There was a time when I was good, but there are witches in the woods.

[blindfighter]

It's around 630 when Matt stops pretending to be asleep.

Though that's a lie, just a tad--Matt has slept. On and off, on his silk sheets and curled up naked with another man in what feels like forever. It's nice, and for a few hours it lasts. It really and truly lasts, and Matt can hear the steady beating of Tim's heart. He can hear every creak as his bones adjust, can still smell scotch and bourbon as he exhales in his sleep. It's not the kind that's overwhelming, it's natural and in a way comforting.

But it's still another person and Matt Murdock is used to being alone. He's used to not getting close.

He's used to one night stands and relationships that barely last a month, if that. He's used to Foggy clapping him on the shoulder and telling him there'll be more.

He's used to going to their place. This is the first time he's brought someone home.

Someone here.

He's brought people over, but not for a one night stand. This is a different circumstance in many ways--mostly that they're going to see each other again. They're going to pass each other in the courtrooms even if they're not going to actively see each other although, if Matt's being honest, he does want to. It had been one of the best lays in a while.

And that's how, at exactly 6:40 in the morning, Matt Murdock decides he can't get used to it just yet. So instead, he gets to work. Turns the alarm off to let Tim sleep in, gets half-dressed (socks, slacks and a dress shirt, the first few buttons undone and the collar a little rumpled), and is in the kitchen. He gets to work.

If this is a one-night stand with special circumstances, he may as well make breakfast. That includes half a grapefruit for each of them, fresh fruit, and Matt himself is in the middle of cooking up some of the bacon and eggs. Simple and scrambled, but if there's one thing Matt can do better than most thanks to his olfactory senses being heightened, it's cook.

Comments

[blindfighter]

Matt's jaw tightens but he gives no other outward sign, no other show or facial tell to entail he's bothered by it. He is, though. And he knows this is part of his own issues--that he has to fix people. That he can get as bloodied and bruised as possible and he can walk on cinders for an entire city, for his home and his family and his friends (and Tim, he realizes) and not even think about it.

They're not dating but he wants to. They're not in love but Matt desperately wants to be.

"I'm sorry," he confesses, and it's genuine. No pity--Tim doesn't deserve pity--but empathy. "You and your mom are very brave."

[comfortablyerect]

Tim relaxes, just a touch. Because with that, the empathy that Tim doesn't exactly mind, but wishes he didn't need at all, it feels like maybe he's gotten away with only revealing that much. Maybe he doesn't have to go into the rest of it, talk about when his father started hitting him instead. Doesn't have to talk about why or when or how it got worse.

Matt's fingers are on his arm, and Tm reaches over to take his hand, intertwine their fingers together. He moves just a little bit closer, enough that he can feel Matt's warmth. He's not mad, though there's still a tenseness in his jaw and his shoulders that he can't quite shake.

"It's fine," he says, voice still quiet. "He's dead now. Car wreck when I was at boot camp. Mama's better off without him."

He doesn't mention it was drinking and driving that killed his dad. He doesn't mention that he's better off without him, too. He definitely doesn't mention the bitterness he can still taste on his tongue over not being the one to end his dad's life.

[blindfighter]

Matt can put two and two together. He's smart--smarter than any other Murdock, his dad used to say. The truth is that Matt is just stubborn. He has to get to the truth, has to latch onto things like a dog with a bone.

It's a major, major flaw.

Tim's hand intertwined with Matt's, though, and the whole situation suddenly strikes him as absolutely absurd.

"Really romantic, isn't it? Bringing someone to an old sweaty gym." He shakes his head and leans a bit closer--he'll stop prying. At least for now. Tims already said so, so much.

"Can I ask you something? I remember posters on the wall, when I was younger. Are they still there?" He knows they are, but he leans his head on the orher's.

"Describe them for me."

[comfortablyerect]

He does not feel better from having talked about it like they say you're supposed to. He doesn't feel lighter or more at ease, and maybe part of that is because he hasn't said the whole truth. But probably most of it is just his unwillingness to discuss the things he spent all of his childhood carefully covering up.

If anything, he feels like there's a good chance his nightmares will be particularly nasty tonight. He needs something stronger than wine.

He leans into Matt a little, careful not to upset any of the bruises along his abdomen. "Can't say I've ever been on a date like this before."

Not that he's complaining, though. He's really not. He hasn't even been on that many dates, and the ones he has been on-- well, they weren't with Matt Murdock. And that, honestly, is what makes all the difference. He turns his head to look at the posters on the walls, letting his temple rest against Matt's forehead. He can't imagine what it's like to not be able to see them. What it's like to be Matt.

But he complies. Of course he complies. He describes them in detail, everything from the colors to the fonts and the sizes and the curves of the letters. The posters themselves are worn, dusty and yellowed with age, and he describes that part, too. He describes it all in a quiet, slow drawl.

[blindfighter]

Matt smiles, and it's genuine and almost loving as he listens. He has an odd relationship with his sight, he knows, but Tim explaining the stuff to him is actually sort of soothing. It doesn't feel like he's missing something. It's almost like Tim is his eyes and that's how it's always been, even though they've only known each other for a couple of months.

Sometime in all of that, he's holding Tim's hand.

Eventually they leave--the janitor actually comes around and asks for another 50 if Matt's going to be staying for longer, so Matt takes that as his time to leave. They walk back to the apartment and the rest of the night is perfect. It's food and wine and jack daniels once Matt realizes Tim is staying and needs something else. They don't push each other like they did at the gym and it's good. It's nice. The closest to an interruption they get is Foggy drunkenly calling Matt to tell him that he's his best friend, with Karen laughing in the background. It's the way it should be.

They fall asleep on the couch, manage to drag themselves up and to the bedroom at one point where they fall asleep with their limbs intertwined. Matt falls asleep to Tim's steady heartbeat and thinks everything, for once in his life, is perfect.

He prays. Silently, and in his head, but he prays that no matter what he can remember this moment, no matter what he does or what he has to do that this moment will give him comfort and peace.

In the morning, the usual happens--and the fact that it's a 'usual' is nice--Matt makes breakfast, Tim eats before they head their separate ways. Foggy looks like death warmed over and Karen shoots a knowing look at Matt.

"You wore that tie yesterday," she says.

"They're all the same colour," Matt points out. He buys multiples. The truth is that Karen is right and Matt had been too preoccupied by Tim's mouth to really pay proper attention. Matt makes sure when he has a lull in work he visits the precinct, not to say hello to Brett but to give Tim a proper New York coffee--star bucks--and chat with him for a few moments. Tim's office, he notices, tends to look at the two of them oddly. He can sense the way the room quiets. It doesn't matter, though, because it's Tim.

The next week or two is a flourish of quick visits, a few lunch and dinner dates and the occasional night at Josie's with Tim and Foggy that always end up with Tim going back to Matt's apartment. It's almost normal. The nights where he makes excuses, the nights where he says he's just too tired, though, are anything but.

The Russians kidnap a kid to draw Matt out. Matt obliges and channels his father. Channels the devil in him and proceeds to take on an alarming amount of men. Gets his ass handed to him but wins, and carefully carries the boy out. He learns more of Fisk, more about the heroin, and spends the next few nights investigating.

There's five explosions across Hell's Kitchen, all covering up Fisk. Matt runs, but he already knows what's going to happen. He's with the Russian, now, and it's a blur how they got into the warehouse: the Russian, a dead cop--courtesy of Fisk's corrupt officers--and him. The entire building is surrounded. Matt is on the phone with Claire, trying to safe the Russian's life for information. HE's aware of how many people are outside, of how many cars and even a helicopter.

Matt is scared, but he refuses to show it.

[comfortablyerect]

It's nice. It's more than nice, actually. It's very nearly perfect.

There's coffee dates and dinner dates and drinks, and there's nights where they're tangled together, rocking against each other, panting and groaning and it never fails to be some of the best sex Tim's ever had. There are also nights where they fall asleep watching a movie instead, and those nights are just as good, honestly. Some nights, Matt's busy, or Tim's busy, and they don't see each other at all. He misses Matt more than he cares to admit. Things are going well, but that doesn't mean they'll last.

They still aren't exclusive. There haven't been any talks, and Matt hasn't made any mention about wanting to be. Part of Tim is still waiting for the other shoe to drop, but he tries to ignore it. Focus on the good rather the inevitable bad.

He doesn't really stop hooking up with other people, but he slows down significantly. There's a lot less enjoyment in it now. It's not quite as satisfying, quite as fulfilling. Half the time, it feels like it's more trouble than it's worth. And all the time, he ends up thinking of Matt when there's another guy's mouth on his throat.

He notices the way Matt's bruises fade, and how more appear in their place. It's unsettling, at best. Matt's capable, strong, but that doesn't mean Tim's any less concerned. But he doesn't pry. Doesn't push. Doesn't want to force open any doors that might make Matt push back.

It's relatively quiet when the explosions happen. They're in a meeting, discussing the vigilante. It feels like Tim's been doing more of that these days than actually hunting fugitives. He remembers their meeting on the roof, being told that they're wasting their resources chasing the wrong guy. He remembers the information he was given, not quite proof but some damning evidence.

But Tim doesn't know how to not trust in the system.

The explosions send tremors through the cities. There's a commotion outside the conference room, officers dashing around and people gesturing out the windows. Hell's Kitchen is on fire, and all hands are on deck.

Tim calls Matt no less than four times without any answer. He tries not to worry. Tries not to let the panic rise in his throat. It's not as if Matt hasn't missed a call before, but he almost always immediate texts back with an explanation of being busy, and a promise to call later. Tim gets none of that now, and he hears the officers discussing the locations of the bombings. They're splitting into groups, already sending teams out to work damage control. They're saying the man in the mask did this, and part of Tim doesn't want to believe it.

It doesn't sound like the man that told him to do the right thing on the roof that night.

For now, Tim has to focus on his work. Matt's probably fine. Tim has to believe he's fine, because if he doesn't, he can't do his damn job. Which, right now, is joining the team that has the vigilante trapped and cornered. They need a sniper on a roof, and Tim's the best shot they've got. He can see movement in the building from where he's perched, but he can't get a visual.

But he can smell smoke. Taste it on the back of his throat. It's dark out, but he thinks he feel sun on the back of his neck, too, and feel grit and sand in his mouth. Now is not the time to be flashing back. Now is the time to fucking focus.

"I can't get a shot," Tim says into the comms unit, watching nothing but shadows through his scope. "He's stayin' away from the windows."

"Then we go in," an officer says. "And we shoot to kill."

Tim grimaces, pulling back from his scope. "Hold on. I'm gonna find a different angle. Do not go in."

[blindfighter]

He's concentrating, as he waits for the Russian to wake up. Concentrates to hear how many people, how many things he should be worried about.

"I can't get a shot," he can hear Tim Gutterson say, and Matt freezes. It's for the wrong reasons, he finds, because he doesn't freeze at the thought of Tim being a good sniper, which he is. He freezes at the fact that it's Tim.

Tim Gutterson is trying to hunt him down and it's a lot more severe than before. They think he's a terrorist. They think he's done it when it's Fisk--it's Wilson goddamn Fisk and there's not a thing he can do about it but interrogate the guy that tried to kill him and killed a cop. He has to get out. Has to.

"Please," he can hear Claire, and he mentally ignores the other. Hangs up, as a matter of fact, and takes the Russian by the waist.

"We're both going to go," he says simply. He can't take Tim finding him. Can't take Tim shooting him. They disappear under the building's unfinished drainage.



Foggy calls Tim six times. THe first three are mild, the next to worried, and the last one explaining that he just can't find Matt and he's in the hospital now, but Matt's blind and he's scared something happened to his best friend. Karen can be heard crying in the background.

Matt Murdock has all but disappeared.

[comfortablyerect]

"Must be just like old times, Gutterson," one of the officers says, and Tim can't put a name to the voice, but it's the same one that spoke earlier. "A piece of shit terrorist blowing everything up and an order to kill on sight."

He says it as if he's reminding Tim. Reminding him that they have orders kill the vigilante as soon as someone has the shot. They will not take him alive. They only want him dead. They're not orders Tim is unused to by any means, and he sure as hell doesn't need to be reminded of them. He also doesn't, however, actually want to kill the vigilante. Not when the label of terrorist doesn't match the image of the man in the mask he has in his head.

Maybe he was wrong, though. Maybe this is doing the right thing. Maybe the devil of Hell's Kitchen is less vigilante and more villain. Tim will follow his orders.

"Except in Afghanistan, I didn't have three dozen cops talkin' in my ear." Tim finds a better perch, a better angle, stares down the scope into the partially constructed building. There's no movement, not even any shadows this time. And it's not because the building's occupants are still, it's because they're not there. "Fuck. He's gone."

A team goes in to search. They search the unfinished drainage system and find nothing. They search the surrounding area and find nothing there, too. They had him cornered and he slipped through their fingers, because Tim wasn't willing to let a team go in and get slaughter just because he couldn't get a damn shot.

It's frustrating. He can still taste smoke in his mouth despite being nowhere near the burning parts of the city.

He gets Foggy's messages, and that doesn't bode well at all. Matt's not answering his phone (Tim calls another three times before heading to the hospital, and two more times once he gets there) and Foggy and Karen haven't seen him, either. Matt Murdock is MIA. He holds it together when he finds Foggy and Karen at the hospital, if only because it's very evident that the other two are not. He murmurs quiet reassurances and checks his phone at three minute intervals.

Sadie calls, at one point, panic high in her voice even though Tim answers halfway through the first ring. She hears the tightness in his tone even as he does his best to sound fine. She always knows when he's not fine. So he explains, quietly, void of detail, the situation, and she makes him promise to call her as soon as he has any updates.

All they can do, really, is wait. It's too chaotic and messy to search, and workers have already started clearing the rubble, sweeping the streets, looking for the injured and the dead and the trapped.

[blindfighter]

The Russian is left back. They find him just outside the drainage system, and he takes down as many cops as he can. It's not what Matt wants, but Matt is too tired, too sore, too damaged to do anything. He can't.

Claire fixes him up. He manages to get home and Claire fixes him up, though she writes a quick text for him to Tim and Foggy.

I'm okay. Stay safe.

Though with Tim, he adds I'm sorry to it.

He spends two nights recovering, meditating to cure his wounds faster, to block out all of the pain. It's not much but he keeps Tim in the loop--that he's fine, that nothing happened, he's just busy. It's a load of horse shit and they both know it but Tim was there, Tim was ready to shoot, and Matt can't stop replaying what he overheard again and again and again.

Wilson Fisk publicly defends Hell's Kitchen. Comes out of hiding and plays the good guy, paints the devil of hell's kitchen a terrorist. Matt throws his laptop, tries to figure out what to do, and winds up using the voice-to-text feature to get Tim's attention:

I want to hear you. Come over?

[comfortablyerect]

They lose a lot of officers that night. To the vigilante, to the Russian, to fire and collapsing buildings and smoke inhalation as they rescue the citizens of Hell's Kitchen. There's a memorial service for the fallen officers, and Tim attends, done up in his dress uniform. Not because he's particularly close to any of the dead officers, but because he's expected to be there.

Close or not, losing a fellow soldier is not easy, and this is the same exact thing.

He's angry. He's angry and he's relieved and he's concerned, all at once. Matt's alive, though Tim hasn't seen him since before the attacks. He's relieved that Matt's okay and concerned with his absence and angry because he knows — he knows — Matt is lying to him.

He hasn't been sleeping well. Some combination of his concern over Matt and working overtime every night with the vigilante task force and still thinking he can taste smoke in the back of his throat. He's been going non-stop, more or less, throwing himself into work and glasses of bourbon and cups of coffee just to avoid the nightmares.

He tells himself repeatedly that it doesn't matter. That they're not dating and Matt doesn't owe him anything. Doesn't owe him an explanation, or even the truth. But Tim's still angry. He's angry and he's hurt.

Enough so that he considers ignoring Matt's text. Or telling the other he's busy, just out of spite. But he can't. It doesn't matter how much Matt lies to him or strings him along or slowly breaks his heart, Tim will always come when Matt calls. This is no exception. So he texts back (On my way.) before leaving the office (he was working overtime, anyway) and knocks on the door when he gets there.

[blindfighter]

Matt is tired. He is tired he is battered and he's just glad it looks like debris and the like thanks to Claire taking care of his immediate wounds and him using Stick's techniques.

Doesn't mean it doesn't hurt like hell.

It also doesn't change the fact that he's mad at Fisk, mad at the world and in pain and all he wants is to curl up with Tim. He's healed enough it doesn't look suspicious and Tim--Tim eases him. Tim calms the proverbial devil inside of him.

Tim Gutterson isn't a fighter like he thinks, he's a healer.

Matt takes a while to get to the door so he calls out, first, and when he opens it he's not wearing his usual snappy lawyer things. It's obvious he's been home and home for a while--his hair is a little messy, he's barefoot and he's wearing track pants and a hoodie. He looks almost like he's going to the gym.

Or, would, if it wasn't for the nasty bruise across his temple.

"Tim," he murmurs, and opens the door for the other to walk through. "Thank you for coming"

[comfortablyerect]

The anger doesn't entirely dissipate when Tim sees Matt, though it does lessen significantly. It's hard to be mad at someone you care about when they're all roughed up. Not that he hasn't seen Matt roughed up before, but this is different. It's different because for several hours that night everything went to hell, there was a very real chance that Matt Murdock was dead.

But he's not. He's here, alive and breathing in front of him. A little worse for wear, but not dead.

Tim doesn't think he can go to any more funerals.

But even as he reminds himself that Matt shouldn't mean as much to him as he does, and that he doesn't mean that much to Matt, he's glad that the other asked him to come over. Relieved that he's safe and, as unjustified as it is, still a little bit angry.

"Jesus," he murmurs, and steps inside, though just enough to pause in front of Matt. He lifts a hand, careful and slow, and touches the other's face, the spot right above the bruise on his temple. His fingers are feather-light and gentle, and he's glad Matt can't see the pained expression on his face.

"I wish you would've called me sooner," he says quietly, and drops his hand.

[blindfighter]

"I know," Matt says softly, and he feels like a small child in front of Matt as Matt examines his bruises. He's reminded of his dad examining him when he had a hard time keeping balance when he couldn't see.

"I'm sorry." And he means it. His face smiles but it doesn't reach his eyes, not quite, and he places his hands on the other's forearms, gently squeezing. A half-embrace for the worried. He's thinking too much. That's Matt's problem--thinking too much.

All he can taste is his rage for Wilson Fisk.

"I'm glad you're safe, too," He states softly, and he means it as he heads to the living room. He's purchased blinds at some point, it seems--mostly for Tim, though he tells Claire it's for when they patch him up.

"I didn't mean to make you worry."

[comfortablyerect]

"I know," he murmurs. He knows Mat didn't mean to make him worry, but that doesn't mean he didn't. That doesn't mean he didn't spend several hours in the hospital trying to convince himself and Foggy and Karen that Matt wasn't dead. That doesn't mean he hasn't done more working than sleeping the past few days because people he cared about got hurt and died and all he wants to do is get that shot he couldn't get before.

It doesn't mean he's not frustrated. It doesn't mean he's not angry about it.

But it's a quiet anger. It's not like that sudden, exploding rage that his father possessed, the kind he can see in Matt sometimes. He's always had his mother's temper. Too slow to build to be worth mentioning.

He wants to ask Matt what happened. How, exactly, he got hurt. This time, the last time, next time, because it's not as if this is a one-off occurrence. It's not as if Matt hasn't been littered in these sort of injuries before. He wants to demand a real explanation that's not some bullshit about being clumsy.

But Matt doesn't owe him that. Didn't even owe him the vague string of texts over the past couple of days assuring Tim that he's fine. Matt doesn't owe him anything, and Tim-- he needs to stop expecting more than he deserves.

He follows Matt into the living room, closely watching the way the other walks, trying to determine just how bad the damage is.

[blindfighter]

It's not good, but he's had worse. He tells himself, at least. His walking is stiff and he winces when he shifts a certain way, but he's had worse.

He remembers training with Stick. Remembers how no one's going to pity him and how he doesn't want them to. He wants Tim to understand that he can't ask about things, but that's absurd. Matt's absurd.

Tim doesn't deserve him, he thinks. He deserves so much better.

He walks to where the drapes are closed, offers the tiniest smile as he turns into the kitchen. "Do you want anything?" He asks, and wonders when they started being so stilted with each other.

[comfortablyerect]

There's too much distance between them. It's insane how one incident can completely undo weeks worth of growing closer, getting more and more attached. And now he looks at Matt and feels like he hardly knows him at all.

It's probably better that they aren't dating. That they're not serious. There's too many secrets, too many unspoken personal issues between them, and they're both to blame for it. Matt's, maybe, are a little more serious, but Tim's never forthcoming with the truth, either.

It's almost like they're strangers again, and Tim doesn't like that. But there are blinds over the windows and Kentucky brewed bourbon in the cabinet, and those didn't show up until after Tim started staying the night. There's a book he accidentally left here weeks ago sitting on the coffee table, and that too is proof that they know each other. They're not dating, but they're not strangers.

"I got it," he says, moving into the kitchen. He knows where everything is, and that's more proof that they're not strangers. "Go sit down."

[blindfighter]

"I've got it," Matt echoes, and he's moving to cut Tim off. He's not as weak as people think, he's never been as weak as people think, but this is different. This is Tim worrying about him and Matt being unable to do anything about it without looking weird. This is Matt brushing Tim off not because he wants to but because he has no choice.

"Tim," he states, and it stops so he can grab the other's wrist. His voice is soft.

"I've got it," He assures.

Don't worry about me, he means.

[comfortablyerect]

Matt is capable. He's capable of navigating a staircase drunk with someone all but clinging to his side, and he's capable of pouring some drinks for the two of them. Tim doesn't doubt it for a second, but he also doesn't care. He feels like, at the very least, he's earned the right to be worried. They're not dating, but they're friends, sort of.

At least, Matt's the closest thing Tim has to a friend in the city.

"You," Tim says, slowly and carefully, trying his best to keep the anger and frustration out of his voice. "Look like you got hit by a bus. I'm not gonna bother askin' where you were or what you were doin' when the explosions happened, because I know you're not gonna answer me. So just go sit down and let me get the liquor so we can get drunk. Please."

They'll be better when they're drunk. Less stiff and awkward and formal. It'll be better.

[blindfighter]

He hears it. Boy, does he hear it, and Matt's entire face falls. His knuckles flex, not from rage, but from shame, and his gaze would move to the floor if he could see. Instead, his adam's apple bobs just so.

"Tim," He says a second time, and doesn't exactly move but he grabs the other's wrist this time as he turns. He wants to tell him everything--EVERYTHING--but he can't. He won't.

Tim doesn't deserve him.

"I'm sorry," He says, and he means every single word.

[comfortablyerect]

Tim doesn't deserve him. But not for the reasons Matt thinks.

His expression softens, just a touch. Matt can't see it, of course, but it reflects in his voice, soothing over the raw edges of his frustration. He's glad, actually, that Matt doesn't bother with any ass-covering explanations, doesn't even bother trying to lie. The apology, while not as good as the truth, is almost welcome.

"I know." He doesn't say 'it's okay', because it's not, really. It's not okay, and Tim's not going to lie, either. But he does shift his wrist in Matt's grasp, turning his hand so he can curl his fingers around the other's, and bring Matt's hand up to kiss the palm of it briefly.

"Now go on, go sit down. I'll be there in a minute."

[blindfighter]

I know.

That's what Tim says, and Matt smiles, broken and trying so, so hard to be warm. He doesn't blame Tim for a lick of this--but he's barely been sleeping, barely been eating, so fixated on Fisk. And now Fisk is in the open and he has a not boyfriend who's upset at him and he'd give anything to let him know what, exactly, was happening.

Instead, he sits on the couch. Sits, and hopes that Tim won't draw away.

Instead, he finds his voice cautious:

"Stay the night?" He asks. What he wants to ask, really, is 'stay forever?'

[comfortablyerect]

This, he thinks, is where it starts falling apart. This is where the other shoe drops, like Tim's been waiting for, and Matt starts drifting away. Where there are longer and longer stretches of Matt being "busy" until eventually, they're only seeing each other in the court room. Tim can feel it, the distance already squeezing between them. It's only a matter of time now.

He should probably just cut it off now. Beat Matt to the punch and do it himself just to save him a little less heartache. He knew it was coming and it's still twisting in his stomach uncomfortably. It'll just hurt worse if he lets it drag on.

But Tim's never been very good at saving himself.

Instead, he grabs the bourbon and the scotch from the cabinet, two glasses, and joins Matt in the living room, sitting down before answering.

"Yeah. Of course." Of course. It doesn't matter how frustrated he might be, or how angry he was before, Tim doesn't think he'll ever be able to tell Matt no. Ultimately, it will be his downfall. But for tonight, it only means curling up with a good looking lawyer between silk sheets and catching up on sleep.

[blindfighter]

"I'm tired," Matt confesses, and his voice is soft but somehow gravelly, full of regret and sorrow and rage. It's the tone that he normally saves for his priest, but he feels he can lay it on Tim.

Tim doesn't need Matt. Tim needs someone better, and stronger, and able to shoulder their own burdens. Tim needs anyone that isn't him, but he hears the bourbon being poured, smells it in the air, and runs his hands down his face after he takes his glasses off. It's a vulnerable moment.

He realizes, suddenly, he only wants Tim. Only wants to be with Tim, and he can smell fading bruises and knows there are nights when Tim isn't his. It's stupid, but it's all now starting to bother him. All amassing at once.

"I'm glad you're safe." He isn't even sure if he's said it before or not.

[comfortablyerect]

"Me, too," Tim admits, all quiet, drawling murmurs. It's not the sort of thing he'd normally admit, because it feels like he's admitting to a weakness. He's a soldier. He shouldn't feel weak. But he does, and he admits it to Matt in different, fewer words.

He pours the bourbon for himself, then pours the scotch for Matt, sliding it across the table until it touches his hand. It feels like these past few days that he's been running on nothing but cat naps and bourbon and coffee. He can't get away with keeping a bottle in his desk (or, as it is, in Nelson's desk) here like he could in Kentucky, but there's a bar down the street from the station, and more often than not, Tim ends up taking his work home with him.

He smiles ruefully as he sits back against the couch, leaning just slightly towards Matt. He always said he'd be nothing like his daddy, but he thinks that maybe Matt was right to be concerned about his drinking. It's a little more than just 'a glass before bed'.

But he's functioning. As long as he's still functioning, it's alright.

"The thing about bein' a sniper," Tim says, voice quiet as he takes a sip of bourbon. "Is that you're almost always out of harm's way. You watch a lot of people get hurt and a lot of people die while you're tucked away safe and sound on whatever rooftop or cliff side they put you on."

[blindfighter]

He knows. Matt tenses, not because he's mad but because this is a very difficult subject for Tim and for a brief moment Matt's not sure how to handle it. This is new territory, not ventured. Matt gets the feeling it's why Tim drinks. It's why Tim needs someone to fix him.

He decides to treat this like a fragile witness, but instead he sips his scotch and reaches over to gently grasp Tim's hand. His bruised and battered knuckles are nothing to him when he's running his fingers over Tim's own. His gaze isn't on Tim but that doesn't mean he's not paying extremely close attention to him.

"You still did the right thing," He assures. "You did your job, Tim."