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Rhys wakes up slowly, sunlight shining in on his face and dragging him out of a blissfully dreamless sleep. He stretches, enjoying the not-quite-awake feeling, until his arm brushes another body in the bed and who the hell is that -
Oh, right. Timothy.
Timothy, who is one of Jack’s body doubles. (“The first,” he had said morosely. “And now probably the last.”) Timothy, who had of his own volition rescued Rhys from a bad end by bandits, and who had been about to go on his way across the Pandoran wastes when Rhys had recognized that voice and demanded to know who the hell he was.
(Those had been a bad few minutes for Rhys. Jack was dead. Jack was gone, Rhys had made sure of it - but for one long moment when Timothy had pulled down the scarf around his face all Rhys had seen were Jack’s eyes looking back at him. Then the face had changed, creased by uncertainty in a way Rhys was sure Jack’s had never been, and when he said “I- I’m not who you think I am,” Rhys had been willing to listen.)
Timothy, who had thrown in with Rhys’ little rebuilding project with a will, and seems happy to work for “someone who isn’t actually a sociopath, you have no idea how rare that is around here.”
Rhys has some idea. He’s not sure that Timothy’s entirely right about him, but Rhys is unwilling to correct him.
Rhys is also unwilling to let Timothy sleep on the ground like bandit, even though Timothy protests (half-heartedly) that he’s slept in worse. Rhys’ bed isn’t much, but it’s better than the hard floor. It would be cruel to make Timothy sleep on the ground when Rhys could at least offer him that. On Pandora you share what you have because there’s never enough to go around.
(And if it also means one more gun between Rhys and anything that comes through the door, well. That’s just killing two rakks with one bullet.)
As Rhys sits up Timothy stirs awake himself, one hand reaching automatically for the pistol underneath his pillow before he remembers where he is. He blinks blearily up at Rhys, a small smile crossing his lips and Rhys wonders how he could have ever mistaken this man for Handsome Jack.
Rhys gives in to the temptation that’s been pulling at him for weeks and leans down to kiss that smile, chasing the feel of it against his own lips. Timothy’s lips part in surprise, and then he’s kissing back for a long moment before he pulls back with a frown and a “wait, Rhys, are you sure-”
“Am I sure ?” Rhys laughs. “Was there some part of that that seemed hesitant to you?”
“It’s just - I look like him.” Timothy’s face crumples, and he looks to the side. “I mean, I get it. I look like him, and you two had history. Vaughn told me. He didn’t mean to,” he adds quickly when Rhys frowns. “It just kind of slipped out. He felt bad about it, but he said I should probably know anyway if I was going to stick around.” Timothy picks at the seam on the pillow, and when it becomes clear that he’s avoiding Rhys’ gaze Rhys sighs.
“Yes. Jack and I had history ,” Rhys says. “That’s certainly one way to put it. But Jack’s dead.” Rhys hears his voice harden and sees Timothy’s fingers still. “And you’re not him.” Rhys reaches out and smooths his hand through Timothy’s wayward hair. “You’re not him. So if you don’t want this, that’s fine - but don’t you dare turn it down on account of a dead man.”
Timothy looks up at him with something like hope in his eyes, and Rhys wonders what it must have been like to live in Jack’s shadow - to live as Jack’s shadow - for so long. Timothy still acts like he’s not used to having things for himself, to being treated as his own person, and Rhys hopes that’s all that’s going on here.
Because Rhys doesn’t see Jack in Timothy, not anymore. They share the same features, sure, and Timothy has a talent for marksmanship that rivals Jack’s, but he doesn’t take pleasure in killing the way that Jack did. There’s a softness to Timothy that Hyperion and Pandora and even Handsome Jack himself haven’t been able to scrub out, and Rhys envies that about him. It’s selfish and contradictory, the way Rhys wants Timothy - wants to hold him close both as a shield against the world and as something precious to be protected.
“Okay,” Timothy says, more to himself than to Rhys. “Okay.” He pushes himself up and meets Rhys halfway, and the kiss this time is hesitant, but Timothy gains confidence as he’s not rebuffed. Rhys leans into it, greedy for all that he can get, and pulls Timothy closer.
On Pandora you take what you can get and you don’t let go.