Otis reached the end of the sidewalk and paused, his body pressing against Raylan's knee. Master wanted to go left, well Otis wasn't turning left anymore, so he circled, guiding Master in the direction that he wanted to go. Familiar sidewalks, familiar shops, and the delicious scents of his favourite place, Otis picked up the pace a little.

It hadn't taken Raylan long to figure out that his guide dog was not so much guiding him as dragging him, and he had an idea where. Pride was battling loneliness and sorrow, and pride was losing. Rachel was right, Raylan had chucked away the one thing in his life that made sense, that comforted him. He hated his blindness, hated that this was one more thing that his father had taken from him. Tim's panicked response to what had happened with his father had seemed like smothering, so Raylan had panicked, and the thing that meant the most to Raylan had fallen victim to the meanness and cruelty that was Arlo Givens.

Tim's uncharacteristic panic.

Raylan had believed that the one response he would never get from the laconic sniper would be panic. He felt smothered and lashed back in his own panic. They'd fought viciously, and it had been Raylan who'd stormed out and found himself an apartment. He'd had four weeks of utterly miserable loneliness to realize the truth, and now he didn't know how to fix it. Rachel was his lifeline. What was left of Raylan's pride didn't want to admit the truth, but the loneliness and fear was begging that he hadn't screwed it all up, that he could have it back again.

He loved Tim Gutterson. And he didn't know what the hell he could do about it.

Otis stopped dead, and Raylan almost tripped, his hand went out to brace himself, felt the door handle with its coffee bean design and knew instantly where he was, despite Otis' bizarre left-turn issues. Then the door handle was practically wrenched out of his hand as Otis barreled through.

Raylan could feel Otis' tail wagging harder than it had in the last five weeks. The dog was bouncing on the spot.

"Raylan."

"Marla." She was one of the older waitresses, when he first virtually blundered into the place on his debut trip into town after losing his sight, Marla had been the one to help him out, with the least fuss. Called Tim at the Marshals' Office, looked after Raylan until Tim could get there. When Raylan started turning up with Otis, there was always a doggie Danish for the dog.

"It's been a long time, honey." Marla put her hand on his elbow to guide him to a table. She must have seen something in his face then, because she patted his arm in a gentle, motherly sort of way, "the usual hon?"

Feeling suddenly too full to speak, Raylan nodded. "I've a nice piece of peach cobbler with your name on it."

He tried to clear his throat, but the boulder that had taken up residence there refused to move, so he nodded again. Marla seemed to understand without the need for lengthy explanation, and with another gentle pat to his arm, left him to get the coffee and food.

Raylan took off his hat, and Otis settled against him, heavy warm weight against his leg, head in Raylan's lap. Raylan's hand rubbed the velvety ears eliciting a grunt that sounded very like a sigh.

"Yeah, I know." Raylan's voice really didn't sound like his own, so he shut up. It seemed better that way. His hand kept rubbing the labrador's soft head and neck, contact calming him, not quite the way it did with Tim, but close.

He heard the door open again, tramp of boots, as someone wiped their feet, "my treat," said a voice, and Raylan nearly jumped out of his skin. Then Otis was barreling past his legs, and Raylan could hear the skitter of claws, and a choked voice said "Boy!" and he half-stood, then sat down again.

"Ray." A hand was laid gently on his shoulder, a world of choked up emotion in his name. And he wanted to give in so badly.

Tim looked down at his friend, noting the bruises, two on his left cheekbone, one recent, the other almost faded to nothing. Raylan had lost weight that he didn't have to lose, instead of his usual tight, almost furious expression was something so pinched with loss it made Tim want to cry.

Marla was approaching with Raylan's order, and Tim took it from her, asked for a coffee and another piece of that pie because it looked so good. Put the coffee and pie down in front of Raylan. "Coffee's on the left, pie's on the right." Knowing that smothering would drive Raylan away, controlling the urge to just pull the cowboy into his arms and never let him out of his sight again.

He looked round, and Rachel had taken the opportunity to make herself scarce. Tim could smell a plot, but since it brought him sight of the man he realised he loved, he guessed he was okay with it.

Otis' tail was beating double-time. His heavy body leaning up against Tim and Raylan's legs under the table.

Tim watched Raylan's hand go for the fork, hesitation in his movements that Tim hadn't seen since Raylan was first blinded. His fingers itched to reach across the table and clasp Raylan's hand.

"Ray."

"I've missed you." The words were rushed, a little breathy, practically falling over themselves, as though Raylan were determined to say them before his courage failed.

It hurt, the deep ache inside Tim's soul realizing that this was what he had brought his friend to; because Raylan's courage, regardless of misplaced circumstances, never failed.

"Come home."

Two words, probably the most important, and most mundane, of Tim's life. Literally everything hung in the balance for Raylan's answer. He watched the emotions chase themselves across Raylan's face, hurt, fear, loss, but he could see hope flicker the longest.

"Yes." It was so quiet that if Tim hadn't been hanging on that word he might have missed it. Raylan's hand reached out, his fingers entwined with Tim's and it was all that Tim could do not to drag Raylan into his arms and never let go.

Since that was pretty much what had torn them apart in the first place, Tim supposed he was going to have to relearn some things along the way.