Tim had been back stateside for two years, and the truth was, combat had affected him in ways that still weren't fixed yet. The episodes were bad and frequent for awhile, but those, at least, had gotten under control. There were still plenty of nightmares, and he couldn't stand or sit or sleep with his back to the room without his skin crawling, didn't ever feel safe without his gun within arms reach. He'd known plenty of other veterans who turned to drinking, and even more that turned to drugs. This was similar, and it happened to work very well.

He was coping, and he didn't really ever expect Raylan to understand that.

At first, he didn't move, even if he could feel an insistent tugging in the pit of his stomach, urging him to be closer to Raylan. For a moment, he resisted, if only because he wanted Raylan to be the one to make the first move. But then he grew unusually impatient, and he stood up with a short huff.

The high from the bite had worn off completely, and he was a little steadier on his feet than before, thanks to Raylan's blood. He moved around the bed to stand in front of Raylan, reaching up to touch the brim of the other man's hat with his fingers. "Satisfied?" he murmured.