Work Text:
“You know you’ve got very long slender fingers,” Art mused looking at Tim’s hand.
Tim looked at him incredulously, “I’m not giving you a hand job if that’s what you’re implying.”
“No, my wife had long slender fingers and she said that’s what made her a good pianist.” Art leaned back in his chair. “I just figured that’s why you were so good at assembling your rifle so fast. I was never that good at it. I’ve got those thick meaty man hands.”
Tim cracked a half grin, “I am gonna take that as my cue to leave and ponder if your boss comparing your fingers to his wife’s dainty fingers counts as sexual harassment.”
Art snorted, “goodnight, Tim.”
Tim gave a lazy two finger salute on his way out. Art was one of the better bosses he’s had. He liked that the man usually let him get away with his snide remarks but gave him push back on any bullshit. Only downside was that Art was from a different generation. Old enough to be his father. He took it back. It was unfair to compare Art anywhere near his father when in his mind they didn’t even exist on the same plane of existence. But still Art’s old school thinking rarely became an issue, but today hit a slight nerve.
Tim found himself staring at his rifle. He gently ran his hands down the familiar cool metal. He really should clean it after using it today. It used to be comforting to do the repetitive motion that he had done for years and years. It was what he was good at. It was what made him valuable and useful to the Army and to the Marshal Service. Now it almost seemed tainted. He felt hyper aware of his fingers moving on their own. Like they weren’t his fingers. They were long and delicate. The hands of a soft piano playing wife. Not a hardened Army Ranger.
Tim placed his rifle delicately and safely into his locker and slammed the door shut. He was always careful and gentle with his rifle as it was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, the door on the locker was less so. He curled the longer fingers into a strong fist instead; made for violence and killing, not soft music.
His phone ringing interrupted his thoughts. He sighed to see the caller ID but picked up anyways, “Gutterson.”
“Tim, I need a quick favor.” Raylan's voice sounded slightly strained.
“‘Course you do.” Tim was almost out of the building but he paused anticipating Raylan asking him for a work favor.
“Can you drive by the store and grab some baby formula and bring it over?”
Tim paused for a moment; not what he expected, “and why can’t you go out?”
“Because Willa finally went to sleep and I can’t leave her and I can’t wake her up but we are out of formula and Winona is supposed to be relaxing and not worrying about the baby.” Raylan explained in one long breath.
“And you called me because?” Tim smiled but was already on his way to the closest store.
“Because of your tender and caring nature.” Raylan said sarcastically, “you’re basically like mother Teresa.”
Tim clenched his teeth. His knuckles were white against the wheel. Any other day it wouldn’t have caused any reaction from him but Art pointing out his long fingers had set him on edge. He felt hyper aware of his own fragile masculinity he built around himself.
“Yeah, a real mother hen. I’ll be there in 30.” Tim hung up.
Tim started blankly at the baby formula. He didn't really wait to hear what Raylan wanted and he was too stubborn to call the man back after hanging up on him.
“Hello, ma’am? Can I help you?”
“Ma’am?” Tim turned to the voice.
It has been more than a decade since he was last mistaken for a woman. He almost didn’t realize the voice was for him but he guessed that there was some part of him that always worried he didn’t pass. A part of him that was always aware of how others view him. He has to pass. Has to be masculine enough to fool others. He has to prove he was a real man.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! Usually it’s the mothers who come looking for the baby supplies. You’re a good father!” The young worker’s whole face was red in embarrassment.
Tim shook his head, “I’m not the father, I’m picking up some formula for a friend of mine.”
“And you don’t know what brand they use. Well I would go with this one as it is the most popular.” The girl avoided eye contact with him; obviously still embarrassed at calling him ma’am.
“Thanks.” Tim nodded and picked up the formula she pointed out.
He made his way over to Raylan's room and knocked on the door. He could hear the baby cries from inside getting closer. Raylan answered the door looking exhausted. Willa was screaming and crying in his arms.
“Thank God.” Raylan took the formula from him and transferred the crying infant into Tim’s. “She woke back up.”
“Oh.” Tim stared at Willa not exactly sure how to hold the baby. “No.”
“You’re doing fine. I just need to make the formula.” Raylan wandered off.
Tim tried rocking the baby and shushing her. Willa’s face was bright red and she was screaming at the top of her lungs. He wasn’t sure how anyone could live with this. Parents were crazy to ever decide to willingly care for a literal small human. Although his parents sucked so he guessed that people could be willing but not exactly ready for parenthood. In fact the only positive thing about his childhood was that occasionally his mother would sing him lullabies to sleep. Perhaps it was the last time he slept without issue, he thought dryly.
And so Tim started his own poor rendition of a lullaby, “you are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when the skies are grey. You’ll never know dear how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away.”
His voice cracked and warbled in all the wrong spots and he definitely forgot the rest of the lyrics but Willa was now staring at him with wide eyes but more importantly quietly.
“Well hot damn!” Raylan came back with a warm bottle grinning. “You got her wrapped around your little finger. And you told Art and I that you couldn’t sing.”
“Just give her the damn bottle before she realizes her ears are now bleeding.”
Raylan just continued to smirk and gave Tim the warm bottle to feed. Tim would have rather handed the child back but Raylan seemed to be enjoying himself too much to accept the baby back any time soon. Tim resigned himself to being the nanny and sat down in one of the chairs to feed Willa.
“Just you wait til she’s got you playing tea parties and dress up.” Raylan chuckled at the thought.
Tim’s veins ran cold. His mothers hands playing with his long hair: cooing at him and telling him he had beautiful hair. The little butterfly and flower clips placed so carefully in his hair.
“No.” Tim said flatly.
“Awww, c’mon Tim. Your dick won’t fall off from playing pretend with a little girl.” Raylan said playfully. “I’d bet you’d make a pretty girl.”
Tim’s mouth went dry. He’s only ever willingly told one person about himself. Mark was some flavor of queer himself and together they bonded over their shitty upbringing. They cracked inside jokes about the life of being queer that none of the others quite understood. It had been a while since he had someone he could talk to so openly about things.
“My parents used to tell me the same thing.” Tim glanced up to see Raylan’s confused face. “They always liked to tell me what a lovely and beautiful daughter they had. My mother used to do my hair for hours and my dad would love to buy me dresses and skirts.”
Raylan didn’t say anything for a moment, “you’re transgender.”
“Yes.” Tim looked down at Willa sucking on her bottle happily. “I don’t usually tell people but I'm always thinking about everything I say and do has to be masculine enough to pass. If I do anything too feminine then people will know and know I’m faking it.”
“I lived in Miami for a while so I met a lot of different kinds of people. Some good and some not so good but,” Raylan paused and shook his head, “I can’t say I’d ever understand wanting to change your gender but I know you’re a good man, Tim.”
Tim snorted. He had forgotten for a moment that Raylan came from very colorful and diverse Miami.
“Ok, maybe you’re a bit of an asshole but that’s gender neutral right?” Raylan amended his statement.
Tim laughed, “yeah everyone’s got an asshole so I would say that’s gender neutral.”
Raylan was silent for another beat, “so why the name ‘Tim’?”
Tim smiled softly, “I dunno. I tried it on and it fit.”
Raylan narrowed his eyes at him for throwing his own line back at him but smiled, “ah, but just Tim? Not Timothy?”
“Yes, sir. My full legal name is three letters. T-I-M.” Tim watched as Willa finished her bottle. “My parents named me a long and elegant five syllable bullshit name so I went the exact opposite.”
“Hmm. What was your name?” Raylan looked at him curiously.
“Didn’t your friends down in Miami tell you it’s rude to ask people their deadname?” Tim set the bottle down.
Raylan put his hands up in surrender, “it suits you. Your name. It’s short and blunt like you.”
Tim looked at Willa. He looked at Raylan. Under all the tiredness and stress there was unconditional love. Maybe his parents used to look at him like that. When he was their beautiful and perfect daughter. When things were simpler and his father was less angry. Raylan finally got up and took Willa from Tim’s arms. Tim stretched his arms out after being forced to hold his arms still.
“Thanks for the formula. I’ll pay you back tomorrow.” Raylan moved to place Willa down in her crib.
“Tell Winona I say hi,” Tim nodded as he stood. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Raylan.”
“Goodnight, Tim.”
Tim walked out into the cool night air and the realization of what he just did hit him. He came out to Raylan. It had been years since he had someone who also knew and he could go to. Over the almost two years that Raylan has been in the Lexington office Tim never really noticed how close they had drifted together. It was almost natural how they relied on each other. They came together so casually and quietly. A partnership and trust he didn’t see coming.
He went home and cleaned all his weapons with trained speed and efficiency.