Tim busied himself with pulling glasses and a bottle out of a cabinet. He knew how Raylan took his bourbon, and he poured drinks for the both of them. Did Tim need more to drink? No, probably not. But he was at his apartment now, so the repercussions of getting absolutely shit-faced were few and far between.

Whatever helped him sleep without dreaming, honestly.

He handed one glass off to Raylan before dropping himself onto one end of the couch. Other than the rest of the couch beside him, there was an armchair across the coffee table for sitting. Raylan could take his pick.

"Sure beats some cliff side perch in Kandahar." He cut an amused glance to Raylan. "Or a motel."