh, lets his shoulders slump. “You, Alexander Moreno, are no fun,” he declares.

Alexander laughs. “I had a drinkin’ problem too,” he says. “After I drank, I transitioned from booze to ciggies, which, judgin’ by the pack I can see pokin’ out the pocket of your joggers, so have you. After I got over cigarettes I left that shit behind entirely. You ever take up reefer, though, I ain’t gonna judge you. Lots of the guys here have prescriptions that they get filled because of chronic pain or other issues.”

“That’s comforting,” Tim says. “I just—fuck, you know?”

Tim checks his watch. He sees that it’s quarter to nine and realizes that he’s somehow been sitting across Alexander for a full hour when it barely feels like it’s been fifteen minutes.

“When you were comin’ down here at first, you came down twice weekly,” he says. “I’m gonna do the nice thing and assume this ain’t a one-time visit.”

Tim heaves a breath in. “I’d very much like to stop lyin’ to my boss, so it’s not,” he says.

“All right,” Alexander nods. “Instead of Wednesdays and Fridays like we used to, we’re gonna do Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Forty five minutes Monday because Mondays are inherently disgusting and an hour and fifteen Wednesday and Friday, though I’m gonna put you in my last two hour time slots so that if you need more time, we have it. You finally comittin’ yourself to mental wellness?”

He has a general hatred for that kind of language—therapy language feels superficial, at best, and is agitating at worst, but he nods. He lets Alexander use that language because some part of him believes maybe it does play a role in getting better somehow.

Alexander stands and naturally, Tim follows suit. He extends a hand and Tim takes it assuming he’s just going to shake hands, but Alexander pulls him into a bro-hug instead.

Tim has never really been much for physical contact but he decides that it’s fine because the idea that he wants to get better is sticking for the first time in his life. He’s not just saying it for the sake of saying it but instead is saying it with the intent to keep to his word.

“I’ll see you Monday,” Alexander says. “Eight on the dot, right?”

“Eight should work best with my schedule,” Tim nods. “Thanks.”

Alexander smiles as Tim makes his way to the door, fully intending to go home and knock out until four so he can run for longer than he usually does and get to work on time.

“Yeah,” Alexander says. “You take care of yourself in the meantime, all right?”

“Either get busy livin’ or get busy dyin’,” Tim rebuts, some part of him hating the way that the words sound when they come out of his mouth. “I’ve committed and I really don’t need to piss my boss off again, so I don’t have much choice.”

Alexander barks a laugh and Tim hears it as he leaves, the sound echoing in his mind even after he's left.

#justified #justified fx #raylan givens #tim gutterson #rachel brooks #givenson #raylan givens x tim gutterson

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