It was nothing more than a sound, but one that came with a tightening and thinning of his lips as he opened his bottle and poured himself a good three fingers, tapping on the bottle with his off hand to draw Flint's attention to the way the bottle looked fully fresh and untouched, despite his pour.
"I was.. married for a time. Round about 6 years. It.." He sighs out his nose, jaw tightening. His story was no great tragedy, no Shakspearian loss. His was so basic and common a story he felt it wasn't really worth the telling. From Arlo to Winona, to any of his relationships. To Tim.
"It didn't end well. She left me for the man sellin' our house while I was in Miami." He sucks his teeth shortly. "Didn't even get askin' price for the house." He shook his head and took a deep drink, trying to pretend like that was it, he'd answered the question, it was done, but-
"I don't.. Get to have that, historically speakin'. Hell, I just ran the shortest fuckin' relationship I've had since highschool.. Some two weeks on top of six years of workin' with the man.." His head was shaking again, jaw tight and the impulse to throw his mug right under his skin.
"Tim's gone, if you didn't know. Our uh.. former Theater Professor, as you might know him." That had to be washed down with the warm sting of top shelf whiskey, it hurt to bear the words to air, like freshly opened wounds.
Flint listens quietly, taking it all in, watching the pain twist in Raylan's features. He notes the bottle that doesn't empty, quirking a brow and setting his bottle aside in favor of sharing that bottle of unending whiskey if Raylan wanted to.
As for Tim, there is a little flicker of confusion, he didn't meet Tim on the barge. But their Theater Professor, sure, he knew him well enough from that Alternate world they shared. He wracks his brain around it a little, surprised that that is the sort he'd go for, but then remembering how vastly different they all were. Now he wonders what Tim was really like.
"I'm sorry, for what it's worth." Which he knows isn't a whole lot but it's generally what people say when you lose someone.
"He was a Warden, right?" Just a shot in the dark if they worked together.
"So you'll see him again when you go back? And your ex-wife? She's alive? Surely there's some solace in that. Those people you love may not be here with you but it's something you have to go back to." He doesn't say it, he doesn't want to taint the positive, but he doesn't have any of that to go back to.
Raylan's head starts shaking as soon as James gets halfway through 'Sorry'. "Don't be."
Letting the man finish, Raylan pours him a few fingers of the whiskey in the spare cup he'd brought before topping off his own.
"He was. US Army Ranger, Sniper. But - he said he'd been in love with me for years and I've never been in a relationship with a guy. I never got allowed the chance to-" Acclimate. Learn to trust or love him back. Feel okay. He shakes his head again. Being blunt and open about this was not natural, and it felt like the words stacked upon themselves in the back of his throat.
"I won't be seein' him, no. He won't remember this place and I left the Lexington Office a few months ago back home. And yeah, Winona is still alive. Until some shit for brains mob thug decides to go after her to get my attention.. That's part of my deal. Winona and I got back together for a few months and she got pregnant. Left me two months into that but.. Eventually my daughter Willa was born." Willa at least, gets a pointed softening of his eyes and features, faint smile a little broader and a lot more easily brought, even if it didn't stay long.
"My deal is their safety. That none of the ugly people I've pissed off and arrested, shot, gotten in the way of come after her and her mother ever again. When I go back, I'll have Willa and the lucky opportunity to watch her mother try to be happy with whatever line of gentleman she decides to try out next," he ends drily.
Sure, he'd know that Winona was alive. For Willa's sake, he's glad she was. For his own sake? At least if she were in the ground, she couldn't hurt him anymore. At least then she wouldn't be able to jerk him around anymore. It was. Complicated.
"That's something good at least." A relationship with his daughter and a guarantee for their safety. He studies the other curiously as he picks up his glass and has a sip of the whiskey, letting it burn its way down his throat.
"Are you alright?" It was only two weeks but it was clear something was eating at Raylan and if he'd had feelings but been unable to share them all this time. Only to finally get to do so and have the man taken from him a few weeks later, that's rough. Especially knowing he won't be able to see him or that Tim won't remember anything.
"Wouldn't trade that little girl for the world," he granted easily. No matter what shit happened, Willa was in the world now and Raylan would turn over hell to keep her safe if he had to.
Raylan sighs quietly into his cup.
"Objectively? Close enough for government work. Anything else-" Raylan shrugged one shoulder, head shaking shallowly. "Few more days of self abuse and I'm sure I'll get there. Nothin' that whiskey hasn't been able to bandaid before." Huffing a bare breath of a sardonic sound out of his nose, Raylan rubs at his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose for a long moment before his hand dropped.
"Guess it's my turn to say sorry. Not much of anythin' I can think can be done about it, but you sure didn't have to spend your evenin' bein' a sad sack with me." He appreciated the company.
"Are you alright? After the breach and everythin' - I know the first few runs tend to be the weirdest, considerin' that most of us have never done anything like this before."
Flint shakes his head and waves a hand this time. "Frankly, I think this might've been a long time coming for both of us."
He drinks his whiskey as the rum mixes in his blood and he feels all of it starting to rush to his head, putting him in a nice comfortable buzz. He studies the other some more, mulling over what he's about to offer. He's not sure if it's just the alcohol bringing out more warmth and compassion, or maybe parts of himself leftover from the Alternate version that cares about Raylan, it's hard to tell so fresh from the breach with rum in his belly. But he supposes in the end it doesn't matter. No one outside this room would know or needed to know any of it. And maybe there's something to this companionship they both desperately needed.
"I could stay." He offers. "I don't think you should be alone, especially with you still healing." Sure he'd got up and wandered around just fine but he should be resting and Flint could help. It was a good excuse to stay if Raylan didn't want to be alone.
"Sayin' shit about it not really a thing folk like us are allowed to do, is it." Except behind closed doors with people they trusted.
The rise of heat in Raylan's chest at the offer was immediately attributed to the whiskey in his hand and not the flash of memories of their younger possible selves grinning like fools as they snuck into Flint's bedroom and into his bed. Certainly couldn't be because no matter what Raylan's Front brain said, the drunk, honest core of him had enjoyed it more than he'd say.
Swallowing thickly, an action that had his head dropping a fraction, he considered the safety of the inside of his cup. All logical rational pointed to the obvious. Demuring, making it light.. drinking himself into another blackout of a night. Which, considering his condition, was doubly stupid and he knew it.
"Alls I got is the one bed. If that ain't a problem," he finally says. "Place is based off where I was livin' in Lexington and wasn't built for more than one kinda entertainin'." If he was less busted up, he could too easily see this whole suggestion going towards that kind of entertainment, but at this exact moment, heavy pants would be distractingly painful. And the whole sentiment was probably the whiskey and rum talking.
He wasn't used to people caring about him or his wellbeing beyond whether or not he was still drawing breath and he felt a little awkward and.. not weak but. Something, for not arguing against it harder.
"Not really, no. Showing any kind of feeling other than pure rage might be considered a weakness. Can't have that can we?" He sips the whiskey again and watches it as he swirls it in the glass in thought.
"I think something from that other world has stuck with me, something I'm still sorting out on top of everything else. But it's..." He shakes his head, running a hand over his peach fuzz. A lot about Flint from that time was so very different and yet he could remember all of it. That feeling of freedom, of feeling accepted and happy. Genuinely happy and loved. It had been a mirror image. It was something he wasn't sure he wanted to let go of. And it was something many others had tried to tell him he could have on this Barge. That this place was different. And it could be something both he and Raylan could have again. A safe space away from the suffering they'd endured back home for just being who they were and who they wanted to love. Experiences they weren't allowed to have they could have here. Maybe it might help him return to himself if he could just be James in every sense of the name. He didn't need Flint anymore that much was becoming more and more obvious.
"It's a glimmer of something that might fight off this darkness in me." His shame, his rage, and his pain he's been carrying and using as a weapon to survive. He didn't need it. This Barge and the people on it like Raylan were disarming him. Making him strip off his armor to the bare scars beneath. So he could maybe heal from them instead of being haunted by them. Moreover, he didn't want others to suffer as he did and if he could help soothe the ache of someone he has come to care for, all the better. They both could be better for it. And he remembered all the things his alternate self tried to do for others and all the good it did for everyone, including himself. There was so much from this Breach that has given him a new perspective.
"One bed is fine." Though he sees the way the other seems to shift a little uncomfortably, recognizes that heated embarrassment for what it is. He knows where his mind is going and Flint would be lying if he hadn't been thinking about any of it all this time. But Raylan was wounded and he'd behave.
"I can sleep elsewhere if need be. A chair, the floor. I could even go get the extra hammock from my room." He pauses as he considers, "Which, after you're all healed up, that hammock is yours if ever you want the company."
Another sip to finish his glass and slid it forward, "You and I have been through enough now and heaven knows you took care of me and looked after me when you didn't have to. I want to return the favor. I'd like to call you my brother, or my friend."
He thinks once more about College!Flint and how he'd been with others when they clearly needed help or guidance. "I'm here for a drink, an ear, for a fight, a distraction. For a familiar place to sleep when you don't want to be alone."
Raylan had met a good number of people on board, all colorful characters - Tim Stoker, Jacobi, Sweeney, Steve - all folks who understood that rule, regardless of if they chose to break it or not, but James was the only one he felt really understood the root place of toxic masculinity that did nothing but damage the people that had to withstand it. Sure, it got shit done, but there were other options. He'd spent his life trying to walk that line, keeping the demand of respect without tearing down everything around him. He'd managed to mostly spare everyone else, but it meant he fell self-victim to the engrained culture.
There was a respect being given to how shitty it was. He hadn't realized that respect was lacking from some others before until hearing it now.
He looks over again as James talks about something sticking with him, unable to stop the warm tug of his lips as he continues. The voice of punishing self-loathing in the back of his head was quick to point out that maybe Tim did have a reason to be concerned but- Raylan wouldn't have any need for companionship if Tim hadn't left. What was so wrong in taking the offered comfort that they both wanted and needed? What was so wrong with just being comfortable in their own skin for a few fucking minutes.
The glass was slid over and Raylan shifted in his seat a little to pour James another two fingers.
"Watch out, with talk like that, you might never get rid of me," he threatens playfully as he tops off his cup, eyes crinkling around the edges as he sits back in his chair. The smile stayed, even as teasing nature fell a little back into the soft seriousness of Raylan daring to continue on this two way street of opening up.
"I've been alone a lot and for a long time. And somehow it's. Sharper here. Heavier with no place to run from it. I imagine that's worse in Zero." Flint deserved the visit there, but he didn't deserve to be isolated. Tantamount to torture. He shook his head a little. "I don't wanna be alone. Least not tonight. No need at all for you sleepin' anywhere else either. Floor is uncomfortable as hell an' I know that from experience.." His lips curled a little again.
"Might be weird if brothers shared a bed though an' where I from, incest gets a lotta actual action. Better if we avoid 'brothers'. Hope you know this means that this road works both ways then.. You could use some lookin' out for. That glimmer you mention could use some encouagin' too."
In for a penny, in for a pound, right? He knew in his gut that James wasn't a bad guy. Capable of bad things, yes, just like Raylan was, but full of good intent. Good intentions might pave the road to hell, but they were on a barge meant for it.
"Well, you did say your favorite thing is to be a pain in someone's ass. May as well be me... and Roman. You two are permanently paired, right? Poor bastard." It's hard to say if that last bit was for Roman or Raylan.
As he sips his whiskey he falls quiet to listen to Raylan's story as it feels like the other is pouring a little more of himself out onto the table.
"Mn, feeling alone while feeling surrounded and unable to find a place to properly just deal with yourself without eyes on you isn't any better." He shakes his head.
"Sorry, I think that's more the pirate in me, being crew means a brotherhood. But you have a point." He nods, though he's not entirely sure what to call what they have. Friends will have to do for now.
"You let me know when you want to head back over for a good rest. I'll settle in as well, so I'm not waking you up when I climb in."
Raylan huffed a breath but grinned a genuine grin for the half moment it had time to be there amid the rest of his thoughts.
"We are. Please don't kill him without talkin' to me first," he says with a pull of that grin again. "And don't think you're bringin' them boots into my bed either. I dunno about you, but I'm the kinda man that will stay up for a bottle, to my own detriment. It can breathe on the table til mornin', no worries about that."
Still, he took a shallow draft of his as he sat upright again.
"You wanna come to bed, James?" The question was asked with a full faced look - there was no point in shying away from what they were agreeing to. It didn't have to be more than what was offered, but since Raylan was selfishly taking James up on said offer.. He didn't want to beat around the bush.
There's a salute in agreement to talking to Raylan first before doing anything to Roman. He then raises his brows at the mention of his boots. There's a nod as he pushes away from the table to bend down and unlace everything before toeing them off and setting them aside under the table.
Then finally, when that question is made he pauses briefly, letting the warmth run up his throat a little and twist around in his stomach in exciting ways. He pushes down any of those dirty thoughts that spring up with it, throws the rest of the whiskey into his throat, and nods, rising up. He'll then shrug out of his jacket and throw it on the back of a chair.
"Need any help?" He'd made it to the chair, but could he make it back to the bed?
"Not with gettin' up," he replies, grunting softly as he uses the table to help leverage his weight up like it was proof. "But I'd rather ask for your help gettin' this damned shirt off than spend the next five minutes fightin' to get it off."
Smiling crookedly, he turns around, already starting to try to peel it off.
"If I snore too loud, feel free to kick me, but I got a feelin' we're gonna fight back and forth about who's gonna be big spoon in all this."
Flint nods, eyes respectfully moving over Raylan's body as he turns his back to him. He'll step in and gingerly sweep his hands over his shoulders to push off the cloth and guide it along as he slowly, carefully shrugs out of the plaid button-up. He'll pull it off him with the same sort of gentle caution, then give a little tug at the white ribbed tank.
"This too?" He asks quietly, wondering how far the other wanted to go.
"Likewise, just elbow me if I snore. And I guess we'll just see which way we fit better together."
A wince, a grunt, a view of the ugly bruising that matches his face lacing up his left side before he pulled out of the shirt, smirking at the tug as he turned around.
"Think I'll keep that on, this time. Keeps the tapin' a little more secure." He couldn't help but glance James up and down, swallowing the unwise suggestion that they lose their pants too, for full comfort. He also couldn't help the reach out and soft tug of James's shirt.
"Get as comfortable as you want," he says, turning to work his way over to the far side of the bed, turning down the blanket. He should probably take his own advice, fingers working at his button to shuck his jeans, leaving him modestly in his undershirt and pale striped boxers. Nothing sexy, nothing risque, just him, a regular dude.
"I promise to keep my hands to myself." Raylan carefully got himself into bed, nestling down into his pillow, hazel eyes watching whatever Flint did next.
He's realizing now that he's not fully prepared for this. He'd left his sleeping clothes in his room. The little tug and the sweep of those eyes tug at something else in him and he has to swallow a little raggedly as his mouth goes dry. He watches Raylan slip out of his jeans, noting the comfortable looking boxers and how nicely they fit on him. He looks away as the other climbs into bed. Modern underwear, as he's found out is a little more revealing than what he's used to. Then again some men wore nothing at all to bed.
He clears his throat as those eyes watch him with interest and he'll hesitate a moment before unbuttoning his shirt and shrugging out of it revealing the freckle-dappled skin beneath. There's a small half-moon tattoo on his right bicep that even his College version hadn't had yet. He adds the shirt to the chair with his coat. He then undoes his trousers, which are dropped to the floor, and stepped out of. He stoops to pick them up, folding and draping them over the chair as well.
He shouldn't feel so exposed, so naked when he's still in his underwear, glad he wore any at all. And he'd browsed the selection at the wardrobe to find something comparable to what he was used to, but comfortable. Which he'd settled on the tighter boxer brief, that hugged his thighs and ass and cradled his package nicely. It was a solid color, black seemed smart even if he was used to white linen, dirt and such showed much quicker on white cloth.
He moves to the bed, trying to calm his racing heart or ease the nervousness. He'd suggested this, offered it, and yet now that he's about to climb into bed with the man his mind is racing back to that closet. This was meant to be innocent. Like so many nights he'd shared with Miranda when he'd come home to Nassau. Sure, some nights were spent fucking, but most were just to share a bed. To have that companionship so he wasn't as alone as he'd felt in his cabin on the Walrus for days and weeks. To have a warm, soft body to curl up with for comfort.
He climbs into bed with the other, slipping under the sheets and the comforter to make himself comfortable. He'll move in close, tilting his head a little where he remains half-propped up on his elbow.
Manners would have demanded that Raylan avert his eyes as James starts disrobing, but too much whiskey and an unconscious bias towards maintaining his manners with womenfolk more than men meant he didn't. With the contrast of young verses full grown and fully developed, who would have guessed that Flint would turn out looking as well built as he was. Aside from the fact that that age created hearty men.
He does look away, into the bed as James starts work on his pants, only stealing an errant, respectful glance at those well fitted boxer briefs as the man climbs into bed with him. James wasn't the only one that felt a spike of anxiety - There was a difference between talking about it, agreeing on it, and doing it in full knowledge and in their right minds.
And now here James was, less than a foot from his face, trying to make him comfortable.
"Tonight? Not havin' any extra dead weight on 'em." He smiles softly, one of those smiles that were only given in bedrooms and safe spaces, lazy and pleased. "So either my side or my back. I usually end up on my back in the mornin's anyway."
His legs shift a little, moving out to bump a knee with James. "I'll move if anythin' hurts, it'll be alright."
Thank you sat unspoken, caught in the back of his throat by worry about what it would look or sound like if he said it right now - even whiskey couldn't stop that panic process.
"Oh." He clears his throat and nods, "Right, I'll uh..."
He points away from Raylan and slowly turns over to place his back to him. "This'll be easier, less chance of one of my arms striking you in the ribs when I'm sleeping."
Not that he typically moves that much in his sleep, but different bed, and, well, he doesn't realize how much he moves when he's having a nightmare. But either way, it's safer. It feels awkward and there is a soft sinking in his stomach as he's denying himself the chance for more contact. Like they had after spending the night in the closet.
"Mm," came the hum of agreement as Flint turns over, leaving Raylan to stare at his back and debate if he should move closer. The distance was almost palpable, almost agonizing, halfway towards 'wrong' in a way that Raylan couldn't exactly attribute to how snuggly he got when he was drunk.
'Even if it doesn't happen now, it'll happen in the night, right?'
Raylan scoots a little closer, knees and thighs coming up to bump into and lay against James, leaving a respectful amount of space between his groin and Flint's ass, and ghosts the back of his fingers up the pirate's back. As much as he was assuming, he wasn't trying to be lewd or improper about it. If James didn't flinch away, indicate he didn't want that contact, Raylan slides his hand around his waist, draping his hand over the stretch of his stomach.
"This okay?" His voice was soft now, the quiet bedwhisper of someone trying to not break the peace.
Flint wasn't comfortable, if he was honest, not with the amount of distance between them when he desired more. Luckily for him, it seemed the other felt the same as he felt the bed dip behind him and heard the soft shift of fabric as Raylan moved to curl up against his back. He hides a small smile, though his spine curls some, and his ribs shudder a little at the gentle, ghosting touch. It's not out of discomfort, however, but as if he's melting into the embrace.
"Mn," He nods with a soft, almost relieved sigh as he gets comfortable.
"As long as you're ok?" He casts a small glance back as one hand moves to trace Raylan's forearm to the hand on his waist. He'll entwine their fingers together to hold him there.
The melt in, the armless of hug of James's back curling towards him helped Raylan scoot his chest forwards so that they were touching there too, fingers tightening with a soft brief squeeze.
"Quickly gettin' there." There was the impulse to press a kiss to Flint's shoulder and one that Raylan managed to repress. That would be a step too far, wouldn't it? Would it?
"G'night James."
It was a good ten minutes later, once Raylan felt them both sink into the bed with the weight of real relaxation that he felt he could whisper what he'd wanted to before.
"Thank you." For being here, for caring, for needing this as much as he did and for not shaming either of them for it.
"Mn, good." He sighs, half drowsy already as he's settled in.
"Goodnight." Hearing his name fall from Raylan's lips was nice if he was honest with himself. Not many folks called him James, just those closest to him. And at this point, Raylan's certainly earned that spot.
He dozes off, only vaguely aware of the soft thank you, whispered at his back that he is too deep in his drift to respond to. He slumbers comfortably, body going boneless and heavy within minutes of his breathing evening out into blissful sleep. But it's only an hour or two before his body starts tensing and twitching and soft grunts of noises are rumbling in his throat. Words that he can't quite utter in his sleep.
Luckily though, when he does wake with a startled gasp, it's with enough wherewithal not to elbow the man behind him. He's covered in a cold sweat and takes a moment to clutch Raylan's hand, moving it to his chest over his heart and curling in on himself as he tries to catch his breath and hope he hasn't woke the other up.
Raylan slipped into his own comfortable darkness, body tucking snuggly against the form in his arms in those few hours, breath brushing rhythmically along James's shoulders. The whiskey and rum meant he was less likely to dream - half the point of it anyway; he had his own nightmares that he worked to subdue - he couldn't relive those agonies.
As drunk as he was, this wasn't a black out drunk and so the latter half of the jerking and rumbling of noises started to pull him up out of it, brain taking a long second and long enough for James to clutch at his hand to roughly guess that something was wrong.
"Hey," he sounds, voice sleep rough as he wraps himself around the pirate, now unthinkingly pressing his lips to the man's shoulder, once and then again before propping himself up on an elbow so he can rest his lips on James's outer shoulder. "It's okay darlin', you're safe. It's alright."
He set another few kisses along James shoulder, just holding him and giving him the space to catch his breath. If James didn't say anything after a few minutes, Raylan would follow up with: "Nightmare? You okay?"
Unfortunately for Flint, his demons would no longer be quieted by getting drunk. At least, he had to get himself very deep into a stupor or near to blackout to not dream. He's trembling against Raylan when he feels those lips brush along his skin and the soft, soothing words. He'll give the hand a little squeeze in return but he turns his head away and into the pillow to hide the tears threatening to fall, burning his eyes.
He'd relived the death of Miranda over and over since his return from Flotilla, plagued with her ghost. He doesn't think she means to torment him, but she's there as a reminder and its his mind tormenting itself. He'd woken up this time only to be staring at her lifeless body as if it were laying in bed with them. Cheek pressed to the pillow near his, blood soaking into the cloth. Then those dim, distant eyes moved and focused on him, lips opening without sound.
He shut his eyes tight and curled in on himself just before Raylan stirred and when he opened his eyes again she was gone. He was shaking like a leaf, chest rising and falling with quick, choppy breaths. He's fighting off the need to sob, swallowing everything back because he doesn't want Raylan to see him break. How many nights had he already done this, enough was enough. It was still terrifying.
He just closes his eyes and listens to Raylan's words, feeling his heartbeat against his back and those soft lips and light feathery breaths on his skin. He slowly but surely calms down, lifting his other hand to wipe at his eyes and try to shake it off.
"It's Miranda," He admits. "I see her face... she haunts me, awake or asleep."
He doesn't know if he even told Raylan about what happened to her, "It's still so fresh. Before I died, before I came here she was murdered. I was there. I still feel the warm splash of her blood on my face when she was shot in the head..."
His breath hitches, "You'd think... after being given a year in Flotilla on top of my time here I would've been able to stop seeing her."
Raylan had dealt with Tim's PTSD nightmares, the ones from the sandbox and the one from the Entities, the full throated terror of bloodied and helpless, defeated weeping of a broken man. He hated that he had any experience in this and in the same breath, was glad for it. He could recognize the sound of a tear torn voice, even at its edges and simply kept quiet and still, letting James speak as he would.
He had seen a lot of people shot dead. He'd done some of the shooting himself and knew, in part, the traumas that came from it. To even imagine Winona having been shot, or Willa, while she was in the womb-- It would have been devastating.
"Nah.. No, folks don't leave anyone that easily. A year is.. nothin'... Not after we're young." He took a few seconds to just breathe in the smell of James, mulling over how best to put things. "The dead have a habit of stickin' around. Those you love." Those you hated.
"I hear Arlo sometimes. Talk to him. I know it's in my head but.. That doesn't stop it from feelin' real. I'm startin' to think it's what might be defined as unfinished business. It's okay. Natural. She's not here. There's no one here but us." He presses another kiss to James's shoulder.
"One of these nights, you should tell me more about her. Maybe rememberin' her instead of runnin' from her will help put her to rest." He had no idea if that would work, but it was worth a shot. Even if only to help put her away except on the worse nights, where every dark crevasse seemed to yawn open.
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It was nothing more than a sound, but one that came with a tightening and thinning of his lips as he opened his bottle and poured himself a good three fingers, tapping on the bottle with his off hand to draw Flint's attention to the way the bottle looked fully fresh and untouched, despite his pour.
"I was.. married for a time. Round about 6 years. It.." He sighs out his nose, jaw tightening. His story was no great tragedy, no Shakspearian loss. His was so basic and common a story he felt it wasn't really worth the telling. From Arlo to Winona, to any of his relationships. To Tim.
"It didn't end well. She left me for the man sellin' our house while I was in Miami." He sucks his teeth shortly. "Didn't even get askin' price for the house." He shook his head and took a deep drink, trying to pretend like that was it, he'd answered the question, it was done, but-
"I don't.. Get to have that, historically speakin'. Hell, I just ran the shortest fuckin' relationship I've had since highschool.. Some two weeks on top of six years of workin' with the man.." His head was shaking again, jaw tight and the impulse to throw his mug right under his skin.
"Tim's gone, if you didn't know. Our uh.. former Theater Professor, as you might know him." That had to be washed down with the warm sting of top shelf whiskey, it hurt to bear the words to air, like freshly opened wounds.
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As for Tim, there is a little flicker of confusion, he didn't meet Tim on the barge. But their Theater Professor, sure, he knew him well enough from that Alternate world they shared. He wracks his brain around it a little, surprised that that is the sort he'd go for, but then remembering how vastly different they all were. Now he wonders what Tim was really like.
"I'm sorry, for what it's worth." Which he knows isn't a whole lot but it's generally what people say when you lose someone.
"He was a Warden, right?" Just a shot in the dark if they worked together.
"So you'll see him again when you go back? And your ex-wife? She's alive? Surely there's some solace in that. Those people you love may not be here with you but it's something you have to go back to." He doesn't say it, he doesn't want to taint the positive, but he doesn't have any of that to go back to.
"What was your deal with the Admiral?"
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Letting the man finish, Raylan pours him a few fingers of the whiskey in the spare cup he'd brought before topping off his own.
"He was. US Army Ranger, Sniper. But - he said he'd been in love with me for years and I've never been in a relationship with a guy. I never got allowed the chance to-" Acclimate. Learn to trust or love him back. Feel okay. He shakes his head again. Being blunt and open about this was not natural, and it felt like the words stacked upon themselves in the back of his throat.
"I won't be seein' him, no. He won't remember this place and I left the Lexington Office a few months ago back home. And yeah, Winona is still alive. Until some shit for brains mob thug decides to go after her to get my attention.. That's part of my deal. Winona and I got back together for a few months and she got pregnant. Left me two months into that but.. Eventually my daughter Willa was born." Willa at least, gets a pointed softening of his eyes and features, faint smile a little broader and a lot more easily brought, even if it didn't stay long.
"My deal is their safety. That none of the ugly people I've pissed off and arrested, shot, gotten in the way of come after her and her mother ever again. When I go back, I'll have Willa and the lucky opportunity to watch her mother try to be happy with whatever line of gentleman she decides to try out next," he ends drily.
Sure, he'd know that Winona was alive. For Willa's sake, he's glad she was. For his own sake? At least if she were in the ground, she couldn't hurt him anymore. At least then she wouldn't be able to jerk him around anymore. It was. Complicated.
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"Are you alright?" It was only two weeks but it was clear something was eating at Raylan and if he'd had feelings but been unable to share them all this time. Only to finally get to do so and have the man taken from him a few weeks later, that's rough. Especially knowing he won't be able to see him or that Tim won't remember anything.
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Raylan sighs quietly into his cup.
"Objectively? Close enough for government work. Anything else-" Raylan shrugged one shoulder, head shaking shallowly. "Few more days of self abuse and I'm sure I'll get there. Nothin' that whiskey hasn't been able to bandaid before." Huffing a bare breath of a sardonic sound out of his nose, Raylan rubs at his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose for a long moment before his hand dropped.
"Guess it's my turn to say sorry. Not much of anythin' I can think can be done about it, but you sure didn't have to spend your evenin' bein' a sad sack with me." He appreciated the company.
"Are you alright? After the breach and everythin' - I know the first few runs tend to be the weirdest, considerin' that most of us have never done anything like this before."
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He drinks his whiskey as the rum mixes in his blood and he feels all of it starting to rush to his head, putting him in a nice comfortable buzz. He studies the other some more, mulling over what he's about to offer. He's not sure if it's just the alcohol bringing out more warmth and compassion, or maybe parts of himself leftover from the Alternate version that cares about Raylan, it's hard to tell so fresh from the breach with rum in his belly. But he supposes in the end it doesn't matter. No one outside this room would know or needed to know any of it. And maybe there's something to this companionship they both desperately needed.
"I could stay." He offers. "I don't think you should be alone, especially with you still healing." Sure he'd got up and wandered around just fine but he should be resting and Flint could help. It was a good excuse to stay if Raylan didn't want to be alone.
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The rise of heat in Raylan's chest at the offer was immediately attributed to the whiskey in his hand and not the flash of memories of their younger possible selves grinning like fools as they snuck into Flint's bedroom and into his bed. Certainly couldn't be because no matter what Raylan's Front brain said, the drunk, honest core of him had enjoyed it more than he'd say.
Swallowing thickly, an action that had his head dropping a fraction, he considered the safety of the inside of his cup. All logical rational pointed to the obvious. Demuring, making it light.. drinking himself into another blackout of a night. Which, considering his condition, was doubly stupid and he knew it.
"Alls I got is the one bed. If that ain't a problem," he finally says. "Place is based off where I was livin' in Lexington and wasn't built for more than one kinda entertainin'." If he was less busted up, he could too easily see this whole suggestion going towards that kind of entertainment, but at this exact moment, heavy pants would be distractingly painful. And the whole sentiment was probably the whiskey and rum talking.
He wasn't used to people caring about him or his wellbeing beyond whether or not he was still drawing breath and he felt a little awkward and.. not weak but. Something, for not arguing against it harder.
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"I think something from that other world has stuck with me, something I'm still sorting out on top of everything else. But it's..." He shakes his head, running a hand over his peach fuzz. A lot about Flint from that time was so very different and yet he could remember all of it. That feeling of freedom, of feeling accepted and happy. Genuinely happy and loved. It had been a mirror image. It was something he wasn't sure he wanted to let go of. And it was something many others had tried to tell him he could have on this Barge. That this place was different. And it could be something both he and Raylan could have again. A safe space away from the suffering they'd endured back home for just being who they were and who they wanted to love. Experiences they weren't allowed to have they could have here. Maybe it might help him return to himself if he could just be James in every sense of the name. He didn't need Flint anymore that much was becoming more and more obvious.
"It's a glimmer of something that might fight off this darkness in me." His shame, his rage, and his pain he's been carrying and using as a weapon to survive. He didn't need it. This Barge and the people on it like Raylan were disarming him. Making him strip off his armor to the bare scars beneath. So he could maybe heal from them instead of being haunted by them. Moreover, he didn't want others to suffer as he did and if he could help soothe the ache of someone he has come to care for, all the better. They both could be better for it. And he remembered all the things his alternate self tried to do for others and all the good it did for everyone, including himself. There was so much from this Breach that has given him a new perspective.
"One bed is fine." Though he sees the way the other seems to shift a little uncomfortably, recognizes that heated embarrassment for what it is. He knows where his mind is going and Flint would be lying if he hadn't been thinking about any of it all this time. But Raylan was wounded and he'd behave.
"I can sleep elsewhere if need be. A chair, the floor. I could even go get the extra hammock from my room." He pauses as he considers, "Which, after you're all healed up, that hammock is yours if ever you want the company."
Another sip to finish his glass and slid it forward, "You and I have been through enough now and heaven knows you took care of me and looked after me when you didn't have to. I want to return the favor. I'd like to call you my brother, or my friend."
He thinks once more about College!Flint and how he'd been with others when they clearly needed help or guidance. "I'm here for a drink, an ear, for a fight, a distraction. For a familiar place to sleep when you don't want to be alone."
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There was a respect being given to how shitty it was. He hadn't realized that respect was lacking from some others before until hearing it now.
He looks over again as James talks about something sticking with him, unable to stop the warm tug of his lips as he continues. The voice of punishing self-loathing in the back of his head was quick to point out that maybe Tim did have a reason to be concerned but- Raylan wouldn't have any need for companionship if Tim hadn't left. What was so wrong in taking the offered comfort that they both wanted and needed? What was so wrong with just being comfortable in their own skin for a few fucking minutes.
The glass was slid over and Raylan shifted in his seat a little to pour James another two fingers.
"Watch out, with talk like that, you might never get rid of me," he threatens playfully as he tops off his cup, eyes crinkling around the edges as he sits back in his chair. The smile stayed, even as teasing nature fell a little back into the soft seriousness of Raylan daring to continue on this two way street of opening up.
"I've been alone a lot and for a long time. And somehow it's. Sharper here. Heavier with no place to run from it. I imagine that's worse in Zero." Flint deserved the visit there, but he didn't deserve to be isolated. Tantamount to torture. He shook his head a little. "I don't wanna be alone. Least not tonight. No need at all for you sleepin' anywhere else either. Floor is uncomfortable as hell an' I know that from experience.." His lips curled a little again.
"Might be weird if brothers shared a bed though an' where I from, incest gets a lotta actual action. Better if we avoid 'brothers'. Hope you know this means that this road works both ways then.. You could use some lookin' out for. That glimmer you mention could use some encouagin' too."
In for a penny, in for a pound, right? He knew in his gut that James wasn't a bad guy. Capable of bad things, yes, just like Raylan was, but full of good intent. Good intentions might pave the road to hell, but they were on a barge meant for it.
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As he sips his whiskey he falls quiet to listen to Raylan's story as it feels like the other is pouring a little more of himself out onto the table.
"Mn, feeling alone while feeling surrounded and unable to find a place to properly just deal with yourself without eyes on you isn't any better." He shakes his head.
"Sorry, I think that's more the pirate in me, being crew means a brotherhood. But you have a point." He nods, though he's not entirely sure what to call what they have. Friends will have to do for now.
"You let me know when you want to head back over for a good rest. I'll settle in as well, so I'm not waking you up when I climb in."
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"We are. Please don't kill him without talkin' to me first," he says with a pull of that grin again. "And don't think you're bringin' them boots into my bed either. I dunno about you, but I'm the kinda man that will stay up for a bottle, to my own detriment. It can breathe on the table til mornin', no worries about that."
Still, he took a shallow draft of his as he sat upright again.
"You wanna come to bed, James?" The question was asked with a full faced look - there was no point in shying away from what they were agreeing to. It didn't have to be more than what was offered, but since Raylan was selfishly taking James up on said offer.. He didn't want to beat around the bush.
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Then finally, when that question is made he pauses briefly, letting the warmth run up his throat a little and twist around in his stomach in exciting ways. He pushes down any of those dirty thoughts that spring up with it, throws the rest of the whiskey into his throat, and nods, rising up. He'll then shrug out of his jacket and throw it on the back of a chair.
"Need any help?" He'd made it to the chair, but could he make it back to the bed?
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Smiling crookedly, he turns around, already starting to try to peel it off.
"If I snore too loud, feel free to kick me, but I got a feelin' we're gonna fight back and forth about who's gonna be big spoon in all this."
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"This too?" He asks quietly, wondering how far the other wanted to go.
"Likewise, just elbow me if I snore. And I guess we'll just see which way we fit better together."
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"Think I'll keep that on, this time. Keeps the tapin' a little more secure." He couldn't help but glance James up and down, swallowing the unwise suggestion that they lose their pants too, for full comfort. He also couldn't help the reach out and soft tug of James's shirt.
"Get as comfortable as you want," he says, turning to work his way over to the far side of the bed, turning down the blanket. He should probably take his own advice, fingers working at his button to shuck his jeans, leaving him modestly in his undershirt and pale striped boxers. Nothing sexy, nothing risque, just him, a regular dude.
"I promise to keep my hands to myself." Raylan carefully got himself into bed, nestling down into his pillow, hazel eyes watching whatever Flint did next.
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He clears his throat as those eyes watch him with interest and he'll hesitate a moment before unbuttoning his shirt and shrugging out of it revealing the freckle-dappled skin beneath. There's a small half-moon tattoo on his right bicep that even his College version hadn't had yet. He adds the shirt to the chair with his coat. He then undoes his trousers, which are dropped to the floor, and stepped out of. He stoops to pick them up, folding and draping them over the chair as well.
He shouldn't feel so exposed, so naked when he's still in his underwear, glad he wore any at all. And he'd browsed the selection at the wardrobe to find something comparable to what he was used to, but comfortable. Which he'd settled on the tighter boxer brief, that hugged his thighs and ass and cradled his package nicely. It was a solid color, black seemed smart even if he was used to white linen, dirt and such showed much quicker on white cloth.
He moves to the bed, trying to calm his racing heart or ease the nervousness. He'd suggested this, offered it, and yet now that he's about to climb into bed with the man his mind is racing back to that closet. This was meant to be innocent. Like so many nights he'd shared with Miranda when he'd come home to Nassau. Sure, some nights were spent fucking, but most were just to share a bed. To have that companionship so he wasn't as alone as he'd felt in his cabin on the Walrus for days and weeks. To have a warm, soft body to curl up with for comfort.
He climbs into bed with the other, slipping under the sheets and the comforter to make himself comfortable. He'll move in close, tilting his head a little where he remains half-propped up on his elbow.
"What is best for your ribs?"
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He does look away, into the bed as James starts work on his pants, only stealing an errant, respectful glance at those well fitted boxer briefs as the man climbs into bed with him. James wasn't the only one that felt a spike of anxiety - There was a difference between talking about it, agreeing on it, and doing it in full knowledge and in their right minds.
And now here James was, less than a foot from his face, trying to make him comfortable.
"Tonight? Not havin' any extra dead weight on 'em." He smiles softly, one of those smiles that were only given in bedrooms and safe spaces, lazy and pleased. "So either my side or my back. I usually end up on my back in the mornin's anyway."
His legs shift a little, moving out to bump a knee with James. "I'll move if anythin' hurts, it'll be alright."
Thank you sat unspoken, caught in the back of his throat by worry about what it would look or sound like if he said it right now - even whiskey couldn't stop that panic process.
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He points away from Raylan and slowly turns over to place his back to him. "This'll be easier, less chance of one of my arms striking you in the ribs when I'm sleeping."
Not that he typically moves that much in his sleep, but different bed, and, well, he doesn't realize how much he moves when he's having a nightmare. But either way, it's safer. It feels awkward and there is a soft sinking in his stomach as he's denying himself the chance for more contact. Like they had after spending the night in the closet.
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'Even if it doesn't happen now, it'll happen in the night, right?'
Raylan scoots a little closer, knees and thighs coming up to bump into and lay against James, leaving a respectful amount of space between his groin and Flint's ass, and ghosts the back of his fingers up the pirate's back. As much as he was assuming, he wasn't trying to be lewd or improper about it. If James didn't flinch away, indicate he didn't want that contact, Raylan slides his hand around his waist, draping his hand over the stretch of his stomach.
"This okay?" His voice was soft now, the quiet bedwhisper of someone trying to not break the peace.
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"Mn," He nods with a soft, almost relieved sigh as he gets comfortable.
"As long as you're ok?" He casts a small glance back as one hand moves to trace Raylan's forearm to the hand on his waist. He'll entwine their fingers together to hold him there.
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"Quickly gettin' there." There was the impulse to press a kiss to Flint's shoulder and one that Raylan managed to repress. That would be a step too far, wouldn't it? Would it?
"G'night James."
It was a good ten minutes later, once Raylan felt them both sink into the bed with the weight of real relaxation that he felt he could whisper what he'd wanted to before.
"Thank you." For being here, for caring, for needing this as much as he did and for not shaming either of them for it.
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"Goodnight." Hearing his name fall from Raylan's lips was nice if he was honest with himself. Not many folks called him James, just those closest to him. And at this point, Raylan's certainly earned that spot.
He dozes off, only vaguely aware of the soft thank you, whispered at his back that he is too deep in his drift to respond to. He slumbers comfortably, body going boneless and heavy within minutes of his breathing evening out into blissful sleep. But it's only an hour or two before his body starts tensing and twitching and soft grunts of noises are rumbling in his throat. Words that he can't quite utter in his sleep.
Luckily though, when he does wake with a startled gasp, it's with enough wherewithal not to elbow the man behind him. He's covered in a cold sweat and takes a moment to clutch Raylan's hand, moving it to his chest over his heart and curling in on himself as he tries to catch his breath and hope he hasn't woke the other up.
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As drunk as he was, this wasn't a black out drunk and so the latter half of the jerking and rumbling of noises started to pull him up out of it, brain taking a long second and long enough for James to clutch at his hand to roughly guess that something was wrong.
"Hey," he sounds, voice sleep rough as he wraps himself around the pirate, now unthinkingly pressing his lips to the man's shoulder, once and then again before propping himself up on an elbow so he can rest his lips on James's outer shoulder. "It's okay darlin', you're safe. It's alright."
He set another few kisses along James shoulder, just holding him and giving him the space to catch his breath. If James didn't say anything after a few minutes, Raylan would follow up with: "Nightmare? You okay?"
CW: Terrifying corpse imagery, death, nightmare
He'd relived the death of Miranda over and over since his return from Flotilla, plagued with her ghost. He doesn't think she means to torment him, but she's there as a reminder and its his mind tormenting itself. He'd woken up this time only to be staring at her lifeless body as if it were laying in bed with them. Cheek pressed to the pillow near his, blood soaking into the cloth. Then those dim, distant eyes moved and focused on him, lips opening without sound.
He shut his eyes tight and curled in on himself just before Raylan stirred and when he opened his eyes again she was gone. He was shaking like a leaf, chest rising and falling with quick, choppy breaths. He's fighting off the need to sob, swallowing everything back because he doesn't want Raylan to see him break. How many nights had he already done this, enough was enough. It was still terrifying.
He just closes his eyes and listens to Raylan's words, feeling his heartbeat against his back and those soft lips and light feathery breaths on his skin. He slowly but surely calms down, lifting his other hand to wipe at his eyes and try to shake it off.
"It's Miranda," He admits. "I see her face... she haunts me, awake or asleep."
He doesn't know if he even told Raylan about what happened to her, "It's still so fresh. Before I died, before I came here she was murdered. I was there. I still feel the warm splash of her blood on my face when she was shot in the head..."
His breath hitches, "You'd think... after being given a year in Flotilla on top of my time here I would've been able to stop seeing her."
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He had seen a lot of people shot dead. He'd done some of the shooting himself and knew, in part, the traumas that came from it. To even imagine Winona having been shot, or Willa, while she was in the womb-- It would have been devastating.
"Nah.. No, folks don't leave anyone that easily. A year is.. nothin'... Not after we're young." He took a few seconds to just breathe in the smell of James, mulling over how best to put things. "The dead have a habit of stickin' around. Those you love." Those you hated.
"I hear Arlo sometimes. Talk to him. I know it's in my head but.. That doesn't stop it from feelin' real. I'm startin' to think it's what might be defined as unfinished business. It's okay. Natural. She's not here. There's no one here but us." He presses another kiss to James's shoulder.
"One of these nights, you should tell me more about her. Maybe rememberin' her instead of runnin' from her will help put her to rest." He had no idea if that would work, but it was worth a shot. Even if only to help put her away except on the worse nights, where every dark crevasse seemed to yawn open.
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NSFW after this - Naughty Dreams
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