Chapter Text
When Winona delivers the news that Tim called while Raylan was giving Willa a bath, his first thought is, Shit . Winona tries to assure him she didn’t say anything untoward, but Raylan still has the sense that something's gone vitally awry.
“I…should probably call him back.”
Winona scrunches up her nose. “You might better.” Then she scoops up Willa, waves her goodbye, and walks out the door.
Raylan waits for the sound of her heels on the concrete to fade out to nothing before he picks up his phone.
It rings four times before Tim’s surly voice finally answers. “You didn't need to call me back.”
“And if I wanted to?”
“Then I’d say you're a lost cause, Givens.”
Raylan smiles to himself, relieved Tim doesn't seem too awfully anxious to end the call. “Think we all knew that already, Gutterson.”
“True. Art and I talk about how hopeless you are all the time.”
“Aw, so you do talk about me.”
“Complain mostly.”
“About how much you miss me?”
“About how you've been gone for half a year and this office still can't escape the shadow of your misbegotten legacy.”
“So you're saying I've got a legacy?”
“A misbegotten legacy.”
“You just wanted to say ‘misbegotten’ again.”
Tim sighs. “Maybe.”
Raylan grins. He likes it best when Tim’s in this mood. Quick as usual but a little less sharp. He hadn’t expected it, given Tim’s accidental conversation with Winona, and it’s a nice surprise.
“How's the GSW feeling?”
There's an obvious tightness in Tim’s voice when he says, “Not so great now that I've quit mixing my substances.”
Raylan snorts. “Probably for the best. I imagine there's a reason such behavior’s not doctor recommended.”
“What do they know,” Tim mutters.
“Shit, I’ve wondered that a time or two myself. But I figure, hey, they've kept me alive more than once. May as well give them some credit.”
“Buzz kills, all of them,” Tim counters. “I miss my beer.”
“How much longer are you on the pain meds?”
“Not much. I prefer booze to pills, so I’ll probably trade out one habit for another in the next day or so.”
“Sounds healthy.”
“Well, Raylan, you know that’s what I’m famous for: making healthy choices.”
They pause for a moment, letting the silence fall comfortably between them. But because Raylan’s Raylan, he decides he can’t let it be. “Are we going to talk about what you talked about with Winona, or are we going to pretend it never happened.”
“That would be door number two for my final answer,” Tim says back, voice tight again.
Raylan’s only a little disappointed. He says, “You’re mixing your game show metaphors.”
“What’s a metaphor again?” Tim asks, quick as can be.
“It’s where you say one thing is something else. Like ‘Tim Gutterson is a little shit.’”
“Thanks for the example.”
“I always found I learned better when I put the theory into practice.”
Tim hums in apparent agreement. “Okay, so what about this one: ‘Raylan Givens is a nosey asshole’?”
“Shit, Tim, I think you've got the hang of it.”
“You’re a good teacher.”
“In addition to a nosey asshole?”
“A man of many layers.”
“So you’re saying we’re not going to talk about Winona.”
“I’m saying we’re not going to talk about Winona.”
“Then what do you want to talk about? Seeing as you called me first and all.”
“Maybe I just wanted to hear your voice?”
“Romantic.”
“That’s me,” Tim says, and to Raylan’s ear, Tim sounds not a little bit bitter.
Raylan knows he shouldn’t have brought up Winona. That Tim’s mood was likely to darken if he did. Yet he’d had to push the button anyway. Never let it be said that Raylan Givens doesn’t like to make shit more complicated than it has to be.
“Have you heard from Rachel?” he asks, changing the subject again. Maybe an update on Rachel will be more pleasant.
“I don’t want to talk about Rachel either,” Tim all but snaps.
Apparently not.
Raylan feels himself growing irritated. “Then I ask again: what do you want to talk about?”
For a long while, Tim doesn’t say anything. Raylan waits him out.
“Do I--” Tim starts, but then he stops himself. He falls into silence once more, and this time it’s clear he’s not going to speak again. Years of working with Tim and months of sleeping with him have taught Raylan that when this type of silence descends on the man, very little can break him out of it. But Raylan still knows just how to do it.
“I’m going to bring something up again that you already shot down. But I want you to reconsider.”
There’s the faintest of tsk’ s on the other end of the line.
“I really think you should come down and visit me.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, Raylan,” Tim says, clearly surprised. “Only fucking you.”
“I’d be open to that if you came out.”
The cluck of disapproval is emphatically audible. “How can one dude be such a dick? Explain that to me, since you are that dude.”
“Tim,” Raylan says, running a hand down his face, “Why is it so hard for you to believe that I just want to see you?”
“It just...is, Raylan. It just is.”
“Well, what if I came out there?”
“Don’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“Come on, you know what.”
Raylan finds himself decidedly angry. “No, I don’t. Speak plainly, Tim. What are you trying to say to me?”
“Nothing, Raylan. I’m not trying to say a damn thing.”
Even though Raylan can trace the conversation back to the moment it took a bad turn, he's somehow still caught off guard by the fact they're arguing (again) when they had initially been doing so well. It makes him even madder that things with Tim never seem able to run smoothly.
Which is why he snaps, “Then what are we doing? These phone calls. What are they? A chat between friends? A way to kill time? Foreplay to a fuck that’s never going to happen? If talking to me is such a chore, then why do you keep doing it?”
Tim laughs, an ugly sound, but when he speaks he just sounds tired. “You know, Raylan. I’ve been asking myself the same questions, and I still don’t have an answer.”
They feel on the precipice of something, and that whether that thing is bad or good depends solely on what Raylan says next. He takes a breath.
“Did you think I was lying when I said I miss you?”
Tim doesn’t immediately respond, leaving Raylan to wait, exposed.
“No,” he finally says.
“Then why do you have to push so hard against this?”
Tim scoffs. “We don’t even know what ‘this’ is.”
“Yet you seem determined to keep either of us from finding out.”
“Raylan,” Tim starts, then, “Shit. Art just texted. He’s calling me in.”
“Don’t go yet,” Raylan replies. He wants to know what Tim was going to say. “Finish this conversation.”
“I can’t,” Tim says, frustrated. “He’s calling me in now . Something’s happening.”
“You’re still recovering.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t be useful.”
“Tim--”
“Raylan, I have to go.”
“Call me when you can. This ain’t done.”
Raylan’s half expecting Tim to tell him to fuck off. But he doesn’t. Instead Tim says, “I know it ain’t. I will call you back.”
“Be careful,” Raylan says, and Tim’s reply is to simply end the call.
“Goddamnit,” Raylan says to himself. “God fucking damnit.”