Work Text:
Tim wakes up at around 3am, covered in sweat. He gets up to piss, and checks the thermostat. The air in Raylan's crappy apartment is chilly, though, and the floor is cold.
When he slides back into bed, the source of the heat becomes obvious. It's coming off of Raylan like a radiator, and he seems to be shivering under two blankets.
"Raylan," he whispers, "Are you awake?"
"I'm fucking freezing, man," he mumbles, "turn the heat up."
Tim sighs. "I'm getting you some ibuprofen, Raylan. You have a fever." He puts his hand on Raylan's forehead and winces. "A pretty high one."
Raylan just groans in response, and Tim gets up for the medicine and some water. He has to prod Raylan a ridiculous number of times to get him to comply, and Tim has to stifle a laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Raylan Givens, for Christ's sake. What a fucking baby.
"...turn the heat up?" Raylan whines.
"No, but come here," Tim says, smiling in the darkened room. "I'll warm you up." He slides up against him and wraps an arm around his waist. Raylan keeps shivering for awhile, his hand clutching at Tim's forearm, but eventually slows and stops.
By the time the alarm goes off, Raylan has cooled down from the raging fever, but still feels warm to the touch. Tim gets up and tucks him back in, then goes to take a shower. When he comes out, Raylan has jeans and an undershirt on, and appears to be picking out a tie.
"Raylan, what do you think you're doing?" Tim asks.
"Getting ready for work, what does it look like?" Raylan has his stubborn face on, and Tim just laughs at him.
"There is no way you're going in," Tim tells him. "You were burning up last night, and you still have a fever."
"I'm fine," he growls, "I've come to work sick plenty of times."
"You've come to work hung over. It ain't the same thing. I swear to God, Raylan, if you try to go to work, I'm gonna march into Art's office and tell him exactly how sick you are, and exactly how I know."
Raylan seethes at him for a few moments. They both hate it when this topic arises, and it's a measure of Tim's feelings about Raylan staying home that he would bring it up. Raylan hates lying to Art. Tim doesn't mind as much, but he's always afraid of getting caught. He always gets nervous and antsy when Raylan is in Art's office with the door closed, drinking Art's good bourbon.
Tim is convinced that one of these days, Raylan will confess, and then one of them will have to transfer.
"Fine," he snaps, then bends down to take a boot off and almost falls over. Tim gets there just in time to steady him, and Raylan scowls. "Yeah, yeah," he says softly, then pulls Tim close and lays his head on his shoulder. He's feeling very hot again.
Tim helps him get out of his boots and jeans, and finds him a pair of sweatpants and a thermal shirt. He brings him some more ibuprofen, some water, and his own laptop for Raylan to entertain himself with. He also finds Raylan's phone and hands it to him, saying, "Call in sick. Then go back to sleep. I'll come by at lunchtime and bring you something to eat, alright?" Then he kisses him on the forehead and leaves.
At the office, Rachel passes his desk on the way back from the coffee maker and quietly asks, "Is Raylan really sick, or just hung over?"
Tim gives her an exasperated look and says, "He has a fever. But you gotta stop saying shit like this to me around here, Rachel."
Rachel lifts her eyes to heaven and shakes her head. "You two are ridiculous. If you would just go to Art and explain the situation, I'm sure-"
"No," Tim says, very firmly. "It's against the rules, you know that. He'll make one of us leave."
"You know as well as I do that this happens all the time. Allowances are made. And besides, Art isn't exactly a stickler for the rules, especially where his precious Raylan is concerned. He lets him get away with all kinds of shit."
Tim shoots her a look like she should know better, and says, "Allowances are made, sometimes. But how many of those are for two guys? He might just decide he doesn't want to look at it, and transfer us for that reason."
She looks at him like he's a fucking idiot and opens her mouth to argue with him, but Art steps out of his office at that moment.
"Tim, Rachel, come on in here, I just want to get you up to speed on this thing Raylan was working on. You two can go talk to this guy down in Baxter, serve him his papers, and follow up if he gives up the location of his partner."
"All the way out in Baxter?" Tim asks, frowning.
"Why yes, Timothy," Art says, and Tim winces at the name. Only one other person has called him that since he was a little kid. "Why, did you have somewhere you needed to be?"
"Nope," he replies, "just hate all the damn driving."
Art frowns at him and says, "Well then, son, maybe you picked the wrong profession."
When Tim and Rachel are out of the office, he says, "I told Raylan I'd bring him lunch, but we won't be back in time. You mind if we stop for something and drop it off?"
Rachel smiles at him and says, "You're sweet. Sure, we can do that. I know a good place."
They stop at a little sandwich place on a side street. It's bright and cheery, and smells like soup. There's some kind of rambly guitar music playing overhead. Tim orders a large container of chicken noodle, a baguette, and grabs a liter of orange juice from the little drink fridge by the register.
"Why didn't you ever mention this place, Rachel? It's nice," Tim says, handing over his credit card to the dreadlocked woman behind the counter.
She rolls her eyes and says, "I must have told you about it five times. You and Raylan insist on eating at that greasy tavern around the corner from work, neither one of you wants to listen to anyone else's suggestions about anything."
"Sorry," he says, slightly shamefaced.
They head over to Raylan's place and walk through the bar towards the stairs. Lindsey is sitting at an empty table, writing in a notebook, and she glances up when they walk past.
"Hey Tim," she says, smiling. "And Rachel, right?"
"That's right," Rachel says, nodding at her.
"What's up?"
Tim says, "Oh, Raylan's come down with something. I'm just dropping off his lunch early, 'cause I won't be able to get back until late in the afternoon."
Lindsey frowns prettily and says, "You want me to check on him later? I could heat that up for him and get him whatever he needs."
Tim hesitates, briefly. He still gets a small pang of jealousy when he thinks about Raylan's former arrangement with her, but she has been very nice to him since he and Raylan had defined things a little more clearly.
"Sure," he says, "that would be great. He had a pretty high fever when I left this morning, he probably shouldn't be out of bed much."
"Alright, then. Tell him I'll come up at noon."
Tim and Rachel go upstairs and into the apartment. When he pulls out his keys and unlocks the door, Rachel grins at him.
"He gave you a key," she says. "He doesn't seem like the type."
"You'd be surprised," Tim says. "He's nothing like he pretends to be. He's just a big pile of mush under that cowboy exterior."
A voice, muffled and weak, but clearly annoyed, comes from the bedroom. "I heard that, you asshole," Raylan says. "I got secrets on you too, you know." Raylan is standing in the bedroom doorway now, leaning against the frame.
Rachel walks over to him and says, "Raylan, you look terrible. Get your ass back in bed."
"I was just gettin' up to get a drink," he whines, like his mama just scolded him.
Rachel laughs at him and says, "Your boyfriend brought you some orange juice. You want that?"
"Yes," he mumbles, and turns back towards the bed.
Tim pours a glass of juice and puts the rest in the fridge along with the soup. When he enters the bedroom, Raylan is lying on top of the covers, his body slanted across the mattress.
Tim puts the glass down and pushes him onto his side so he can pull the covers down. "Raylan, come on. Sit up a minute so you can drink your juice." Tim props a pillow against the headboard and helps Raylan get situated.
Raylan takes the glass and gulps down the cold juice. He lets out a relieved sigh and says, "Can you bring me more of that please, darlin'?"
Tim smiles and says, "I'll bring you anything you like if you're gonna talk that nice to me." He fetches him another glass and sits with him while he sips at it, more slowly this time.
"I'm the worst when I'm sick, Timmy. I've been told, believe me. You'll probably leave my ass if this shit lasts more than a few days."
Tim just shakes his head, then says, "Lindsey said she'd come up and get you your lunch at noon. We brought you some soup and bread, but I won't be able to get back here. We gotta go down to fuckin' Baxter."
"Oh yeah," Raylan murmurs. "That... thing...
the papers... sorry."
"That's okay," Tim said, running his hand over Raylan's brow and pushing back his hair. "You just try to sleep, and eat what she brings you, and I'll try to leave work early and get over here."
Raylan smiles weakly and says, "Okay." Tim takes the glass from his hand and sets it on the side table.
"I gotta go, Raylan. Go to sleep."
He leaves the room, and Rachel pokes her head in. "Feel better, you big baby. And do as you're told."
After serving papers to the guy in Baxter, they spend the whole afternoon chasing down a bad lead, and don't get back to Lexington until almost four. Tim gives Rachel the puppy dog eyes and asks if she'll cover for him if he goes straight to Raylan's place.
"I'll do that for you, even though I don't know why you'd be in such a hurry to get back to his whiny self. But Tim, you really ought to think about trusting Art more than you do. He might surprise you."
Tim shrugs, says thank you, and drops her off at the courthouse. He thinks about stopping to pick something up for dinner, but he figured he can just scramble some eggs. He's pretty sure Raylan has eggs in the fridge. Or he can order out, if necessary.
He walks through the bar, looks around, but doesn't see Lindsey, only the college kid who bartends a few nights a week. He wonders if she's upstairs with Raylan, which makes him huff a sigh before he starts up the stairs.
As soon as Tim opens the door, he hears her voice, and seconds later another, very familiar voice answering her. Then there's laughter, and Tim steps into the room to see Lindsey perched on the am of the sofa, and Art Mullen standing with his coat on his arm, talking to her.
Oh fuck is all his mind is able to come up with at the moment.
"Oh, hey, Tim," she says. "I gave him that soup you and Rachel dropped off for him, but he didn't really eat much of it. I put the rest back in the refrigerator in case he's feeling hungrier at dinner. He's sleeping now, I just let Mr. Mullen here in when Raylan didn't answer the door, so he could check on him."
"Call me Art, dear," Art interjects.
"Alright," she says, smiling at him. "It was real nice meetin' you, Art. Raylan's talked about you a lot. 'Night, Tim." She gives him a wink while Art's back is turned, as he drapes his coat over a chair, and Tim has an urge to strangle her.
Art is looking around the place, and he says, "You know where Raylan keeps his booze? I could use a drink."
"Uh... not really," Tim says, in what he very much hopes is a convincing voice. "I guess I can check in the kitchen cabinet. Did you look in in him, though? If he's really out of it, maybe we should just go."
"I don't think that would be very kind, do you?" Art says. "He hasn't eaten barely anything all day, and he's running a high fever. Although, that Lindsey could probably be persuaded to check on him again." Art raises an eyebrow at Tim and says, "Between you and me, you think there's something going on there?"
"Uh... I don't know. You know Raylan, he keeps his private life to himself when he can."
Art wheezes laughter at that. "Sure he does," he says, still laughing, "until there's gunplay involved, which there somehow always seems to be."
Tim laughs uncomfortably and goes to the kitchen for the bottle. He opens and closes a few random cabinets, so Art can hear him doing it, then pulls the Jim Beam of the shelf where Raylan always keeps it. He grabs two glasses and pours, but doesn't bring the bottle with him. He hopes Art isn't planning to stay that long.
Art accepts the drink and continues in the same vein. "It only makes sense, really. I'd be more surprised if he wasn't puttin' it to her. She's a beautiful girl, he'd have at least had to give it a try. And Raylan being a good-looking boy, and a Marshal and all, he'd have a fair shot, don't you think? At least, when I was young, the ladies were impressed by the job. Do you find that holds true, Tim?"
"I do alright," Tim says, taking a drink to hide his discomfort..
Art has a jocular smile on his face, and he gets up to walk around the little apartment like it's a museum. He picks up a folded sheet of paper in a pile of change and other pocket debris from an end table, squints at it and says, "He bought two tickets to the Rupp Arena. Can't tell what the event is. You think Lindsey's a basketball fan?"
Tim shrugs and pushes down a smile, realizing he now knows what Raylan's getting him for his birthday. He's shocked that he remembered.
"I'm gonna go in and check on him again," Art says, heading towards the bedroom. He goes in, and comes out less than a minute later, holding Tim's MacBook. "People surprise you sometimes, don't they?" Art is saying, "I never would have pegged Raylan for a Mac guy."
He laughs at his own wisecrack and glances at the bottom of the laptop, where Tim knows there is a label. "Oh, that explains it. This is yours." He hands it to Tim. "It was on the edge of the bed, about to slide off."
"Thanks," Tim said, smiling uncomfortably. Yeah, I lent it to him when Rachel and I came by earlier. He seemed bored."
"Well, that was damn generous of you, Tim. I'm glad to see you and Raylan have become such good friends. You even have a key to his apartment, huh? I guess you, what, pick up his mail when he's outta town? 'Course, it would make more sense for Lindsey to do that. Water his plants?" Art glances around the plant-free apartment, then back at Tim, fixing him with a piercing gaze.
"Listen, Art-" Tim begins.
"Oh, I'm listening, son. I'm ready to hear what I ever did to make you think I am such a goddamn moron that I couldn't figure out two people in my office have been conducting an affair for the last... what... six months, at least."
Tim is at a loss for words, and he stares at Art for a few moments. Then he goes to get the bottle of Jimmy to refresh their drinks, because he feels like they're both going to need it for this conversation.
As he's walking back to the living room, he hears the groaning voice of Raylan coming from the bedroom. "Timmy, that you? I can hear you stompin' around out there. Get me some more of that juice?"
Tim glances very quickly at Art, who seems to be hiding a laugh behind his hand. He sets the bottle down and goes back to the kitchen for Raylan's juice, and brings it to the bedroom.
The sun has mostly set by now, and the room is dark. Tim switches on the bedside lamp and sits down on the bed, handing him the glass. Raylan gives him a tired smile. "Thanks, Tim," he says, and drinks half the glass at once.
"Don't thank me yet. I think we've been discovered."
Raylan's eyes narrow and he asks, "What do you mean, discovered?"
Tim sighs. "Art was here when I got here. Lindsey let him in. I don't know what she said to him, but he claims he's known about us the whole time. I can't say if he's full of shit or not."
Raylan laughs wearily. "How come that don't surprise me?"
Tim frowns, Raylan's faint voice reminding him how sick the man is. He feels his forehead and finds it warm, but not burning up anymore. "How you feeling, Raylan?"
"A little better. I'll probably take tomorrow off too. Of course, if I decide not to, you don't have anything to threaten me with anymore. Your leverage - which I was fairly sure was a bluff anyway - has vanished."
Tim hears a noise from the doorway, and turns to see Art standing there. "You sure do look like shit, son," Art says, "so I won't give you too much grief about your subterfuge at this moment. Rest assured, however, you and I are going to talk, at length, when you get back to work."
"Alright," Raylan replies. "Sorry, Art."
"Uh huh. Deputy Gutterson, a word before I take my leave?"
Tim shoots Raylan a desperate look and gets up to follow Art out of the room.
"Art, I'm sorry too, we didn't say anything because we weren't sure how far it was gonna go, and we didn't want-"
"Shut up, Tim. Just be quiet and listen. I'm a geezer. Back in my youth, such a thing would have been a major scandal, and you'd both be booted out of the Marshal service altogether. Now obviously that's not the case anymore, nor would I want it to be. However. As long as the both of you are working in my office, you will continue the level of discretion you have so far managed to execute. Do not make me sorry."
"You bet, Art. I promise."
"Can I ask you one thing? Just between you and me-"
"Yeah, yeah, he fucked Lindsey," Tim cuts in grumpily. "You happy now?"
Art laughs and says, "Actually, I was gonna ask you about Crowder. You know anything about that?"
Tim's eyes widen, and he says, "I would prefer not to comment on that subject."
"Ha!" Art laughs, and shakes his head. "I knew it. 'We weren't buddies.' That fuckin' asshole."
Tim just nods slowly, that being his own basic position on the matter. Well, except for the part where he could hardly think about it for the first several months without getting a hard on. He doubted very much that Art would relate to that.
After saying goodbye and closing the door behind Art, Tim pours himself another glass of the Jimmy, grabs the laptop and brings them in with him to the bedroom.
"Hey," he says as he sets everything down and begins to undress. "You want to watch some porn?"
Raylan raises his eyebrows and says, "Can't say I'm quite up to it at the moment."
Tim shrugs and pulls on some sleep pants. "Downton Abby it is."
"I'll fall asleep," Raylan grumbles.
"You always do," Tim replies, smiling. "I probably will too, I'm feeling a little run down. Think I might have caught something."
He settles into bed next to Raylan and opens the laptop. Raylan leans his head into Tim's arm and is snoring before the opening credits are over.