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Tim and Raylan wander down to the market, the sun still low in the sky. They’re both country boys who have seen a lot of fruit farms in their lives, but the Italian fruit is spectacular, the peaches huge and golden and so soft and juicy they melt messily in the mouth, the melons smell so good and rich.
Raylan points to a pile of golden peaches, “questi, per favore”, he sticks two fingers in the air and waves at the peaches again. The stall holder looks puzzled for a moment, then catches Raylan’s country accent, ah… The stall holder smiles, and unleashes a torrent of Italian. What little Tim has gleaned from the phrase book and the CD that he picked up before they left struggles to keep up. But there’s something comforting about this melodious language, and Raylan nods as though he understands.
Maybe the sentiment, and not the words.
Two big juicy peaches, and a melon, they wander on down to the harbor, stopping for an ice cream on the way. Tim wonders if Raylan’s choice of Ischia is because the Italians really, really know ice cream. Raylan’s even ditched his beloved vanilla on occasion, the gloriously coloured cone in his hand is green and red with a little orange on top, rapidly disappearing as Raylan swipes it with his tongue.
Tim has declined the ice cream in favour of something a little more substantial as it is just about breakfast time. Coffee can wait, as they walk to the boat. A trip to Capri.
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They step off at the harbor and Tim casts an eye over the available options to ride up to Anacapri at the top of the island. Raylan is still too thin, and barely healed, Tim walks next to his partner, keeping pace with him while trying not to appear to be ready to support him.
Raylan is more scared than he’s ever going to admit, his life has changed and this is hard for him. Life change. Those were just words until they arrived on the island.
So Tim walks side by side with him, matching his stride imperceptibly to Raylan’s, while pretending he cannot hear the increase in the rasp in Raylan’s breathing as the injuries to his body continue to make themselves felt.
Tim buys the tickets, “andate e riturno, due per favore.” Questi won’t do here, and Raylan just lets Tim take over, an amused smile on Raylan’s face. There was a time that Tim would have called Raylan on that expression. But now, any smile will do.
They step off the funicular together, and wander through the cobbled streets, there’s a viewing point where you can look down over the island, and Tim instinctively knows that Raylan is reaching the limit of his strength. He feels a pang of sorrow that the older man will get better, but will never be as good as he once was. That the former cowboy marshal’s health is forever compromised by events that were completely beyond his control.
Raylan breathes, trying to control that moment when he knows he is going to show weakness. Hating it. But loving his partner all the more for the younger man’s silent and gentle support. He doesn’t know where he would be, or how he would cope without Tim’s help. It’s strange. Love came and found them, it’s something Raylan never really knew about himself, but it seems right.
He almost stumbles, but Tim’s hand is under his elbow, and for a second or two, Raylan leans in, taking it for what it is. Comfort.
Tim leaves his hand under Raylan’s elbow, the older man is tiring, even though their stroll through the market was slow, Raylan’s been on his feet too long for his still healing body. He’s still trying too hard to fight the limitations that his new circumstances are imposing on him.
Tim guides his lover gently to the olive grove, they sit a while under the trees, idly picking their way through the fruit from the market and the olives Tim bought at the market stall.
Raylan quietly stretches out, wanting this moment to go on forever.