He never slept past six-thirty. Not since Sniper School and not since two tours, Glynko and his almost five years as a Marshal. Long weekend off, plans made and Tim Gutterson was sitting at his kitchen counter with a coffee staring out at the torrential downpour and actually thinking that Raylan was right. They should get the hell out of Kentucky.
Tim blew on his fresh brew a little to cool it, and took a cautious sip. Looked out at the lousy weather and wished like hell they had.
He had hated his father. In weaker moments, Tim fantasized about making it back from basic with a loaded weapon and putting the bastard out of Tim's misery before the shit could hurt anyone else.
But never in his life had he imagined his father doing to him what Arlo had done to Raylan. Tim closed his eyes and replayed the moment in his head, like he had a thousand times in the last two years. He should have stepped around Art and stopped the old man. Before it got to that. The punch that had dropped Raylan like a stone.
Footsteps behind him, and Tim half-turned on the stool, Raylan always knew where to find him. It was like a sixth sense.
An arm curled around his waist and a lean body pressed up against him, and Tim wrapped his arms around his lover and held on. Breathing in Raylan's scent, turning his face up to meet his lover's kiss, framing that beautiful face with both his hands. Looking up into Raylan's beautiful eyes.
Tim shuddered. The pain of that memory almost unbearable.
"Hey." Raylan's voice was soft. His arms pulled Tim closer, offering comfort, the way it had been from the beginning. "It happened, it wasn't your fault."
Tim tightened his grip fiercely, "I know. But knowing don' amount to a hill of beans. I wish I could have done something, stopped him, is all."
Two years, and the pain still burned inside. He felt like he had failed Raylan that day at the VFW. He wished he had been too drunk to drive that night. That…
"Y'know what I'm grateful for?" Raylan's fingers were buried in Tim's hair, his thumbs stroking gentle circles against Tim's neck.
"Grateful?" Tim had never heard that before.
"Yeah, grateful." Raylan's voice was almost sheepish, and given the trouble that Raylan had with feelings and talking about things, Tim got the sheepish thing.
A moment of quiet, then Raylan continued so quietly that Tim could barely hear the words. "I'm grateful that the last thing I ever saw was you stepping up to try to defend me. Whatever else I lost that day, I saw love." His voice cracked a little, "never really seen that before."
Tim reached up then and stole a kiss. "Breakfast?"
"Thought you'd never ask." Raylan hugged his lover, and then headed straight for the coffee pot.
Two years, and Tim's OCD nature, never moving a single item of furniture, leaving doors all the way open or all the way closed and Raylan never bumped into any of it. That was why they stayed, in their little house by the reservoir. Tim smiled. No one would ever guess that Raylan was blind. Arlo's final punch to his son's head had robbed Raylan of his sight.