[Raylan doesn't normally bottom with them, and definitely not that much in one night. Tim just had a mood, although Raylan seemed to appreciate it at the time.]
[ It might take him a great deal of alcohol for him to ask for it again. But the mood was right and he'd been just comfortable enough to roll with it last night. Getting him to own up to that now, though? That was a whole different matter. ]
[ If pressed for it, he would insist that "not every time" meant "once every other blue moon." But he's a stubborn son of a bitch even when it comes to his own desires. ]
Next time, you'd better make it fried chicken instead of enchiladas. Think the less Mexican I have the better
"I'll see ya tonight," Raylan had said before disconnecting the call with Tony. There were loose plans in place for the evening, but none of them involved paying a visit to the other on the job. Which is exactly where Raylan found himself that night. But this wasn't a social call.
"Would you get someone who can get it out, then?!" He snapped at the young nurse who'd informed him they couldn't just yank the bullet out of his leg. He'd been facing down an idiot with a gun. Of course, he had no backup himself. He had the drop on the guy, and he would have been fine. Dropped the guy in one shot. But the asshole got off a lucky shot as he fell. Just an inch more to the left and the bullet would have only grazed him.
"Can you find some chill, please?" Tony asked. "God damn. I'll get it out, I just can't get it out yet," he said. "Shut the fuck up and let me do my job."
Obviously he wouldn't talk this way to anyone else, but Raylan would probably do better with this than with Tony babying him or trying to talk down to him. He taped down the IV line he'd just gotten into Raylan's elbow and hung a bag from the stand with his other hand. He attached them, then picked up a cold pack from a drawer, crushing it between his hands to activate it.
"I'll be back," he said, setting the pack gently on Raylan's wound. "I'm gonna go get you the good painkillers so you don't feel it when I get the bullet out. Are you allergic to anything?" he asked.
Raylan pressed his head back against against the bed, grinding his teeth together in irritation. He was furious at the whole situation, but mostly with himself. The job wasn't done. There was still the asshole's partner to run down. But instead he was here because he shot the guy in the chest instead of the head. If he'd gone for the head, the guy would have dropped the gun instead of squeezing the damn trigger.
"They already gave me damn meds in the ambulance," he snapped. Though he didn't know what it was. He just knew he'd been stuck with at least one needle.
"Probably antibiotic or something to help you clot." Or a sedative, clearly not a high enough dose. He snapped his gloves off and threw them in the trash, then stepped up to the bedside, putting a hand on Raylan's jaw to make him look Tony in the eye. His tone and expression were firm, but gentle and calm, in the way only a nurse could be.
"Hey. The other marshals are on your guy. You did good. Now you gotta chill out and let me take care of you. I've got this from here. Okay?"
Raylan raised a hand to swat Tony away, but the IV in his arm halted the motion before he got very far. It left him glaring at the nurse, lips pressed firmly together. He didn't need calm and supportive right now. It felt wrong. He'd much rather deal with being scolded for his fuck up. Hell, he kind of deserved it--expected it, even. And he most certainly didn't like being told he'd done good. One guy was dead and another one was in the wind, and he'd shot the only guy who had the answers they needed.
But he ripped his head aside, seeming to calm marginally. "I'll believe you've got this when I've no longer got a damn bullet in my thigh," he said, though his tone was far less sharp than it had been before.
That was progress, anyway. At least he'd probably stop bitching now. Tony patted his shoulder, then moved away. "I'll be right back with the meds to do it. They're not gonna put you into surgery cause of that bus wreck." The place had been slammed all night, the only reason Tony could devote all his attention to Raylan was because he was technically on his break.
He came back with two syringes, two bottles, and a harassed-looking doctor. The doctor rattled off some dosages, then ducked out, pulling the curtain shut for them. "Red tape," Tony explained, pulling gloves back on to fill the syringes. "Doctor needs to prescribe controlled substances."
He showed Raylan one syringe. "This is morphine," he said, then the other. "This is a sedative, but I don't have to give it to you if you don't want it. You don't have a choice on the morphine if you want that bullet out." He took the morphine syringe and injected it into the IV bag. "You should start feeling good in about twenty seconds."
The only reason Raylan wasn't trying to do something about the situation on his own while Tony was gone was that he'd already found out the hard way that he couldn't stand on the wounded leg. At least not very well. And walking was not even remotely an option. This he knew from trying to prove otherwise. He was even more impatient and irritated, if that was at all possible.
He watched the morphine being injected into the bag with a tense jaw. "Skip the sedative," he said, sharp and cutting. "Just get..." The pain killers hit far faster than he'd anticipated and he let out a slow breath. At least some of the tension seemed to bleed out of him. "...just get it over with," he finished, his tone softened.
"That's what I thought," Tony said, leaving that syringe on the tray. He could see it when the morphine hit and grabbed another syringe out of a drawer, already loaded up. This was a local anesthetic, which he injected near the bullet wound just for good measure, explaining what it was as he did so, even though he doubted Raylan cared too much now.
He occupied the time in the middle with cutting Raylan's pant leg away and draping a surgical shawl over it with a window cut in the middle, so the surrounding area would remain sterile. He washed his hands thoroughly, put gloves on, and swiped the wound with iodine. "Feel that?" he asked.
Raylan felt the cold stab of the needle in his leg, but he cared as little about it as he did about the explanation he was offered. Tension continued to fade from him as the haze settled over him. He made a vague sound in response to the question, though. Like he was aware he needed to respond to something.
It wasn't just that the pain had eased. It was so much more than that. He felt completely and utterly playable, like he might melt right off the bed. But at the same time, as though he could float away. It wasn't even that the painkillers had hit him all that hard, but rather the sharp contrast. He was accustomed to constant tension, and in some ways relied on it. It was going to take him a moment to find his bearings again.
Tony decided to go for it while Raylan was still trying to level out, picking up a hemostat and probing around the wound with his finger, to find the bullet. He reached into the hole carefully with his clamps, took hold of the bullet, and started to withdraw it slowly.
Raylan drew in a breath between his teeth as Tony started prodding around the wound. Even without looking, he was aware of what was happening on his leg. He could still feel it, but whatever it was he felt, he didn't exactly care. Like the pain of it was happening to someone else--someone who likely deserved it. "Careful," he managed, his tone sounding more lazy than the warning he'd intended. "I'm gonna need that later." Meaning the leg, not the bullet.
"I gotcha," Tony said absently, focused on his work. Soon, the bullet was out. "There we go," he said, dropping it onto the tray. "Good job," he said, holding up a fist for Raylan to pound it. He was pretty cute when he was all drugged out, Tony couldn't lie. "The bullet looks intact, but we're gonna look for any shards, and then we can throw some stitches on it and bandage."
If it was at all possible, Raylan seemed to relax even further once the bullet was out. Like even under the weight of the pain killers, he'd still maintained some tension that he finally let go. And the world seemed to have settled at last. It was all still rather distant and muddled by a haze, but he felt marginally less like he'd float away now. "What's the prognosis?" He asked. Or intended to ask. He wasn't entirely sure that third word came out as intended, but he figured the muddled syllables would get the point across all the same.
"I think the patient's gonna live," he said, probing at the wound with a finger. Ideally they'd throw an ultrasound at it to make sure, but he doubted he could get someone to approve that right now. He picked up iodine prep pads and swiped at the wound -- it would sting, but if Raylan felt it, it wouldn't be enough to care. "Stitchy time," he declared, picking up the curved needle.
If Raylan was even aware of there being anything on his leg, he made no show of it. "For now," he said, far too delayed, responding to the comment about him living. His face broke into a slow smile, half laughing at some thought that flit through his mind. "Close me up, doc," he said a bit more on cue, while Tony was getting the needle.
"You're not gonna need a lot, wound's not that bad," Tony said, pulling up a chair so he could sit and work carefully. "You're gonna have some weird-ass bruising around it and on your leg, though." Raylan ended up with just seven stitches, even and neat.
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TFLN STYLE BITCHES
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[ Liar. ]
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[Raylan doesn't normally bottom with them, and definitely not that much in one night. Tim just had a mood, although Raylan seemed to appreciate it at the time.]
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[ It might take him a great deal of alcohol for him to ask for it again. But the mood was right and he'd been just comfortable enough to roll with it last night. Getting him to own up to that now, though? That was a whole different matter. ]
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fair enough
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Next time, you'd better make it fried chicken instead of enchiladas. Think the less Mexican I have the better
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[For the regular version this time, where Tim takes it like a champ and not the other way around.]
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"Would you get someone who can get it out, then?!" He snapped at the young nurse who'd informed him they couldn't just yank the bullet out of his leg. He'd been facing down an idiot with a gun. Of course, he had no backup himself. He had the drop on the guy, and he would have been fine. Dropped the guy in one shot. But the asshole got off a lucky shot as he fell. Just an inch more to the left and the bullet would have only grazed him.
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Obviously he wouldn't talk this way to anyone else, but Raylan would probably do better with this than with Tony babying him or trying to talk down to him. He taped down the IV line he'd just gotten into Raylan's elbow and hung a bag from the stand with his other hand. He attached them, then picked up a cold pack from a drawer, crushing it between his hands to activate it.
"I'll be back," he said, setting the pack gently on Raylan's wound. "I'm gonna go get you the good painkillers so you don't feel it when I get the bullet out. Are you allergic to anything?" he asked.
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"They already gave me damn meds in the ambulance," he snapped. Though he didn't know what it was. He just knew he'd been stuck with at least one needle.
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"Hey. The other marshals are on your guy. You did good. Now you gotta chill out and let me take care of you. I've got this from here. Okay?"
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But he ripped his head aside, seeming to calm marginally. "I'll believe you've got this when I've no longer got a damn bullet in my thigh," he said, though his tone was far less sharp than it had been before.
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He came back with two syringes, two bottles, and a harassed-looking doctor. The doctor rattled off some dosages, then ducked out, pulling the curtain shut for them. "Red tape," Tony explained, pulling gloves back on to fill the syringes. "Doctor needs to prescribe controlled substances."
He showed Raylan one syringe. "This is morphine," he said, then the other. "This is a sedative, but I don't have to give it to you if you don't want it. You don't have a choice on the morphine if you want that bullet out." He took the morphine syringe and injected it into the IV bag. "You should start feeling good in about twenty seconds."
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He watched the morphine being injected into the bag with a tense jaw. "Skip the sedative," he said, sharp and cutting. "Just get..." The pain killers hit far faster than he'd anticipated and he let out a slow breath. At least some of the tension seemed to bleed out of him. "...just get it over with," he finished, his tone softened.
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He occupied the time in the middle with cutting Raylan's pant leg away and draping a surgical shawl over it with a window cut in the middle, so the surrounding area would remain sterile. He washed his hands thoroughly, put gloves on, and swiped the wound with iodine. "Feel that?" he asked.
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It wasn't just that the pain had eased. It was so much more than that. He felt completely and utterly playable, like he might melt right off the bed. But at the same time, as though he could float away. It wasn't even that the painkillers had hit him all that hard, but rather the sharp contrast. He was accustomed to constant tension, and in some ways relied on it. It was going to take him a moment to find his bearings again.
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For ~comfortablyerect
Wasn't the hat that's got me questioning, Gutterson
[ Since when are they the sorts who discuss their sex lives with each other. C'mon Tim. ]
I love this
Oh wait.
Was it the dude part?
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