DISCLAIMER: I own nothing!
A/N: I'm writing this on the suggestion of Karma22. This story is set 5 years after "Not the Only One". Please read and review!
It had taken too long for his liking, but Deputy U.S. Marshal Raylan Givens had finally gotten his wish and had been transferred out of Kentucky. He had been working out of the Connecticut field office for the past 2 years. In spite of the hellish winters, Raylan felt right at home there, even though he sometimes attracted funny looks because of his ever-present cowboy hat. Currently, Raylan was driving to the South New Jersey field office. Ed Tesoro, a fugitive he'd been tracking for some time, had recently been spotted in Atlantic City. Raylan's job was to meet up with one of the local Marshals and figure out if Ed might still be in the area.
It was late morning when Raylan arrived at the address he had been given. He was escorted into the office of the Marshal in charge. The Marshal seated behind the desk was a heavyset, balding man in his late fifties or early sixties. He seemed to be very relaxed and offered Raylan an easy grin. So far, he was the polar opposite of Raylan's former boss in the Eastern Kentucky office, Art.
"You the Marshal from Connecticut?"
"Yessir," said Raylan.
"I'm Charles Grant," the man said. "Call me Chuck."
"Raylan Givens."
The two men shook hands and Chuck gestured for Raylan to sit in the chair in front of his desk.
"How was the trip down?"
Raylan shrugged. "Quiet...'cept when I didn't have exact change for the toll." He chuckled. "Ain't been cussed out like that in a while."
"Yeah, those toll collectors aren't always the friendliest," agreed Chuck. "You're here on the Tesoro case, correct?" At Raylan's nod, Chuck went on, "I went ahead and paired you up with one of my Marshals. She's only had her badge for about a year and been with us since she finished training. She's a lot tougher than she looks, but she's a sweet gal too. Street-smart, never gives up. She's actually out in the field on another case right now, but she should be in soon; I told her you were here. I think you're really gonna enjoy working with her."
Raylan and Chuck sat making small talk until there was a knock on the door.
"I bet that's her," said Chuck. Raising his voice slightly, he said, "Come in!"
The office door opened and a woman in a black U.S. Marshals T-shirt and black BDU's entered the room. She was very petite but obviously in possession of some lean muscle. Like Raylan, she was wearing her badge on a chain around her neck. A pistol was holstered on her right thigh; Raylan guessed it was a .40 or .45-caliber. A few strands of honey-colored hair had escaped from the elastic holding her ponytail in place. She had a youthful face and offered both men a smile that started at her lips and worked its way up to her deep blue eyes.
"Hi, Chuck."
"Hey. Didja get him?" asked Chuck.
"Sat on the house all night and not a sign of him," said the woman, running a hand tiredly across her eyes. "I'm not sure whether he made us or just found himself another girlfriend we don't know about yet." There were elements of both the North and South in the woman's accent, something Raylan found intriguing.
"Don't worry, Ang. You'll get him." said Chuck. "Raylan, lemme introduce you to your partner, Angela O'Connor. Angie, this is Raylan Givens from Connecticut. He's gonna work the Ed Tesoro case with you."
"Raylan Givens," Angela repeated. "Well, this is a surprise. How've ya been?"
Raylan frowned confusedly. He'd met her before?
"Career day," Angela prompted. "I was a junior in college."
"Oh yeah," Raylan said finally. "I-I think I sorta remember."
Angela covered her mouth as she let out a huge yawn. "Sorry. I'm on the wrong end of a double right now."
"Nothin' to be sorry about," Raylan assured her.
"Well, lemme show you where my desk is and I'll get you the list of tips I have. I'll start calling people and then we can go out and start interviews--"
"Angela," Chuck cut in, "it's almost 11:30. Why don't you take Raylan out for some lunch and come back in an hour or so?"
"I guess we can do that," Angela agreed, though she sounded a bit reluctant. She took a keyring out of her pocket and twirled it around her finger. "It's hot out, so I'm gonna go ahead and start the car."
"Okay," said Chuck. "I'll send Raylan down in a minute." Once the office door had closed, Chuck sighed and turned to Raylan. "Angie's a great kid, she really is, but she never learned how to pace herself. She'd burn herself right out if I'd let her. Enjoy your lunch."
Raylan walked out to the parking lot and found Angela sitting in one of the government-issue black cars. After Raylan got himself settled in the passenger seat, Angela asked, "Ever had New Jersey pizza?"
Raylan shook his head. "Naw. Can't say I have."
"We'll have to fix that." she said decisively.
Angela drove back to the highway, which overlooked the ocean, and turned off at the third exit they came to. From there, she followed several streets until they were in the parking lot of a restaurant called Bella Vella. Angela got out of the car and Raylan followed her into the building. Once inside, the aromas of tomatoes, baking dough, and garlic filled Raylan's nostrils.
"And to think I wasn't hungry five minutes ago," he remarked.
"This place can do that to ya," said Angela.
The Italian woman at the hostess stand waved and beamed. "Angela!"
"Jackie! How you doin'?"
"Fine. Just gettin' ready for the lunch rush." Jackie's eyes traveled over to Raylan. "Who's the Marlboro man?"
Angela laughed. "This is Raylan. He's my temporary partner from Connecticut."
"Howdy, ma'am," said Raylan, tipping his cowboy hat.
Jackie retrieved two menus from underneath the hostess stand. "We got your usual booth free, Angie."
She led them to a booth set against the restaurant's front window. Angela and Raylan sat on opposite sides of the table; Jackie handed them their menus and returned to her post. At almost the same moment, both Marshals opened their menus. Raylan vaguely remembered from their first brief encounter that Angela had had a habit of biting her bottom lip when she was thinking hard; he looked up from his own menu in time to see that she still did.
"God, I'm starving," said Angela.
"Me too," Raylan agreed. "What do ya recommend?"
"Everything here's great, but I'd say Jersey-style pizza since you've never had it before. Trust me, once you try it, you'll never go to Pizza Hut again."
"You can order just slices here?" Raylan said, frowning curiously at the menu.
"Yeah, but if we can agree on toppings, we could split a pie."
A waiter appeared next to the table. Since Raylan and Angela were on duty and couldn't drink, both ordered sodas. They decided on getting a pepperoni and Italian sausage pizza to share. When it arrived fifteen minutes later, steam was rising from the top of it and the cheese was still bubbling. The pizza was unlike any Raylan had ever seen before: generous portions of toppings with an impossibly thin crust; the slices were enormous.
Ever the Southern gentlemen, Raylan motioned for Angela to serve herself before reaching for a slice. When Raylan put one on his plate, the tip of the slice hung over the edge. Raylan eagerly picked up his slice and lifted it to his mouth. The gooey cheese weighted down the tip so much that it dangled limply, making it impossible for Raylan to take that first bite; grease threatened to drip onto Raylan's favorite pair of blue jeans. Frustrated and feeling incredibly stupid, Raylan looked to Angela, who was shaking grated Parmesan cheese over her own slice.
"Something wrong?" she asked.
"How're you s'posed to eat this stuff?" Raylan inquired.
"Oh, that's easy," said Angela. "Like this." She picked up her slice and folded it in half like a taco.
Raylan mimicked her and was then able to taste the pizza. The crust was crispy, the sauce tangy but sweet, and the pepperoni and sausage were spicy. Damn right he was never going back to Pizza Hut again.
"You like it?" said Angela.
By way of reply, Raylan took another huge bite.
"Raylan, remember what you said to me when we first met...how it's not the size of the dog in the fight, it's the size of the fight in the dog?" Raylan didn't but nodded anyway, trusting Angela's memory. "Marshal training is probably the toughest thing, at least physically, that I've ever been through."
"Was for me too," agreed Raylan, "and I worked in a coal mine."
"I'm not gonna lie. There were a lot of times when I thought about just lying there on the ground 'cause every inch of me hurt," Angela went on. "But every time, I thought the same thing: I've worked too hard to get this far to just quit. Sometimes it took a while, but I always got back up."
"I always figgered you for a stubborn little thing," said Raylan. "So how do ya like bein' a Marshal, Angela?"
The young woman's face glowed. "I love it. And not just 'cause the badge and gun make me feel like a badass." Raylan chuckled. "It's the mental challenge of tracking down fugitives, tryin' to outsmart 'em, and sneakin' up on 'em when you least expect it. Fugitive recovery's mostly what I've done so far. Only had two witness protection cases and I was just there as back-up."
"What do your folks think?" Raylan asked.
"They're proud of me, but my mom's not real happy that I got assigned so far from home. Honestly, I'm glad to be outta Madison County." Angela let out a sigh. "Raylan, this is gonna sound silly, but I'm gonna go ahead and say it. I've always kinda hoped we'd end up workin' together someday, just so you could see that I did it. It hasn't always been easy, hasn't always been fun. At the end of the day, though, I'm still livin' my dream. I don't think I've ever been happier."
Raylan put his half-finished slice of pizza down on his plate and reached for his glass. He raised it off the table a few inches. "Here's to the great career ahead of ya, bein' too bull-headed t' quit, and finally gettin' the hell outta Kentucky." he said with a grin.
"Cheers," said Angela, smiling as she clinked her glass against Raylan's.
They drank a toast and finished the rest of their meal in companionable silence.
THE END