errantechoes | (no subject)

Billy finally smoothed the tape down and in doing so, he seemed to calm down. It was a fast process, a combination of well honed skills soothing his nerves as quickly as possible. So when he looked up at Tim, most of the color had returned to his face. "We should get you out of those pants so you don't get any more blood on the bed."

Tim pulled his gaze up to Billy's face when he spoke. Billy seemed more relaxed, and it made Tim feel more relaxed in response. He started to push himself up, not bothering to not try and use Billy as support. "Don't reckon there's another reason we could be gettin' me outta my pants," he said, and even managed to pull off a slight grin.

Whether Tim wanted that support or not, he had it. Billy slipped his arm around him to make sure he didn't stumble. "Only if you can find a way to replenish the blood you've lost." He managed a small smile. "Can't have you passing out just for getting it up."

Tim made a dismissive noise, pulling a face to match. He let Billy support some of his weight, but it wasn't impossible for him to stand on his own. It just hurt like a bitch. "That'd be a great way to pass out, though," he said. "'Sides, I've lost more blood than this before."

"For you, maybe," Billy joked. But he'd rather make sure Tim stayed awake to make sure he'd be alright. As they reached the bed, he just reached over with his free hand to start unfastening Tim's belt.

Trying to keep Tim awake was going to be a chore, because now that he was all patched up, all he wanted to do was sleep it off. He stilled at the bed, dropping a hand down to help Billy get his belt undone, attempting to toe off his boots without having to sit down.

"Stop," Billy warned, waving the meddling hand away. "You're injured, this is my job." Before Tim could get anywhere with the boot, he tugged the jeans down around his thighs and nudged him back on the bed.

Tim was too tired to argue, and besides, he didn't think the argument of 'I can take care of myself' was going to work after everything that had happened. So he dropped his hand, making a vaguely grumpy but not disagreeing sound, and let Billy take care of it. He eased himself back on the bed, moving slow in an attempt to not jar his side too much.

Billy knelt down and worked off Tim's boots. His hands were firm, calm and gentle. With those out of the way, he went back to tugging those jeans off. "New rule," he said as he folded the jeans in half. "No getting stabbed before meeting me." He moved to lay them across a chair in the corner.

Something inside Tim twisted uncomfortably at the words, and he realized after a moment that it was guilt. This wasn't how they worked; they got drinks and fucked on the occasional weekend neither of them were busy. A long-distance booty call. This — Tim coming to him broken and bloody after a bout of tequila-fueled violence — was not part of the deal. "Sorry," he said again, like he had earlier, not sounding the least bit indifferent or off-handed like it might have otherwise. After just another second, he added, "Thank you."

For Billy, it was never as casual as it had been for Tim. But nothing ever was. He'd fallen into the pattern that was comfortable for Tim, giving him what he needed. He wasn't entirely sure when it shifted from fling to actually caring, but it hadn't been a recent development. One that he never shared with Tim for obvious reasons. But now, hiding it wasn't really an option. He made his way back over to the marshal, and took his head between his hands. A soft smile settled on his lips as he looked down at the man, something showing through that in now way belonged in anything that could be called a booty-call. "It's alright," he said at last. "Think you can eat?"

Billy's touch was nice, and Tim closed his eyes against it briefly. He was too tired and too sore and too drunk to bothering trying to keep this arms-length. He was past that point by now. Maybe he'd care more in the morning. Maybe he wouldn't. He opened his eyes again, peering up at Billy skeptically. "Depends on what you're tryin' to feed me." He knew he oughtta eat, but nothing in particular really sounded good, and it was possible that he was too exhausted to eat anyway.

Billy arched an eyebrow at the question. He could have let it go, but even he couldn't stay serious now that it was obvious Tim would be okay. "No form of sausage, if that's what you're thinking," he said with a smirk. "Whatever light fare room service can dredge up. What d'you say?"

Tim managed the energy to roll his eyes, just so Billy knew how ridiculous Tim thought he was. But at the same time, his lips were curling up in a faint smile. "Well in that case, I'll suppose I'll pass on food." He lifted a hand, curling his fingers around Billy's wrist lightly. "Just lay down with me. I'm tired."

Billy started to protest. Between the booze and the blood loss, Tim was going to need energy to make up for it all. But those fingers on his wrist softened his resolve and he let go of the argument. His other hand reached up to brush his thumb across Tim's cheek. "Alright," he said softly, before setting to ridding of his vest. Tossing it aside, he climbed into bed beside Tim, his movements smooth and gentle as if worried he might disturb the wounded man beside him.

Tim was a little tense up until Billy agreed. He had expected some sort of resistance, an argument stemming from Billy's usual concern. So when he agreed, Tim relaxed some. He wouldn't have been able to win an argument right now anyway. He waited for Billy to climb into bed with him before shifting, carefully, to be closer to him, feeling for once like he wanted the comfort of cuddling. He clenched his jaw to keep from grimacing as the movements sent an aching pain through his body.

That cringe tension in Tim's jaw did not go unnoticed by the spy. Billy was incredibly glad he'd insisted on no strenuous activity, if a simple shift had Tim reacting like that. Billy settled next to the deputy, arms wrapping around him, far easier and welcoming than one should see from someone who'd barely qualified as more than a booty call before tonight.

He'd feel better in the morning. Minus the hangover he was bound to have, but nothing a little coffee wouldn't cure. Something had shifted here, a line had been blurred or crossed, but Tim couldn't pinpoint it, couldn't even figure out who crossed it first. Maybe he'd figure that out in the morning, too. Or maybe he'd just ignore it. He settled into Billy's side, feeling warm and comforted with his arms wrapped around him. He was exhausted. It wouldn't take him long at all to fall asleep.

Billy knew all too well that he'd been the first to cross it. He wouldn't be able to say exactly when, but it was certainly long before the deputy had walked through the door with a stab wound. Billy frequently said he kept his heart in a box. Unfortunately, that box wasn't exactly well hidden, or at all secure. So, even though he couldn't say when he'd stepped over that line, he eventually realized he was on the wrong side of it. And he'd stayed there, quietly and patiently waiting for Tim to join him or walk away.

Billy eventually fell asleep, sometime after Tim, and woke before him. It hadn't been a very restful night for the spy. But that was okay. It gave him a chance to quietly order room service for breakfast. Tim may have passed it up the night before, but he wasn't letting the wounded man go without a proper breakfast.