Despite Tim's habit of being up before the 'sun' he respected Raylan's ability to sleep in, even on Christmas Day. As such Tim did not head down to level eight until around brunch time.
He was dressed in a t-shirt, flannel button down left open and a pair of lounge pants, no shoes. He balanced two plates covered in aluminum foil in one hand, a dish towel wrapped around some other objects cradled in the crook of his other arm.
As such when he reached Raylan's door Tim had to turn his back to the door and kick at it with the heel of his foot. He was not interested in stubbing his toe on that sad looking motel room door.
Something something day off. Raylan knew that Elias would already be up and kicking around but since he'd given the man his bones, he hoped desperately that it meant the peace that had been holding would continue for at least one more morning.
Thankfully for both of them, Raylan had rolled out of bed a scant few minutes before the beating started on his door and after tugging on his jeans to complete the undershirt, wild bed head look, he opened the door. And immediately questioned what was happening with his eyebrows as he stepped back to let Tim in.
"Good mornin'. What-" He wasn't ungrateful, he was just.. confused.
"Christmas brunch," Tim answered the half asked question, mostly as a way to firmly distract himself from how good Raylan looked at the moment. They were both known around the office for having their hair firmly tamped down, but Tim had to admit that a few run away bangs looked good on Raylan. Bed head just stirred desires that the younger marshal firmly squashed.
"Pancakes and bacon with vanilla ice cream," instead of syrup or whipped cream.
A curious, easy and charmed smile broke at the first half of the answer as he closed the door behind them and followed Tim towards the small table, the only obvious place to eat anything. They'd only have to move a bottle or two - Raylan hadn't found the best place to keep things yet. And yes, he was completely oblivious to how good he looked fresh out of bed.
"No shit?" he questioned in an honest surprise as Tim started laying it out. The smile broke easily into a grin as he softly squinted at Tim and took his seat.
"I thought ice cream wasn't a possibility, who'd you talk out of it?"
"I raided some ice cream sandwiches," Tim shared without a hint of remorse. "I didn't say it was good vanilla ice cream."
He set down the plates, uncovering them and producing one with ice cream on the pancakes and the other without. He had also brought down some coffee and juice. It wasn't a buffet of waffles, eggs and breakfast meats, but it was a bit more than either of them usually ate in the morning.
"It's sure as hell better than no vanilla ice cream." He was shameless about it, really.
"I'd ask what prompted all this, but then you might take it away, so I'll stick with Thank you," he said, eyes glittering warmly over the poor man's feast as he collected his plate and the fork nearby. After the party, them innocently spending the night together and now breakfast?
While he did not have ice cream on his pancakes the little golden discs of yumminess did not go unadorned. On his were fresh fruit. Okay maybe more like fresh fruit that had been frozen and thawed but still; fruit.
"I figured I had two choices," he said in a matter of fact tone. "Start drinking, or make breakfast."
Just because he did his level best to make good life choices, didn't mean that Tim wasn't tempted to curl up in a corner with a bottle and feel sorry for himself. He bitched and moaned with the best of them about Art's habit of dragging his deputies into a festive spirit but the truth was Tim appreciated his Chief's efforts. He also knew how he felt himself and expected it was ten times as challenging for Raylan. Without Art here to do the prodding, Tim was taking it upon himself.
Raylan was glad to see something on Tim's waffles too, it made him feel more like they were sharing the special than him just being a weird pig with his ice cream waffle.
But the return answer was something of a surprise - he knew how easy it was to want to fall into the bottle right outta bed, especially if he had something heavy on his mind, but the last few days had felt.. easier than the ones before.
With a pinch of his brow, Raylan started digging in. "Little early for that, even for me. Somethin' happen?"
Tim was tidy with his food but there was an air of playing with his food in the way he used his fork to cut off bits of pancake, then match it with fruit. He paused briefly, brows furrowing as he considered how to answer Raylan. These sorts of talks were ones they avoided like the plague back home, but Raylan was asking and after a moment the younger marshal decided the truth was the best answer.
"No," he confirmed, forking up a bite of pancake and what looked like a blueberry. "That's how I start my days. Usually getting to The Job does the trick, but when we have a holiday I need to get more creative."
Art was not wrong about Tim's alcoholic tendencies. It wasn't just about drinking when off the clock, it was the struggle not to say screw it and pick the bottle up before getting out of bed.
Grunting in quiet understanding, Raylan nodded as he tucked into another bite. Since the Barge presented unique challenges, all of which he had no idea how Tim was actually dealing with, asking felt fine. Besides, Tim had made some very sharp points in their previous conversations and with Raylan being significantly less busy here, he could consider them. Be a less job oriented, be a little more free with both himself and the sniper.
"It's gonna be something to get used to, not bein' able to throw ourselves onto a case. One of the reasons I decided to start swimmin' to be honest. Sure as shit ain't gonna pick up running but the routine of it helps." It wasn't the mornings that were hard for Raylan, it was the afternoons and the evenings. The temptation of cracking a bottle at 3 or 4 was something he'd been fighting against for years.
He assumed that was going to be harder now.
"Suppose you could also busy yourself with bein' a pain in the ass to your inmate. Personally, I like this option better."
Appreciating the fact that Raylan pulled the spotlight off, Tim sat back with a piece of bacon and gnawed on it thoughtfully. He was definitely used to eating on the move and tended to tuck into his food and get it over and done with, unless amusing himself on a stakeout. This more laid back, casual nomming was a rarity and spoke to his comfort in sitting and talking with the older marshal.
"Being a pain in the ass to Sweeney would just be a cruelty," he said after he swallowed a mouthful of bacon. "I am as happy to be a dick to assholes as the next deputy US Marshal, but what we're doing here ain't about that. The more I give him to fight against, the more he can use that to avoid all the shit he's got under his hat."
Tapping the bacon on the plate, through his fingers again and again, Tim was pensive for a moment before he continued.
"Thing is I think he actually wants to start unpacking some of that shit, but he needs someone to keep his stride steady as he does it."
"Always a different way to skin a cat." It was a kneejerk answer; the inmates weren't cats and they weren't hunters. Not anymore, he supposed, not unless they had to be. But each inmate was going to take their own approach.
"You got any idea what his story is?" Raylan knew how helpful talking something out could be sometimes. "Where you're gonna start? Or are you lettin' him broach those things."
He was curious how Tim was coming at the new job as he found his own footing around it. Elias hadn't asked for or done anything yet, and Raylan really wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad thing.
They had worked together long enough that Tim could see the unasked question beneath the question. Half his pancake gone, he sat back in the uncomfortable chair and picked up his mug of coffee; pensive for awhile before responding.
"I ain't going to change who I am or how I lawman here," he said in a quiet tone. "Admiral offered me a deal based on knowing who I am. If he wanted someone to hold their hands and pat their hair back as they vomit up emotions, he would have picked someone else."
Before Raylan can raise the point that there was a huge range of difference between social work and hunting, Tim raised his hand.
"I get it, we ain't dragging known fugitives back to their day in court here. But that doesn't mean our way of handling people needs to do a one eighty. You can steady a person without coddling them Raylan, I've seen you do it."
OOC bets on how long that last idea hangs about lol
"Even with all the time in the world, I still ain't got time to coddle people who are grown and should know better." Kids like Loretta, obviously, got a pass.
"There's a difference between coddling and bein' patient and persistent enough to push 'em. Even if you're pushin' them with silence. Since most people would rather fill it.." He shrugged. "It's just long game interrogation. Bring 'em hot chocolate or snacks. Make 'em comfortable enough to settle yourself in their space without it throwin' 'em into overdrive.. You're good at strategy, you'll figure out how to start pullin' it outta him."
He wasn't sure how many standard Marshal interrogations Tim had successfully done, but he knew Tim had to have. Prerequisite to them being as good at their jobs as they were. He'd gone through the training. Just because there were no walls or one way glass, Raylan figured them to be about in the same space. Even with daemons and whatever else the Barge would end up throwing at them.
"Bah," Tim said with a small shake of his head. "The being quiet and waiting strategy is Art Mullen's 101. I have been receiving that education same as you for the past six years." He knew how to be patient and wait, dealt with it often with his work at the VA, but he did appreciate Raylan confirm that it would be a good strategy here.
"Thing is Sweeney is my temporary Inmate. I ain't graduating him and I don't even have his file to know just how steep the mountain we're climbing looks like. I am surprised the man has been here since February and doesn't have a stable Warden."
"Mm, and Elias mine. Don't know that I'm going to be very effective inside a month, but maybe you drop a few nuggets of wisdom for the man to chew and simmer over. Plant a seed or two for his next warden. Maybe you build a relationship of some kind with him. Become a.. Well, you know, someone that can maybe pull him outta his own shit, right?"
He shrugged and cleared his plate with another bite. "That's the best spin I can think to put on it and frankly, what I'm using myself."
"Wow, you tryin' to say I'm easy or somethin'? It's only been like.. ten days." But he was still grinning in return. "Nah, it hasn't been long enough and I don't know that I'm the right person to crack open a centuries old Knowledge and fearmonger. He might need someone with more... Pizzazz."
Was Raylan worried that he was a little too normal to be effective in this place? A bit.
Oh but did Tim know that unexpressed feeling. He had the same fear, sometimes combined with feeling more than a little patronized by all the super-powered folks and centuries old creatures roaming around. It was part of what made him so thankful that Raylan was here.
It also softened the normally sarcastic sniper's face and eyes, because while he wouldn't verbalize their shared concerned he still commiserate with it.
"I don't think pizzazz is going to have anything to do with it," he said in that quiet, soft and private tone. "I think it's going to have more to do with being smart, steady, creative and willful. All traits you have in spades. A personality like Elias, needs someone who isn't going to give up. You don't give up."
"Mm," he acknowledged as he sat back from his cleared plate, fork swapped for his coffee, trying to look unbothered and only managing it as far as his jaw.
"That might be the case, but we're both put back into the backwoods in a place like this." He felt like he was fresh out of Kentucky again, and that wasn't a good thing. Raylan had had a few rough spots until he'd felt like he had something that validated him. "Feel like I didn't cram for the test that's coming up. But I'm sure it'll work itself out. Thing is, I know a lot about Elias, but that's different from knowin' a man. And I'm not here just to be an asshole, I can do that at home. Which means, we're all playin' on our inmate's personal schedules and hoping a good situation comes up for us to widen any fissures we might see."
Tim hesitated for a minute, in the midst of cutting off a bit of pancake with his fork, as if he was about to delve into an answer to Raylan's question. But in the end, the sniper shook his head.
"Don't have his file," he said simply. "Or other people from his world giving me a low down. I'll do him the favor of not making assumptions." Which sounded snarky but to be fair Tim was usually the man in the office who poured over the files, and memorized the jackets. Despite his reputation with a gun, and youth, he was methodical in studying his targets, careful not to work from assumption.
Raylan had the better gut instinct for that sort of snap decision, which was why Tim often backed his older partner's plays. Even when they ran counter to his own way of doing things. Speaking of which, the younger marshal looked over at hazel eyes and offered Raylan one of his rare, genuine smiles.
"Might be on our back foot here," he acknowledged, "but good lawmen are good lawmen, no matter the situation. You're a good lawman, Raylan. Don't doubt yourself."
"Mm, well, just remember you have to start somewhere." Tim already knew that on a practical level, but that's not quite what Raylan meant. Hazard guesses weren't assumptions in Raylan's opinion; they were more flexible then that, clearly annotated with an asterisk - Subject to Change or abandonment with additional information.
He couldn't help but smile back, ducking his head a little with a passing humble 'shrug' of downturned lips that curled back into their lazy position easily.
"So are you. And don't think I don't see you out here subtly 'Art'ing your way around us." His smile spread a little more, the next words coming with a level of soft sincerity that wasn't often offered. "It's appreciated."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Christmas Day
He was dressed in a t-shirt, flannel button down left open and a pair of lounge pants, no shoes. He balanced two plates covered in aluminum foil in one hand, a dish towel wrapped around some other objects cradled in the crook of his other arm.
As such when he reached Raylan's door Tim had to turn his back to the door and kick at it with the heel of his foot. He was not interested in stubbing his toe on that sad looking motel room door.
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Thankfully for both of them, Raylan had rolled out of bed a scant few minutes before the beating started on his door and after tugging on his jeans to complete the undershirt, wild bed head look, he opened the door. And immediately questioned what was happening with his eyebrows as he stepped back to let Tim in.
"Good mornin'. What-" He wasn't ungrateful, he was just.. confused.
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"Pancakes and bacon with vanilla ice cream," instead of syrup or whipped cream.
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"No shit?" he questioned in an honest surprise as Tim started laying it out. The smile broke easily into a grin as he softly squinted at Tim and took his seat.
"I thought ice cream wasn't a possibility, who'd you talk out of it?"
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He set down the plates, uncovering them and producing one with ice cream on the pancakes and the other without. He had also brought down some coffee and juice. It wasn't a buffet of waffles, eggs and breakfast meats, but it was a bit more than either of them usually ate in the morning.
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"I'd ask what prompted all this, but then you might take it away, so I'll stick with Thank you," he said, eyes glittering warmly over the poor man's feast as he collected his plate and the fork nearby. After the party, them innocently spending the night together and now breakfast?
It was sweet. Good. Welcome.
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"I figured I had two choices," he said in a matter of fact tone. "Start drinking, or make breakfast."
Just because he did his level best to make good life choices, didn't mean that Tim wasn't tempted to curl up in a corner with a bottle and feel sorry for himself. He bitched and moaned with the best of them about Art's habit of dragging his deputies into a festive spirit but the truth was Tim appreciated his Chief's efforts. He also knew how he felt himself and expected it was ten times as challenging for Raylan. Without Art here to do the prodding, Tim was taking it upon himself.
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But the return answer was something of a surprise - he knew how easy it was to want to fall into the bottle right outta bed, especially if he had something heavy on his mind, but the last few days had felt.. easier than the ones before.
With a pinch of his brow, Raylan started digging in. "Little early for that, even for me. Somethin' happen?"
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"No," he confirmed, forking up a bite of pancake and what looked like a blueberry. "That's how I start my days. Usually getting to The Job does the trick, but when we have a holiday I need to get more creative."
Art was not wrong about Tim's alcoholic tendencies. It wasn't just about drinking when off the clock, it was the struggle not to say screw it and pick the bottle up before getting out of bed.
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"It's gonna be something to get used to, not bein' able to throw ourselves onto a case. One of the reasons I decided to start swimmin' to be honest. Sure as shit ain't gonna pick up running but the routine of it helps." It wasn't the mornings that were hard for Raylan, it was the afternoons and the evenings. The temptation of cracking a bottle at 3 or 4 was something he'd been fighting against for years.
He assumed that was going to be harder now.
"Suppose you could also busy yourself with bein' a pain in the ass to your inmate. Personally, I like this option better."
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"Being a pain in the ass to Sweeney would just be a cruelty," he said after he swallowed a mouthful of bacon. "I am as happy to be a dick to assholes as the next deputy US Marshal, but what we're doing here ain't about that. The more I give him to fight against, the more he can use that to avoid all the shit he's got under his hat."
Tapping the bacon on the plate, through his fingers again and again, Tim was pensive for a moment before he continued.
"Thing is I think he actually wants to start unpacking some of that shit, but he needs someone to keep his stride steady as he does it."
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"You got any idea what his story is?" Raylan knew how helpful talking something out could be sometimes. "Where you're gonna start? Or are you lettin' him broach those things."
He was curious how Tim was coming at the new job as he found his own footing around it. Elias hadn't asked for or done anything yet, and Raylan really wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad thing.
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"I ain't going to change who I am or how I lawman here," he said in a quiet tone. "Admiral offered me a deal based on knowing who I am. If he wanted someone to hold their hands and pat their hair back as they vomit up emotions, he would have picked someone else."
Before Raylan can raise the point that there was a huge range of difference between social work and hunting, Tim raised his hand.
"I get it, we ain't dragging known fugitives back to their day in court here. But that doesn't mean our way of handling people needs to do a one eighty. You can steady a person without coddling them Raylan, I've seen you do it."
OOC bets on how long that last idea hangs about lol
"There's a difference between coddling and bein' patient and persistent enough to push 'em. Even if you're pushin' them with silence. Since most people would rather fill it.." He shrugged. "It's just long game interrogation. Bring 'em hot chocolate or snacks. Make 'em comfortable enough to settle yourself in their space without it throwin' 'em into overdrive.. You're good at strategy, you'll figure out how to start pullin' it outta him."
He wasn't sure how many standard Marshal interrogations Tim had successfully done, but he knew Tim had to have. Prerequisite to them being as good at their jobs as they were. He'd gone through the training. Just because there were no walls or one way glass, Raylan figured them to be about in the same space. Even with daemons and whatever else the Barge would end up throwing at them.
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"Thing is Sweeney is my temporary Inmate. I ain't graduating him and I don't even have his file to know just how steep the mountain we're climbing looks like. I am surprised the man has been here since February and doesn't have a stable Warden."
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He shrugged and cleared his plate with another bite. "That's the best spin I can think to put on it and frankly, what I'm using myself."
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"How much of a struggle are you having with yourself not to put in with the Admiral to take Elias on as a permanent Inmate?"
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Was Raylan worried that he was a little too normal to be effective in this place? A bit.
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It also softened the normally sarcastic sniper's face and eyes, because while he wouldn't verbalize their shared concerned he still commiserate with it.
"I don't think pizzazz is going to have anything to do with it," he said in that quiet, soft and private tone. "I think it's going to have more to do with being smart, steady, creative and willful. All traits you have in spades. A personality like Elias, needs someone who isn't going to give up. You don't give up."
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"That might be the case, but we're both put back into the backwoods in a place like this." He felt like he was fresh out of Kentucky again, and that wasn't a good thing. Raylan had had a few rough spots until he'd felt like he had something that validated him. "Feel like I didn't cram for the test that's coming up. But I'm sure it'll work itself out. Thing is, I know a lot about Elias, but that's different from knowin' a man. And I'm not here just to be an asshole, I can do that at home. Which means, we're all playin' on our inmate's personal schedules and hoping a good situation comes up for us to widen any fissures we might see."
A beat passed. "And what does Sweeney need?"
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"Don't have his file," he said simply. "Or other people from his world giving me a low down. I'll do him the favor of not making assumptions." Which sounded snarky but to be fair Tim was usually the man in the office who poured over the files, and memorized the jackets. Despite his reputation with a gun, and youth, he was methodical in studying his targets, careful not to work from assumption.
Raylan had the better gut instinct for that sort of snap decision, which was why Tim often backed his older partner's plays. Even when they ran counter to his own way of doing things. Speaking of which, the younger marshal looked over at hazel eyes and offered Raylan one of his rare, genuine smiles.
"Might be on our back foot here," he acknowledged, "but good lawmen are good lawmen, no matter the situation. You're a good lawman, Raylan. Don't doubt yourself."
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He couldn't help but smile back, ducking his head a little with a passing humble 'shrug' of downturned lips that curled back into their lazy position easily.
"So are you. And don't think I don't see you out here subtly 'Art'ing your way around us." His smile spread a little more, the next words coming with a level of soft sincerity that wasn't often offered. "It's appreciated."