[justified] the mess you find yourself in
[justified; gen; tim, team; hunting down an escaped prisoner; h/c, bad humor]
the mess you find yourself in
Tim was late to the meeting because the vending machine was refusing to give change again that morning. He slipped in quietly, took his usual chair and tried to look as if he'd come in with the others - knowing that it wouldn't fool Mullen.
His smile, or maybe the way he scratched his temple, was enough to attract Mullen's attention. Possibly it was the way he tried to sneakily unwrap his breakfast - an extra large Snickers bar.
"What are you looking so cheerful about?" Mullen asked him, narrowing his eyes like he was serious.
Tim stopped tearing the wrapper open and looked at Brooks, who was sitting across from him, trying to find out what the reason for the boss' unhappy mood was. Rachel just shook her head at him, which made Mullen zero in at her.
"Nothing, sir," Tim replied, hoping to distract the boss. If Mullen snapped at Rachel, Rachel would snap at Tim. At least this way he still had her on his side. "What can I do for you today?" he asked.
Mullen grinned in a way that made Tim regret his careless offer. Rachel rolled her eyes.
"You can take Fuller and escort a prisoner for me. Joshua Carlyle," Mullen said. "I was going to give the job to Raylan, seeing as he hasn't bothered to show up at all, but I think you'll enjoy this one."
Tim nodded. He didn't see the problem yet.
"He's a bit anti-government," Rachel mumbled.
"He won't like me then," Tim mused. He had to deal with men like that daily and didn't mind showing them what kind of hand-to-hand combat came naturally to an Army Ranger.
Mullen suddenly spoke up. "He also doesn't like riding in cars, or getting his handcuffs put on. He's also a head taller than you and weighs about twice as much as you do."
Tim froze. That sounded less and less like the boring job he had expected. "No problem." He pressed his lips together; it was definitely the shit job of the day.
All Tim knew about Deputy Marshal Fuller was that he was still considered a rookie, still green behind the ears. He had screwed up a job once and had been suspended for it, and even though Tim didn't know why, he knew it had to have been something small, otherwise the boss would have chucked him out. The grapevine didn't have anything else on him, but to become a Marshal, he had to have some experience, and if Mullen sent him along on a prisoner transport, Tim trusted him to be able to do his job. He was also heavier than Tim, which sounded like a good idea for this transport.
He only half-listened to the rest of the meeting and munched on his Snickers bar. Rachel eyed it like she hadn't had one of those in a while. Tim smiled at her and offered it to her when he was halfway through. Rachel, just as uninterested in the new techniques law enforcement was using in road blocks, measured out a space between her thumb and index finger. Mullen cleared his throat, but just rolled his eyes when Tim took another bite and then slid the rest of the chocolate bar across the table towards her on the handout that summarized the new road block regulations.
Raylan came in just as the meeting was finished, looking both surprised that it was already over and happy that he had timed his arrival so perfectly.
"Well done," Tim murmured as he slid past.
"Raylan, into my office."
"Well," Tim said and looked around the squad room. "I better find Fuller. If we're not back in time for lunch, send out a search party."
Rachel snorted. "We'll find you bulldozed flat like a loony toon. Have you seen that guy?" She asked and looked at her monitor, obviously having called up Carlyle's arrest sheet. "He's really tall."
Tim brought a hand up and made the ASL sign for 'clever' against his temple. "And I'm really smart."
Rachel eyed him, letting him see her measure him with eyebrows that said, 'And you're skinny like a weasel.' "Which means you'll let Fuller take him down if it comes to that?"
Tim pursed his lips. "Exactly. Fuller looks like he was a quarterback."
"You are an Army Ranger," she countered as if that should make him take the responsibility.
"It won't come to that," he calmed her down. "We're grown-up men. We're not afraid of a brick wall with anger issues."
He found Fuller quickly in the changing rooms. "Has Mullen already briefed you?" Tim asked like he would ask any recruit. Fuller nodded, not giving much away. "He called me in. I was just on my way out."
Tim had no idea what to make of that reply so he nodded and smiled. "Ready to go then?"
Fuller nodded again. It appeared that he was the strong and silent type. Tim knew how to deal with those. He turned on his heel and was faced with a widely smiling Raylan.
"Thanks for taking this one," Raylan said as if Tim had had a choice.
Tim just smiled in return as if he knew something that Raylan didn't. Let the bastard chew on that for the rest of the day. Judging by Raylan's eyebrows, he had succeeded. He patted Raylan on the shoulder in passing and went on to his desk. There, he phoned to the car park to get them a car ready and fuelled and let Fuller know they would be meeting up downstairs. He had to get something from the armory first.
When they met up in the car park, Fuller told him he was being ridiculous. Tim put away the large rifle case in the trunk and shook his head. "I'm not going into the field without a rifle."
"This isn't going into the field," Fuller contested. "This is a car ride."
"In that case, I'm not riding a car without a rifle." An Army Ranger didn't do anything without his gun.
Fuller bit something back and got into the driver's seat like it was a privilege. Tim much rather went in the passenger seat anyway. He buckled in and slouched, waiting for Fuller to realize that he had done him an involuntary favor. As a result, the ride to the court was short and quiet.
The guards of the court prison were glad they were coming. As per informal agreement, Tim and Fuller waited at the gate to sign that they were taking over the prisoner. They quickly discovered that Carlyle was indeed a head taller than, and twice as heavy as Tim. Fuller took one look at Tim and strode forward to take the prisoner from the guards. It would have looked gentlemanly, had Tim not known the thought process behind it. Fuller thought Tim wasn't built to take the prisoner and at the same time was questioning Tim's right to be there at all. Stroking a hand down his flat torso, Tim nodded at the guards and signed. "Ready to roll," he said and took the plastic bag with Carlyle's personal effects. As soon as he had done so, the large prisoner twisted and rammed Fuller into the wall of the corridor. Fuller checked him right back, making it look very accidental when he rammed Carlyle's head into the wall.
"Stay on the line," Fuller shouted in Carlyle's ear and frog marched him to the doors. The guard there quickly opened it to let them through. Tim followed and turned when the gate was locked again behind him.
Outside, Fuller pushed a curiously docile Carlyle into the car. Tim went around to the passenger seat and got in. "We didn't bring tranquilizer darts, but I have two Halcyon on me," he promised Carlyle.
Carlyle narrowed his eyes at him. "It's because of you they repealed don't ask don't tell," was his answer.
Tim grinned at Fuller, only to find that Fuller didn't seem to find that funny at all. So he made a kissy face at Carlyle and nodded. "Too bad I was already out by then." Only after he'd said it, he realized that while he had meant 'out of the Army', Carlyle had probably read that as 'out of the closet'. He was an idiot. On the other hand, it would make a great anecdote to tell Raylan and Rachel later. Fuller coughed. It seemed he had followed Tim's thought. Now he was laughing. Great. Tim looked out of the window as Carlyle told him what a disgrace he was to humanity. There wasn't much he could say now that would make Carlyle think he wasn't actually batting for that team to keep him quiet.
The drive onto the I-64 and out of the city was slow - not only because of the bad traffic. After they had left the city behind them and were heading east towards Charleston, the prisoner's hate tirade seemed to be slowing down. He had brushed the government, Judaism, homosexuality, and for some reason also PETA in his speech. Fuller had started honking at the cars in front of him in a fit of road rage, and Tim was calculating the drop rate of imaginary shots at that kind of wind and humidity and wished he could put the radio on without starting a fight. He would get back at Raylan for making him take shit detail.
Some time - too long, in Tim's opinion - after they had started, and with two hours still to go, they decided to make a pit stop at a gas station. Fuller parked close to the side of the station in a secluded spot and Tim went inside the truck stop café to have a look at the people there. It was standard procedure. Once he decided the air was clean, he would go outside and man the door while Fuller took Carlyle inside. That was the plan. The problem was that Fuller seemed to think it was okay to go ahead with Tim still in the café, because all of a sudden a woman shouted and pointed outside.
Tim drew his weapon, but by the time he reached the door, their squad car had already revved up and was speeding away and onto the street. He dove onto the ground and took aim. It took him almost until the car was around the bend to fire, but when he did, the bullet hit its target with precision. The tire went with a loud bang and the car swerved. It continued on, despite the flat tire, but it was slowed down and Tim was sure he wouldn't get far.
Tim looked around to see if Fuller was there or in the car, but he couldn't see him. He got up and started running after the car. He ran onto the road and towards the bend in the road that was blocking his view. When he had reached it, he saw that the car had crashed into a tree at the side of the road. He held himself covered and had his weapon drawn as he neared the car. He ducked and weaved, hoping Carlyle wasn't smart enough to stay behind and try to take him out. It would certainly maximize his chances of getting away. He had chosen the wrong escort - a hunter and Army Ranger sniper was certainly the last thing an escaped prisoner wanted this closely on his heels.
At the car it became clear that Carlyle hadn't stayed behind. The driver's door was open and Fuller was in the passenger seat, head bleeding from where he had crashed against the door.
"Fuller," Tim barked and knelt on the driver's seat. He held a hand to Fuller's neck to get his pulse. He was awake and blinked. "Wake up," Tim hissed to alert Fuller and fumbled for the radio.
Suddenly, Fuller snapped properly awake and looked around wildly. "Carlyle!" he croaked and tried to sit up. He groaned and stayed where he was.
"Get help. Call in reinforcements," Tim ordered. He didn't wait for Fuller to obey but pressed the radio into his hand and left to get his rifle from the trunk. He was not going to let that man get away. They were next to the Daniel Boone National Forest and a manhunt in that area could take weeks. He had no time to lose. When the rifle was put together, his extra magazines shoved in his pockets. He got a GPS and a walkie-talkie from the equipment box and closed the trunk.
In the cabin, he heard Fuller call in reinforcements and took a moment to assess the damage. Carlyle had clearly cut his hand trying to get out of the car. The side window on the driver's side was smashed, and there was blood on the door handle. He had clearly tried to get out there first before he had realized that he was too heavy. Looking around the vehicle told him where Carlyle had started his trip.
"Does he have your gun?" he asked. Fuller shook his head to say no.
"Can I leave you alone?" he asked Fuller and tried to see how badly hurt his colleague was. The man seemed just dazed, but one could never know with head wounds. If Fuller was well enough to be left alone, Tim would go after Carlyle.
"I'm good," Fuller said and slumped against the seat.
"Don't forget to call yourself an ambulance," Tim said. "I've got GPS and radio. I'll call in where to pick us up, or where to meet me if I can't find him." He didn't think he would fail, but it was better to have someone come meet him from the other side just in case; preferably someone from his team.
"I'm on my way. See you later."
Fuller's goodbye was the last thing Tim heard before he was out of earshot. He stopped short at the guard rail and tried to find out where Carlyle had gone next. It was easy enough to see where he had slid down the ravine. Tim slung his rifle over his shoulder and followed Carlyle down into Daniel Boone National Forest.
* * *
Back at the office, dispatch called through to Mullen's office and reported the car crash and Fuller's call. Mullen cursed and let dispatch give him the GPS coordinates to the car.
"Send cars out there to secure a reasonable area and establish road blocks. I don't want that guy to get away."
Then he opened his door and called out to Raylan, Rachel, and Mattison's team. "Emergency meeting on the way to the car park," he said and ushered them into the staircase. He would brief them on the way.
"Dispatch just called. Fuller just called in that they were in a car crash. Carlyle's escaped. They're somewhere past Owingsville."
"What about Tim?" Rachel asked while Raylan was already opening the door to the car park to lead the posse.
"He's gone after Carlyle. He took a GPS locator and a radio with him. Dispatch knows where he is and will keep us updated. Let's move out."
Mattison organized his team into two groups, each taking a car. "We'll get dispatch to guide us in," he said and was on his way. Mullen loved how effective Mattison was. Each and every time he jumped before anyone could ask him to.
Raylan nodded at the other team leader and got a car for them.
Mullen grabbed the radio as soon as they were on their way. Mattison was a few car lengths ahead already.
"Tim knows what he's doing, so let's give him the lead on this. He has a radio and will call in when he needs to. Until we hear something from him, we'll just follow him and trust that he has the situation under control. And just in case, we'll come from the other side as well."
One of Mattison's Deputies replied, "Dispatch just sent coordinates. Gutterson is moving southwest from the road. No way to come from another side."
Mullen smiled. "No worries. We'll find a way."
* * *
At the bottom, Tim took his rifle in his hands again and started jogging after Carlyle. The prisoner had clearly full-out run, but judging by his body fat and the time he had spent locked up lately, he was out of shape and wouldn't be able to hold that speed for very long. Tim had to be careful not to run into a trap in his haste. He ran daily and was in good shape, which meant he wouldn't feel the need to slow down as fast as Carlyle would.
He tried to figure out where Carlyle was heading and stopped to take in the forest around him. He breathed out through his mouth and listened attentively. It was eerily quiet. Then, he heard a crack of wood somewhere ahead of him and knew he was heading in the right direction. He moved a little to his left and sped up his tempo again, jogging parallel to the path Carlyle had taken.
A while later, he came to a halt to listen to the forest again. He realized they had come to the river that was running through the forest already. He had studied the map in the car and remembered a bridge ahead on the road. The river had to make a bend somewhere or it wouldn't be that close. He tried to hear the forest, but the nearby rushing river prevented him from hearing anything else. Deciding it was useless to try and make out any other sounds, he started walking again. Suddenly, he heard something behind him, but before he could react better than with a raised arm, his shoulder and head exploded in pain and he fell before he could brace himself. There was nothing he could do to stop Carlyle from jumping him - the tree limb he had hit Tim over the head with still in his hand. Before Carlyle could hit him again, Tim got one in with the metal stock of his rifle. Carlyle roared with pain.
The momentum Tim gained from that, and the distance it put between him and Carlyle allowed him to take a breath. Carlyle came at him again and with an angry cry, he tried to knock Tim's rifle from his hands by smashing the wood against his hand. Tim didn't let go of his weapon so quickly - still holding the rifle with one hand he retaliated with a fist made of his free hand to Carlyle's temple.
Tim didn't realize how close they had come to the river until the roaring of the water was loud in his ears. It occurred to him that when Carlyle had realized Tim was following him, he had probably changed his escape route to lead them here. He didn't remember reading in Carlyle's file that he knew this forest well, but the many camping spots in the area probably meant he had spent some time here in the past. Tim tried to make it his advantage and turn this fight around to get Carlyle to drop in the water, knowing that he had little chance to win against Carlyle in a fair fight, but Carlyle's sheer strength seemed to speak against even that option.
Tim got a few hits in, but he knew Carlyle was in the lead. He was used to getting hit, had been his whole life, but the strength behind Carlyle's hits wore him down. In return, his own hits barely seemed to faze Carlyle. Tim realized quickly that his only chance was to get a shot off. He could feel his head spinning, but at least the pain had taken a backseat to necessity. Adrenaline was a glorious chemical.
All of a sudden, his foot slipped and he fell backwards. Carlyle was laughing above him when he hit the water. He nearly lost the rifle when he crashed into the cold water, but was not too dazed to hold on to it. His comrades would be ashamed of him if he lost his weapon - it was the one thing a soldier never surrendered. The first hostage situation he had ever been in with the Marshal service had almost cost him his life because he steadfast refused to surrender his gun. He felt himself be tugged along by the crashing waves and struggled to come to the surface to take deep breaths. He swam and paddled until he could grab at a hanging tree at the side of the river. He pulled himself up and took a moment to catch his breath. If he wanted to climb back up to the forest ground, he would need his strength back. He slung the rifle over his shoulder again, hoping the water hadn't rendered it useless. It took him a moment, but he managed to get a hold of a crevice in the rock. Getting up there felt like climbing an 11+.
* * *
Back at the crash site, Mattison's team arrived. Fuller was already sitting in the back of an ambulance, getting his knee and head checked out. He was dazed, but clearly feeling mutinous.
Mattison got a local road map from the ambulance driver and asked her for more information on the area. There were a few campsites in the forest so they would have to make sure that no one was endangered.
When Mullen arrived, they had already found a way to come from the other side. Rachel joined them. She wanted to go around and cut Carlyle off.
"What happened, Fuller?" Mullen asked. Raylan watched carefully as Fuller cleared his throat. He seemed nervous.
"We were at the gas station around the bend there," he said, pointing in the direction they had come from. "Everything went according to plan, but suddenly Carlyle got away. It happened so fast. I jumped in before he could drive off."
Raylan wasn't sure how it was possible for two US Marshals to let someone like Carlyle to get away if everything went according to plan. He wondered where Tim had been. The evidence of candy wrappers on the dash said Tim had been in the passenger seat. He looked at the black rubber swerve marks on the road and the flat tire and found a theory that worked with the facts.
"You should've sent someone other than that twink, really," Fuller then said. "I mean, someone bigger, you know?"
Mullen shook his head and shared a look with Raylan. "I'm not sure what you mean, actually. Fact is, you're sitting here with a busted leg and a headache, while my guy is hunting a prisoner down without backup."
Raylan narrowed his eyes and turned away. Something was off here. He went over to where Rachel was discussing ways to cut Carlyle's way off and listened in.
When they were done and Rachel asked him what he thought of the plan, Raylan nodded. "We'll follow them, just in case they change directions." He took one of the radios that a Deputy Marshal was handing out and switched it to their frequency. At least that way he was sure Tim was going to get him first. He saw Rachel do the same.
Suddenly, one of Mattison's Deputies interrupted them. "Dispatch has lost Gutterson's signal."
Raylan and Mattison looked at each other and started giving orders. They had no time to lose.
Once they had made their way down to the ravine, Raylan's radio crackled and Tim's familiar voice sounded through the speakers. "Tango Golf?" Raylan asked.
* * *
When Tim was back on the forest floor again, he gulped in deep breaths and cursed himself because breathing that deeply hurt like a bitch. In fact, everything hurt. He felt like an idiot for losing that fight. He tugged at his belt and pulled the radio out. It was water-logged but still working. The GPS hadn't survived the fall. He hadn't realized he had hit something on the way down, but the GPS tracker was shattered.
"Lexington US Marshal's Office," he muttered when he had selected the right frequency - 'their' channel. "Tango Golf, calling Lexington."
"Tango Golf?" Raylan's voice came through the radio's speaker. He sounded calm, but with an edge to it. Maybe he knew that Fuller had screwed up the pit stop. He appreciated incompetent men even less than Tim did.
"I lost the GPS in the river," Tim said - more slowly now that he had his breath back.
"What were you doing in the river?"
Tim sighed and let his arm drop to the ground, walkie talkie crackling in his hand. If only he knew. "I'm going after him again. Just… follow the river. We're about fifteen minutes in from where I left Fuller. Southwest. More south now."
"Will do," Raylan offered and ignored radio protocol by simply cutting their conversation short.
"Roger that," Tim told nobody and slowly unbuttoned his shirt. He sat up and knowing that it would cost him a minute now but might save his life later, he took the rifle apart and laid it on his relatively clean shirt. He made sure the rifle wasn't retaining water that could cause it to blow up later and checked the barrel for any traces of dirt or water. He quickly put it back together again and put his shirt back on. Then he shouldered the rifle. At least that was still functional.
Then he got up again. He had a prisoner to catch. Carefully, he swiped the cleanest bit of his wet shirt over his face to wipe away the blood that was still dripping into his eyes. Then he started walking back in the direction he had come from with the river. It was not even noon and he was already exhausted.
Judging from the way Carlyle hadn't waited at the car crash to ambush him, Tim didn't think he would check the river now to make sure he was really out of commission. Instead, he mapped the way they had come and noted the way Carlyle had moved west towards the river instead of south where they had come from. Tim was fairly certain Carlyle knew his way around the county, and the huge forest was most likely hiding some places he had friends at.
Once he was back at the place of their fight, he looked down at the riverbank to see if Carlyle had left a trail. He had. Tim wondered if Carlyle had ever hunted. It certainly didn't look like he knew how to cover his tracks, or that someone could read him so easily. The ambush earlier, however, told Tim that Carlyle at least knew how to get a drop on him now. He would have to be more careful.
Tim thought he had lost about ten minutes, but going at about twice Carlyle's speed and steadily so, probably meant he had already caught up. Ahead of him was a slope down like a hill side and Tim stopped and dropped to his stomach at the crest to observe the forest ahead of him. He pulled the rifle to him and looked through the scope. He couldn't lose the prisoner now, not after he had already put so much work into the hunt. He tried to find out where the other man had run down the slope and found the spot easily enough. Carlyle had gained momentum there and seemed to have disappeared. Used to spotting for himself, Tim pulled his binoculars out and looked for traces of his prisoner. To his dismay, he spotted a lodge not far away. Two trucks were in front. He switched to the rifle sight and leaned his cheek on the stock of the gun. Two trucks, fire coming from the chimney. Carlyle had to have had this in mind when he had run south. He had to know this was here. Tim waited until he found that he had indeed caught up and that Carlyle had probably gone in just moments before he had arrived at the hilltop. Right now, four men were coming out of the house, three laden with rifles and one, Carlyle himself, with a shotgun. Tim crept back on his stomach and brought the radio to his mouth.
"Lexington come in," he whispered. The sound probably didn't carry that well in this forest, but it paid to be careful.
"Tango Golf?" Mullen's voice came over the speaker, crackling like the connection was bad.
"Carlyle went south, arrived at a hut in the woods. Four men - three rifles, one shotgun. I think they might be coming after me. There's a trail leading here though." A look through the sight of the rifle told him that he was right.
"Don't let them get you," Mullen grunted, telling Tim what he wanted to know. Yes he could defend himself, if necessary he was given the clear to shoot them dead, but if at all possible, just winging them was preferred. "We're right behind you. Bravo is taking a car to that cabin right now." Rachel. She'd take care of things from the cabin side. Now he just hoped the others were fast enough. He wouldn't hesitate to kill those men, but he hadn't woken up with the intention of ending the day with bloodshed.
Deciding this was the right moment to see if the rifle still worked, Tim calmly put Carlyle in his sights. Wind and humidity worked for him in this forest and he easily fired a shot into the tree next to Carlyle as a warning - then he took cover and waited. He was happy to hear the shot go off so well. The men at the bottom of the hillside immediately took cover and shot back, emptying probably a clip each into the empty forest. Idiots. Tim listened to them reload.
Knowing the men would most likely fan out in order to circle him, Tim shouted out, "US Marshals. Stop where you are!" He could shoot them so easily from here, but if they fanned out, he'd have to move quickly and take them one by one. Of course they didn't listen. He saw that the heavy-set red-haired guy with the red and black checkered shirt was going right.
Tim put him in his sights and shot at the ground right next to his foot. "Carlyle, you're not getting out of here!" he tried next, hoping that the others would realize they hadn't actually done anything yet to make him shoot at them.
Suddenly realizing that he had lost the guy to the very left of him, Tim retreated and moved to a different cover. He saw the man and the raised rifle looking for him. Those men had obviously no qualms about shooting a Marshal. He wondered just what Carlyle paid them to get them to be so loyal to him.
He went right again to get the red-haired guy first. He was heading up the hill and coming close.
"Don't move," Tim said when he was close enough. The man just grinned at him. "Here!" he shouted then and raised his rifle, taking cover. He probably thought Tim was one of the good guys, one of those that wanted to take men alive. Tim smiled back and shot him in the leg. He tried to keep it a flesh wound, but couldn't be bothered less if it turned into gangrene and then amputation. He was not exactly a good good guy.
The man screamed in pain and fell onto his back clutching his leg. The others started running towards them. Taking cover again, Tim injured the one on the far left who had tried to creep up on him, and the one who was running fastest. Both were instant hits, both were easy wounds to deter them from going after him again. That left Carlyle. Tim took his eye from the sight and took a breath.
He could hear a car with familiar sirens coming down the trail and used the distraction to run to a different cover, closer to the hill top again. It was not the smartest decision, because it gave his position away to Carlyle. Buckshot tore into the tree he was taking cover behind and singed his shirt. A couple of pellets hit him in the right side and arm, along with pieces of splintered wood. Shutting out the pain, Tim turned and shot back. He had learned to ignore pain if it meant getting out of a sticky situation alive. Tim realized that he was not far from the first man he had shot, so he looked over to see if the man was down for good, or if he was getting back up. He seemed to be still struggling with the fact that he had been shot.
"US Marshals!" Rachel's voice carried up the hill from the bottom. Finally, the cavalry was arriving.
This didn't impress either Carlyle or the man next to him.
"Don't," Tim warned the man, but was surprised by another shot from Carlyle.
This one completely missed him, probably because Carlyle was out of breath and shaking. He wouldn't make that mistake twice, so Tim tried to find out where Carlyle had hid. He couldn't see him from his current spot, so he moved again.
Unfortunately, Carlyle seemed to know exactly where he was, so he shot as soon as Tim moved from his cover.
This time, the buckshot was closer, again splintering wood and raining down bits of shrapnel on Tim. The wood hitting his face reminded him of the hits he had taken earlier. Doing his best to ignore the stinging pain in his shoulder, Tim got up and calmly took aim. If he didn't now, he wouldn't get another chance later. He shot, aiming at Carlyle's shoulder, thinking that it was better to hit him in the torso to stop him from shooting again than to hit his heart.
Another shot rang out then, and suddenly the forest was silent.
"Gutterson!" Raylan's voice came from the direction the last shot had come from.
"Polo," Tim replied and stared at the man Raylan had shot for him. It was the one in the red and black checkered shirt, who had finally gotten his act together and had been about to shoot Tim in the back.
"Jesus fuck," Tim cursed and lowered the rifle. The adrenaline shock wasn't gone yet, but he could already feel where he would hurt the most later.
Carlyle yelled for death and retribution where he was lying on the ground. Two Deputy Marshals were standing over him, aiming at him. He lay there like a bug on its back. Rachel was coming up the hill, shouting that she had found another one. Another Deputy took care of the one on the far left.
"Jesus, Tim," Raylan said when he was close enough to talk without having to shout. "Next time, just wait and call for backup, will you?" He looked at Tim with concern in his eyes and reached out to brush wood from his hair and shoulders. He picked at something just out of Tim's eyesight and pulled a wood splinter from his cheek. A quick brush through Tim's hair with Raylan's arm rained wood splinters down. Raylan's sleeve came away red.
Tim smiled tiredly. "Like you would've done?"
"I would've probably killed them all," Raylan admitted and took Tim's rifle from him. He handed it to the Deputy who had come with him and put his weapon away in its holster. "That was all of them?"
"Four all in all," Tim mumbled and reached up to make sure his shoulder was still attached. It was on fire.
"Let's get you out of here," Raylan said and waved Rachel over. "We'll take the car and-" he was interrupted by the ambulance arriving. One of the Deputies had called it in.
"I'm feeling better than he is," Tim said and pointed at the escaped prisoner. The man would have to add a couple of years to his sentence for that, and had a lot of physical therapy to look forward to.
"I'm sure you are. Which is why we're taking Rachel's car. We're an hour out of Lexington, but I'm sure we can find a hospital and a sexy nurse on the way there." They made their way to the car quietly, and Rachel got in the driver's seat.
"Do you want to lie down in the back?" Raylan asked, but offered the passenger seat in case Tim wanted it.
"Tim lying down while riding a car?" Rachel asked and shook her head. "You don't want that happening," she advised and waved Tim into the passenger seat. "Eyes on the road."
Raylan understood and laughed. "Alright."
Tim sagged, all the fight drained from him. This had been a shitty day so far. He was fairly certain that it could only get better. He gingerly moved into the passenger seat and buckled in. Then he twisted so his shoulder was not resting on the back of the seat and grabbed the middle console. He was starting to hurt now.
Raylan got into the back and slammed the door closed. "Tell us what happened," he said when Rachel turned the car around and maneuvered it past the ambulance and back on the trail.
When Tim had told the story, Raylan cursed and Rachel made a funny expression that got Tim curious.
"Why are you laughing?"
"Not laughing," Raylan said seriously. "Fuller just…" he trailed off and Rachel jumped in.
"Fuller really doesn't like you, Tim."
"He's an alright guy," Tim defended him, although he didn't know why. "He made a rookie mistake. He won't be doing that again."
"No," Raylan shook his head. "He said he did it by the book. That Carlyle got away was just bad luck."
Rachel nodded. "And the way he said it, was-" She shrugged. "Mullen isn't happy with him."
Raylan patted Tim's shoulder. "You did good," he offered.
"Yeah," Rachel added. "For a skinny little twink, you held your own."
Raylan took Tim's chin in his hand and tilted his face a bit. "He got you good, though. Did you even get a hit in?"
"Oh, fuck off," Tim replied and jerked his head out of Raylan's grip. "That guy's a brick wall." Suddenly, he realized what Rachel had said. "Twink?"
Rachel pressed her lips together. "Fuller really doesn't like you." She then leaned over to check the road and pulled out of the forest trail and onto the road.
"They had to explain to me what that meant, actually," Raylan offered. "Can you tell me why Fuller thinks you're gay?"
Rachel made an aborted giggle and then snorted.
"Oh, no," Tim said, realizing what he had so wrongly insinuated earlier during the car ride with Carlyle. He looked out the window and shook his head. "It was a spur of the moment thing."
"How the hell can that be a spur of the moment thing?" Raylan asked.
Tim just waved his hand. "He really said that?"
The other two nodded. "Mullen had that look on his face, though. The look that says Fuller is going to get transferred somewhere he doesn't like," Rachel offered.
They spent the rest of the drive in silence and at some point Tim nodded off, because the next time he opened his eyes, they were within the city limits of Lexington and on their way to the hospital closest to the station.
"Sleep well?" Raylan asked.
"Fantastic."
"We'll have to drop you off and get back to the station," Rachel said. "Mullen wants to see us." She drove the car to the emergency entrance and let Tim hop out.
"You'll be alright?" Raylan asked.
"No worries," Tim replied and closed the car door behind him after he had checked that he had his wallet and badge on him. He could make out the blurry shape of the entrance.
He heard the door to the backseat slam and suddenly Raylan was next to him, an arm on his back. "I'll take you in."
"I could've managed."
"You could've, I'm sure," Raylan replied and shoved him in the right direction.
"Thanks," Tim offered. Raylan didn't say anything. Behind them, Rachel drove off to report back in.
* * *
A few hours later, Tim returned to the office. Raylan had left him in a cubicle in the emergency room and then left to take care of things. Tim wasn't even fully awake for the procedure. He was X-rayed and prodded all over until they finally stitched him up and sent him on his way. He was wearing a scrub shirt, because the nurse had cut his undershirt off his back to get at the wounds. He was now stitched up, stuck together, and covered in bandages that peeked out from under the loose shirt. His right arm was tucked in with a sling. He pushed the door to the squad room open and took a breath before walking towards Mullen's office. He had left the office this morning, thinking it was going to be a boring day. Now he could barely believe that it was still that day.
Mullen waved him in and asked him to sit down. "You okay, son?"
Tim smiled and nodded. "Nothing that killed me."
Mullen made a face. "You're going to write a report tomorrow. The number of shots you fired, in what ways exactly Fuller fucked up, every detail. Slather it on thick when it comes to the way Carlyle tried to kill you. I don't want that fucker out any time soon."
Tim nodded. "Tomorrow," he promised and got out of the chair. He found himself swaying. He sat back down and smiled. "They gave me a shot of something," he explained.
"Get Raylan to drive you home," Mullen said and narrowed his eyes. "Do you have a concussion?"
Tim shrugged with the shoulder that wasn't tied down with a sling. "A bit. A bit bruised."
"I think I'll have the hospital file sent over. You're not fast enough for just 'a bit bruised'."
"Cracked ribs," Tim added. "But no nerve damage, nothing too serious. Maybe some sick leave."
Mullen made a face that Tim interpreted as exasperation. He held his hands up. "I didn't say it. I said, it's alright. You don't pry, I don't admit to anything."
Mullen snorted. "Don't ask, don't tell?"
Tim wanted to throw his hands up in defeat, but hissed when his arm and ribs didn't cooperate. "It was a mistake, alright? I wanted to make a joke. It came out wrong." He would regret this for a good while to come.
"Came out?" Raylan suddenly asked behind him.
"You're all a bunch of dicks," Tim succinctly concluded and turned to Raylan. "Would you drive me home?"
Raylan held up his car keys. "Already on my way. Come on. Let's get some alcohol in you. Numb the pain."
Mullen stopped them before he left. "Good job, Tim," he said and nodded at him. "You did a good job. And you didn't kill anyone. Unlike Raylan here," he admonished quietly. "Be back tomorrow to give a statement and type up your report, and you can have the rest of the week off."
"Will do, boss."
"Yeah, will do," Raylan repeated Tim's words. "I did kill someone again, didn't I?"
Mullen grinned. "You and Tim can share the pain of the inquiry then."
Glad that he didn't have to drive home by himself, Tim let Raylan herd him out the door and down to the car. He blissfully emptied his head and just went where Raylan pushed him. He was barely awake for the drive, which seemed unusually short. When they were at his place, he made himself comfortable on the couch and told Raylan to make himself at home. And then he fell asleep.
* * *
Tim woke an hour later when Raylan nudged him. He came to with a heavy headache. Concussion, he assumed. First time he had one of those was in Afghanistan. Chopper crash. He had gotten banged up, so they had pumped him full with too many drugs for him to feel a headache.
"You probably shouldn't sleep here," Raylan said and nodded towards the bedroom. He was holding a bottle of beer that was half empty.
"I always sleep here," Tim replied and blinked at Raylan tiredly. He wanted to rub his eyes, but aborted the movement when his arm and ribs protested. His whole body seemed to be protesting to being awake. "Why are you still here?" he asked at the same time as Raylan said, "What do you mean you always sleep here?"
Before either of them could reply, Raylan went over to the bedroom door and opened it. He peeked inside and finally stepped into the bedroom before poking his head back out. "Have you ever slept in that bed?"
"Only when I fuck someone."
Raylan hummed and turned back. "I hope you're not fucking what's lying on the bed."
Tim grinned. "That rifle is a beautiful thing, but it's also cold and hard." He finally brought his arm up and rubbed over his face. "What are you still doing here," he repeated his question.
"I want to make sure you're not concussed in the way some people are before they slip into a coma and die." Raylan closed the door to the bedroom behind him and looked at Tim. "Your bedroom has bars in front of the window."
Tim rolled his eyes. "It's very defensible that way." He didn't tell Raylan that the guy who had rented the place before him had been a paranoid schizophrenic. Tim could sleep anywhere. He slept lightly enough to wake up if anyone tried to come inside.
Raylan made an 'ah' sound like he had just realized something. "Ah, you're paranoid."
Tim winked and pointed at Raylan. "Very true that." He frowned at Raylan. "Actually, so should you be, what with the people who come after you in your motel room all the time."
Raylan tilted his head like he was thinking about it. Tim nodded. "See?" he asked and closed his eyes again.
"You're going back to sleep, aren't you?" Raylan asked and finished the beer.
"Yep." Tim didn't open his eyes again, but listened to Raylan put the bottle down and open the door to the bedroom again. A heavy thud told him Raylan had put the rifle on the drawer and the following creak of bed springs said he was lying down.
"This is quite comfortable," Raylan shouted into the living room and added, "You should try it some time."
"Go home," Tim replied.
"I can't. It's not secure. People come around there to kill me all the time," Raylan replied.
Tim laughed, but stopped when his headache flared up. He fell asleep again before he realized it.
The next morning, Tim woke up to the sound of water running in the shower. He got up slowly, thinking it looked a lot better if he did the groaning and wincing when there was no one to witness it. He went into the kitchen and opened the fridge, which didn't have a lot to offer in the ways of breakfast. He fished out a bell pepper and bit into it while he let water run into the coffee pot. The water shut off just as he started the brewing process.
"I was wondering about that," Raylan said when Tim finished the bell pepper and threw the end into the trash can.
"My eating habits?"
"Your vegetable habits, to be exact."
Tim grabbed the box of cherry tomatoes from the fridge and popped one into his mouth. "Why?"
Raylan made a throwaway gesture. "Never mind. Anything edible in there, too?" He picked up a half-empty bag of peanut M&Ms, shook it, and put it back.
"Cornflakes or toast?" Tim asked and grabbed a mug from the cupboard for Raylan. His own was still on the drying rack from the last time he had used it.
"Toast," he said in a way that trailed off, as if to imply eggs and bacon would follow that list.
"Dry or with cream cheese?" Tim asked with a smile.
"Right," Raylan said with disgust in his voice and grabbed his hat. "Go shower, make yourself presentable, and let's go."
"I'll be right out."
Raylan nodded. "You might want to hang something in front of the mirror. You look like a battered housewife today."
"I kind of feel like one, too," Tim replied and reached up to catalogue his face as he walked in to his bedroom. He definitely had a shiner, he thought, because his left eyesocket and cheekbone felt bruised. There also seemed to be an abrasion on his jaw - probably from the shrapnel and bits of tree that had exploded in his face.
"Might want to grow a beard for a couple of days," Raylan offered from behind him, pointing out in his own face what seemed to be wrong with Tim's when he turned to face him. The way Raylan was grinning, whatever was wrong covered Tim's whole face.
"Right." In the bathroom, Tim realized that Raylan had been right. On the other hand, his face looked a lot worse than it felt. He had certainly felt worse before. He pulled the scrub shirt off and looked at his torso. It didn't look good for field duty.
He showered and put bandages where he could reach. He cursed when he realized his shoulder and back was completely out of his reach.
"Want me to help you out?" Raylan asked suddenly from the entrance of the bathroom.
"I figure what I can't reach doesn't need bandages anymore," Tim replied and reached for his shirt.
"Well, while I'm here," Raylan began and took the large bandage. "Stretch your arm out," he ordered and waited until Tim had done so before he put the bandage on. "Good boy," Raylan praised when he was done. He helped Tim into his shirt and looked at him in the mirror.
"I might cash in that favor next time I need help."
"No problem."
Tim felt it took a bit of the sting of the other day's gay jokes out. Raylan seemed to think the same, because he opened his mouth with a smirk on his lips, but shut it again when he decided otherwise. "Let's go," he said instead and went ahead.
He tapped his hand on the doorframe, pointing out the extra lock on the door. "I'm pretty sure that's not standard issue either."
"It's not?" Tim asked and locked the door behind him.
"I'm not sure whether to tell Rachel about this yet."
"Well, I'm not going to tell you not to," Tim said. "I'm not ashamed of my paranoia. Or the hallucinations. Or the voices in my head that sometimes tell me to punch you."
Raylan tipped his head. "Art might be interested. He's a bit worried about you."
"He is?"
"You drink too much and eat too little. You're off. You sometimes shoot people. You're too good at shooting people. He caught you sleeping in your chair once. And then there was that time where you drew your weapon when you woke up in the car during a stakeout. He worries about all sorts of things."
"I eat a lot," Tim rectified. "I just do it where Art can't watch me with those suspicious eyes of his."
"He told me you're the only one who eats the XL Snickers bars from the vending machine and that he can tell by the speed at which they disappear just how often you sleep there."
"Lies," Tim said. "Randy eats them. Mattison, too."
"I do, too," Raylan admitted.
Tim's eyebrows went up. "And did you tell him that?"
Raylan laughed. "No way. It's much funnier to watch him watch you, knowing what goes through his head."
"I suppose Art is a Cosby type of dad," Tim mused as he locked the door behind him. He wouldn't know. Raylan didn't, either.
"I assume he is," Raylan replied. "He likes us."
Tim chuckled. "There's the difference."
They went to the car Raylan had parked there. Tim sat in the passenger seat and buckled in before Raylan followed suit. Then Raylan pulled out of the parking lot and into the street and took them to the station.
"Why would Fuller lie?" Tim asked once they were under way.
Raylan shrugged. "Afraid he'd lose his job?"
"Afraid he'd look stupid for losing a prisoner," Tim added.
"Men do stupid things for stupid reasons," Raylan replied. "He might not have thought anything."
"You know, I never know when you're shitting me and when not," Raylan complained when they were sitting at their desks. He looked at Tim and shook his head.
"Why? What happened?" Tim asked. He had no idea what Raylan was talking about. He found his facial expression rather endearing. The great Deputy Marshal Givens, pouting.
"Rachel told me," Raylan said. "About the schizophrenic guy who used to live in your apartment."
Tim laughed and looked over to where Rachel was talking to a fellow Deputy. "Ah."
"So no PTSD."
Tim shrugged. "I don't know about that. I'm a lucky guy, though. No sleepless nights, no waking up in the middle of the night. No zoning out."
Raylan hummed. "Why'd you stop?"
Tim didn't want to answer that. He didn't want to admit to Raylan of all people that he had been afraid of where he was headed. He had told Raylan about those snipers who couldn't pull the trigger when they got the green light after taking their targets to the movies. He had, however, not told Raylan that he had almost been jealous of those guys. He had never once hesitated. He had played an imaginary round of Scrabble with his target, and the next he had shot it without flinching. It had worried him, knowing that there were guys out there who still had a conscience - knowing that he didn't anymore.
"I was too good," Tim said then and tried to smile the way he always did. He hoped it didn't look too much like a grimace. Then he got up and walked to the door and outside into the hallway. He really didn't want to see Raylan's face right now. He wanted to be left in the belief that they were both shooters who killed too easily. It would be worse if Raylan wasn't. He didn't want that right now. He turned towards the vending machine and got himself a Snickers bar. There was nothing to talk about. Everything was fine.
Art found him at the back door to the parking lot half an hour later and stood next to him, looking at the gleaming tops of the squad cars like he didn't care. "Everything alright?"
Tim nodded.
Art stayed where he was. He looked like he dreaded where this conversation was going. "You remember when I sent you down to Grant?"
Tim nodded again and unwrapped the Snickers bar. He bit into it and licked the chocolate splinters from his fingers.
"I'm never going to tell you to do that again," Art said.
"You said that." Tim hadn't minded being loaned out by his boss. It was just one more kill that no one could confirm. At least this one didn't involve lying in the desert for two days to get done.
Mullen pressed his lips together. "Somehow I don't think you believe me."
Before Tim could reply that he didn't, because he shouldn't make such promises when it was so easy to lend Tim to another agency, Mullen repeated himself. "I won't let you do that again."
Tim grinned. "You don't realize that you already did," he said.
Mullen frowned. He really had no idea, it seemed. Tim could have sworn they had told Mullen at least a little bit about what had happened.
Tim smiled. "That vacation in January," he said. "Wasn't a vacation."
Mullen narrowed his eyes. "Tim, you're a US Marshal now. They can't just-" he broke off, looking for the right words. "Tell you to switch off targets anymore."
"Why not? You have." Tim raised a hand to keep Mullen from defending his decision. "I'm a sniper. And I'll always be a Ranger before I'm a US Marshal. That's why Rachel's your good girl and Raylan's the one who at least tries to make it look like he had to shoot." He finished his chocolate bar and threw the wrapper into the waste bin. "I'm just the guy who switches the lights off," he finished and licked his fingers.
"Jesus," Mullen said and looked at Tim. Then he pulled the door open again and ushered Tim inside. "This is not how this works here in this office," he told Tim. He looked angry and worried, all wrapped into one.
Tim didn't reply. He just made his way to the office in front of Mullen. He held his ribs on the stairs and turned to Art. "I know how you feel about your knees now," he said, trying to switch topics.
Mullen went along with it, but Tim had the suspicion that what had been said earlier would come back sooner or later.
"Write that report and go home," Mullen said. "I'll get someone to drive you."
"What happens with Fuller?" Tim asked.
"He's going to transfer," Mullen promised, a dangerous smile in his face. "I'll find someone who'll take him off my hands. I took Raylan, maybe I can send Fuller to Grant."
In the office, Tim moved to his desk and sat down. Mullen looked at him and sighed. "What am I going to do with you?" he asked.
Rachel looked at them both. "Maybe stash him somewhere safe for a while," she suggested.
Raylan snorted. "That wasn't how I was going to tell him."
Tim and Mullen looked at each other, frowning. "What's going on?" Mullen asked.
"Well," Raylan started and looked at Rachel, making a vague hand gesture. "Do you remember Doyle, Tim?" he asked, almost innocently.
"Point blank, almost no wind, very easy," Tim replied crudely, to annoy Mullen.
Raylan didn't seem to find it funny either, judging by the way they all looked at him.
"Oh, c'mon. Sure, Doyle Bennett. I know I killed him."
"Well, it turns out that Dickie somehow knows Carlyle," Rachel said, laying the file on the desk, open.
Mullen stared at the file and made the connection. "Dickie. Doyle. Carlyle."
Tim frowned. "I don't think-"
Raylan took a deep breath. "Look, it doesn't have to mean anything."
Rachel looked at Tim. "Did Carlyle say anything? Did Dickie tell him to avenge his brother?"
"Get Fuller in here," Mullen hissed. "If he has anything to do with this," he began. Tim interrupted him.
"Dickie couldn't have known that I would get sent to do the transport," Tim denied that this was anything more than a coincidence. "I'm not sure Dickie even knows that I shot his brother."
"There were witnesses," Rachel said.
"But he's right," Raylan said to her. "No one knew Tim would get the transport. I'm pretty sure Dickie didn't call Carlyle from his prison cell - to Carlyle's prison cell at that - to tell him to try and avenge his brother on the off chance that he ran into him."
Tim nodded. "That's how I see it."
Mullen agreed. "Alright. But visit Dickie anyway. See how he's doing, if he's thinking about that."
Tim smiled suddenly, throwing Mullen off. "Hey, Raylan. I just realized that means I might've had a hit taken out on me."
"Welcome to the club," Raylan replied seriously and shook Tim's hand. "It's a privilege, having someone hate you enough to send people after you."
"Don't joke about this, boys," Rachel said, disgust in her face.
"She's right," Mullen added. "I like my Marshals unthreatened."
Tim leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. "Maybe it's good my bedroom window is barred."
Rachel chuckled. "Raylan was really upset about that. He believed you."
"I did," Raylan said. "But then, what does that say about Tim, that I totally believe he's seriously paranoid and deranged?"
Tim let the conversation flow over him. Mullen excused himself and walked away. The next thing Tim heard was the door to Mullen's office close. He had a report to write, but right now, that chair was too damn comfortable to move.
"Sleep well," Rachel murmured and went back to typing.
Raylan shuffled paper and files before his chair creaked, telling Tim he was getting up. "I'm getting some coffee."
"Hot cocoa for me," Tim demanded, eyes still closed.
"No problem."
Tim fell asleep in his chair before Raylan returned.
the mess you find yourself in
Tim was late to the meeting because the vending machine was refusing to give change again that morning. He slipped in quietly, took his usual chair and tried to look as if he'd come in with the others - knowing that it wouldn't fool Mullen.
His smile, or maybe the way he scratched his temple, was enough to attract Mullen's attention. Possibly it was the way he tried to sneakily unwrap his breakfast - an extra large Snickers bar.
"What are you looking so cheerful about?" Mullen asked him, narrowing his eyes like he was serious.
Tim stopped tearing the wrapper open and looked at Brooks, who was sitting across from him, trying to find out what the reason for the boss' unhappy mood was. Rachel just shook her head at him, which made Mullen zero in at her.
"Nothing, sir," Tim replied, hoping to distract the boss. If Mullen snapped at Rachel, Rachel would snap at Tim. At least this way he still had her on his side. "What can I do for you today?" he asked.
Mullen grinned in a way that made Tim regret his careless offer. Rachel rolled her eyes.
"You can take Fuller and escort a prisoner for me. Joshua Carlyle," Mullen said. "I was going to give the job to Raylan, seeing as he hasn't bothered to show up at all, but I think you'll enjoy this one."
Tim nodded. He didn't see the problem yet.
"He's a bit anti-government," Rachel mumbled.
"He won't like me then," Tim mused. He had to deal with men like that daily and didn't mind showing them what kind of hand-to-hand combat came naturally to an Army Ranger.
Mullen suddenly spoke up. "He also doesn't like riding in cars, or getting his handcuffs put on. He's also a head taller than you and weighs about twice as much as you do."
Tim froze. That sounded less and less like the boring job he had expected. "No problem." He pressed his lips together; it was definitely the shit job of the day.
All Tim knew about Deputy Marshal Fuller was that he was still considered a rookie, still green behind the ears. He had screwed up a job once and had been suspended for it, and even though Tim didn't know why, he knew it had to have been something small, otherwise the boss would have chucked him out. The grapevine didn't have anything else on him, but to become a Marshal, he had to have some experience, and if Mullen sent him along on a prisoner transport, Tim trusted him to be able to do his job. He was also heavier than Tim, which sounded like a good idea for this transport.
He only half-listened to the rest of the meeting and munched on his Snickers bar. Rachel eyed it like she hadn't had one of those in a while. Tim smiled at her and offered it to her when he was halfway through. Rachel, just as uninterested in the new techniques law enforcement was using in road blocks, measured out a space between her thumb and index finger. Mullen cleared his throat, but just rolled his eyes when Tim took another bite and then slid the rest of the chocolate bar across the table towards her on the handout that summarized the new road block regulations.
Raylan came in just as the meeting was finished, looking both surprised that it was already over and happy that he had timed his arrival so perfectly.
"Well done," Tim murmured as he slid past.
"Raylan, into my office."
"Well," Tim said and looked around the squad room. "I better find Fuller. If we're not back in time for lunch, send out a search party."
Rachel snorted. "We'll find you bulldozed flat like a loony toon. Have you seen that guy?" She asked and looked at her monitor, obviously having called up Carlyle's arrest sheet. "He's really tall."
Tim brought a hand up and made the ASL sign for 'clever' against his temple. "And I'm really smart."
Rachel eyed him, letting him see her measure him with eyebrows that said, 'And you're skinny like a weasel.' "Which means you'll let Fuller take him down if it comes to that?"
Tim pursed his lips. "Exactly. Fuller looks like he was a quarterback."
"You are an Army Ranger," she countered as if that should make him take the responsibility.
"It won't come to that," he calmed her down. "We're grown-up men. We're not afraid of a brick wall with anger issues."
He found Fuller quickly in the changing rooms. "Has Mullen already briefed you?" Tim asked like he would ask any recruit. Fuller nodded, not giving much away. "He called me in. I was just on my way out."
Tim had no idea what to make of that reply so he nodded and smiled. "Ready to go then?"
Fuller nodded again. It appeared that he was the strong and silent type. Tim knew how to deal with those. He turned on his heel and was faced with a widely smiling Raylan.
"Thanks for taking this one," Raylan said as if Tim had had a choice.
Tim just smiled in return as if he knew something that Raylan didn't. Let the bastard chew on that for the rest of the day. Judging by Raylan's eyebrows, he had succeeded. He patted Raylan on the shoulder in passing and went on to his desk. There, he phoned to the car park to get them a car ready and fuelled and let Fuller know they would be meeting up downstairs. He had to get something from the armory first.
When they met up in the car park, Fuller told him he was being ridiculous. Tim put away the large rifle case in the trunk and shook his head. "I'm not going into the field without a rifle."
"This isn't going into the field," Fuller contested. "This is a car ride."
"In that case, I'm not riding a car without a rifle." An Army Ranger didn't do anything without his gun.
Fuller bit something back and got into the driver's seat like it was a privilege. Tim much rather went in the passenger seat anyway. He buckled in and slouched, waiting for Fuller to realize that he had done him an involuntary favor. As a result, the ride to the court was short and quiet.
The guards of the court prison were glad they were coming. As per informal agreement, Tim and Fuller waited at the gate to sign that they were taking over the prisoner. They quickly discovered that Carlyle was indeed a head taller than, and twice as heavy as Tim. Fuller took one look at Tim and strode forward to take the prisoner from the guards. It would have looked gentlemanly, had Tim not known the thought process behind it. Fuller thought Tim wasn't built to take the prisoner and at the same time was questioning Tim's right to be there at all. Stroking a hand down his flat torso, Tim nodded at the guards and signed. "Ready to roll," he said and took the plastic bag with Carlyle's personal effects. As soon as he had done so, the large prisoner twisted and rammed Fuller into the wall of the corridor. Fuller checked him right back, making it look very accidental when he rammed Carlyle's head into the wall.
"Stay on the line," Fuller shouted in Carlyle's ear and frog marched him to the doors. The guard there quickly opened it to let them through. Tim followed and turned when the gate was locked again behind him.
Outside, Fuller pushed a curiously docile Carlyle into the car. Tim went around to the passenger seat and got in. "We didn't bring tranquilizer darts, but I have two Halcyon on me," he promised Carlyle.
Carlyle narrowed his eyes at him. "It's because of you they repealed don't ask don't tell," was his answer.
Tim grinned at Fuller, only to find that Fuller didn't seem to find that funny at all. So he made a kissy face at Carlyle and nodded. "Too bad I was already out by then." Only after he'd said it, he realized that while he had meant 'out of the Army', Carlyle had probably read that as 'out of the closet'. He was an idiot. On the other hand, it would make a great anecdote to tell Raylan and Rachel later. Fuller coughed. It seemed he had followed Tim's thought. Now he was laughing. Great. Tim looked out of the window as Carlyle told him what a disgrace he was to humanity. There wasn't much he could say now that would make Carlyle think he wasn't actually batting for that team to keep him quiet.
The drive onto the I-64 and out of the city was slow - not only because of the bad traffic. After they had left the city behind them and were heading east towards Charleston, the prisoner's hate tirade seemed to be slowing down. He had brushed the government, Judaism, homosexuality, and for some reason also PETA in his speech. Fuller had started honking at the cars in front of him in a fit of road rage, and Tim was calculating the drop rate of imaginary shots at that kind of wind and humidity and wished he could put the radio on without starting a fight. He would get back at Raylan for making him take shit detail.
Some time - too long, in Tim's opinion - after they had started, and with two hours still to go, they decided to make a pit stop at a gas station. Fuller parked close to the side of the station in a secluded spot and Tim went inside the truck stop café to have a look at the people there. It was standard procedure. Once he decided the air was clean, he would go outside and man the door while Fuller took Carlyle inside. That was the plan. The problem was that Fuller seemed to think it was okay to go ahead with Tim still in the café, because all of a sudden a woman shouted and pointed outside.
Tim drew his weapon, but by the time he reached the door, their squad car had already revved up and was speeding away and onto the street. He dove onto the ground and took aim. It took him almost until the car was around the bend to fire, but when he did, the bullet hit its target with precision. The tire went with a loud bang and the car swerved. It continued on, despite the flat tire, but it was slowed down and Tim was sure he wouldn't get far.
Tim looked around to see if Fuller was there or in the car, but he couldn't see him. He got up and started running after the car. He ran onto the road and towards the bend in the road that was blocking his view. When he had reached it, he saw that the car had crashed into a tree at the side of the road. He held himself covered and had his weapon drawn as he neared the car. He ducked and weaved, hoping Carlyle wasn't smart enough to stay behind and try to take him out. It would certainly maximize his chances of getting away. He had chosen the wrong escort - a hunter and Army Ranger sniper was certainly the last thing an escaped prisoner wanted this closely on his heels.
At the car it became clear that Carlyle hadn't stayed behind. The driver's door was open and Fuller was in the passenger seat, head bleeding from where he had crashed against the door.
"Fuller," Tim barked and knelt on the driver's seat. He held a hand to Fuller's neck to get his pulse. He was awake and blinked. "Wake up," Tim hissed to alert Fuller and fumbled for the radio.
Suddenly, Fuller snapped properly awake and looked around wildly. "Carlyle!" he croaked and tried to sit up. He groaned and stayed where he was.
"Get help. Call in reinforcements," Tim ordered. He didn't wait for Fuller to obey but pressed the radio into his hand and left to get his rifle from the trunk. He was not going to let that man get away. They were next to the Daniel Boone National Forest and a manhunt in that area could take weeks. He had no time to lose. When the rifle was put together, his extra magazines shoved in his pockets. He got a GPS and a walkie-talkie from the equipment box and closed the trunk.
In the cabin, he heard Fuller call in reinforcements and took a moment to assess the damage. Carlyle had clearly cut his hand trying to get out of the car. The side window on the driver's side was smashed, and there was blood on the door handle. He had clearly tried to get out there first before he had realized that he was too heavy. Looking around the vehicle told him where Carlyle had started his trip.
"Does he have your gun?" he asked. Fuller shook his head to say no.
"Can I leave you alone?" he asked Fuller and tried to see how badly hurt his colleague was. The man seemed just dazed, but one could never know with head wounds. If Fuller was well enough to be left alone, Tim would go after Carlyle.
"I'm good," Fuller said and slumped against the seat.
"Don't forget to call yourself an ambulance," Tim said. "I've got GPS and radio. I'll call in where to pick us up, or where to meet me if I can't find him." He didn't think he would fail, but it was better to have someone come meet him from the other side just in case; preferably someone from his team.
"I'm on my way. See you later."
Fuller's goodbye was the last thing Tim heard before he was out of earshot. He stopped short at the guard rail and tried to find out where Carlyle had gone next. It was easy enough to see where he had slid down the ravine. Tim slung his rifle over his shoulder and followed Carlyle down into Daniel Boone National Forest.
* * *
Back at the office, dispatch called through to Mullen's office and reported the car crash and Fuller's call. Mullen cursed and let dispatch give him the GPS coordinates to the car.
"Send cars out there to secure a reasonable area and establish road blocks. I don't want that guy to get away."
Then he opened his door and called out to Raylan, Rachel, and Mattison's team. "Emergency meeting on the way to the car park," he said and ushered them into the staircase. He would brief them on the way.
"Dispatch just called. Fuller just called in that they were in a car crash. Carlyle's escaped. They're somewhere past Owingsville."
"What about Tim?" Rachel asked while Raylan was already opening the door to the car park to lead the posse.
"He's gone after Carlyle. He took a GPS locator and a radio with him. Dispatch knows where he is and will keep us updated. Let's move out."
Mattison organized his team into two groups, each taking a car. "We'll get dispatch to guide us in," he said and was on his way. Mullen loved how effective Mattison was. Each and every time he jumped before anyone could ask him to.
Raylan nodded at the other team leader and got a car for them.
Mullen grabbed the radio as soon as they were on their way. Mattison was a few car lengths ahead already.
"Tim knows what he's doing, so let's give him the lead on this. He has a radio and will call in when he needs to. Until we hear something from him, we'll just follow him and trust that he has the situation under control. And just in case, we'll come from the other side as well."
One of Mattison's Deputies replied, "Dispatch just sent coordinates. Gutterson is moving southwest from the road. No way to come from another side."
Mullen smiled. "No worries. We'll find a way."
* * *
At the bottom, Tim took his rifle in his hands again and started jogging after Carlyle. The prisoner had clearly full-out run, but judging by his body fat and the time he had spent locked up lately, he was out of shape and wouldn't be able to hold that speed for very long. Tim had to be careful not to run into a trap in his haste. He ran daily and was in good shape, which meant he wouldn't feel the need to slow down as fast as Carlyle would.
He tried to figure out where Carlyle was heading and stopped to take in the forest around him. He breathed out through his mouth and listened attentively. It was eerily quiet. Then, he heard a crack of wood somewhere ahead of him and knew he was heading in the right direction. He moved a little to his left and sped up his tempo again, jogging parallel to the path Carlyle had taken.
A while later, he came to a halt to listen to the forest again. He realized they had come to the river that was running through the forest already. He had studied the map in the car and remembered a bridge ahead on the road. The river had to make a bend somewhere or it wouldn't be that close. He tried to hear the forest, but the nearby rushing river prevented him from hearing anything else. Deciding it was useless to try and make out any other sounds, he started walking again. Suddenly, he heard something behind him, but before he could react better than with a raised arm, his shoulder and head exploded in pain and he fell before he could brace himself. There was nothing he could do to stop Carlyle from jumping him - the tree limb he had hit Tim over the head with still in his hand. Before Carlyle could hit him again, Tim got one in with the metal stock of his rifle. Carlyle roared with pain.
The momentum Tim gained from that, and the distance it put between him and Carlyle allowed him to take a breath. Carlyle came at him again and with an angry cry, he tried to knock Tim's rifle from his hands by smashing the wood against his hand. Tim didn't let go of his weapon so quickly - still holding the rifle with one hand he retaliated with a fist made of his free hand to Carlyle's temple.
Tim didn't realize how close they had come to the river until the roaring of the water was loud in his ears. It occurred to him that when Carlyle had realized Tim was following him, he had probably changed his escape route to lead them here. He didn't remember reading in Carlyle's file that he knew this forest well, but the many camping spots in the area probably meant he had spent some time here in the past. Tim tried to make it his advantage and turn this fight around to get Carlyle to drop in the water, knowing that he had little chance to win against Carlyle in a fair fight, but Carlyle's sheer strength seemed to speak against even that option.
Tim got a few hits in, but he knew Carlyle was in the lead. He was used to getting hit, had been his whole life, but the strength behind Carlyle's hits wore him down. In return, his own hits barely seemed to faze Carlyle. Tim realized quickly that his only chance was to get a shot off. He could feel his head spinning, but at least the pain had taken a backseat to necessity. Adrenaline was a glorious chemical.
All of a sudden, his foot slipped and he fell backwards. Carlyle was laughing above him when he hit the water. He nearly lost the rifle when he crashed into the cold water, but was not too dazed to hold on to it. His comrades would be ashamed of him if he lost his weapon - it was the one thing a soldier never surrendered. The first hostage situation he had ever been in with the Marshal service had almost cost him his life because he steadfast refused to surrender his gun. He felt himself be tugged along by the crashing waves and struggled to come to the surface to take deep breaths. He swam and paddled until he could grab at a hanging tree at the side of the river. He pulled himself up and took a moment to catch his breath. If he wanted to climb back up to the forest ground, he would need his strength back. He slung the rifle over his shoulder again, hoping the water hadn't rendered it useless. It took him a moment, but he managed to get a hold of a crevice in the rock. Getting up there felt like climbing an 11+.
* * *
Back at the crash site, Mattison's team arrived. Fuller was already sitting in the back of an ambulance, getting his knee and head checked out. He was dazed, but clearly feeling mutinous.
Mattison got a local road map from the ambulance driver and asked her for more information on the area. There were a few campsites in the forest so they would have to make sure that no one was endangered.
When Mullen arrived, they had already found a way to come from the other side. Rachel joined them. She wanted to go around and cut Carlyle off.
"What happened, Fuller?" Mullen asked. Raylan watched carefully as Fuller cleared his throat. He seemed nervous.
"We were at the gas station around the bend there," he said, pointing in the direction they had come from. "Everything went according to plan, but suddenly Carlyle got away. It happened so fast. I jumped in before he could drive off."
Raylan wasn't sure how it was possible for two US Marshals to let someone like Carlyle to get away if everything went according to plan. He wondered where Tim had been. The evidence of candy wrappers on the dash said Tim had been in the passenger seat. He looked at the black rubber swerve marks on the road and the flat tire and found a theory that worked with the facts.
"You should've sent someone other than that twink, really," Fuller then said. "I mean, someone bigger, you know?"
Mullen shook his head and shared a look with Raylan. "I'm not sure what you mean, actually. Fact is, you're sitting here with a busted leg and a headache, while my guy is hunting a prisoner down without backup."
Raylan narrowed his eyes and turned away. Something was off here. He went over to where Rachel was discussing ways to cut Carlyle's way off and listened in.
When they were done and Rachel asked him what he thought of the plan, Raylan nodded. "We'll follow them, just in case they change directions." He took one of the radios that a Deputy Marshal was handing out and switched it to their frequency. At least that way he was sure Tim was going to get him first. He saw Rachel do the same.
Suddenly, one of Mattison's Deputies interrupted them. "Dispatch has lost Gutterson's signal."
Raylan and Mattison looked at each other and started giving orders. They had no time to lose.
Once they had made their way down to the ravine, Raylan's radio crackled and Tim's familiar voice sounded through the speakers. "Tango Golf?" Raylan asked.
* * *
When Tim was back on the forest floor again, he gulped in deep breaths and cursed himself because breathing that deeply hurt like a bitch. In fact, everything hurt. He felt like an idiot for losing that fight. He tugged at his belt and pulled the radio out. It was water-logged but still working. The GPS hadn't survived the fall. He hadn't realized he had hit something on the way down, but the GPS tracker was shattered.
"Lexington US Marshal's Office," he muttered when he had selected the right frequency - 'their' channel. "Tango Golf, calling Lexington."
"Tango Golf?" Raylan's voice came through the radio's speaker. He sounded calm, but with an edge to it. Maybe he knew that Fuller had screwed up the pit stop. He appreciated incompetent men even less than Tim did.
"I lost the GPS in the river," Tim said - more slowly now that he had his breath back.
"What were you doing in the river?"
Tim sighed and let his arm drop to the ground, walkie talkie crackling in his hand. If only he knew. "I'm going after him again. Just… follow the river. We're about fifteen minutes in from where I left Fuller. Southwest. More south now."
"Will do," Raylan offered and ignored radio protocol by simply cutting their conversation short.
"Roger that," Tim told nobody and slowly unbuttoned his shirt. He sat up and knowing that it would cost him a minute now but might save his life later, he took the rifle apart and laid it on his relatively clean shirt. He made sure the rifle wasn't retaining water that could cause it to blow up later and checked the barrel for any traces of dirt or water. He quickly put it back together again and put his shirt back on. Then he shouldered the rifle. At least that was still functional.
Then he got up again. He had a prisoner to catch. Carefully, he swiped the cleanest bit of his wet shirt over his face to wipe away the blood that was still dripping into his eyes. Then he started walking back in the direction he had come from with the river. It was not even noon and he was already exhausted.
Judging from the way Carlyle hadn't waited at the car crash to ambush him, Tim didn't think he would check the river now to make sure he was really out of commission. Instead, he mapped the way they had come and noted the way Carlyle had moved west towards the river instead of south where they had come from. Tim was fairly certain Carlyle knew his way around the county, and the huge forest was most likely hiding some places he had friends at.
Once he was back at the place of their fight, he looked down at the riverbank to see if Carlyle had left a trail. He had. Tim wondered if Carlyle had ever hunted. It certainly didn't look like he knew how to cover his tracks, or that someone could read him so easily. The ambush earlier, however, told Tim that Carlyle at least knew how to get a drop on him now. He would have to be more careful.
Tim thought he had lost about ten minutes, but going at about twice Carlyle's speed and steadily so, probably meant he had already caught up. Ahead of him was a slope down like a hill side and Tim stopped and dropped to his stomach at the crest to observe the forest ahead of him. He pulled the rifle to him and looked through the scope. He couldn't lose the prisoner now, not after he had already put so much work into the hunt. He tried to find out where the other man had run down the slope and found the spot easily enough. Carlyle had gained momentum there and seemed to have disappeared. Used to spotting for himself, Tim pulled his binoculars out and looked for traces of his prisoner. To his dismay, he spotted a lodge not far away. Two trucks were in front. He switched to the rifle sight and leaned his cheek on the stock of the gun. Two trucks, fire coming from the chimney. Carlyle had to have had this in mind when he had run south. He had to know this was here. Tim waited until he found that he had indeed caught up and that Carlyle had probably gone in just moments before he had arrived at the hilltop. Right now, four men were coming out of the house, three laden with rifles and one, Carlyle himself, with a shotgun. Tim crept back on his stomach and brought the radio to his mouth.
"Lexington come in," he whispered. The sound probably didn't carry that well in this forest, but it paid to be careful.
"Tango Golf?" Mullen's voice came over the speaker, crackling like the connection was bad.
"Carlyle went south, arrived at a hut in the woods. Four men - three rifles, one shotgun. I think they might be coming after me. There's a trail leading here though." A look through the sight of the rifle told him that he was right.
"Don't let them get you," Mullen grunted, telling Tim what he wanted to know. Yes he could defend himself, if necessary he was given the clear to shoot them dead, but if at all possible, just winging them was preferred. "We're right behind you. Bravo is taking a car to that cabin right now." Rachel. She'd take care of things from the cabin side. Now he just hoped the others were fast enough. He wouldn't hesitate to kill those men, but he hadn't woken up with the intention of ending the day with bloodshed.
Deciding this was the right moment to see if the rifle still worked, Tim calmly put Carlyle in his sights. Wind and humidity worked for him in this forest and he easily fired a shot into the tree next to Carlyle as a warning - then he took cover and waited. He was happy to hear the shot go off so well. The men at the bottom of the hillside immediately took cover and shot back, emptying probably a clip each into the empty forest. Idiots. Tim listened to them reload.
Knowing the men would most likely fan out in order to circle him, Tim shouted out, "US Marshals. Stop where you are!" He could shoot them so easily from here, but if they fanned out, he'd have to move quickly and take them one by one. Of course they didn't listen. He saw that the heavy-set red-haired guy with the red and black checkered shirt was going right.
Tim put him in his sights and shot at the ground right next to his foot. "Carlyle, you're not getting out of here!" he tried next, hoping that the others would realize they hadn't actually done anything yet to make him shoot at them.
Suddenly realizing that he had lost the guy to the very left of him, Tim retreated and moved to a different cover. He saw the man and the raised rifle looking for him. Those men had obviously no qualms about shooting a Marshal. He wondered just what Carlyle paid them to get them to be so loyal to him.
He went right again to get the red-haired guy first. He was heading up the hill and coming close.
"Don't move," Tim said when he was close enough. The man just grinned at him. "Here!" he shouted then and raised his rifle, taking cover. He probably thought Tim was one of the good guys, one of those that wanted to take men alive. Tim smiled back and shot him in the leg. He tried to keep it a flesh wound, but couldn't be bothered less if it turned into gangrene and then amputation. He was not exactly a good good guy.
The man screamed in pain and fell onto his back clutching his leg. The others started running towards them. Taking cover again, Tim injured the one on the far left who had tried to creep up on him, and the one who was running fastest. Both were instant hits, both were easy wounds to deter them from going after him again. That left Carlyle. Tim took his eye from the sight and took a breath.
He could hear a car with familiar sirens coming down the trail and used the distraction to run to a different cover, closer to the hill top again. It was not the smartest decision, because it gave his position away to Carlyle. Buckshot tore into the tree he was taking cover behind and singed his shirt. A couple of pellets hit him in the right side and arm, along with pieces of splintered wood. Shutting out the pain, Tim turned and shot back. He had learned to ignore pain if it meant getting out of a sticky situation alive. Tim realized that he was not far from the first man he had shot, so he looked over to see if the man was down for good, or if he was getting back up. He seemed to be still struggling with the fact that he had been shot.
"US Marshals!" Rachel's voice carried up the hill from the bottom. Finally, the cavalry was arriving.
This didn't impress either Carlyle or the man next to him.
"Don't," Tim warned the man, but was surprised by another shot from Carlyle.
This one completely missed him, probably because Carlyle was out of breath and shaking. He wouldn't make that mistake twice, so Tim tried to find out where Carlyle had hid. He couldn't see him from his current spot, so he moved again.
Unfortunately, Carlyle seemed to know exactly where he was, so he shot as soon as Tim moved from his cover.
This time, the buckshot was closer, again splintering wood and raining down bits of shrapnel on Tim. The wood hitting his face reminded him of the hits he had taken earlier. Doing his best to ignore the stinging pain in his shoulder, Tim got up and calmly took aim. If he didn't now, he wouldn't get another chance later. He shot, aiming at Carlyle's shoulder, thinking that it was better to hit him in the torso to stop him from shooting again than to hit his heart.
Another shot rang out then, and suddenly the forest was silent.
"Gutterson!" Raylan's voice came from the direction the last shot had come from.
"Polo," Tim replied and stared at the man Raylan had shot for him. It was the one in the red and black checkered shirt, who had finally gotten his act together and had been about to shoot Tim in the back.
"Jesus fuck," Tim cursed and lowered the rifle. The adrenaline shock wasn't gone yet, but he could already feel where he would hurt the most later.
Carlyle yelled for death and retribution where he was lying on the ground. Two Deputy Marshals were standing over him, aiming at him. He lay there like a bug on its back. Rachel was coming up the hill, shouting that she had found another one. Another Deputy took care of the one on the far left.
"Jesus, Tim," Raylan said when he was close enough to talk without having to shout. "Next time, just wait and call for backup, will you?" He looked at Tim with concern in his eyes and reached out to brush wood from his hair and shoulders. He picked at something just out of Tim's eyesight and pulled a wood splinter from his cheek. A quick brush through Tim's hair with Raylan's arm rained wood splinters down. Raylan's sleeve came away red.
Tim smiled tiredly. "Like you would've done?"
"I would've probably killed them all," Raylan admitted and took Tim's rifle from him. He handed it to the Deputy who had come with him and put his weapon away in its holster. "That was all of them?"
"Four all in all," Tim mumbled and reached up to make sure his shoulder was still attached. It was on fire.
"Let's get you out of here," Raylan said and waved Rachel over. "We'll take the car and-" he was interrupted by the ambulance arriving. One of the Deputies had called it in.
"I'm feeling better than he is," Tim said and pointed at the escaped prisoner. The man would have to add a couple of years to his sentence for that, and had a lot of physical therapy to look forward to.
"I'm sure you are. Which is why we're taking Rachel's car. We're an hour out of Lexington, but I'm sure we can find a hospital and a sexy nurse on the way there." They made their way to the car quietly, and Rachel got in the driver's seat.
"Do you want to lie down in the back?" Raylan asked, but offered the passenger seat in case Tim wanted it.
"Tim lying down while riding a car?" Rachel asked and shook her head. "You don't want that happening," she advised and waved Tim into the passenger seat. "Eyes on the road."
Raylan understood and laughed. "Alright."
Tim sagged, all the fight drained from him. This had been a shitty day so far. He was fairly certain that it could only get better. He gingerly moved into the passenger seat and buckled in. Then he twisted so his shoulder was not resting on the back of the seat and grabbed the middle console. He was starting to hurt now.
Raylan got into the back and slammed the door closed. "Tell us what happened," he said when Rachel turned the car around and maneuvered it past the ambulance and back on the trail.
When Tim had told the story, Raylan cursed and Rachel made a funny expression that got Tim curious.
"Why are you laughing?"
"Not laughing," Raylan said seriously. "Fuller just…" he trailed off and Rachel jumped in.
"Fuller really doesn't like you, Tim."
"He's an alright guy," Tim defended him, although he didn't know why. "He made a rookie mistake. He won't be doing that again."
"No," Raylan shook his head. "He said he did it by the book. That Carlyle got away was just bad luck."
Rachel nodded. "And the way he said it, was-" She shrugged. "Mullen isn't happy with him."
Raylan patted Tim's shoulder. "You did good," he offered.
"Yeah," Rachel added. "For a skinny little twink, you held your own."
Raylan took Tim's chin in his hand and tilted his face a bit. "He got you good, though. Did you even get a hit in?"
"Oh, fuck off," Tim replied and jerked his head out of Raylan's grip. "That guy's a brick wall." Suddenly, he realized what Rachel had said. "Twink?"
Rachel pressed her lips together. "Fuller really doesn't like you." She then leaned over to check the road and pulled out of the forest trail and onto the road.
"They had to explain to me what that meant, actually," Raylan offered. "Can you tell me why Fuller thinks you're gay?"
Rachel made an aborted giggle and then snorted.
"Oh, no," Tim said, realizing what he had so wrongly insinuated earlier during the car ride with Carlyle. He looked out the window and shook his head. "It was a spur of the moment thing."
"How the hell can that be a spur of the moment thing?" Raylan asked.
Tim just waved his hand. "He really said that?"
The other two nodded. "Mullen had that look on his face, though. The look that says Fuller is going to get transferred somewhere he doesn't like," Rachel offered.
They spent the rest of the drive in silence and at some point Tim nodded off, because the next time he opened his eyes, they were within the city limits of Lexington and on their way to the hospital closest to the station.
"Sleep well?" Raylan asked.
"Fantastic."
"We'll have to drop you off and get back to the station," Rachel said. "Mullen wants to see us." She drove the car to the emergency entrance and let Tim hop out.
"You'll be alright?" Raylan asked.
"No worries," Tim replied and closed the car door behind him after he had checked that he had his wallet and badge on him. He could make out the blurry shape of the entrance.
He heard the door to the backseat slam and suddenly Raylan was next to him, an arm on his back. "I'll take you in."
"I could've managed."
"You could've, I'm sure," Raylan replied and shoved him in the right direction.
"Thanks," Tim offered. Raylan didn't say anything. Behind them, Rachel drove off to report back in.
* * *
A few hours later, Tim returned to the office. Raylan had left him in a cubicle in the emergency room and then left to take care of things. Tim wasn't even fully awake for the procedure. He was X-rayed and prodded all over until they finally stitched him up and sent him on his way. He was wearing a scrub shirt, because the nurse had cut his undershirt off his back to get at the wounds. He was now stitched up, stuck together, and covered in bandages that peeked out from under the loose shirt. His right arm was tucked in with a sling. He pushed the door to the squad room open and took a breath before walking towards Mullen's office. He had left the office this morning, thinking it was going to be a boring day. Now he could barely believe that it was still that day.
Mullen waved him in and asked him to sit down. "You okay, son?"
Tim smiled and nodded. "Nothing that killed me."
Mullen made a face. "You're going to write a report tomorrow. The number of shots you fired, in what ways exactly Fuller fucked up, every detail. Slather it on thick when it comes to the way Carlyle tried to kill you. I don't want that fucker out any time soon."
Tim nodded. "Tomorrow," he promised and got out of the chair. He found himself swaying. He sat back down and smiled. "They gave me a shot of something," he explained.
"Get Raylan to drive you home," Mullen said and narrowed his eyes. "Do you have a concussion?"
Tim shrugged with the shoulder that wasn't tied down with a sling. "A bit. A bit bruised."
"I think I'll have the hospital file sent over. You're not fast enough for just 'a bit bruised'."
"Cracked ribs," Tim added. "But no nerve damage, nothing too serious. Maybe some sick leave."
Mullen made a face that Tim interpreted as exasperation. He held his hands up. "I didn't say it. I said, it's alright. You don't pry, I don't admit to anything."
Mullen snorted. "Don't ask, don't tell?"
Tim wanted to throw his hands up in defeat, but hissed when his arm and ribs didn't cooperate. "It was a mistake, alright? I wanted to make a joke. It came out wrong." He would regret this for a good while to come.
"Came out?" Raylan suddenly asked behind him.
"You're all a bunch of dicks," Tim succinctly concluded and turned to Raylan. "Would you drive me home?"
Raylan held up his car keys. "Already on my way. Come on. Let's get some alcohol in you. Numb the pain."
Mullen stopped them before he left. "Good job, Tim," he said and nodded at him. "You did a good job. And you didn't kill anyone. Unlike Raylan here," he admonished quietly. "Be back tomorrow to give a statement and type up your report, and you can have the rest of the week off."
"Will do, boss."
"Yeah, will do," Raylan repeated Tim's words. "I did kill someone again, didn't I?"
Mullen grinned. "You and Tim can share the pain of the inquiry then."
Glad that he didn't have to drive home by himself, Tim let Raylan herd him out the door and down to the car. He blissfully emptied his head and just went where Raylan pushed him. He was barely awake for the drive, which seemed unusually short. When they were at his place, he made himself comfortable on the couch and told Raylan to make himself at home. And then he fell asleep.
* * *
Tim woke an hour later when Raylan nudged him. He came to with a heavy headache. Concussion, he assumed. First time he had one of those was in Afghanistan. Chopper crash. He had gotten banged up, so they had pumped him full with too many drugs for him to feel a headache.
"You probably shouldn't sleep here," Raylan said and nodded towards the bedroom. He was holding a bottle of beer that was half empty.
"I always sleep here," Tim replied and blinked at Raylan tiredly. He wanted to rub his eyes, but aborted the movement when his arm and ribs protested. His whole body seemed to be protesting to being awake. "Why are you still here?" he asked at the same time as Raylan said, "What do you mean you always sleep here?"
Before either of them could reply, Raylan went over to the bedroom door and opened it. He peeked inside and finally stepped into the bedroom before poking his head back out. "Have you ever slept in that bed?"
"Only when I fuck someone."
Raylan hummed and turned back. "I hope you're not fucking what's lying on the bed."
Tim grinned. "That rifle is a beautiful thing, but it's also cold and hard." He finally brought his arm up and rubbed over his face. "What are you still doing here," he repeated his question.
"I want to make sure you're not concussed in the way some people are before they slip into a coma and die." Raylan closed the door to the bedroom behind him and looked at Tim. "Your bedroom has bars in front of the window."
Tim rolled his eyes. "It's very defensible that way." He didn't tell Raylan that the guy who had rented the place before him had been a paranoid schizophrenic. Tim could sleep anywhere. He slept lightly enough to wake up if anyone tried to come inside.
Raylan made an 'ah' sound like he had just realized something. "Ah, you're paranoid."
Tim winked and pointed at Raylan. "Very true that." He frowned at Raylan. "Actually, so should you be, what with the people who come after you in your motel room all the time."
Raylan tilted his head like he was thinking about it. Tim nodded. "See?" he asked and closed his eyes again.
"You're going back to sleep, aren't you?" Raylan asked and finished the beer.
"Yep." Tim didn't open his eyes again, but listened to Raylan put the bottle down and open the door to the bedroom again. A heavy thud told him Raylan had put the rifle on the drawer and the following creak of bed springs said he was lying down.
"This is quite comfortable," Raylan shouted into the living room and added, "You should try it some time."
"Go home," Tim replied.
"I can't. It's not secure. People come around there to kill me all the time," Raylan replied.
Tim laughed, but stopped when his headache flared up. He fell asleep again before he realized it.
The next morning, Tim woke up to the sound of water running in the shower. He got up slowly, thinking it looked a lot better if he did the groaning and wincing when there was no one to witness it. He went into the kitchen and opened the fridge, which didn't have a lot to offer in the ways of breakfast. He fished out a bell pepper and bit into it while he let water run into the coffee pot. The water shut off just as he started the brewing process.
"I was wondering about that," Raylan said when Tim finished the bell pepper and threw the end into the trash can.
"My eating habits?"
"Your vegetable habits, to be exact."
Tim grabbed the box of cherry tomatoes from the fridge and popped one into his mouth. "Why?"
Raylan made a throwaway gesture. "Never mind. Anything edible in there, too?" He picked up a half-empty bag of peanut M&Ms, shook it, and put it back.
"Cornflakes or toast?" Tim asked and grabbed a mug from the cupboard for Raylan. His own was still on the drying rack from the last time he had used it.
"Toast," he said in a way that trailed off, as if to imply eggs and bacon would follow that list.
"Dry or with cream cheese?" Tim asked with a smile.
"Right," Raylan said with disgust in his voice and grabbed his hat. "Go shower, make yourself presentable, and let's go."
"I'll be right out."
Raylan nodded. "You might want to hang something in front of the mirror. You look like a battered housewife today."
"I kind of feel like one, too," Tim replied and reached up to catalogue his face as he walked in to his bedroom. He definitely had a shiner, he thought, because his left eyesocket and cheekbone felt bruised. There also seemed to be an abrasion on his jaw - probably from the shrapnel and bits of tree that had exploded in his face.
"Might want to grow a beard for a couple of days," Raylan offered from behind him, pointing out in his own face what seemed to be wrong with Tim's when he turned to face him. The way Raylan was grinning, whatever was wrong covered Tim's whole face.
"Right." In the bathroom, Tim realized that Raylan had been right. On the other hand, his face looked a lot worse than it felt. He had certainly felt worse before. He pulled the scrub shirt off and looked at his torso. It didn't look good for field duty.
He showered and put bandages where he could reach. He cursed when he realized his shoulder and back was completely out of his reach.
"Want me to help you out?" Raylan asked suddenly from the entrance of the bathroom.
"I figure what I can't reach doesn't need bandages anymore," Tim replied and reached for his shirt.
"Well, while I'm here," Raylan began and took the large bandage. "Stretch your arm out," he ordered and waited until Tim had done so before he put the bandage on. "Good boy," Raylan praised when he was done. He helped Tim into his shirt and looked at him in the mirror.
"I might cash in that favor next time I need help."
"No problem."
Tim felt it took a bit of the sting of the other day's gay jokes out. Raylan seemed to think the same, because he opened his mouth with a smirk on his lips, but shut it again when he decided otherwise. "Let's go," he said instead and went ahead.
He tapped his hand on the doorframe, pointing out the extra lock on the door. "I'm pretty sure that's not standard issue either."
"It's not?" Tim asked and locked the door behind him.
"I'm not sure whether to tell Rachel about this yet."
"Well, I'm not going to tell you not to," Tim said. "I'm not ashamed of my paranoia. Or the hallucinations. Or the voices in my head that sometimes tell me to punch you."
Raylan tipped his head. "Art might be interested. He's a bit worried about you."
"He is?"
"You drink too much and eat too little. You're off. You sometimes shoot people. You're too good at shooting people. He caught you sleeping in your chair once. And then there was that time where you drew your weapon when you woke up in the car during a stakeout. He worries about all sorts of things."
"I eat a lot," Tim rectified. "I just do it where Art can't watch me with those suspicious eyes of his."
"He told me you're the only one who eats the XL Snickers bars from the vending machine and that he can tell by the speed at which they disappear just how often you sleep there."
"Lies," Tim said. "Randy eats them. Mattison, too."
"I do, too," Raylan admitted.
Tim's eyebrows went up. "And did you tell him that?"
Raylan laughed. "No way. It's much funnier to watch him watch you, knowing what goes through his head."
"I suppose Art is a Cosby type of dad," Tim mused as he locked the door behind him. He wouldn't know. Raylan didn't, either.
"I assume he is," Raylan replied. "He likes us."
Tim chuckled. "There's the difference."
They went to the car Raylan had parked there. Tim sat in the passenger seat and buckled in before Raylan followed suit. Then Raylan pulled out of the parking lot and into the street and took them to the station.
"Why would Fuller lie?" Tim asked once they were under way.
Raylan shrugged. "Afraid he'd lose his job?"
"Afraid he'd look stupid for losing a prisoner," Tim added.
"Men do stupid things for stupid reasons," Raylan replied. "He might not have thought anything."
"You know, I never know when you're shitting me and when not," Raylan complained when they were sitting at their desks. He looked at Tim and shook his head.
"Why? What happened?" Tim asked. He had no idea what Raylan was talking about. He found his facial expression rather endearing. The great Deputy Marshal Givens, pouting.
"Rachel told me," Raylan said. "About the schizophrenic guy who used to live in your apartment."
Tim laughed and looked over to where Rachel was talking to a fellow Deputy. "Ah."
"So no PTSD."
Tim shrugged. "I don't know about that. I'm a lucky guy, though. No sleepless nights, no waking up in the middle of the night. No zoning out."
Raylan hummed. "Why'd you stop?"
Tim didn't want to answer that. He didn't want to admit to Raylan of all people that he had been afraid of where he was headed. He had told Raylan about those snipers who couldn't pull the trigger when they got the green light after taking their targets to the movies. He had, however, not told Raylan that he had almost been jealous of those guys. He had never once hesitated. He had played an imaginary round of Scrabble with his target, and the next he had shot it without flinching. It had worried him, knowing that there were guys out there who still had a conscience - knowing that he didn't anymore.
"I was too good," Tim said then and tried to smile the way he always did. He hoped it didn't look too much like a grimace. Then he got up and walked to the door and outside into the hallway. He really didn't want to see Raylan's face right now. He wanted to be left in the belief that they were both shooters who killed too easily. It would be worse if Raylan wasn't. He didn't want that right now. He turned towards the vending machine and got himself a Snickers bar. There was nothing to talk about. Everything was fine.
Art found him at the back door to the parking lot half an hour later and stood next to him, looking at the gleaming tops of the squad cars like he didn't care. "Everything alright?"
Tim nodded.
Art stayed where he was. He looked like he dreaded where this conversation was going. "You remember when I sent you down to Grant?"
Tim nodded again and unwrapped the Snickers bar. He bit into it and licked the chocolate splinters from his fingers.
"I'm never going to tell you to do that again," Art said.
"You said that." Tim hadn't minded being loaned out by his boss. It was just one more kill that no one could confirm. At least this one didn't involve lying in the desert for two days to get done.
Mullen pressed his lips together. "Somehow I don't think you believe me."
Before Tim could reply that he didn't, because he shouldn't make such promises when it was so easy to lend Tim to another agency, Mullen repeated himself. "I won't let you do that again."
Tim grinned. "You don't realize that you already did," he said.
Mullen frowned. He really had no idea, it seemed. Tim could have sworn they had told Mullen at least a little bit about what had happened.
Tim smiled. "That vacation in January," he said. "Wasn't a vacation."
Mullen narrowed his eyes. "Tim, you're a US Marshal now. They can't just-" he broke off, looking for the right words. "Tell you to switch off targets anymore."
"Why not? You have." Tim raised a hand to keep Mullen from defending his decision. "I'm a sniper. And I'll always be a Ranger before I'm a US Marshal. That's why Rachel's your good girl and Raylan's the one who at least tries to make it look like he had to shoot." He finished his chocolate bar and threw the wrapper into the waste bin. "I'm just the guy who switches the lights off," he finished and licked his fingers.
"Jesus," Mullen said and looked at Tim. Then he pulled the door open again and ushered Tim inside. "This is not how this works here in this office," he told Tim. He looked angry and worried, all wrapped into one.
Tim didn't reply. He just made his way to the office in front of Mullen. He held his ribs on the stairs and turned to Art. "I know how you feel about your knees now," he said, trying to switch topics.
Mullen went along with it, but Tim had the suspicion that what had been said earlier would come back sooner or later.
"Write that report and go home," Mullen said. "I'll get someone to drive you."
"What happens with Fuller?" Tim asked.
"He's going to transfer," Mullen promised, a dangerous smile in his face. "I'll find someone who'll take him off my hands. I took Raylan, maybe I can send Fuller to Grant."
In the office, Tim moved to his desk and sat down. Mullen looked at him and sighed. "What am I going to do with you?" he asked.
Rachel looked at them both. "Maybe stash him somewhere safe for a while," she suggested.
Raylan snorted. "That wasn't how I was going to tell him."
Tim and Mullen looked at each other, frowning. "What's going on?" Mullen asked.
"Well," Raylan started and looked at Rachel, making a vague hand gesture. "Do you remember Doyle, Tim?" he asked, almost innocently.
"Point blank, almost no wind, very easy," Tim replied crudely, to annoy Mullen.
Raylan didn't seem to find it funny either, judging by the way they all looked at him.
"Oh, c'mon. Sure, Doyle Bennett. I know I killed him."
"Well, it turns out that Dickie somehow knows Carlyle," Rachel said, laying the file on the desk, open.
Mullen stared at the file and made the connection. "Dickie. Doyle. Carlyle."
Tim frowned. "I don't think-"
Raylan took a deep breath. "Look, it doesn't have to mean anything."
Rachel looked at Tim. "Did Carlyle say anything? Did Dickie tell him to avenge his brother?"
"Get Fuller in here," Mullen hissed. "If he has anything to do with this," he began. Tim interrupted him.
"Dickie couldn't have known that I would get sent to do the transport," Tim denied that this was anything more than a coincidence. "I'm not sure Dickie even knows that I shot his brother."
"There were witnesses," Rachel said.
"But he's right," Raylan said to her. "No one knew Tim would get the transport. I'm pretty sure Dickie didn't call Carlyle from his prison cell - to Carlyle's prison cell at that - to tell him to try and avenge his brother on the off chance that he ran into him."
Tim nodded. "That's how I see it."
Mullen agreed. "Alright. But visit Dickie anyway. See how he's doing, if he's thinking about that."
Tim smiled suddenly, throwing Mullen off. "Hey, Raylan. I just realized that means I might've had a hit taken out on me."
"Welcome to the club," Raylan replied seriously and shook Tim's hand. "It's a privilege, having someone hate you enough to send people after you."
"Don't joke about this, boys," Rachel said, disgust in her face.
"She's right," Mullen added. "I like my Marshals unthreatened."
Tim leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. "Maybe it's good my bedroom window is barred."
Rachel chuckled. "Raylan was really upset about that. He believed you."
"I did," Raylan said. "But then, what does that say about Tim, that I totally believe he's seriously paranoid and deranged?"
Tim let the conversation flow over him. Mullen excused himself and walked away. The next thing Tim heard was the door to Mullen's office close. He had a report to write, but right now, that chair was too damn comfortable to move.
"Sleep well," Rachel murmured and went back to typing.
Raylan shuffled paper and files before his chair creaked, telling Tim he was getting up. "I'm getting some coffee."
"Hot cocoa for me," Tim demanded, eyes still closed.
"No problem."
Tim fell asleep in his chair before Raylan returned.