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Deputy U.S. Marshal Tim Gutterson (
2017-08-11 01:58 am (UTC)
Tim's silent, loitering in the doorway of the kitchen with some amount of uncertainty. He's not chasing a fugitive through the back roads of Kentucky, and he's not testing the wind on some cliff side in Afghanistan. That is to say, this is not easy to navigate. He should probably be angry that Kira's avoided it for a few days, but instead he feels unsure. Where do they stand? Why should they stand anywhere, when they've just been fuck buddies up until this point?
That's not true. That hasn't been true for a little while, at least. Kira has slept in his bed through the night, they've laid together with no promise of sexual favors in the night or the morning after. Kira made sure Tim didn't kill himself with some infection, and Tim looked after Kira when the rain gave him a cold.
Things have changed, shifted beneath his feet. He's still standing now, but eventually it's going to knock him flat on his ass. He should take this as an opportunity to back out, start giving excuses.
Instead, he crosses the room. He stands beside Kira and finds himself not angry that the other was absent for awhile, but relieved that he's back now. From now on, he'll just make a point to not expect too much. That way, there's no way for him to end up disappointed if it happens again. Maybe things have changed, but Tim can still keep things at arms length with all the emotional bullshit.
"Glad you came bearin' gifts." He picks a peach from the box, biting into it in a messy, primal way. Juice leaks into his palm and drips down his chin, but he doesn't care.
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