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emma-m-black · 5 months ago

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The Daughter - Chapter Twelve

Tim Gutterson x OC (FanFiction) - MATURE 18+

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.

Author Master List

Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven, Chapter Eight, Chapter Nine, Chapter Ten, Chapter Eleven,

CHAPTER: Twelve

“Uncle Boyd?” Elenora had been leaving school when she saw her uncle leaning against her truck. His arms crossed on his chest and he had a smile on his face as she approached.

“Elenora.” He greeted back.

Elenora stood in front of him now, and her free hand moved to reach up for the strap of her workbag. Knowing her gun was tucked in the glove box of her car, if something were about to happen the only weapon she had was her heavy bag. “Can I do something for you?”

“I was hoping that I could entice you to join me for a cup of coffee.”

Thinking on her feet, Elenora smiled at her uncle and relaxed her shoulders. “Actually, I’m supposed to be meeting someone.”

“You meeting that Marshal boyfriend of yours?”

Elenora was not sure what to think. The only way he would know about Tim was if he had seen them together. She then realized he was leaning against her Bronco. Something he had never seen. “You following me?”

“Happened upon you once or twice.” He pushed off from the vehicle and held a hand to his buttoned up chest. “Scout’s honor, I only wanted to ensure you were safe. You know with all that your daddy and I get up to.”

“What do you want, Uncle Boyd?”

“I just want to talk. We can even go somewhere of your choosing. I just want to get to know the woman you have become.”

Elenora thought about this for a moment. What harm was there in just having a coffee? He seemed genuine enough. “There is a coffee shop around the corner. It’s usually busy at this time, and we can walk over. Oh, and I’m texting Tim.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Boyd said with a smile.

“Daddy taught me well.” Elenora spoke as she pulled her phone out from the side pocket of her workbag.

Elenora: Uncle Boyd and I are going for a coffee, the usual. I’ll have my phone and gun. No need to worry.

Tim: That’s my girl.

Tim: Got prisoner transport. Shouldn’t be too late.

“Let me throw this stuff in the back and grab my purse.” Said Elenora, before walking around the front of her vehicle. She opened the passenger door, threw her bag on the seat, and extracted her small purse from its insides. Once she had it, she looked up to eye Boyd, who was still just standing in the same place and staring at the school she had come from. Quickly, she opened the glove box and extracted her pistol and slipped it into her bag. Then she threw the strap around her shoulder and closed and locked the door. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Said Boyd, who then walked to stand next to her. “Lead the way.”

“So, daddy tells me you are on the straight.” Said Elenora, as both she and Boyd exited the parking lot.

Boyd stuck his hands in his pockets. “Trying ta’ be. Back at the mines.”

“Well, that’s good.”

“Till I die of black lung.” Said Boyd simply.

Elenora led them around the corner. “You could always try to find a more health conscious line of work.”

“There aren’t too many people that will hire someone with my history.”

“Well, maybe you just aren’t trying hard enough then.” Elenora snapped.

“You are definitely your parent’s child. Don’t know which one you sound like more, Raylan or Bella.”

“Sorry.” Elenora whispered, and she dropped her head slightly in shame. “I’m glad you are trying, Uncle Boyd.”

It did not take long for them to reach the coffee shop, and Boyd held the door open for her. Once inside, she directed Boyd to have a seat and she would order two coffees. Boyd said he would have whatever she was having. So she ordered to brown sugar espresso then paid, directing the staff that she was going to sit down.

Boyd had picked a spot towards the back wall, the same table that Tim would usually pick when given the chance. It had a clear view of both exits and out the windows. When Elenora sat down, she placed her purse on her lap and kept both hands on it.

“You won’t need that pistol of yours. I told you, I just wanna get to know you. Make sure... make sure that you are okay. That you’re happy. That you...”

“Aren’t a drug addict like my mamma?”

Boyd visibly cringed. “I can’t imagine you are. Job, you have that education. Your daddy and I’m sure that boyfriend of yours wouldn’t allow for such a thing.”

“Reading.”

“Reading?” Elenora watched as Boyd’s face scrunched in visible confusion.

“That’s my vise, my addiction. I read.”

It was at this point that the coffee’s arrived and there was a pause in the conversation. “Here you go Nora. You coffee cheating on Tim now, you know he won’t be none too happy bout that.”

Elenora let out a laugh. “I’m sure I’ll have to deliver him a double on the weekend to make up for it.” With a smile, the waitress put down the cups and walked away.

“Tim.” Boyd began as he stared at Elenora. “What’s his story? Only met him a few times. Boy seems to have a quick wit and holds a gun like he was born with it.”

Elenora pulled her cup towards herself. “He was an army ranger. Sniper. Doesn’t talk about it much, but he was good from what I hear.”

“You being careful with that one? I know what it’s like coming back from something like that. I watched a lot of good people come back real messed up, and they probably did a lot less.” The look in Boyd’s eyes told Elenora that he was being truly sincere.

“He doesn’t talk about it much, but I know about his PTSD. Learning his triggers.”

“That’s good.” Boyd let out a sigh and then reached for his own drink. “This looks real fancy.”

“Espresso, some milk and brown sugar.”

Boyd lifted the cup to his face, blew on it, and then brought it to his lips for a small sip. Once he had swallowed, he put the cup back down and smiled. “Your momma like sweet things too.”

“What was she like, before...” Elenora trailed off, she like to remember the few good things she could about her mother. Most of what she remembered was her mother passed out somewhere in the house and Elenora teaching herself how to use the stove to make soup for dinner.

“Before she got hooked on oxy?”

Elenora let her eyes fall to her cup, and she ran her finger around the rim. “Yeah.”

“Your momma was an old soul. Didn’t want for much, always helped out everyone else before she thought about herself. She was good in school, till she dropped out to raise you. We thought she might have been the first Crowder to actually amount to somethin’ big.”

“So what happened?”

“She had you, and then she started working for Bo, your grand-pappy. Next thing we knew she was using, and then I was off to war. They let me come back for the funeral...”

“Yeah, hard to forget about that.”

Boyd looked ashamed. “What we did to you, that wasn’t right. I know that now and I am sorry. I knew it then. You were the only thing left from her, and without thinking of the consequences of our actions, we made a poor decision.”

“Do you know how scared I was? I had just found out I had a father that knew nothing about me, and then I was kidnapped by my own family. Hauled off to some cabin. Men with guns watching the perimeter. I watched a man die in front of me. Do you know how messed up that made me?” Elenora’s voice died down into a whisper. “It is going to take a lot more than a sorry to fix that, Uncle Boyd.”

“And I would like a chance to do more than say I’m sorry. So how’s your daddy feel about you dating a lawman?” Elenora did not answer and instead brought her cup to her lip for another sip. Her uncle watched her for a moment and then realized the answer to his question. “Your daddy doesn’t know.”

“Nope.”

Boyd smirked and shook his head. “You know, that is probably not the best idea. Knowing what I know of your daddy, I don’t think that is going to end well for you.”

“It was never going to end well. Now they work together, and either way, it’s gonna be a bad day for everyone.”

--------------------------------

Elenora was sat on her couch, her and her uncle had talked for about two hours before they parted ways. The tv was playing some movie, and she had a book folded open on the blanket that rested across her lap, but she just stared at the wall. A part of her wanted to believe her Uncle, that maybe they could be a family again, but her heart just did not want to latch onto that thought. He was right about one thing. Perhaps it was time to tell her dad about Tim.

The door deadbolt flipping brought Elenora out of her trance, and she watched as Tim entered the apartment. She watched as he relocked the door behind him, moved across to the bed, unloaded his weapon, and tossed his magazine onto Elenora’s side of the bed. This was routine now, so simple it was as if they had done it a thousand times already. She knew not to ask. If he wanted to talk about what happened, Elenora would let him tell her when he was ready.

When Tim entered the living area after discarding his badge and gun and brought himself to the couch and picked her book up from her hands and laid down with his head on her lap. He left the book open to her page and draped it across his stomach to keep her place. His fingers weaved themselves together as he laid his hands across his lap.

Elenora reached down and ran her fingers through Tim’s hair and watched as he closed his eyes with a sigh. “Uncle Boyd knows about us. He’s been following me.”

“Gonna have to teach you how to lose a tail. He must not have told your daddy, otherwise I don’t think he would have wanted to be teamed up with me today.”

“No, but he did say I should tell him sooner rather than later. I think he’s right. We should figure out how we want to do this.”

---------------------

“Raylan, we need to talk,” Art called out after he saw Raylan grab his hat to leave for the night. Raylan raised an eyebrow as he entered the office. “You are gonna wanna sit down.”

“Art? What’s going on?” Raylan questioned as he sat himself down on the couch.

Art leaned back in his chair and steepled his hands together. “How’d Tim seem at the scene?” Since his two deputies got back, Art had been having an internal battle about whether he should be worried about the situation or not. He was sure that Tim had some PTSD and a drinking problem, and while it never affected his work, now Elenora was in the picture.

“Seemed fine. Why?”

“Just wondering. Close range shot, with a pregnant woman in proximity. Tight shot, things could have easily gone wrong.”

Raylan leaned back on the couch and sighed. “Art, if you were really worried about Tim, you would be talking to him right now, so what is this really about? You gonna give me shit cause I gave him the go ahead?”

“I need you to know something, that you aren’t supposed to know, and you have to promise you aren’t going to go all Raylan on me.” Said Art, realizing that he was about to open a door, he would never be able to close.

“What do you mean go all Raylan?”

“You know, shoot someone. If you didn’t know, you are an angry man, Raylan.”

Raylan sighed and tipped his head back. “Spit it out Art, I promise I won’t shoot no one.”

Art took a large breath in and looked Raylan in the eye. “Tim and Elenora are together, Raylan. Been seeing each other before you got transferred.”

“Bullshit. I’ve asked both of them. Elenora swore that she was seeing someone else. She wouldn’t lie to me about that.”

“Raylan, you threatened to shoot the man. How do you think you coming here working with the guy who was sleeping with your daughter was gonna be if you knew? You would just have ended up hating Tim before you even got to know the guy. You telling me you wouldn’t have tried to break them up? Wouldn’t have ended up ruining your relationship with your daughter?”

Raylan opened his mouth, but then closed it and let his shoulders sag. “She was scared to tell me?”

“They both are.”

“How’d you find out?”

Art could see the defeat in Raylan’s eyes. Like a man who realized he had fucked up, with no clue how to come back from it. “I saw them at a coffee shop together. Arm’s wrapped around each other. Elenora laughing and smiling. The night we needed Tim to get us in with your father, the two of them had been out. That’s why I went with him. Elenora was fast asleep in the backseat. Tim confessed to the whole thing. Raylan, he bought a ring.”

At this, Raylan’s eyes widened. “Like a...” He trailed off and pointed toward the ring finger on his left hand.

“Yup. He’s been sitting on it for months. Waiting to ask your permission. They’re good kids Raylan. I’m only breaking their confidence because if Tim can’t handle this, he’s taking that home to your daughter; to a young woman that feels like she’s my own.”

Raylan was quiet for a long while, till finally the wheel in his head stopped turning. “What do I do? Do I, do I tell her I know? Do I tell him I know?”

“From one dad to another, you need to let them come to you. Otherwise, they are gonna feel like kids caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Just show Elenora that you trust her, that you are proud of her, and she will tell you. Now that I know, it’s clear they aren’t trying too hard to hide it from you. I think it’s just a matter of her knowing you aren’t disappointed in her.”

“I could never be disappointed with her. She’s grown into this strong young woman. Someone I never thought I would be able to raise on my own.”

“Then tell her that Raylan, and maybe she will start telling you things you wanna here too.” Art watched as Raylan stood up, hat in his hands.

“I’ll do a drive by, send her a message. Just check in with her. I’m sure Tim’s fine. You’ll need to debrief and all that tomorrow, anyway. Should be easy to tell if there is concern.” Art stood up from his chair and eyed Raylan with suspicion. “I won’t do anything stupid, don’t worry. Need more time to process all this anyhow.”

“Well then, have a good night, Raylan.”

Raylan headed towards the doorway but paused before looking back at Art. “Thanks for telling me.”

“I’d hope you would have done the same.”

78.

Raylan circled the block of Elenora’s apartment building and found Tim’s car parked in a paid parking stall, alongside a bunch of overflow vehicles from a nearby hotel. He admitted he probably would have never noticed driving by that it was Tim’s, but now he knew to look.

When he pulled up across the street from Elenora’s large windows, he looked up to find the lights in the apartment on. Pulling out his phone, he pulled up Elenora’s number and hit call. He could see a shadow move across the window, and then the call was answered.

“Daddy, is everything okay?”

“Yeah sunshine, everything’s fine.” Said Raylan and he watched as Elenora came into view through the window.

“Did you need something?”

Raylan sighed as he watched her lean against the window frame, staring off into the room. “Had a weird case today and thought of you. I just, just wanted to hear your voice, know that you were okay.”

“I’m good daddy. Are you?”

“I will be. Like I said, just wanted to hear your voice.” It was then he noticed a second shadow moving across the window. “But I should let you go. I probably woke you up. Hey, you aren’t working tomorrow, are you? Wanna grab breakfast with your old man?”

“I’d love to. Say seven before you need to go in?”

“Yeah, that works. I’ll text you the place.”

“Okay daddy, get some sleep. I love you.”

“Love you too, Sunshine.” With that, Raylan ended the call and watched as Elenora did the same, and then Tim came into view. Raylan watched as the two said something to one another and then Tim stepped forward, placed a hand on her cheek and leaned forward to kiss her forehead. Then they disappeared further into the apartment before the lights began to turn off, bathing the home in darkness.

Raylan fell back in his seat. “Well, fuck.” He whispered and thought back to his time with Tim. The guy seemed to have his shit together. He was good at his job, and honestly, he was beginning to think of the guy as a friend, one of the few he actually had.

Chapter Thirteen Coming....

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

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lim-boe · 11 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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kindlingandhawthorn · 3 months ago

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beta reader? discord?

I'm looking for a beta reader for the first time in probably 20 years... or maybe a discord community to toss ideas back and forth with...

I'm currently writing explicit (bdsm/kink, abo, dub-con/non-con recovery) fic. This IS a new psued (not someone new to the internet/fandom/etc.) and that's because I don't really want to cross the streams as it were, between this fiction and the rest of my digital footprint.

I have a ton of momentum behind me right now in the form of 50k words of Justified kink (ha!) in one series (I already posted part 1), another ~50k of Justified ABO, as well as the start of four more Jacob Pitts-centric fics (fandoms include Justified, The Pacific, and one very bizarre Sinner-influenced prostitute AU- I don't even know, guys)

So... if you're interested in beta reading, know someone who is, know of a discord (and maybe don't mind coaching someone through joining a discord for the first time?) or are just willing to signal boost, I'd be grateful.

Tagging this with applicable fandoms and pairings. ALL of which I seem to be showing up to 10-15 years late with Starbucks.

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awaterfalls · 11 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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usmsgutterson · 8 months ago

Text

Achilles Heel - Givenson

oooookay!! This is the second chapter of this work. If you missed the first chapter, this chapter probably won't make sense, and if you'd prefer to read it on ao3 here's the link!

fic type - this is, once again, like if hurt/comfort and fluff had a weird child of neutrality

warnings - just like the last chapter--alcoholism and it's adverse effects are discussed (heart attack is mentioned a lot in this one and once is used for a dark humour-y kind of joke, the root cause for it is revealed and specified a bit more, and the seizure is mentioned at least once) tims time in the military is discussed a little, PTSD manifests as an anxiety attack and a bit like a flashback at the same time. Tims childhood trauma is discussed so physical abuse, as well as mental and verbal abuse are mentioned. There are a few mentions of guns in correlation to said trauma and a lot of talk about booze in the general sense.

“Well,” Rachel says as she enters Tims apartment a week later, having gotten in using the spare key he’d surrendered to her seven weeks beforehand. “That explains the kitten formula in your truck.”

He’s lounging on his couch wearing an old pair of cargo pants and a shirt that he’d gotten when he first joined infantry two and a half decades back—it's one with the military logo on it as well as his unit number from those days. It's one of the only things he got from his military days apart from the PTSD and it's only something he wears when there's just about nothing else, but it's laundry day in the Gutterson manor so he's decided to give himself a pass.

“Found her in the engine of my truck,” Tim says. “After my last appointment with Alexander. Any new leads?”

“WIth the Boyd case? Nah,” she says, objecting to sit on the floor in the space between Tims couch and his coffee table because Tim has sprawled out over his couch and has the kitten on his chest. “Figured I’d get Raylan’n we’d come and bug you for a while, try to get inside Boyds head a little bit.”

“There in lies the reason you left the door unlocked,” Tim nods, having noticed she left it unlocked after she came in. “Are Dunlop, Stevens and Marino invited to this meetin’ of ours?”

“They don’t know Boyd as well as we do,” Rachel shrugs. “What’s the furballs name?”

“Her name is Roulette,” Tim answers. “Found her in the engine of my truck so I figured it would be funny if I named her after a transformer, and she was almost named Megatron, so I feel like I could’ve done worse.”

Roulette is a cat of five weeks old who’s got a calico pattern of primarily orange and black with some white on her chin, stomach, and paws. She meows at pretty much all hours of the day and has given Tim’s heart a few jumpstarts since he’d found her in the engine of his truck, as well as having costed him nearly $600 in vet bills across four appointments.

“You could’ve,” Rachel shrugs again. “She’s cute, for what it’s worth.”

“Yeah, and she keeps me off the booze,” he says. “You told Raylan the full story yet?”

“No,” she says. “Figured I’d leave that to you. Has he stopped trying to get details?”

“Mostly,” Tim shrugs, rapidly opening and closing his fist in lieu of enrichment for Roulette so that he doesn’t have to think about Raylan more than he already has been.

“You gonna tell him anything, ever?”

“The way I see it, he doesn’t know right now and he can go on blissful in his ignorance. If I tell him, he’ll just get mad nobody told him when it happened. Act like he woulda been on a plane down here with the drop of that stupid fuckin’ stetson had you or anyone else called.”

“You don’t think he woulda meant it, had he said it?”

“Not really, no,” it kind of hurts to admit, but it’s the truth. Tim doubts that Raylan would’ve been at his bedside had Rachel called him, doesn’t even think he’d pick up the damn phone had Rachel gone against Tims wish and called him anyway. “I think that he’d say he would’ve, but I also think that if I looked him in the eye when he spoke, I’d see that he wouldn’t mean it.”

“You’re only sayin’ that because of that weird little affair you two had goin’ on on and off while he was around,” Rachel says. “I notice things, Tim, and it was damn near impossible not to notice that.”

Tim smiles, his chest slightly aching. “Careful, Rachel,” he says cautiously. “Don’t need my heart givin’ out at the reminder of that whole mess.” He says it with a clear intent in his head—get Rachel the fuck away from talking about their relationship, even if it means they talk about The Incident again,

“Don’t make jokes like that,” Rachel says. She grabs one of the stupid decorative magazines Tim keeps on his coffee table for appearances sake and thwacks him over the head with it before she sets it back down and Tim finds himself celebrating it silently. Talking about the attack and the seizure is, for some reason, better than talking about Raylan. “Your heart attack wasn’t funny, neither was seein’ you in the middle of a damn seizure covered in your own fuckin’ vomit. I know you like a bit of dark humour, but—you gotta understand my perspective. You lived, sure, but when I walked into that bathroom, I thought you were gonna die on me. I can’t have that.”

“I know,” he says, letting his voice take on a gentle tone as Roulette the kitten bites his finger. It’s a tone reserved for Rachel and Roulette alike, something that Raylan Givens has never heard a day in his life. “I’m sorry.”

Waking up from the heart attack was scary enough—he couldn’t remember much about before he’d passed out apart from the drinking and the chest pain he’d thought nothing of, figuring it was a harmless side effect of the booze. Then he turned his head to the right and saw Rachel and guilt opened it’s gnarly mouth and damn near swallowed him whole.

He doesn’t think about it much—can't unless he wants to go down a spiral that'll induce a second heart attack—but Rachels perspective of the events of that night were chronicalized so that Tim could try and jog his memory and try as he might, seven weeks gone from the day he woke up in the hospital and he has yet to forget the words she wrote on that piece of paper.

He remembers the way her hand shook as she wrote in the notepad, remembers the steeled, determined expression on her face, completely and totally determined not to show weakness despite it all.

“It was terrifying,” Rachel says. “Don’t you ever put me through that again.”

Roulette the cat curls up on his chest and starts purring up a storm, and Tim reaches out, gives Rachels shoulder a squeeze.

“You and I have spent the last eleven years since Raylan left saying that the only way we’d ever leave Kentucky was if we were transferred out by force, or we were shufflin’ out the same way we’d shuffle off’a this mortal coil, in a body bag,” Rachel says. “You promised me that once, that you’d stop being reckless.”

“I didn’t keep that promise,” Tim says. “I know. I’m an ass at my best, Rachel. You know that.”

“I like that about you, usually,” Rachel shrugs. “I can’t shake it, though. Every time I walk in here I get scared I’m gonna see you in the bathtub again, vomit all over your chin and your heart having gave out. I’m sorry to be a burdensome chief and friend, but I can’t deal with that alone anymore.”

“You’re not burdensome,” Tim says. “Do you—would it—you need me to tell Raylan, for your sake, don’t you?”

Rachel smiles. “If you wanna tell him, you can.”

“If he wants to tell me what?” Rachel and Tim both flinch at the sound of his voice, and the sound of the door closing behind him wakes up Roulette, who protests the sleep disruption by getting on her feet and meowing as loud as her little lungs will let her.

Tim sits up. Raylan sits across from Rachel, his gorgeous brown eyes piercing Tims in a way that makes the ache in his chest intensify.

Tim looks at Rachel silently. Please don’t make me tell him.

Rachel looks back at Tim. I don't think you have another option.

Tim takes a deep breath in, tries to will himself into some version of less irritated.

“You need to do a better job of making your presence known when you’re entering someones goddamn home,” Tim says, tone a bit angrier than he means for it to be. “You--it’s not—you are not allowed to freak out. No yelling, no glaring—if I see your nostrils flare or one hand gesture while you talk at me, you are picking your ass up off my floor and getting the fuck out of my apartment.”

Roulette settles in Tims lap. Tim takes a breath in, and Raylan nods.

“Must be serious,” Raylan says. “You have a deal.”

“Seven weeks ago I had a heart attack,” Tim says. He watches Raylans face contort in shock, then disbelief, then anger all the space of thirty total seconds. “Rachels the one that found me, and if it weren’t for her, I’d probably be dead.”

“And--what--” Raylans lips form an angry line and he directs the anger at Rachel first. “He had a heart attack and—seven weeks! Seven weeks and neither of you called?”

Tim immediately takes the defense. “Hey! Don’t do that,” he says. “Don’t. If you’re gonna be angry at anyone, be angry at me. Rachel isn’t the one at fault here, and neither of us called because we didn’t see the point. You have a life in Miami, Raylan, forgive me for not calling because you have a kid and a job and a thousand different reasons as to why you wouldn’t’ve been able to drop everything and visit a coworker you haven’t worked with in more than a decade.” By the time Tim finishes, he’s out of breath but he decides it’s worth it.

He can see that his words touch a nerve, too. “You know that’s bullshit,” Raylan says. “I would’ve come running the minute Rachel asked, or the minute you did. You had a heart attack, Tim. That’s not just anything. You could’ve died.”

“He didn’t,” Rachel says. “Calm your ass down, Raylan. I need you to focus on Boyd right now—he could be headin’ this way and we need at least an outline of a game plan to take to Mariano, Stevens and Dunlop in the morning. You know him best, so you’re at least in charge of ideas.”

Raylan turns his glare to Tim. "I want details about this, the second you get a chance," he says. "You don't get to tell me you had a heart attack like it's as simple as asking me about the damn weather."

Tims lips form a line. He bites the inside corner of his mouth in silent protest and hates how every single emotion Raylan feels or has ever felt is displayed in his eyes. As he gives a begrudging, mildly aggressive, singular nod, he sees care that goes back a decade and anguish lingering somewhere in Raylans eyes and almost hates him for still caring after so long.

“Fine,” he says. “Now--let’s do our jobs for an hour or two, why don’t we?”

Rachel reaches up, scoops Roulette out from Tims lap and tucks her into the space under her chin. “I like that idea,” she intones, looking pointedly at Raylan.

That night, they do manage to get somewhere and the following day, Tim wakes up feeling refreshed and optimistic.

Rachel does the mean thing, though. She sends him and Raylan down to Harlan to interrogate witnesses as a few have come forward with having seen Boyd down at what used to be Johnny Crowders bar, before Boyd had him killed across state lines.

The drive to Harlan starts out silent, but Tim can tell Raylan has things he wants or needs to say, so half an hour in, he breaks the silence of his own volition.

“All right,” he says, putting his hands up in mock surrender and glancing at Raylan, who’s sitting in the drivers seat. “That’s it—I'm done dealin’ with this. You say what you need to say to me while we’re in this damn car, and when we get to Harlan and have to step out, we get real civil with each other real quick because I spent a decade in the damn military. I can handle silences, Raylan, just as well as I can handle havin’ to sleep on a freezin’ mountain in Afghanistan or sitting in the scorching heat in Iraq, but I can’t handle ‘em when it’s clear you have shit to say and you expect me to listen but you ain’t sayin’ none of it.”

“Why didn’t you call?” Raylan asks.

“I didn’t think you’d come if I did,” he answers. “You say that you woulda but—it's like I said last night. You have a job, a kid, and a thousand other things keepin’ you in Miami. I didn’t think you’d come, didn’t wanna risk gettin’ my heart broken again, and didn’t wanna waste your time when I came out the other end just fine.”

“What triggered it?”

“Got home at midnight, drank my way through three entire bottles of Jack Daniels, a sixer of beer and an entire bottle of peach wine that my sister had sent along last Christmas,” he answers. “Guessin’ that was too much. My BAC was 0.38.”

Raylan glances at Tim. Tim returns the gesture and their gazes meet.

“You should’ve called,” he says. “Knowing you how I do--”

“How you used to,” Tim cuts. “Knowing me how you used to know me—what? What are you gonna say, Raylan. You best make it believable because if you know me as well as you think you do, you know I’m gonna be able to see right through it if you’re lyin’ to me. Don’t do that.”

“Knowin’ you how I used to to—the Tim that I knew woulda called in a heartbeat,” Raylan says. “That guy—he knew I’d drop everythin’ to get to him, no matter how far away I was.”

Tim leans back in his seat, looks at Raylan through a lense more skeptical than he ever thought himself capable.

“Yeah?” He asks, voice even, tone practically showing off the fact that he’s looking for a fight. “I don’t think you knew the guy I was back then, either. If you think I thought that way for longer than half a second before I came to my senses, you’re as dumb as I was goin’ into the fuckin’ military thinking it’d fix all of my issues instead of load me up with more of ‘em. I was eighteen then, Raylan. I have an excuse. What excuse do you have at 56?”

It’s a low blow, and Tim knows that. It hurting as much as it does is the intention, and the hurt is, just like all of his other emotions, clearest in Raylans eyes.

“That’s hardly fair,” Raylan says. “I would’ve--”

“You keep saying that,” Tim cuts. “You’re saying it like you’re trying to make yourself believe it. I’ve got a decade of military experience under my belt and sixteen years total with the Marshals, Raylan. I pick up on that shit. Half of the sentences you’ve spoken have begun with ‘I would’ve’ like this is some sort of hypothetical. It’s not.”

Raylan goes to defend himself, but Tim cuts him off again.

“It’s not a hypothetical. I drank myself into a heart attack, had a seizure amidst that mess, and then when I woke up in the hospital after almost dying with Rachel sitting at my bedside as the one and only person who has consistently stuck by me whether or not I wanted her to, I told her not to call,” he says. “That--that is the reality. I don’t give a damn what you think you would’ve done had I called, whether you’re telling me that you would’ve dropped everything so that you can eventually get to a point where you believe the shit you’re spewin’ or if you actually mean it. I’m done with this conversation, Raylan. I had a heart attack, I didn’t want you there, and that’s that.”

He’s lying, but at least he acknowledges that with himself.

He’d told Rachel not to call Raylan and when she could see that Tim wanted him there, she offered to do it anyway. He said no again, insisted that she go home so she didn’t have to deal with the mess he’d made of himself by drinking himself into heart failure. When she refused and pretty much put her foot down, Tim had known he had no choice. He was in bed for the following few days recovering, a big part of him yearning for Raylan more than he’d ever admit to anyone, let alone Raylan himself.

“Just--let me have this one thing,” Raylan says. “If you’d called, or if you asked Rachel to, what do you think would’ve happened?”

Tim glares at Raylan for a second but gives in nonetheless. “All right,” he says. “Fine. I’ll play your game, but we’re doing this my way. Had Rachel been the one to call you after the ambulance had carted me off, she’d’ve called you at about quarter to seven in the morning. It’s pretty much obligation to have your ringer on in our line of work, but would you have picked up the phone that early?”

“Yep,” Raylan says. Tim searches his face and finds he’s telling the truth.

“All right,” he shrugs. “Would you have, our history with or notwithstanding, called Dan to tell him you wouldn’t be able to make it to work that day and gotten on the earliest flight you could get?”

“Absolutely,” Raylan says, even nodding that time. If he’s trying to convince Tim, he’s doing too good a job at it. “Without hesitation.”

“And--would you have stayed for at least a week, if not two, had I asked?”

“Yeah,” Raylan gets this really sincere look in his eye when he meets Tims gaze again, and Tim swallows thickly. It’s shit like that that got his heart broken a decade past, and he’s not about to let anything like that go down again, especially not when Raylans only in Kentucky because of Boyd and would otherwise be content in avoiding it for the rest of his life. “You done?”

“Yeah,” he says. “All right—let's play it your way. Ask me your question again.”

“If you’d called or asked Rachel to do it, what do you think would’ve happened?”

“Well--the Raylan I knew a decade ago would probably take at least a few minutes to answer the phone especially if he were asleep and even more so if he’d taken the day off,” Tim answers. “I don’t think you woulda picked up and I think Rachel would get tired of dialin’ your number after the fourth time, which is being generous as to her patience as I know it. I think, despite the fact that I’d had a heart attack and wasn’t picked up til about quarter to seven, even if Rachel called, when you missed the call and woke up about two hours later, you’d be in my hospital room for four thirty just like she was.”

“Four-thirty ain’t bad.”

“I had a heart attack and was carried away at almost seven. Had Rachel called when the ambulance came and you failed to call her back until about nine then you didn’t get into Kentucky til 4:30, it’s still bullshit. Gate to gate, Miami to Lexington is two and a half hours. What exactly coulda been more important than flyin’ in to see me that leads you to wait about four hours to catch a plane?”

“Callin’ Dan, first off,”

“Takes fifteen, tops. Provided you don’t shower, you can do it while you get dressed.”

“Then Winona--”

“That is another fifteen minutes,” Tim says. “Half an hour if it’s your week with Willa. Adding in that time, ten to two o’clock is still three hours.”

“You’re being pedantic,” Raylan says, exasperated.

“You used to love that about me,” Tim says, and he knows it’s the truth. Raylan had said it a few times back in the day and it's because of how odd it was that the compliment had stuck with him.

“Didn’t particularly like being your partner for a year and a half, then two years later being the rebound to your rebound.”

“Our--” love affair? Relationship? Those words to describe it feel juvenile because he knows it was more but can’t find the word to describe ir, and partner doesn’t feel right, either. “--Thing had ended eight months before I even so much as thought about Mark like that. Do me a favour and either shut up or avoid making this into something it’s not.”

“I’m not--” Raylan shrugs. “I just—you shot Colt over it, Tim.”

“My motivations for shooting someone who was pointin’ a gun at me are absolutely none of your concern,” Tim rebuts. “And--it wasn’t like that.”

“What was it like, then?”

“It was—damnit, Raylan,” Tim laughs. He and Raylan began a weird friends-with-benefits type deal around the tail end of his first year in the Marshals service. That lasted all of a year and a half, give or take, and eight months later after they'd stopped, into his fourth year, Mark had called him for something unrelated to the debts he owed from his days of active addiction.

He and Mark had only really fooled around a bit but in true Tim Gutterson, unwaiveringly loyal to anyone who he thinks deserves it style, he felt something real and true. It was there, and it lingered for far longer than Tim was comfortable with, and when Tim had shown up to the scene where Mark and his dealers body were both dead, that feeling evaporated without choice but simultaneously without incident.

“How long after you shot him were you on my doorstep, just barely sober enough to make the drive over?”

“Almost eight months,” Tim grits his teeth.

“And--what you two had—the grief you felt, it was gone by then?”

“You and Mark are two different people,” Tim says. “I’ve never spent much time on grief, Raylan, so yeah.”

“Did the military teach you that?”

“Bein’ raised in southern Indiana with siblings who ain’t spent a day in their lives worth their salt and parents who are somehow worse taught me that,” Tim rebuts. “I grieved Mark once, now shut up before I shoot you and have to grieve you twice.”

Raylan, at least, does as Tim asks. He stops talking and the car stays quiet for the rest of the trip down to Harlan.

Raylan does the nice thing and lets Tim deliver the news, citing a need for coffee and telling him he’d bring one back around for Tims sake because they’ve finally gotten somewhere.

Tim knocks on Rachels door with a big, stupid smile, and when she lets him come in, her expression remains neutral.

“You get a lead?” She asks.

“We did,” Tim nods. “A few, actually. Locals at what used to Johnnys Bar but is now a veterans bar named Kingstons gave us leads that put Boyd near Louisville but comin’ in hot.”

“You said you had a few,” she says. “Please tell me you got one better than that or that someone elaborated with specifics as to Boyds current whereabouts even though the initial lead already put him in Harlan?”

Tim sits down in the chair opposite her desk, grin big and wide and stupid—he's gotten himself a victory. It’ll be something positive to bring up with Alexander, who asks him for something positive at the beginning of every single Friday session.

“Other lead puts Boyd a little more’n four hours outta Harlan,” Tim says. “Holed up in a pay-by-the-hour style motel called Charlies out in an Indiana spot called Crawford. The first lead I gave you was elaborated by someone—that lead says Boyds in Louisville but will be sniffin’ around Lexington in a couple’a days, when it becomes safer to do so, and he’ll only stay around Lexington for half a day before he heads down to Harlan, gets in touch with a few old contacts he used to have and waits it out.”

“What’s Crowder got to wait for?”

“More’n a decade gone and he still wants Raylan dead,” Tim shrugs. “Says the good patrons at Kingstons, anyway. Raylan and Ava are his biggest targets and try as he might, he apparently can’t find any leads as to Avas whereabouts. I say we put Nelson, Marino and Stevens on the Crawford lead.”

“’N you, Raylan and I go check out Louisville? I like that brain of yours even when I know it’s primary objective is avoiding Indiana in it’s entire,” Rachel laughs. “Only took two weeks’n we managed to get somewheres good. Did the Louisville lead get you anywhere else?”

“A few of his local haunts, all of which are primarily way out in the country,” Tim says. “It’s not a lot, but it’s good. More than we’ve had the last two weeks, at least.”

Rachel nods. “You’n Raylan managed not to kill each other,” she says. “That’s good too. You two have it out?”

“Yeah,” Tim nods. “We did, kind of.”

“Kind of?”

“He said his piece, I said mine,” Tim shrugs. “It’s not—we're not—it's not like it was. No hard feelings or let downs or—well—I fuckin’ hate it when you put me on the spot.”

“Yeah, you do,” Rachel nods. “But Raylan texted asking me to make sure you don’t leave til he comes back with your coffee, so I’m doin’ it for his sake. You got an appointment with Alexander tonight?”

“Eight through nine,” Tim says. “Or nine thirty, or ten, depending on how long I need to talk for. Raylans gonna come over once I’m done with it, and we’re going do the thing we would’ve done had the—thing—never happened. We’re gonna catch up for a bit, and the only Corona I’m having tonight is nonalcoholic.”

“Nonalcoholic booze and pizza from—let me guess—Antonios? You lucky, lucky bastard,” Rachel smiles.

“Yeah,” Tim nods. “How much longer do you think Raylan is going to take?”

“The VFW is like—it's closer to the office than your apartment is,” Rachel says, tone skeptical. “What is it? Does coffee still make your chest hurt?”

“Only if I drink it right after a run or right before or right after I’ve eaten,” Tim says. “Or if I drink too much. Just kind of—wantin' to get there, you know? They do have free decaf.”

Rachel laughs. “What is it, really? Don’t lie to me and tell me you miss Roulette.”

“Is a guy not allowed to miss the kitten he finds in the engine of his truck?”

“Who, Roulette?” Raylans voice comes through the room as he enters and Tim jumps.

“Damn it, Raylan!” He curses. “I had a heart attack seven weeks ago. You are not allowed to do that to me.”

“Yeah,” Rachel says. “Roulette the kitten.”

“She’s cute,” Raylan smiles. “Was always more of a dog person, but cats are the self sufficent type so I always debated gettin’ one.”

“I didn’t pick her,” Tim says. “Found her in the engine of my truck after therapy.”

Raylan sets down a drink tray and passes them out accordingly, giving Rachel hers first and then passing Tims to him.

“You said coffee makes your chest hurt—I did decaf,” Raylan says. “Dunno if it’ll make much of a difference, but I figured I’d try anyway.”

“What would—what would thirty-four year old Tim Gutterson say if he learned that forty-five year old Tim Gutterson couldn’t drink coffee without chest pain?” Rachel asks, tone teasing.

“He’d make fun of me, no doubt,” Tim shakes his head. “Probably do the smart thing’n assume it wasn’t just age and then lose his shit at me upon learnin’ I drank us into a heart attack at forty-five years old. Then again—that dumbass has still been out of the military less time than he was in it for and he has no fuckin’ clue what’s comin’.”

Raylan laughs and sits down to Tims right. Tim takes a sip of his coffee and hates how perfect it is.

“Time check?” Tim asks. Raylan glances at the clock.

“Quarter to eight,” he says. “We’ve got you for what—five more minutes, if not eight, am I right?”

“I never went to the VFW while you were kickin’ shit up here through the beginning to the middle of the twenty-fuckin'-tens, how the fuck do you know that?”

Raylan shrugs, smirking gently. “Guessed,” he says. “Not my fault I got it right.”

“Bullshit,” Tim sing-songs. “Nope. No way. Did Art call? He knows I’ve been goin’.”

“You still talk to Art?” Rachel asks. “I mean—more than once or twice very few months?”

“He calls me every other week,” Tim shrugs. “Found out I was booze free and just about demanded he be my sponsor. I think he’s discovered how boring retirement is in the last decade since his age forced him out of the service, and now he’s projecting that onto me.”

“You tell him about ‘The Incident’?” Raylan asks.

“No,” Tim answers. “With how big your goddamned mouth is, I was hopin’ you’d do it.”

“Whys he think you’re sober, then?”

“I dunno,” Tim shrugs again. “Haven’t asked and don’t intend to.”

Rachel laughs. “What’re you gonna do, if Raylan does tell him? Say Raylan assumes your accusation and insult are open season on tellin’ Art everything he knows, and then Art calls you all pissed off?”

“I’m going to be dodgin’ those calls like Avas managed to dodge the US Marshals service’ locatin’ her for the past eleven goddamned years,” Tim says. “Not for eleven years, though. Eleven days, at most.”

Rachel laughs a bit more, and Tim checks the clock before getting up in a manner that’s almost too excited.

“Ah, it would be time,” Rachel says. “You meet Raylan and I back here for seven, all right? Louisville is only an hour and some change away, but we need as much daylight as we can get if we wanna get Boyd before he does some serious damage.”

Tim smiles, nods, grips his to-go cup of coffee just a tad tighter than usual, and heads out.

He makes it to the VFW with a minute to spare, is walking through Alexanders open door for eight on the dot.

“Something positive,” Alexander says in a voice that’s almost singsonging it but not quite there.

“We got a break in the case we’ve been workin’,” Tim says, closing the door behind him before he plops down onto Alexanders couch. “Two weeks of nothin’ and finally—we got somewhere! I’m so happy right now I could just—I could pour all of the booze in my fridge out like I’ve been meaning to do for seven weeks now.”

“I really hope you’ll do that once you get home,” Alexander says. “Now for the heavy stuff. You been thinkin’ much about your time in the military in recent?”

“Not since Wednesday,” Tim smiles, tight lipped, and moves into a laying down position so he can stare at the ceiling because doing that, oddly, always helps. “Bet I’m about to start, though, aren’t I?”

Alexander gives a hearty laugh. “Monday and Wednesday we focused on your time in the infantry,” he says. “We’re not doing this structured in any particular way and you’ve had a rough few weeks and I thought we’d hit infantry first, child and teenhood trauma second, then rangers trauma last. Today is child and teenhood trauma day, likely much to your chagrin.”

Tim takes a deep breath in. A full hour spent talking about all the ways in which his father failed him? He can handle that. Totally.

“Okay,” Tim nods.

“All right,” Alexander says. “First and foremost, when did you get the idea to take the ASVAB?”

“I was—it was January of my senior year,” Tim says. “I’d grown up in an awful environment and joinin’ the military seemed like the only way out. I figured I’d take the test, join on the day I hit eighteen and then be set to go from there.”

“How bad was your life at home?”

“My father drank almost all the time,” Tim says. “Every single day, unless my grandparents came around.”

“How did your mother feel about the drinking?”

“She hated it,” Tim says it earnestly, almost hates admitting that he’d been around his family long enough to make that observation because that—by default, that means the eighteen years he’d spent under their roof were absolute shit instead of just inherently bad or difficult. “She and my old man used to get into fights over it all the time.”

“Did those fights ever become physical?”

“No--my father always told my brother and I traditional shit like ‘boys don’t cry’ and ‘don’t ever hit a woman!’,” Tim sighs. “My brother turned out to be worse about the alcohol than my father was, and I turned out gay, so my hitting a woman has become something of very little concern over the years, but that’s besides the point. My father never laid a hand on her; verbal and psychological abuse suited his needs just fine.”

“And you thought that joining the military was your golden ticket?”

“Yeah,” Tim nods. He clenches and unclenches his fists, needing something to do to distract his mind, even if that distraction is momentary. “I did. I was seventeen when I took the test, barely more than eighteen when I joined up.”

He’d joined the week after he’d graduated, four days after his birthday. He could operate a gun and knew the precise mechanisms and tools required for cleaning one before he could legally drink in the very USA that he spent a decade serving.

“How did your family feel about it?”

“I left my childhood home the night before I was due in Georgia for basic,” Tim answers. “I’d told my mother—she was scared shitless but she knew there was nothing that’d stop me. My father tried by attempting to barricade me into my bedroom from the outside in, but I just climbed out the window. Neither of them liked it, but they had different reasons.”

“What are those reasons?”

“My mother didn’t want me to go because the idea of me dyin' scared her shitless,” Tim laughs. “She didn’t wanna lose me to the military, and no matter how much I reassured her, nothing did the trick.”

He sits up, slides his hands down his face and plants his elbows on his knees.

“My father hated it because it meant he couldn’t control me anymore, and he didn’t realize that until he saw what little of my life I cared to bring along tucked into a suitcase, the rest of it sold or donated.”

“Did you ever see your dad again after you left?”

“He died before I got back from Basic,” Tim shrugs, leans back, tries to force himself to relax even though nothing does the trick. “I wasn’t even there for the funeral.”

“Do you wish you had been?”

“Not even a little,” Tim admits, laughing a bit, fighting the anxiety that’s creeping up on him just like it always does when he talks about his childhood or his parents, or those last very tepid few days before he joined the military. “My mother played the grieving widow and my siblings and I grieved in our own ways—Keith took to the very menial amount of booze that my father had left behind, I went to the shooting range everyday until my anger subsided and Lisa poured herself into her degree. My mother inherited the house, I inherited a few of the guns he’d wave around to scare us as kids, my brother claimed his booze collection and my sister claimed the law school textbooks he kept in his study.”

“All right,” Alexander smiles. “Seems like we’re getting somewhere and we’ve barely been here fifteen minutes! Nice.”

Tim knows it’s a ploy to get him to relax—he can feel the tension in his shoulders, the way that his teeth are clenched and his jaw is set.

“Yeah,” Tim nods. “I don’t wanna lose momentum and I’d rather just get this out in the open so I don’t have to think about it—so—next thing.”

“Tell me more about your families structure,” Alexander says. “As a start.”

“Lisas the oldest—she's five years older than I am so she’d be fifty by now, if not close to it,” Tim says. “She sends booze at Christmas in a bid to win me over so I give her the house but we don’t talk so I can’t really remember her birthday anymore. Keith is forty-seven.”

“Do you and Keith talk?”

“He calls me once every few months,” Tim shrugs. “I should really stop pickin’ up the phone, but—he's my brother, you know?”

“It can be hard to let go of family ties,” Alexander nods. “How did your siblings feel about you bein’ in the military?”

“Keith thought it was cool. He joked a few times that I’d be the only one in our family to ever make it out of Indiana. He was right and sometimes I hate him for it a little bit, you know?” Tim says. “If Lisa felt anything, she didn’t show it—the opposite of love is indifference, and sometimes I think that's all she's ever felt."

Alexander laughs a little. Tim, absently, finds that he'd rather shrivel up and die than divulge more of his childhood or teenage years, but he does it anyway for his own sake.

Alexander asks him more about his family, and Tim tells him everything he wants to know, dissociating his way through the process because of how mentally draining it gets.

He talks about his first ever time seeing a gun—he was seven, his father was pissed, and he was threatening to kill everyone in the kitchen a la murder suicide—and then the first time he ever watched his father get so angry over something he felt the need to scream—he'd been nine, it was because a candle his mother had lit had been left to burn til the wick was put out by being submerged under the wax—and then went on further to talk about the explosive reactions his father had to every academic failing during his middle and high school years, the way that his father used to smile when Tim would flinch and how by the time he was seventeen, he stopped flinching and learned that just staring straight ahead was the best option because eventually, his father would get bored of his torments and either go locate his mother or go to his study.

When he’s done, it’s 9:30 and he’s drank the coffee Raylan had gotten him in it’s entire. He leaves the VFW with a certain kind of weight in his chest, the kind he’d’ve drank away if he could still drink without fearing one sip would send his heart into overdrive.

Fourteen hours later, they have a lead at last. Raylan and Tim are cooperating with each other and despite the fact that Raylan, ever one to enjoy the front passengers seat, has been booted to the middle back seat of Tims truck, things are going decently.

After spending a good three or so hours in Louisville, they have a concrete lead that will place Boyd in or around Harlan come nightfall. He’ll be at Kingstons bar and Rachel has decided to have Tim and Raylan there while she waits posted with Dunlop, Stevens and Marino just down the road from Avas old place, just in case Boyd swings by on the off chance the lead was wrong.

What used to be known as Johnny Crowders bar among the locals is now Kingstons, a spot not too unlike the VFW: only vets and their guests are permitted entry.

He and Raylan linger at a table near the back, Tim nursing a nonalcoholic modelo—which, having drank the alcoholic version of the same, he will never understand Rachels preference for Modelo over Corona or just about any other beer on the market—and Raylan is drinking a bourbon.

They’re in a spot just hidden enough to not be visible from the door but visible if you take a seat at the bar and decide to look around a little bit. Raylan isn’t wearing his hat, thankfully, and Tim is dressed as nondescript as he can be, wearing a pair of black jeans, the same green carhartt he’d decided to wear upon going back to the VFW for therapy, and a black leather jacket because it’s fuckin’ mid-October in Kentucky and therefore, cold.

He’s deep in thought like he always is whenever he’s surrounded by people who’ve had experiences similar to his own, and Raylan is quick to pick up on that.

“Relax,” Raylan says, his voice gentle. “I can see the cogs turning in your fried veteran brain.”

“My brain’s not fried, my heart is,” Tim rebuts. “And--there are no cogs to turn anyway. I’m fine.”

“Are you?” He’s thinking about his time in the rangers after hearing a few guys his age talk about their time only a table or two away, so he’s not, but he’s not going to tell Raylan that.

“Yes,” Tim says, albeit a little forcefully. “I’m good. You don’t need to worry about me—I'm asking you not to worry about me.”

In truth, his mind is on his second tour in Afghanistan and his second-last tour with the military as a whole. He’s somewhere between the glint of the scope on his rifle and laughing with Mark on base, feeling his shoulder touch Marks as he finally eases up enough to be capable of sleeping through the night.

Raylan shrugs. “You seem jumpy,” he says. Tim picks up the Modelo, takes a sip and fights his grimace. He’s going to finish it no matter how much he dislikes the damn thing—it costed him too much not to drink it entire.

“I’m not,” Tim denies. He has half a mind to tell Raylan the truth but he doesn’t. Raylans not a vet, he wouldn’t understand, he works in law enforcement. but he’s always lived a civilian lifestyle--or at least these are the excuses Tim uses to justify it. Raylan has spent his entire life a civilian, never gone a decade without it like Tim had done willingly when he thought the military was his only way out of a crappy home and a crappy city in Indiana.

“Okay,” Raylan says. “Just--talk. You look to me like you’re three seconds away from wanderin’ off on me entirely and I would really rather not have that happen. We’re going to talk about The Incident.”

“I thought we were done with that,” Tim realises that Raylans doing this because he can sense that something is off, and even as his mind runs through active zones of combat from his days working infantry, he’s grateful for it.

“I told Art,” Raylan confesses, the words whispered and the guilt evident in his tone.

“Well,” Tim laughs, grips the Modelo like his life depends on it as he tries to remember what Alexander had told him to do when his trauma was manifesting in the form of brutal flashbacks and anxiety. "I’ll be avoiding his calls for the next several days.”

“Are you havin’ a panic attack?” Raylan asks, voice calm and even. “It looks to me like you’re havin’ a panic attack.”

He takes a deep breath in, his mind somehow trapped in three separate places all at once.

“I dunno,” Tim says. He takes another sip of the Modelo, tries to calm his mind again, only to find it doesn’t work. He takes in another deep breath, and then he feels the rough but still sort of soft skin of Raylans palm against the top of his left hand, and that—it just—fuck.

It snaps him right back to reality, works better than any deep breathing ever has, and he snaps his hand away despite wanting that contact. Raylan, he decides, does not get to touch him like that. Not given their history coupled with the fact that he'd never have come back to Kentucky if not for a case or the fact that it'd been Rachel who'd asked him back around.

“Okay,” Raylan says. “I told Art about the heart attack.”

“How’d he react?”

“He was angry you hadn’t told him,” Raylan says. “He said he’d mention it eventually, but only if you didn’t first and he got sick of waitin’. He was shocked Rachel didn’t call either, but that doesn’t surprise me at all. I suspect she ran the necessary channels by you, and you vetoed everyone except her and maybe Dunlops presence in the—what, three, four days you spent in the hospital recoverin’?”

Tim takes his lip between his teeth, the sound of Marks laughter and the smell of gunpowder fading just to a point where they’re tolerable.

“Just Rachel,” he says. “No Dunlop. Just her.”

“You two have been workin’ together since—well, forever,” Raylan snorts. “And neither of you have transferred out?”

“Contrary to what you believe, Kentucky is not a universally hated state,” Tim laughs. “I’ve lived here for sixteen years and I like it just as much as I did my first week. Rachel and I have had a running joke since before you came around—only way either of us is leavin’ Kentucky is if we’re transferred out and forced, or if we go at the same time we shuffle off this side of the ground.”

Raylan laughs in turn, and Tim sighs. It, really, doesn’t feel like Boyd’s gonna come in. Maybe the lead they had had fed them bullshit?

“Where abouts did you grow up, anyhow?” Raylan asks.

“Indiana,” Tim shrugs. “Small town about ninety miles outside of Corydon. Smaller than Corydon, too.”

“How much smaller?”

“Corydon has more than three thousand people,” Tim says. “My town has barely enough to breakeven with 1000, and that’s on a good day.”

Raylan snorts, and of course, their conversation somewhat slows. Raylan gets up to piss and Tim heads out to smoke the last cigarette in his pack, sticks close to his truck in the process. He idly checks his phone, sees that Rachels found nothing while waiting at Avas. He reports back that he and Raylan have yet to hit the jackpot, finishes his smoke down to the last puff and puts it out with his foot.

Instead of going back in, searching for a trashcan, he objects to put the empty cigarette carton back in his truck. He stores it in the center console, figuring he’ll just throw it out once he’s home and the only person who can judge him for smoking at all is himself.

As soon as he closes the door of his truck, he’s knocked out cold.

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

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gracedbybattle · 11 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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beebobeebo · 7 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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im-not-thinking-confetti-cannons · 2 years 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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timothyolyphant · 5 months ago

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ah yes, the secret santa turned new year fic gift exchange for the givenson gang because holiday crazies (you know how it goes 🤪) but please do thank @anneswritingnook for running with this one!

full details/instructions at the link above, but the tldr;

signing up means you give a fic, you get a fic

written works must be at least 500 words

story must center around raylan and tim

secret works are secret - you spill, we shrill

key dates;

sign-ups are open now but close on Nov. 15th

assignments go out Nov. 16th

fics are due on Jan. 15th

gift are delivered on Jan. 20th

authors are revealed on Jan. 29th

you are more than welcome to join our givenson discord server if it suits you to chat about the event (and otherwise!), but not at all necessary to sign up. feel free to direct questions to @anneswritingnook and myself, @timothyolyphant

happy gifting!

#givenson #justified #justified fx #raylan givens #tim gutterson #raylan x tim #fic exchange #fic event

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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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emma-m-black · 6 months ago

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The Daughter - Chapter Eleven

Tim Gutterson x OC (FanFiction) - MATURE 18+

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

Author Master List

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

CHAPTER: Eleven

Elenora was happy at this moment. Between her starting work at the school and Tim’s work with the Marshal’s they had little time together over the last bit. Mainly, they had been staying at their respective residences and meeting up for coffee in the morning together, if time allowed. But now, now Tim was spinning her around the dance floor of some dingy bar outside of Lexington. Some of his friends from the army had invited Tim and Elenora out to listen to an Alabama cover band.

When the current song had ended, Tim had dipped Elenora low to the ground. Letting out a laugh, Tim hoisted her back up and put his lips on hers. It all felt like she was a teenager again. Making out on the dance floor.

“GET A ROOM!” Came a shout from one of Tim’s friends and Elenora just laughed as she pulled away from Tim to head back to the table. Tim, however, seemed to have a different idea and instead pulled Elenora back to him and once again claimed her mouth with his own. The kiss was passionate and Elenora felt her knees go weak, but Tim held her to him until finally he pulled his lips off of hers.

The two of them headed back to the table the group was sat at and Tim pulled Elenora into his lap when he sat down. Wrapping his arm around her and setting his hand down on her skirt covered thigh.

“Who would have thought Gutterson would have found someone as crazy as him?” Said one of the guys from across the table.

“You calling me crazy?” Elenora said with a large smile as she reached for her beer.

“Honestly, it is just nice to know you are real. We thought he was making you up. Arresting some naked girl in a fountain and then hooking up with her.”

Elenora looked back at Tim with wide eyes. “Is that what you told them?”

“I might have embellished a little.” Tim said, a sly smile on his face as he grabbed his own beer. He took a swig, and Elenora felt him settle back in his chair.

“As long as you haven’t been showin’ ‘em that picture.”

“Gutterson, you holdin’ out on us?” Another one of the men, Steven, asked with a laugh.

“Ain’t nobody ever gonna see that one but me,” Said Tim. He turned his head and looked at Elenora. The look he was giving her was hard to decipher. She could not quite figure out what he was thinking while he looked at her.

Pulling her eyes away from him, Elenora looked at Tim’s friends. “So you said crazy like him? What kind of stories you got for me?”

It was about an hour later when Elenora, who was dancing with Steven and watched as Tim reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. She did not miss the way he looked at the caller ID and then at her with a frown. After he got off the phone, he made his way down to the dance floor just as the song was ending.

“We gotta’ go. Art called. Your grandfather is hiding out in the vet’s bar and Art and your daddy can’t get in to talk to him.”

“Gotta go to show that super hero card of yours?” Tim’s friend asked.

“Yup.” Tim was holding Elenora’s purse on his arm and used the other to present to Elenora. “I got the tab, so I’m ready to go when you are.”

Elenora took her purse from Tim and smiled at Steven. “Thanks for the dance.”

“Any time. You keep Gutterson in check there okay, it’s nice having him back at the meetings.”

When they hit the interstate, Elenora settled herself against the door so she could look at Tim. “I had fun tonight. Your friends are nice.”

“They’re assholes, but nice assholes at least,” Replied Tim. His left hand gripped the steering wheel. “Sorry, I had to cut it short for work. Was really looking forward to taking you home tonight.”

“Well, we will have a three-hour drive back after this. I’m sure we could make a pit stop somewhere.” Elenora wiggled her eyebrows suggestively and Tim just let out a chuckle. “So, how do you wanna play this out when we get there? Am I hiding in the back, or are we coming up with some excuse as to why we are arriving together?”

“Honestly, I was just thinking we tell the truth. We went out with some friends for drinks out of town, and I wasn’t just gonna leave you there.” Tim looked at Elenora. “Honestly, it’s kind of fun watching your daddy squirm. He’s been asking lately if I’ve met this guy of yours. He says he is trying to be good and leave you be. Let you tell him when you’re ready.”

Elenora pulled up a leg and tucked it under herself as she watched Tim. “I’m impressed. He said he would give me some space. Didn’t realize you two were becoming so friendly to one another.”

The rest of the drive was filled with silence and idle chitchat, mostly to keep the both of them awake and focused, and once they got close, Elenora found her palms beginning to sweat and her heart began to beat fast. “Tim, I don’t know if I can do this...”

“If you want to stay in the vehicle, you can. Just climb in the back seat and get some sleep. I saw you driftin’ off over there, as much as I appreciate you stayin’ awake with me. You can rest Nell.”

They were within the town limits now, so Elenora unbuckled her seat belt and slipped through the center and into the back seat. Laying herself down on the fabric, she tucked her arm under her head and sighed. “This is kind of nice, actually.”

“We’re coming up on it now. I’ll try not to be too long.”

“Okay.” Whispered Elenora as she closed her eyes. It was a minute or so later when she felt the vehicle come to a stop and Tim opened the door, hopping out.

She could hear footsteps outside and then Art’s voice. “We interrupt anything?”

“I’ve been off the clock since five, so...”

“You drunk?” Art asked, his voice now sounding further away.

“I was headed in that direction, till this detour...”

Then it was just quiet. The only noises Elenora could hear were the passing vehicles and so she let herself drift away to sleep.

When Art Mullen had gotten up that morning, he decided that unlike every other morning he was going to try something different, there was a coffee shop on the other side of the Marshal’s office that Elenora had told him about. She liked to study there, she said, it had an amazing brown sugar espresso. She thought he would like it, but Art just never seemed to find the time. Today, however, he had decided to find the time. It was early, six am, but Art knew they would be open from his prior conversations with Elenora.

So there he sat in a booth at the back. Coffee cooling on the table and a newspaper fanned out in front of him. He had been focusing on the international news section when he heard Elenora’s laugh echo through the quite busy building. So when he had looked up, he had expected her to be laughing at something the young man behind the counter had said, but instead she was wrapped in his youngest deputy’s arms.

Art picked up the paper in front of him slowly and held it up slightly as to partially cover his face as he watched the two. He could only see Tim’s back, but he knew it was him, by the hair, stature and pistol at the man’s hip. Elenora was leaning against his side, her head on his shoulder, and his arm was resting along her back and hip. She had a large briefcase bag on her shoulder, signaling she must be on her way to work. Art watched as they waited in line, talking to each other in what appeared to be easy conversation. When they turned to head to the pickup counter, Art raised the paper and instead watched their reflection in the large windows of the shop. He watched as Elenora stood herself chest to chest with Tim and the two kissed, with Tim’s hands moving to the back of her neck.

So this was it, he thought, the great mystery of who Elenora was seeing. He knew he should not be surprised. He had a feeling something was happening ever since the night Elenora was attacked in the parking lot. Leslie had told him when Tim dropped Elenora off, he had stuck around for a bit, sitting on the bed and just watching her sleep. She had said it was the way Tim brushed the hair out of Elenora’s face that told her that Tim was in love with her. Art wondered for how long it had been happening, and how they had been able to keep it so hidden, considering they had no qualms about going out in public together.

When Tim had shown up drunk and seemed not too keen on the fact he had been disturbed, Art wondered if that meant he had been spending the evening with Elenora. The young mans plaid shirt open, revealing his undershirt, was an unkempt, relaxed look Art was not used to seeing. That was a thought for later, however, as the three Marshal’s sat themselves down at Arlo Givens table.

“How did you get in?” Arlo asked as he eyed Raylan.

“Deputy Gutterson served in Afghanistan.” Raylan said simply as he motioned to Tim. Art watched the way Tim’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the older man.

“He a mess-hall cook?” Arlo asked with a laugh.

Leaning back in his chair matched Arlo’s stare. “Sniper in the Rangers.”

Arlo looked Tim over. “So, he’s the shit. The Afghan war, huh?”

“Yes, sir,” Tim replied.

“Yes, sir. I like that. Yes, sir.” Arlo spoke, his voice sounding somewhat amiable but also mocking. “So, what can I do for ya’ll?”

“We’re interested in Boyd Crowder.” Art began.

“Isn’t he out in the woods, uh, running a revival or something?” Arlo asked as he sat back in his seat.

Art leaned forward and rested his hands on the table. “Yeah, but we want to know if he’s helping Bo Crowder and if Bo’s reestablishing his business.”

Arlo just scuffed. “Why would I know any of that?”

“Because you ran Bo’s protection-and-collection business while he was in prison.” Raylan said simply, as if it was well known news.

“I what?” The sarcasm rolled off Arlo in waves, and Art could tell this was not going to go well for them.

“You deny it?” Asked Art as he narrowed his eyes at Arlo.

“Hell, yes, I deny it. That’s crazy. Why on earth would Bo do something like that?”

That seemed to be enough for Raylan as the man stood up from his seat. The chair legs scratched across the floor from the force. “Okay. We’re done here.”

“Mr. Givens, what we need you to consider...” Tim spoke after minutes of silence, but he was interrupted as Raylan grabbed the back of Arlo’s chair and his face appeared next to his fathers.

“What I’m supposed to say is, we know you ran Bo’s protection racket into the dirt. So it doesn’t take a prophet to see the future from here.” This caused Arlo to stand from his seat, with Art and Tim following suit. “Okay. You can either sit around, waiting to catch a bullet or...”

“What?” Arlo asked his son, the disdain dripping from his voice.

“Or you can accept protection from the Marshal’s Service.”

“How about we talk about my granddaughter. That Crowder kept her hidden from you, from me. Wonder if she turned out like you, an arrogant self righteous ass?”

“Don’t you talk about my daughter.” Raylan spoke as he pointed a finger towards his father. “How about instead we talk about Helen? You gonna forgive yourself if she gets caught in the crossfire, hmm?”

“You are no longer welcome here. Any of you.” Arlo spoke, turning around and looking to Art and Tim. “Tell the truth.” Arlo began as he looked back at Raylan. “You didn’t honestly think you could turn me.”

Raylan pushed his hat down a little farther on his head and sighed. “I came here as an officer of the law, because sometimes we have to make deals with lowlifes because we have our sights set on life-forms even somehow lower on the ladder of lowlifes than they. And why would you ever think I would let you anywhere near my daughter?”

The slap that sounded as Arlo’s palm connected with Raylan’s face was loud in the silence of the bar, and Art had to stick an arm out to hold Tim back as the young man pushed forward to intervene. Unsure if it was the why Arlo was talking about Elenora or the booze he had drank prior. It honestly was probably a little of both. “Mr. Givens, we’re taking down the Crowders, and you can either go with them or not.” Art said simply as he watched Raylan storm away from the group.

When Art got outside, he was greeted by the sound of his cell phone going off, and the sound of Raylan’s. Then, as Tim appeared beside him, the young Marshal’s as well. The three looked at each other before Art opened the phone to see a message reading ‘double murder, think it was Boyd taking out more cookers.’ There was also an address attached.

Art looked at Tim and then at Raylan. “I’m gonna ride with Deputy Gutterson. Raylan lead the way.” Raylan headed off to the car, and Art walked to stand next to Tim. “You and I need to have a talk on this ride.”

“Sir...” Tim began as he fished his keys out of his pocket and looked from Art to the SUV and back again. “There is something you should know.”

“I got a pretty good guess, son.”

“Well, then at least, be quiet cause she’s sleepin’.” Said Tim with a sigh as he and Art moved toward the vehicle and each carefully opened the doors and got in. Without waiting for Art to even do his seat belt up, Tim pulled out of the parking lot and headed out.

Once they were on the move, Art turned to look in the backseat, and there, curled up under Tim’s blue Marshal’s jacket, was Elenora. Fast asleep, using her hands that were laying palm to palm as a pillow. When he brought his head back to look at Tim, he found the young man staring out the windshield leaned back with one hand on the steering wheel.

“How long?”

“Since the night before she got the apartment.” Said Tim simply.

“So that story you guys told, when Wallace had her?”

“Mostly true. Didn’t actually catch her in the fountain. Met her at the bar, she asked me for a favor to help with getting the place. We’ve been going steady since,” Tim said casually as he continued to stare at the taillights of Raylan’s car.

“Steady?” Art questioned with a raised eyebrow.

Tim let his head lean to the right, and he let out a sigh. “Yeah, steady.”

“So, this thing is serious?”

“Yup.” Said Tim before glancing back towards Elenora. “Nell, you still sleepin’?” When now reply came, Tim pointed towards the glove box and gave Art a pointed look. “Open it.”

Art did as he was told and reached forward to release the latch. Looking inside, he strained against the dim light of the cab, but he could make out a few loose pieces of paper, a notepad, a box of condoms, which he raised an eye at and a small black box. Plucking it from the depths of the dark hole, Art held it in his hands and looked at Tim. “Is this what I think it is?”

“We went to some house party, a graduation thing at one of her friends. I saw her there with her friends, having fun, a smile on her face. I thought it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. We talked a little on the porch. She asked me what I was thinkin’ about, and honestly, I was imagining her leavin’ me. Cause before that, all night, all I could think about was growin’ old next to her. Didn’t think about work, not about the war, just her.” He rocked his head back and forth for a second. “Next day, I bought that.”

Art stared down at a thin gold band, with a large round cut diamond and a scattered halo of about a dozen small diamonds. “Tim...”

“Raylan doesn’t know.”

Art closed the ring box and put it carefully back in the glove compartment. “I figured seeing as how you don’t have a bullet hole in you. So, what are you gonna do?”

“Art, I wanna marry that girl back there. I just don’t know how to ask her daddy’s permission.”

Chapter Twelve

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

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