Chapter Text
About six months later, he sends back the book.
Raylan picks up the plain yellow mailer sitting on his desk in Miami and recognizes the chicken scratch immediately. He hasn’t spoken to Tim since he left the office, and he hadn’t really expected to, so the package is a surprise. The book comes with a note, short and to the point. Read it. Could have done with more wizards. Then, in a different colored ink--as if a last minute addition--Raylan reads: Ain’t the same without you and Rachel. Nelson’s an idiot and Art’s almost out of the good shit he keeps in his cabinet. You owe us all a bottle. Split the cost with Rachel. And send back my bag with it!
It gets a smile out of Raylan as he thumbs through the pages. Then he tucks the book into his desk drawer, tosses the note onto a pile of paperwork, and picks up the phone without thinking too much about it.
“Deputy Gutterson, how can I help you.” It’s technically a question, but Tim’s dull voice doesn’t phrase it that way.
“You got shit taste in books,” Raylan says. “And I don’t know where the fuck your bag is.” It’s a lie. Raylan knows exactly where it is: in his closet in the same box that homes his shot Stetson.
“Oh, Raylan,” Tim deadpans, “It’s so nice to hear your voice.”
“Ain’t it just,” Raylan agrees. “Not so bad to hear yours too.”
“You call for a reason or just to insult my reading preferences?”
“Ain’t that enough?”
“I think I prefer discussing the weather with Nelson.”
“Don’t let him hear you say that or he’ll never leave you alone.”
Raylan hears Tim sigh. “Too late for that,” Tim says. “I’m the senior marshal in the office after Art now that you and Rachel flew the coop.”
“You still bitter about that?”
“Raylan, do you know me to be bitter about anything?”
Raylan can’t keep a smile from his lips. “Only just about everything there is.”
Tim scoffs. “Raylan Givens, here I thought we were moderately well-acquainted ex-coworkers.”
There’s a line Raylan doesn’t have to cross, but being a Givens he finds himself automatically so inclined anyway. So he doesn’t let the comment be and instead says, “Thought we were a little more when I left.”
Tim doesn’t miss a beat. “Then you left.”
There’s an awkward silence, all levity gone. Then Tim speaks again, voice back to his usual practiced disinterest. “How’re Willa and Winona?” The moment passes.
Raylan coughs. “Fine. Not living with Winona anymore, but Willa is real good. Growing like a weed.”
“I hear kids do that. Sorry about Winona.”
“It’s all right. Don’t think anyone’s surprised things went the way they did. You hear from Rachel lately?”
“Shit, you think Rachel’s got any time for us plebes now that she’s chief of her own team up in Seattle?”
“Yeah, I ain’t heard from her in a spell myself.”
They fall silent again, but this time it’s not so tense. Tim breaks it once more. “Well, Raylan this has been swell but I do have a job to do. Thought you might too.”
“Message received, Gutterson. I’ll let you go.”
“You planning to call again,” Tim asks, much to Raylan’s surprise.
“I don’t know. You want me to?”
Tim doesn’t answer.
“I’ll call you again,” Raylan decides. “Until then,” he says, then hangs up the phone.