Any visitor knocking on the door of the average man at three o'clock in the morning would have reasonably expected to find his host groggy and unaware, but Marshal Tim Gutterson was by no means an average man. His sniper training meant that the second he registered the sound of knocking, he had sprung from the bed, grabbed his sidearm from its place on his bedside table, and crept to the side of the door before he even really processing what was going on.
As he carefully looked through the peephole, Tim let out a small exclamation of surprise before holstering his weapon and swinging open the door; whatever he had expected to find disturbing his slumber in the middle of the night on a Wednesday, it was not Raylan Givens, least of all a Raylan Givens who looked heartbroken and a little drunk.
"Raylan, what on Earth...?" Tim started, not sure how to finish.
"The world's exploding, Tim," Raylan said in lieu of explanation as he stumbled into Tim's apartment, causing Tim to lunge forward and wrap his arms around Raylan's torso to keep him from falling face first into the carpet.
"Tell me what happened," Tim said evenly as he helped Raylan to the bed and secured him in a sitting position.
"Helen's dead. Dickie shot her," Raylan replied, and as he raised his head to look into Tim's eyes, Tim was startled at the sheer rawness of the grief in them. Raylan normally played his cards very close to the vest, but suffering and whiskey had stripped away the sheen of mocking insouciance he usually possesed, with the result that all Tim saw before him was a man in a lot of pain.
"I'm sorry, Raylan. I truly am," he said, and meant it. Not entirely sure how to handle this kind of situation - he was more at home with firearms than feelings - Tim gave Raylan a tentative pat on the shoulder, and when that was favorably received, started to rub his hand gently over Raylan's back.
"She saved me, Tim," Raylan said miserably, "By the time I was thirteen, my Daddy was a criminal, Momma was six feet under - I wouldn't have had a chance without Helen. I would have worked in that coal mine for the rest of my life, probably kicked off before fifty buried under a pile of rocks or hacking up black dust from my lungs. But she stepped in, treated me like her own, gave me the money to get the hell out of Harlan."
"She was a good woman," Tim agreed. "Seems like every time I hauled someone in from the holler, they would be calling her up and asking for bail money. And no matter who it was, she'd show up and hand over the money, no questions asked. Not many people round these parts have that kind of decency."
By this time, Raylan had begun to shake all over, his shoulders heaving up and down violently, and Tim could tell he was having more and more difficulty keeping himself together. Still unsure of what to do, but unwilling to see Raylan suffer any further, Tim scooted closer and tentatively wrapped both his arms around Raylan's shoulders.
It seemed that Raylan's self-constructed emotional barriers were already so weakened by grief and weariness that they could survive no more onslaughts, and he began to sob violently. Tim just tightened his grip and folded Raylan in toward him, causing the Marshal to wrap his arms around Tim and cling to him like he was a life preserver. Still operating entirely on instincts he hadn't known he possessed, Tim said nothing, but made low shushing sounds as he softly stroked Raylan's hair and ran his hands over his back.
Tim wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, but eventually Raylan's sobs subsided, and he released Tim, sitting back to face him on the bed. Tim maintained his grip on Raylan's shoulders, however, and as he searched the Marshal's face for some hint as to his emotional state, Raylan suddenly spoke.
"The world's exploding," he said in a serious voice, looking earnestly into Tim's eyes.
"Yes, you said that already," Tim said slowly, "What exactly do you mean, 'the world's exploding'?"
"I got Mags Bennett to give up Dickie in exchange for the Black Pike deal," Raylan began to explain, his voice steadier now. "I found him, cuffed him, dragged him out to the woods with the full intention of killing him."
"Raylan, if you did something -" Tim started.
"I was going to kill him, I really was," Raylan barreled on, "But then I thought about Helen. I thought about how she gave up so much so I could have a shot at escaping all this feud bullshit and how if I shot a blubbering, half-man while he was handcuffed, then I wasn't the kind of man she'd wanted me to be."
"So you arrested him instead," Tim said, reasoning it out.
"Yes," Raylan replied, "But Mags got someone to lean on Jed, and now he's scared enough that he's taking the blame for the hit, leaving Dickie free and clear. And that leaves me and Mags, headed on a collision course that only one of us has even a shot at surviving. Which doesn't even include whatever the hell Boyd, Arlo, and a house full of gun thugs have planned. So when I say the world's exploding, Tim, I mean it. I'm starting to think that I'm not gonna make it to see next week."
"Well, if you keep acting like the Lone Ranger, maybe you won't," Tim said, exasperated. "Ever since that showdown with the drug cartel, you've been pushing everyone away, acting like a goddamn vigilante, and there's no reason for it. We're your co-workers and your friends, Raylan, we care about you." He looked away as he added quietly, "I care about you."
"So whatever you gotta do with Mags Bennett," he continued firmly, "You aren't doing alone. I'm there with you, every step of the way, whether you like it or not."
Raylan stared at him for a few minutes, letting several different reactions playing over his face as if he was deciding how to respond. Finally, he let out a tired sigh and leaned forward to rest his forehead on Tim's with a quiet, "Thank you."
Tim was struck by the intimacy of the gesture, which was the only reason he could come up with later for why he then put his hands on either side of Raylan's face, brushing away the lingering tears with his thumbs, and slid his head down to kiss Raylan lightly on the cheek. As Tim was withdrawing and trying to think how to best phrase his apology, Raylan took Tim's hand in his and then lunged forward suddenly to kiss him fiercely on the lips.
Tim instinctual response was to return the kiss, and he launched himself at Raylan, his hands soon gripping handfuls of Raylan's shirt. After a little while, however, he reluctantly broke off the kiss; however much he had been thinking about this the past few months, it wasn't right to take advantage of Raylan's grief.
"Raylan," he began, unable to stop himself from sliding a hand through the Marshal's hair.
"Tim," Raylan said firmly, looking into his eyes, "You promised me I wouldn't have to do this alone."
"Well, yeah, Raylan, but I didn't mean..." Tim trailed off.
"Please, Tim," Raylan appealed to him, his expression serious, "I just need to feel something else, anything else right now. Can you help me?"
Tim hesitated only a moment before kissing him again, and the two of them were soon tearing frantically at each other's clothes. He had no illusions about what the next few days would bring; Raylan was quite right, Mags and her clan were danger enough without adding whatever Boyd would bring to the mix. He wasn't positive either of them would walk away from this battle alive. But just for this moment, none of that mattered; just for this moment, he could give Raylan the comfort that he so desperately needed, could make all the pain fade away, even if only for a little while. And just for this moment, that was good enough for Tim.