"Marshal, without your colleague's quick thinking, you might have lost your sight." The doctor paused for effect. "Permanently."
Raylan sighed heavily, and put his hand up towards his face. His cheeks and forehead itched from whatever the hell Dean Bailey had flung in his face.
His fingers were intercepted by someone's hand. "Leave the bandages alone, Raylan." Tim sounded irritable.
"Can I get out of here?" Raylan growled.
"If there's someone who can help you for the next couple of days, just until the bandages come off. I don't see why not."
"He can come home with me." Tim, taking care of him again. Raylan didn't know whether to be relieved, grumpy or grateful. He settled for a non-committal grunt.
He just hoped that there wasn't some kind of attorney's office shit storm waiting to fall on his head, because this wasn't his fault, just sheer, dumb bad luck.
They had slammed in front door, moved through the shabby house, checking carefully, it was just Raylan's really bad luck that he'd opened the kitchen door.
Their fugitive had thrown the contents of some kind of plastic bottle in Raylan's face.
Whatever the hell it was, it stung like crazy, Raylan had cried out in pain. Then Tim had grabbed him, dragged him across the kitchen shoving him into a chair. The next thing Raylan knew his hands were being held firmly away from his face, he was told to tilt his head back and then Tim was pouring water into his eyes.
The rest of the morning passed in a blur. Raylan was whisked away by ambulance, had his eyes thoroughly irrigated by the doctor who diagnosed inflamed corneas, and that Raylan needed to rest his eyes. Since everything was blurry, and his eyes felt like barbecue forks had been stuck in them, he was happy to exceed to that directive.
Especially as rest to Raylan said night off with a bottle of Jack for company. Things brightened up a little. Until the doctor put pads on both Raylan's eyes and bandaged them in place. Forty-eight hours complete rest.
For Raylan, who wasn't keen on being blind for the five minutes since the doctor had bandaged his eyes, forty-eight hours seemed like his worst nightmare. Especially as he and Winona were taking another break from each other.
Tim would have had to be a completely insensitive idiot not to notice Raylan's fingers were trembling. He tightened his grip on Raylan's hand, but gently, offering comfort.
It was a little difficult to read Raylan's expression, but with his eyes bandaged, Tim thought his friend had never seemed more vulnerable. Raylan just looked scared. Tim gave his hand another reassuring squeeze.
After paying attention to the doctor's directions, and accepting some pain meds, and some cream for the red rash on Raylan's forehead and cheeks, Tim pondered the question of how he was going to get his prickly and independent colleague to accept help as far as the car.
Deciding to opt for the just do it approach, Tim tugged on his colleague's hand and said "Come on, let's get out of here." In a slightly breathless voice which was supposed to convey breezy confidence but sounded ever so slightly desperate to Tim's ears.
To his relief Raylan seemed so pleased to just escape from the hospital, he slid down from the gurney and followed Tim.
It felt a little weird to be holding Raylan's hand, but a good weird. If Tim spent any real time thinking about this response it would be because as much as he admired Raylan Givens for being the tough, dedicated, straight-shooting lawman that he is, he loved him for just being a friend. And Raylan was entertaining, okay, in a messy, sometimes violent and chaotic way, but he's still Raylan, there was absolutely nothing fake about him. In a world of phonies, and idiots trying to get ahead, Tim appreciated that a lot.
In some ways Tim was also relieved that Art stayed only long enough to hear that Raylan was going to be just fine after a couple of days, and to give Raylan's beloved hat to Tim. He knew that Art would pass the news about Raylan's eye injury to people who wanted to know, that Rachel would probably come round to see them after shift, and other than that they would be left alone. Tim had put in for a couple of days just to help Raylan and Art had signed off on it without a murmur.
He had the distinct feeling that Raylan would be really uncomfortable if half the office came calling.
Arriving at his place, Tim was strangely relieved that Raylan had at least spent enough time there, on team nights and baseball games and cook outs to have some idea of the layout.
"We're home." He said.
"Yeah." Whispered Raylan softly. Tim had time to wonder as he helped his friend up the steps and in through the front door what exactly Raylan had meant by that.
